Debrah opened the door of her office, gently taking a half step out and scanning the room. She was relieved to find it as she had left it. Speech therapy was a stressful process and her next client was Doctor Chaos, a supervillain with a bad habit of, perhaps unsurprisingly, causing chaos. She had accidentally left him waiting five minutes once to step out and see the room reversed, the furniture somehow stuck to the ceiling as it was a floor. Doctor Chaos himself hadn’t even noticed and remained sitting upside down when she called for him then.

Today however, she was fortunate enough to catch him in a better mood. The room remained normal when she called for him. “Loyd, I’m ready for you now.” He was a tall and thin man of German descent. With a graceful flick he shut the magazine with his mind and neatly placed it on the coffee table, standing up in the process. “Thank you, Debrah. Are you sure real names are best here? It feels unnatural.” He asked with plain discomfort.

Debrah smiled softly, “Yes, Loyd. I have found the therapy progresses easier if we can see ourselves as more human and less super.” He sighed in resignation. “You’re the professional I suppose. Shall we?” He gestured into her office. “Yes, please grab yourself a cup of water and we’ll have you sit in the usual place.”

“Excellent.” Loyd nodded as he walked towards the water machine and began filling a cup. “You know I-“ was the last thing he remembered saying. Debrah, or Mindseer, as people most commonly knew her always found it easiest to start the hypnosis when the patient wasn’t expecting it.

It was never permanent, she both lacked the power and the wish for death that would ensure. At least nothing undesired. It simply was a means to an end, a way to safely proceed with the therapy without risk of her insides accidentally becoming outsides. All of the clients knew of the agreement when filling out their paperwork.

“Sit” she commanded.

“Of course” he said, taking his place on the white armchair as she pulled a stool in front of it.

Tell me Loyd, Debrah spoke with her eyes now pure violet instead of a vibrant green, “What is troubling you now? I have already helped you from feeling the compulsion of telling your nemesis the master plan while he can still prevent it from happening. We also helped with your articulation. What more can I do for you?”

Loyd droned in a lifeless stare, “My stuttering. I am a doctor. I have a PhD too, it’s not a meaningless name like some.” A tint of anger slipping out as his water changed to some kind of black oil.

Debrah squinted and raised her hand, pink ethereal tendrils surrounding it. “Focus, Loyd.” His expression reverted back to emotionless.

“I keep stuttering when I get nervous. When it’s just the supes and I have no issues. As soon as there are citizens trying to record the fight on their phones though I get so anxious. I know my speech is going to be posted all over the internet and people will make fun of me. What kind of supervillain am I if people laugh at instead of fear me?”

Debrah was used to this. Supervillains were some of the most anxious people in the world. Fortunately for her, the fix was made rather simple and easy.

She simply looked deeply not at his eyes, but within him. “You will no longer feel anxiety while being recorded. You will not stutter.” That was it. It was draining, but easy and quick.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Wake.” Her green eyes returned with Loyd’s consciousness.

He looked at her hopefully, “And it’s fixed now?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Doctor! Oh thank you!” He beamed.

“You are very welcome. Call my office if you have any further issues.” She said gently.

“Of course, of course!” He said smiled as he strolled out of the room, new confidence in his step. The door clicking shut behind him.

Debrah rested for an hour, gathering herself. She likes to read during this time normally but would take to meditating when her next clients required her degree and discretion more than her power.

She was ready when the appointment time was upon her.

She opened the door again, “Hello. Glad you could make it.” She always felt awkward leaving out her name. “Do you have a preferred name you would like me to call you?” She asked hopefully. The whole world knew and feared “Mr. Mayhem”. The trouble was “Mr. Mayhem” had much rather be “Ms. Mayhem” but lacked the voice to publicly proclaim it.

The girl looked up nervously from her phone and felt a wave of shame run through her and sighed. “No. I guess Adam is still fine for now.” She said with defeat.

Debrah tried to hide the sadness in her smile when she spoke, “That’s okay. You’ve only been transitioning six months and finding a perfect name takes time. There is nothing to be stressed about with me, we both know who you are inside and names are just a formality.”

Adam’s mood improved slightly as she stood up. “Right. Yeah. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Debrah is fine.”

“Right. Thank you, Debrah.”

Debrah motioned towards her office, “Now, let’s get you comfortable and see what progress you’ve made since our last vocal coaching.”

"Now," I began, looking over the notes I had scribbled down, "you have been practicing your exercises on your own?" I looked up in time to see the shifting umbral mass, more a suggestion than an actual form nod one of its many nodes. That particular node retreated into the quivering mass of its body before a slash opened on a different node, one some 110 degrees from the first.

"Yessssss," The Abomination (arch rival to Captain Vigilant) hissed, tongues lolling out.

"Good," I said, my lips pulling back, exposing my teeth, nowhere near as impressive as the fangs stained carnelian. A tuft of dark gray fur was stuck to one serrated edge. Squirrel, I thought to myself. Not long or fine enough for any of the larger pets it (it had been very clear about its preferred pronouns in our first session) sometimes feasted on. "Which one do you think helped you the most?"

"Thiss one," another of its mouths said, "the one I held the 'S' and 'Z' sounds for thirty sseconds."

I jotted that down quickly. "Any exercise you feel was the most challenging to you?"

"Presssing my tonguess to the back of my teeth," it enunciated. I nodded. Considering those teeth routinely ripped through steel, concrete, and yappy Chihuahuas, I couldn't say I was particularly surprised.

"And what about the mirror exercises?" I asked. The Abomination sprouted a new tentacle, which gave a quick sinusoidal wave before it went to investigate the pile of magazines on the refurbished IKEA table between the two of us.

"Not too ussseful, but not too bad. With the way my mouth keepssss sssshifting..." it trailed off. This time, the mouth was somewhere in the center mass, flashes of white blinking briefly in the abyssal body. The stain was turning the distinct shade of rust known only to ancient cars and puddles of dried blood.

"Well," I said, laying my notebook to the side, swatting at one of the tendrils wrapping itself casually around the heel of my Condora Sling heel, "when you're ready, we're going to start with some tongue twisters and some basic oral aerobics."

I was used to the sighs of the chemically altered, spliced humans, mad scientists, and parasitic aliens (like the one before me), but I had lost no fewer than five assistants to that particular sound. Still the Abomination began trying to shape its mouth(s) and tongue(s). It had a 5:00 battle with Captain Vigilant at the bank and I had to help a sentient Venus flytrap with its stutter at 5:15.

We both had other things to do and knew our time was limited with each other.

[removed]

Cutting a Promo

The theater seats of the Star City Odeon sat empty, save for the one man shrouded in shadow sitting in the back row watching the performance on stage. A solitary spotlight illuminated the hulking beast of a man on stage. A tight red tank top hugged his barrel chest while his sweatpants looked ready to rip at the seams trying to contain legs the size of tree trunks, a red brick patterned mask concealed his face. A tuft of platinum blonde hair poked out the back of the mask which was rolled up above the man's lips so as not to muffle his monologue. A matching blonde fu man chu mustache framed his square face.

"Try as they might, all shall fall, since none on earth can conquer.....the wall!" Bellowed the man on stage in a voice far too high pitched for a man of his stature. He flexed his enormous biceps and snarled.

The man in the back row rose from his seat, the echo of his footsteps reverberating through the empty theater as he emerged from the shadows. A slim man with a deathly pale complexion made his way on stage. Dark eyes sunk deep into their sockets, his cheeks sullen, making his high cheeks bones more prominent on his slender face. A long thin nose sat above thin lips bearing a pencil thin goatee. A black leather beret hugged his skull, his puffy shirt and pants made it look like he'd stepped off a movie set from earlier in the century. The man put his hand up and shook his head as he paced in a circle around the behemoth.

"I've had many struggles in my career. When I was a young man learning the craft of shakesperean theater I was denied countless roles due to backstage politics. The only way to overcome that hurdle was to become a performer so great that none could deny my greatness. With ease I overcame that obstacle. Naturally I sought out a new challenge.

Turning low level schmucks such as yourself into orators capable of striking fear into the populace and the supers that protect them. Not through acts of malicious intent or plans most fiendish, but through the power of the human tongue. Before me, the cartoonish antics of those with powers were portrayed as such.

Gone are the days of ham-fisted, over the top, ridiculous monologues delivered in a fashion more fitting of a mustache twirling vaudeville villain that a sophisticated sadistic supervillain. I've instructed many on the arts of menacing monologues and sinister soliloquies, but you, my brick shithouse friend...have been the toughest challenge I, the great Reginald Buttersworth, have yet faced." Reginald spoke in a flat english accent, disappointment hung on his every word as he continued berating his student. Weeks of instruction had already past with little to no progress made. Reginald was nearing his wits end.

"Being loud doesn't make you intimidating, especially with the habit of your voice raising an octave or two when you do. It sounds like an oversized girl scout trying to sell me stale cookies, not exactly bone chilling. Defeats the look you're going for of an unstoppable hulking monster that could crush every bone in a person's body with ease. Lean into that. Sometimes less is more. The bard did say that brevity is the soul of wit."

The wall scratched his chin in thought, "Am I really that bad on the mic?" he asked sadly.

Reginald nodded his head. "Terrible. Too many dramatic pauses, non-sequiturs, tangents that seemingly go nowhere, absolutely awful segues, and a voice crack or two shattered the menacing air you were trying to project. Remember to speak from your diaphragm not your lungs. Keep your timbre under control. Someone who can speak calmly about devastation and destruction is more menacing than a raving lunatic. Bring some gravitas to the performance."

The wall cocked his head to the side in confusion. The direction had flown directly over it. Reginald rolled his eyes, he hated having to dumb it down. "Let's take it in a different direction. Give me a menacing growl." He demanded.

"You want me to just growl?"

"Yes. Now give me a growl, not a snarl. Imagine there's a burning fire deep within the core of your very being. If unleashed a cleansing hellfire would escape and wreck untold misery and devastation. You fight to contain it.....action!"

A weak grumble escaped the wall's mouth, hardly a growl. His skin turning as red as his mask.

Reginald shook the massive man about the shoulders, unable to move him even an inch. "That's the best you've got!? You're hopeless! Weak! Those are just glamour muscles that came from a syringe and not a dumbell!" Reginald screamed.

A vicious growl rumbled the stage as the wall bent at the waist to look down at Reginald. Every muscle tensed, veins popped along his arms, a pulsing network that thumped with each beat of the wall's heart.

"Perfect!" Exclaimed Reginald as he slowly backed away. "Now that is scary. I wouldn't want to run into you in a dark alley like that. Maybe we should focus on non-verbal communication next week. That's where you excel, even with a mask on."

The wall's barrel chest heaved as he composed himself. "That doesn't work for me brother, I need to be able to talk in public. Promoter won't give me a push unless my mic skills and promo work improves." Wall embarrassingly admitted. He moonlighted as a wrestler on the independent circuit on the weekends.

Reginald paced about the stage, he doubted even he could mold this massive lump of clay into a charismatic wordsmith. An idea bubbled in his brain, exploding into a plan to get paid more for less work. "Sounds like you need a manager to speak for you. A Bobby 'The Brain' Heenan to your Sid Justice. For a price I could play that part. I've held audiences in the palm of my hands for years; I can rile up a crowd of rubes looking for cheap entertainment. With my help you'll shoot to the top of the card in no time! All you need to do is look intimidating. That's what we'll work on each week during our sessions." A sleazy smile crossed Reginald lips as he extended his hand to the wall. The two shook hands, sealing the deal.

"Are you a heel or a babyface?" Reginald asked.

"Babyface." Replied the wall.

"Oh that will never do. Being a villain is much more entertaining. By the time we're done you'll be the most hated man in town. All without saying a word."

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