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Authors: Andrew P. Mayer
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job of every candidate they saw to challenge his authority?
He had to admit that despite the happy outcome, the confrontation with King Jupiter had left the Industrialist with his feathers ruffled.
The nature of their engagement had left him with little choice but to accept the man, even though he knew that bringing someone with so many mysteries into the Society was bound to end badly. But King Jupiter had, at least, shown genuinely incredible abilities—powers that none of them had ever seen before. As much as Alexander might be uncomfortable with him, it also made sense to keep a man like that where he could keep an eye on him.
Today was becoming, he thought to himself, a slightly off-kilter version of The Three Little Pigs. They had met a man of wood, and then a man of brick. And now the White Knight was turning out to be the man of straw.
“Either way, it was what needed to be done,” Clements replied.
It was clear to Alexander from the moment the third candidate had stepped into the courtyard that inviting him had been a mistake.
Clements was the kind of man who believed that the best way to fortify his courage for a confrontation was to douse his fears in liquor.
To his credit, the man had only staggered once as he walked out in front of them, but being able to hold your drink was a prerequisite to joining a gentlemen's club, not the Society of Paragons.
And after only a few minutes, it was obvious that Jordan Clements was claiming to have superhuman powers he clearly didn't possess, and had been reciting a history that was, on reflection, equally as suspect as his claims of exceptional strength and reflexes.
But despite his subterfuge, Clements seemed to be of the opinion that the simple fact that he was standing in front of them entitled him to their time and attention.
Alexander didn't know what made him angrier: the man's attitude, or the fact that he actually thought he'd be able to get away with it.
In person, the White Knight's costume was more ludicrous than terrifying, although it was clearly offensive to anyone who remembered the bad days that had followed directly after the end of the Civil War. The whole thing was baggy and poorly fitted, and managed to showcase a protruding belly that clearly spoke to a life of indulgence and poor self-discipline.
Currently the man was subjecting them to a drawn-out tale of some nonsensical adventure where he had single-handedly managed to chase away a gang of “marauding negroes” who were terrorizing the city. Not only did Alexander doubt that there was much truth to his story, but Clements told it while wearing such a self-satisfied sneer on his face that Stanton was practically aching to wipe it off of him with a fist.
As the White Knight pulled the noose off from around his neck and held it up to explain how he had used it to “subdue” one of the “subhuman trespassers,” the whole scene took on an unreal quality. Was this what the Paragons had been reduced to?
Stanton wasn't sure about his own stance on the negroes, but this was clearly over the line. Besides that, there was only so much nonsense that a man could take.
He looked around at the other members of the Society to see if their reactions were in any way similar to his. Grüsser seemed bored, as if he had already made up his mind that this man was not Paragon material, and was simply waiting for the moment when they could tell him to be on his way.
Hughes was shaking his head, as if he'd expected something more from the man and was sorely disappointed by what he saw in front of him.
Lastly was Nathaniel. He almost chuckled when he saw the young man sitting there with his mouth open, his eyes wide with what must have been disbelief. It was as if the boy could hardly imagine that a man such as the one who stood in front of them now was even possible, let alone actually real.
Stanton swallowed and took a deep breath. His admittedly small reservoir of patience had been utterly drained,
He had to admit that despite the happy outcome, the confrontation with King Jupiter had left the Industrialist with his feathers ruffled.
The nature of their engagement had left him with little choice but to accept the man, even though he knew that bringing someone with so many mysteries into the Society was bound to end badly. But King Jupiter had, at least, shown genuinely incredible abilities—powers that none of them had ever seen before. As much as Alexander might be uncomfortable with him, it also made sense to keep a man like that where he could keep an eye on him.
Today was becoming, he thought to himself, a slightly off-kilter version of The Three Little Pigs. They had met a man of wood, and then a man of brick. And now the White Knight was turning out to be the man of straw.
“Either way, it was what needed to be done,” Clements replied.
It was clear to Alexander from the moment the third candidate had stepped into the courtyard that inviting him had been a mistake.
Clements was the kind of man who believed that the best way to fortify his courage for a confrontation was to douse his fears in liquor.
To his credit, the man had only staggered once as he walked out in front of them, but being able to hold your drink was a prerequisite to joining a gentlemen's club, not the Society of Paragons.
And after only a few minutes, it was obvious that Jordan Clements was claiming to have superhuman powers he clearly didn't possess, and had been reciting a history that was, on reflection, equally as suspect as his claims of exceptional strength and reflexes.
But despite his subterfuge, Clements seemed to be of the opinion that the simple fact that he was standing in front of them entitled him to their time and attention.
Alexander didn't know what made him angrier: the man's attitude, or the fact that he actually thought he'd be able to get away with it.
In person, the White Knight's costume was more ludicrous than terrifying, although it was clearly offensive to anyone who remembered the bad days that had followed directly after the end of the Civil War. The whole thing was baggy and poorly fitted, and managed to showcase a protruding belly that clearly spoke to a life of indulgence and poor self-discipline.
Currently the man was subjecting them to a drawn-out tale of some nonsensical adventure where he had single-handedly managed to chase away a gang of “marauding negroes” who were terrorizing the city. Not only did Alexander doubt that there was much truth to his story, but Clements told it while wearing such a self-satisfied sneer on his face that Stanton was practically aching to wipe it off of him with a fist.
As the White Knight pulled the noose off from around his neck and held it up to explain how he had used it to “subdue” one of the “subhuman trespassers,” the whole scene took on an unreal quality. Was this what the Paragons had been reduced to?
Stanton wasn't sure about his own stance on the negroes, but this was clearly over the line. Besides that, there was only so much nonsense that a man could take.
He looked around at the other members of the Society to see if their reactions were in any way similar to his. Grüsser seemed bored, as if he had already made up his mind that this man was not Paragon material, and was simply waiting for the moment when they could tell him to be on his way.
Hughes was shaking his head, as if he'd expected something more from the man and was sorely disappointed by what he saw in front of him.
Lastly was Nathaniel. He almost chuckled when he saw the young man sitting there with his mouth open, his eyes wide with what must have been disbelief. It was as if the boy could hardly imagine that a man such as the one who stood in front of them now was even possible, let alone actually real.
Stanton swallowed and took a deep breath. His admittedly small reservoir of patience had been utterly drained,
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