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“…Why is there a bear running a lemonade stand in the lobby of the Tower,” Steel Guy asked. He was staring at the monitor, waiting for the image in front of him to start making more sense.
In the lobby of the Chastisers’ Tower, an eighty-pound grizzly bear cub sat behind a wooden crate that had been turned over and into a homemade stand. The front was painted red in what was clearly a child’s scrawl, and it read “LEMONAID 50¢.” The cub sat patiently, cooing at people who passed to get their attention. Some of them stopped to buy a glass as they passed or to complement the bear on his work, while others—mostly guests of the Tower—walked briskly past, wide-eyed in horrified confusion.
“I had to bring my kid in today,” Dodgers said. “Sitter fell through. Ducky wanted to set up his stand.” He smiled at the cub on screen with fatherly affection. “He’s been doing it all summer, and he’s so proud of it.”
“Why is he a bear ?”
Dodgers turned to his co-worker with an incredulous expression. “We can’t risk revealing our identities, Andy. Ducky can’t be in the lobby as a normal civilian. Do you know how disastrous that could be?”
Ducky the bear groaned in thanks as a receptionist dropped two quarters in his jar.
“You couldn’t just give him a spare mask?” Steel Guy suggested. He had an entire building full of equipment for superheroes. Dodgers could have just asked to borrow something for the day.
“Why would I need to do that when he can just turn into a bear?”
“Okay, this conversation is clearly going nowhere.” Steel Guy said. “Just make sure Junior doesn’t start eating people. You did name him after a mercenary, and you made one of his babysitters the most deadly villain to ever exist.”
“Ducky barely knows Alex,” Dave corrected. “Morgan is his babysitter.”
Steel Guy gave up on continuing the conversation. But he did make sure to stop by the lobby during his lunch break.
He walked up to the stand. Ducky was looking away, bent over something that had captured his full attention. Steel Guy leaned over enough to see the cub’s paws were covered in blue and yellow, and he was pressing them against an already messy canvas.
“Um, hey, kid. Here,” Steel Guy said, leaving the appropriate amount of money for a cup.
Ducky looked up, an ear flicking at the clink the change made when it hit the top of the pile. He blinked at the partially full jar before turning his face to the billionaire in front of him. The cub grunted, unimpressed.
“What? Are you looking for a tip?”
Ducky let out a whine, gesturing to the jar with their head.
Steel Guy raised an eyebrow. “Look, you’re cute, kid, but—”
Ducky let out another noise, this one even more distressed than the last. A few of the people at the welcome desk glanced over at the sad bear sounds.
“Jesus, fine, kid.” He didn’t have any more change, and he didn’t even have any small bills on him, so he gave up and threw in a fifty. “I hope you’re happy.”
The cub let out a satisfied purr as he went back to his painting.
Steel Guy rolled his eyes as he left. He sipped his drink, humming appreciatively. “Not bad.”