The Return of Ruby Rubber

Epilogue: After All

Ruth came down to breakfast wearing the Ruby Rubber costume. She nonchalantly made her way toward the hotel restaurant, chucking out the occasional friendly ‘good morning’ toward anyone who was staring at her. One woman, who was far too young to have been around when the original Ruby Rubber was in her pomp, still seemed to recognise the costume and shouted out ‘Ruby!’ as Ruth passed by. She was favoured with a wink, a click of the tongue, and a set of finger guns as her reward. Appropriately enough, all the attention Ruth’s unconventional appearance was attracting just seemed to bounce harmlessly off her.

Stuart was already seated at a table when Ruth arrived, his Hawaiian shirt only slightly less conspicuous than her costume.

‘Ruthie!’ he called out, waving both hands in the air. When he realised his indiscretion in calling her by her civilian name in public, he called out again in the hope of covering his mistake: ‘Ruby! That’s right, I said “Ruby”. I am now saying “Ruby” again. Unnecessarily…’

Ruth joined him, sitting opposite, still paying no attention to the odd unwanted gaze that fell her way.

‘Have you ordered?’ she asked him.

‘For both of us,’ said Stuart. ‘I thought you’d want a full breakfast after last night’s shenanigans.’

‘Did you ask for..?’

‘Veggie sausages? Yes. And I said you wanted your eggs scrambled. Have some coffee.’

Stuart handed a steaming cup to his friend. ‘Did you sleep in the costume?’

Ruth twanged the close-fitting fabric of her outfit. ‘I didn’t have a choice. Until I can get stretchy again, I can’t take it off. I can’t help but think that that’s a bit of a design flaw.’

‘I don’t think they imagined Ruby Rubber going through what you did last night, to be fair. That was crazy!’

‘I know!’ said Ruth, gulping down her mouthful of coffee in her eagerness to reply. ‘How much was I stretched out for? Four miles? Five?’

‘At least! And when you smothered that exploding Hypno-Regulator!’ Stuart mimed what looked like a balloon rapidly expanding then contracting with all the appropriate sound effects.

‘That felt weird,’ admitted Ruth. ‘Like a burp outside your body. No, that’s not quite right, it was more like –‘

‘Who ordered the vegetarian breakfast?’

The waiter had arrived with Ruth’s food. Stuart pointed him in the right direction and he set the plate down in front of her.

‘Can I get you anything else?’ asked the waiter.

Ruth felt his curious gaze upon her as she hungrily bit into a sausage. ‘No thanks,’ she said, wiggling the contents of her fork as if to say “this’ll do for now”. She answered the unasked question through a mouthful of vegetable protein: ‘I’m wearing this because I’m a superhero.’

‘I know,’ said the waiter. ‘I saw you on the news, catapulting that Collider bloke into the sea.’

‘”Kaleidoscope”,’ corrected Stuart.

‘That’s what I said,’ replied the waiter, facing Ruth to give a very clear “I’m not talking to you” message to Stuart. ‘Thanks for saving the city.’

‘Thanks for the scrambled eggs,’ said Ruth.

For the rest of the breakfast, Ruth and Stuart compared notes, excitedly reliving the battle of the previous night: Mild embarrassment at the moves that didn’t come off (the dizziness from neck elongation undermining any tactical advantage it gave); pride at the ones that did (‘I’m definitely doing that spring-loaded kick thing again…’). By the time they had finished they were both laughing and Stuart knew he’d finally won.

‘You’re going to keep going at this, aren’t you?’ he said with a smile.

‘How could I not? I was amazing!’ said Ruth, immodestly. ‘I mean, thanks to these powers I now ache in places I didn’t know even existed, so not right away, obviously. I can feel my flexibility slowly returning, so the current plan is to give it an hour or so before activating it – I might need your magic hands for that –  get out of this costume at last, get a shower, check out and then…’

‘Then what?’

‘Then I’ve a few ideas you might be interested in,’ said a new voice. One with a Scottish accent.

Ruth and Stuart turned toward its source and boggled at what they saw: towering over their table, a seven foot tall giantess, brimming with muscle and topped with sparkling purple hair. They recognised her immediately, even though she was wearing a track suit rather than her familiar costume. Not that it could possibly be anyone else.

‘Hi, my name’s Ban Mor. I’m a member of the Flying Squad – the superhero team. We’re a bit low on numbers of late, and I was wondering if you were interested in giving us a wee hand?’

FIN