Duty and Politics in the World of Men
Roleplaying Log: Duty and Politics in the World of Men
IC Details

Wonder Woman and Superman meet to discuss duty and politics

Other Characters Referenced:
IC Date: August 15, 2019
IC Location: Hall of Justice
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 01 Sep 2019 15:05
Rating & Warnings:
Scene Soundtrack: [* ]
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots


“..whenever it’s convenient is fine,” Superman explains over the phone to a member of the Themyscrian embassy, “Well,” he says with mild humor in his voice, “I don’t have a phone.” There’s a beat where the worker clarifies believing she misheard ‘you don’t have a phone’, and Superman explains, “I don’t have pockets.”

“Tentatively for Wednesday?” Superman nods, “I’ll call back tomorrow to confirm. Thank you Lucy, I really appreciate you working with me.”


The Hall of Justice. Leased office space which commands a premium price for the infrequency of its use. During the day there’s someone who takes calls before things roll to a service. As part of their duties each member of the league must “stand watch” which just means calling in once or twice a day to make sure there’s no business the executive assistant cannot handle.

It’s early evening. With great consideration for Clark Kent it was Diana who moved the meeting from early afternoon to after hours to spare Kal-El the need to do a mid-day juggle of his identities. This has left the Hall of Justice empty although the glass doors at the front of the building have been left unlocked so she doesn’t have to bother with the keypad.

The reception area is well-lit though most of the lights have cycled to a dim-energy saving mode given the hour.

“Diana,” Superman calls from beyond as if preternaturally aware of her arrival. There’s a slight pause and he emerges, in full regalia, from the nearby conference room, “Thank you for coming. I know you’re busy.” He says a look of genuine appreciation upon his face, “I’ve got something to show you,” and he beckons her to join him near the conference room door.


The woman called Diana - or, to Man’s World, WONDER WOMAN - enters through the doors. She is, of course, immaculate, although there is a lingering scent of pine resin around her hair.


It’s hard to tell, but these things may show up to the perception of a Superman.

She has closed to within five or six yards by the time Superman emerges. She beams at him. Lips pull back from perfect teeth. Her eyes widen slightly. “Is that so! Well, then; say on, Kal.”

As she walks, Diana speaks with an editorial aside. “Lucy was flattered at your kind words. Abebi has been over the moon. Lucy didn’t believe her, you see, that that was REALLY a diamond paperweight…”


The vague scent of pine evokes memories of he and his father felling a tree for Christmas each year. The smell forever associated with joyous times.

“I’m glad she wasn’t upset about it,” he says with a simple humility for the gesture and then explains, “I don’t think she had intended to confide in me. I just happened to walk up when she was frustrated and needed to vent. I told her my mother always told me that all of our pressures - our trials and tribulations – are what shape us into something worthwhile.” Pause, “She’s always had that lump of ‘Luzerne County coal’ on her desk.” As if that should explain everything.

He steps backward then and into the conference room.

The long wood table possesses a rich wood finish and is lined with chairs. It’s immediately obvious that he had been seated at the edge of the table near the door. A stack of envelopes are rubber banded together at the right-hand of the chair and from what you can see of the topmost the word ‘Superman’ is written upon it in the awkward stick handwriting of a grade schooler. At the left hand there is a big manila envelope and upon the surface there are the words ‘Margie Federline c/o Metropolis Heights Elementary’ with penmanship that is so carefully precise that it’s primary characteristic is it looks like a machine trying to write like a human – every letter written precisely the same way every time so that it could never be mistakenly attributed to the unintended stylistic flourishes of a human hand.

Upon the table before the chair is a stack of letterhead and the top-sheet is a handwritten letter of the same precise script as the address upon the manila envelope the first line reads ‘Dear Cody, …’

He picks up the stack of letters and begins to remove the rubber band, “Three years ago I saw a five-foot-two inch woman trying to extricate a two hundred and fifty pound man from his burning vehicle after a car ran him off the road.” He pulls the rubber band down around his wrist, “All of the other drivers were moving slowly past as she tried to pull him free. When it was all over she asked if her students could write to me about heroism and if I minded writing them back.”

He begins thumbing through the envelopes, “So for three years – once a year - I’ve gotten letters from Margie's class,” pause, “Until this year.” Cutting the stack he offers her a number of the envelopes, “This year most of them wrote to you.”


"You do have a trustworthy demeanor," Wonder Woman says. "And the analogy is of excellent quality… as was the gem."

She reaches up to pick a single scorched pine needle out of the long black hair as she comes within. Her eyes turn over the stack of envelopes and her eyebrows lift. She comes close, and she becomes still. Her lips purse for a moment. The explanation is concise.

With Super-senses, of course, it is possible to spot the exact moment of surprise.

Her lips part into a smile, and she says, "How flattering. Ah, thank you."

She opens the one on top. "I will honor your tradition, of course. Have you saved copies of what you have sent - ah, but of course; I misremember. The classes move on, and the teacher remains in place."

From here, she pauses to read.

“Ah,” she says. It is a sad sort of ‘ah,’ and she looks up from the childish writing to say, “I understand. I believe this has more to do with the Embassy. Margaret must have informed them of its location, and they had presumed that it was, in a sense, my base.”

She opens three other letters then with efficient rustling flips of the hand, twisting her hand down to catch an attached sticker which she holds up to the light - it is of a mermaid, swimming over a representative patch of kelp. As she reviews the opened letters, she carefully unpeels the mermaid sticker; it is a thing barely possible, and even for Amazon-honed reflexes, it takes some doing.

Wonder Woman walks laterally around Superman, glancing up for a moment as she takes aside one of the sheets of stationary. The mermaid sticker is affixed to it, as she explains, “They are concerned about the registration of exceptional persons. Arnold and Jaime, here; they have relatives who live in Mutant Town. Complicating matters, Jaime is concerned he might be a mutant as well… Elizabeth is a somewhat grander thought, and I believe she is concerned her older brother is Spider-Man.”

Diana pauses. Her lips purse. Her head tilts to the side. “It’s not impossible,” she says.

“I am replying to Keisha as I believe her aunt is unjustly imprisoned,” she says: “Please forgive me for, multi-tasking, momentarily.”

“Have you noticed a similar trend in your own letters?”


“Did you go for a hike through a forest fire?” He asks her with a bit of dry dad-humor as she pulls the needle from her hair. The Man of Steel is genuinely curious about the scent of burning pine but, secretly, more concerned for the well-being of the pyromaniac than Wonder Woman had they crossed paths.

Superman then watches Diana carefully peel the sticker. A quiet smile lifting one side of his mouth at the long moment of quiet focus that such a feat requires. Once she has freed it he exhales a breath he was not even aware he was holding.

“In the letters and upon the lips of those who fear they’ll be affected,” The Man of Steel replies, “Diana, have you ever experienced a situation where you learn some fact or have some concern and then suddenly it’s like everywhere you go that new thing is reflected back at you?” He steps towards the edge of the table putting the tips of his fingers upon the manila envelope that contains the letters he’s already written, “Registration has become that for me. I almost feel as if I’m attuned to it – hyper sensitive. I can usually do such a good job listening for only those who need my help but lately I’ve also been picking out people talking about registration and no matter how much I try to avoid the politics of the situation I cannot shake the feeling that maybe I’m picking up on it because they /do/ need my help.”

He turns the manila envelope over to reveal a sheet of piece of paper that has been folded and then folded again. He unfolds the paper and then holds it up explaining, “A subpoena,” Kal-El says, “The State of New York has called me as a witness and I’m not inclined to walk away from my civic duty.”

“I wanted you to hear it from me and,” there is a pause and he looks down at the document he holds conviction faltering gently, “because no one’s ever called on me to represent people in this fashion before,” and then he looks at her once more, “I confess, I was hoping for some of Athena’s wisdom. How do you navigate the politics of man?"

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