What the heck is a Tholtar?

December 26, 2014: A street fortune teller stops Clark Kent on the way to work. He won't take no for an answer.


The Big Apricot



  • Tholtar

Mood Music:

Shiny Metropolis here in winter. It's been unseasonably warm this year, and unfortunately all those mothers who were dying for a white Christmas were let down. It has its advantages though, as Clark is able to wear a light jacket without looking odd here in the middle of December. Sadly for the writer from Kansas, he's got to head back to work today. There are no long holiday breaks for those at the Daily Planet. News waits for no one.

Not far down the road from Clinton Street to the famed skyscraper called the Daily Planet Building, a man steps out in front of Clark, eager to get a word in.

"My name is Tholtar the grand! I will read your fortune for only 5 dollars!"

Clark stops where he stands, unable to get around Tholtar without walking into one of the paths of other walkers. He's, in a word, trapped.

Reporters aren't the only ones who end up working on those days not officially considered a 'holiday' around Christmas. CEOs have a tendency not to take much time off, either. Having had a morning appointment with a marketing company in a building near to the Planet, Jacqueline Falsworth-Creighton emerges from a revolving glass door out onto the unseasonably mild street. There's a driver and a black car parked on the street. The driver's door opens and a man starts to rise out of it. "It's alright, Robert," the woman says, her English accent crisp and clear. "I'd prefer to walk. I'll call you when I need you." It's a lovely day, really. And she's trying to acclimate herself to the downtowns of the TriCities.

As Tholtar stops the reporter, the Brit raises her head and cants it slightly to one side, watching the interchange. Fortune-tellers pop up the world over. Very few of them are legitimate, however. And those that are? They usually don't advertise or hawk their talents too widely.

"Golly, I'm not quite sure that I can spend $5.00 on a fortune, sir," replies Clark, eager to get to the office.

"GRAAGHR!" exclaims the fortune teller, who apparently gets enraged at the answer. From Jacqueline's perspective she can see a man in a suit go flying out into the street, apparently hit or thrown, and into oncoming traffic!!!

Protecting a secret identity is not really a concern of one of the UK's more celebrated metahuman personalities. As the man is thrown into the street, Jacqueline springs forward, moving at nearly the speed of light. She speeds to catch the man, intending to set him down on the sidewalk on the farside, before heading back to find out just what Tholtar's trouble is. Trouble aside from her, that is…

"Gee," Clark says as he's pushed to the side, "Thanks!"

But with all of the swerving, one of the cars has made and abrupt turn to its left, trying to avoid both Clark and the superheroine. It veers and smashes into the car right next to it, sending it careening towards the sidewalk. Luckily, it avoids pedestrians. Unluckily, it hits a firehydrant and comes a stop right above it. The unconscious driver, with an airbag in his face, has no idea that the car is beginning to flood!

Meanwhile, Tholtar is transforming to something big and nasty right in front of Jacqueline. He's looking pretty menacing, and completely insane. His large brown arms take a swipe at her, "Out of my face, bitch!!!"

"Language, Mr. Hyde," Jacqueline replies, ducking under the punch before darting forward to return a few of her own. "And manners. Didn't your mother teach you it's impolite to hit a lady?" The traffic accident is both unfortunate and unintended, and she does not want the man to drown. But the monster has her attention at the moment. It's collateral damage is a whole lot more pressing…

Tholtar takes a couple of punches to the gut and they seem to cause him to stumble a bit. But the huge monster is still on it's feet; still very dangerous and about to get his bearings back and come after Jacqueline.

Meanwhile, as the car has come to about halfway full, the man inside comes to…to find Superman standing outside his door.


The Man of Steel shears off the door, causing a ton of water to spill out of the side and reaches in to rip the driver's seatbelt away.

Jacqueline has been fighting long enough to tell the monster is starting to get its bearings back. She pauses only momentarily — just a fraction of a second, long enough for her to get her bearings. That the Man of Steel is there, taking care of the man in the car is excellent. That's one less problem to deal with. And, maybe a potential solution. As Superman reaches in to free the man, Spitfire crosses to pick up the discarded door. She waits, watching the monster across the street. Her intention is to use the water against it, hoping that Superman will have no problem freeing the man from the vehicle, and retreat with him. Then, she shoves the car far enough off the hydrant stream to free the geyser. She then uses the door to attempt to redirect the spray toward the monster like a fire hose stream into a riot mob.

"GRAWWWWGHR!" yells Tholtar as he's hit with a gale force blast of water as Superman ushers the would be drowning victim away from the scene!

The blast knocks Tholtar clean off his feet, and presses him against the far wall of the building across the street. Despite his attempts to move, he's pinned.

"That got him," Superman remarks with a chuckle looking at Spitfire who is keeping the monster at bay.

Spitfire flashes the Man of Steel a grin. "Not much of a fortune teller, is he, if he can't see what's coming next." Not, mind, that she's necessarily expecting it to be that easy. Such things rarely are. On the other hand, sometimes God does smile upon the wicked…ish. "Care to do the honours?" Because, really, she's got her hands full of car door and water stream.

"I'd be happy to," Superman zooms over by the beast and picks him up with two mighty fists, before lifting the monster over his head. With a bit of a leap, he takes the massive body up and into the sky, presumably to one of the many supervillain centers in the area that can take care of such a being.

As the monster is removed, Spitfire is left with a spouting hydrant and a lot of water. She starts to run, creating a vortex to contain the water. The air crackles around it, proving how she got her name. By the time the public works department has shut off the water and the authorities have arrived, much of the square is dry simply from the wind.

Superman returns not much longer and gives a wave to Spitfire. "Looks like you got this all cleaned up. Thanks for your help." He reaches out a hand to shake, if she's the shaking type. "It's nice to meet you. I'm afraid I don't know your name."

Spitfire gives Superman a smile and shakes his hand easily enough. "Jacqueline Falsworth-Creighton," she says by way of introduction. "Spitfire. Pleasure to meet you. Superman, I presume?"

Superman nods sheepishly, "Yeah, it's a name that was given to me when I first started. It sort of stuck. It's a pleasure to meet you too. Thank you very much for your help. I've never seen that guy before, but he was pretty nasty."

"Funny how that works," the Brit says with a light laugh. "I was christened with Spitfire by a friend, myself. But, you're quite welcome. He was quite the piece of work." She looks around. "I only hope the fellow he tossed in the street is alright." Because she doesn't see him around.

Superman looks over his shoulder and shakes his head, "He looked alright the last time I saw him. I guess he just sort of ran away." He shrugs his shoulders with a mouth twist, nonplussed.

"I don't suppose we can much blame him," Jacqueline replies. "It got right harry here for a bit." Most sane people don't stick around when monsters are rampaging. Which, yes, does call into question their sanity. At least, they can claim legitimate ability to help. That lessens the committable assessments.

Superman nods to her, looking out on the street a bit forlornly for the 'lost' victim. "But it ended well, and that's what matters. It's nice to meet you, Spitfire. I hope we'll run into each other again."

Spitfire smiles. "And you, Superman. Happy to help, whenever I'm in town." Home is, at the moment, New York, though that may change as her company's holdings in America change. Hard to say. But, it's not a long trip, in any case. Especially for folks like them.

Superman nods to her. "Great. I'm glad to hear it. Merry Christmas." With that, Superman floats upward and like he's done quite a bit, he's up up and away.

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