So you wanna be a hero, kid. Well, whoop de doo. I have been around the block before, with blockheads just like you...

It isn't every day you get inspired by a Disney song. Now, when exactly had Lucien heard this song, you ask? When, in his many years trapped inside the body of an idiot? Good question.

Cut to a scene in the middle of the night after a long day of Danny boy studying. Pan to the pan of brownies. Now slide across the screen to the television playing cartoons. Left on, neglected, which its primary viewer had passed out. And had sneezed.

He hadn't been planning the transformation. It had been an accident. Those were a rarity for Lucien. Usually, the freak had control of his sneezes unless you tossed pepper in his face or threw him in a dusty room or gave him a cold. The only reason he had ever learned of the transformation had been due to him sneezing... and he was far more likely to do that than the idiot. So he had learned to tread carefully, and to take advantage of any transformation time so that he could utilize it to its greatest potential. Plan heists, pay the pepper retainer, make sure his gang was kept up to date on plans, and got paid. But that night... it had been an accident. He didn't have any things planned. And-- he was goofy enough to sit through at least one song. 

Apparently, any impediments felt in one body were present in the other persona via duality. How fracking fskkky. 

The song was good. Real good. He liked the guy with the goat's ass. Phil seemed like he had class. Something about him had just resonated with Lucien. Maybe it had been the blatant sarcasm and grouchy personality? 

The song had inspired the plan. And the plan had taken up the rest of that night. He'd been feeling goofy, so sue him. He had just wanted to mess with heroes and zeroes. 

Lucien had arranged a voice mailbox for the number, using one of his many burner phones. He'd gone and created the flier. Real tasteful. Good font. Good words. 

"Professional Hero Trainer," it had proclaimed. 

It had given some information, and listed such famous heroes as -- Crap. He'd had to look them up on the internet. 

What was this? A hero fan forums? Yeah. This one had been pretty good. Lucien had picked several promising-looking fan favorites. Ones people most likely would not call up to double check the reference for. People like Train-Man, the Silent Hamster, and Blue Torch. Humanoid Tornado. Cheshire. Trash Man. Puck.

That last one looked like he was a nasty mother-effer. Face like a pug's. Some sort of creation power. Made really interesting... things. If he ever ran into that guy, he'd have to be wary. Yeah. And not quote Shakespeare. 

Oh, what fools these morons be. 

He'd gone to an all-night copy joint and printed out about 101 copies. Then, he'd plastered them all across New York. His men had helped. They made a good buck, that night.

His master plan here... was chaos. And maybe, to gain a foolish assistant for a day. 

The trap was set. The plan was laid. As the sun rose, Lucien--

Achoo!!!

Sneezed. 

Now, it was in the hands of God. 

In the hands of God, you say? Well, he was pretty amazing, but that was going a little far. It was in his hands, though. The flier that promised training that would escalate one to the top of the Super Hero echelons. 

Xavier stared at it with a mix of optimism and slight caution. For one, he'd read the Blue Torches memoir several times, and it never mentioned being taken under the wing of such a prolific hero trainer... I mean, Train-man? The Silent Hamster? Maybe not the Puck dude, he was a little too dramatic, but these guys were serious heroes!

Had one person really had a hand in all of that? Maybe. Maybe not, but it was a tuesday evening and he was done with his class work, so... Why not?! Worst case scenario he lost some time to a kook, right?


Seconds later he was dialing the number on the add. After a couple of rings he heard a click. "Uhhh, hello? I'm calling about the ad?"

The voice mailbox told the young demi-god of legend to leave his name and number after the beat. He would get back to him as soon as he was able. It was a gritty voice, a Jersey voice.

The second he was able, the owner of said voice called the kid back. It was the same day, thanks Chick-fil-A! Your spicy chicken sandwich was superior to Danny’s idiot palate. And the dash of pepper to his face afterwards helped. Clever of him to set it up so one of his mooks could act if the voice mail got a ping.

“Hey Legend, this is Tony Zaganicci, I got your call. I would definitely like to meet you. Can you come to my training facility at,” he listed off an address to a building he had rented. “In an hour? I’ll bring the equipment.”

((OOC I just realized at the end of my last post, Danny sneezed on the hands of God... oopsie!))

He'd gotten the call. He'd only had an hour to prepare!

You know, while the flier itself had seemed a bit shady, the prompt response and well set up answering machine message made him feel a little more secure in reaching out to this trainer. He was dressed in costume and was peddling his butt off to make it to the meeting location in time. At this point he would only be five minutes early, which didn't set a good precedent for his usual timeliness. He hoped his prospective coach wouldn't think he was always like that.


The giant teen skid to a stop on his bike, chaining it to a nearby city bike rack, and then jogging toward the location he'd been given. He paused outside of the old building, looking around somewhat confused... There was no sign or anything. Hesitantly he walked up to the closest door, pressing a PA button next to it. "Uhm... Hello? Mr. Zaganicci? Xavier Legend here for the, uh, training?" He let go of the button, turning to take in the scenery around him. He hadn't been to this part of town yet. 

He hadn't been to most parts of town yet, actually. 

It was a very nice building. So what if the part of town it was in was off the beaten path? Prospective heroes need to face uncertainty and adversity if they are to achieve their tip top potential! He could explain that to the kid, if the kid complained.

It wasn’t like it was a shady part of the city, see? It was even had bike racks! And the chances one might lose their bike to a kid with a bolt cutter whilst one trained were in the lower 20s.

There were no bad deals going down. The building was old, but not decrepit. It was well lit within, and filled with all sorts of elaborate equipment and training machinery.

Mr Zaganicci heard the PA system. He pressed the button in the office. “I’ll buzz you in. Buzz!”

There was a buzz on Legend’s side of the door and the mechanism unlocked. As the boy entered, Mr Zaganicci descended the flight of steps from the upper floor office.

He was a man in his late 50s or early 60s, with fly away hair on either side of his bald pate. Short and stocky, he probably only came to chest level with Legend. He wore thick round glasses and a white t-shirt and black sweats. Training clothes. A whistle dangled from his neck. On the top of his head, two little fake horns jutted out. As the coup de grace for the ensemble, the guy had little black hoofies poking out from the legs of his pants. He had paid the illusionist extra for that. The whole illusion was supposed to last 48 hours, unless he crossed running water or touched cold iron. The only thing missing from the look was a tiny fur tuft on his butt. But we can only do so much with what we got, c’est la vie.

He grinned at the kid. “Love the costume, kid! I’m Zaganicci! Pleasure to meet ya!” He stuck out a hand, for shaking.


“X... can I call you X? You’re gonna be a star! Tell me about yourself! What sort of powers do you possess?” He strutted around Legend, checking out the costume. Cape. Bold colors. A classic. The comics should have been paying him royalties for jacking his designs.

I mean, he'd been to shadier parts of town, but there was a bit of sketch about this place. Why was there a dude with bolt cutters running around. Did someone need some bolts cut?

He jumped a little when the voice shot back at him. BZZZ! The door unlocked, and he pushed it open, looking up at his would be trainer.

Oh, boy.... He was something. Was he... A greek Satyr? He had hooves, after all. With some hesitation, X walked in, looking around at the place. I mean, Mr.Z was certainly dressed like a trainer, and it would be a lot of work to set all this up for a con, right?

Then again, con artists were hard workers too, he'd heard. The hooved trainer complemented his costume. "Oh, thanks!" He shook the man's hand. "Nice to meet you too, Mr. Zaganicci!"

He paused when the man called him X, and shrugged. "Sure!" Huh... no one had ever called him that before. It sorta worked, though, didn't it?

"Well, I repulse things from me... And myself from things if they are big." The man said he'd be a star. Neat, he guessed, but he didn't really care about that as along as he was saving people.

"So, uhm... Training, huh? What exactly does that entail?"

So, the kid was repulsive. That was a mean thing to say about one’s self! From a completely impartial perspective, based entirely upon the facts... the guy was muscular, with strong features many a man or woman might deem striking. Handsome, even. From a purely superficial standpoint, he was a looker. As far as personality went... they’d only just met. If he had a repulsive personality... well, that was his issue to deal with.

Repulsive. He repelled. From himself, and by himself. There were a lot of possibilities there. It was a real goatee-on-chin scratcher. If he’d had a goatee on his chin, he would have scratched it. But he didn’t. What an embarrassing oversight.

X asked what the training entailed, and Lucien stopped scratching his bare chin. He nodded to himself. “Fair question, fair question. Well, X. Lemme tell ya. Training entails using the machines. The practice range and the exercise equipment. And talking. Lot of talking.”

“What I do, as a coach is. I brainstorm with you about ways you can best out your skills to good use.” He nodded at him. “A sharing of the minds, of you will.”

“If things go well, we might even go for a field run at some point. This isn’t a one-and-done sort of deal. My schedule isn’t always stable, but if you like how I train, we can arrange future coaching sessions. Fair?” He asked.

The kid would be paying him for the training. His rates weren’t too high. It really wasn’t about the money. Honestly, why was he doing this? For some evil plan down the line to utilize the kid for some sort of crime
Maybe? Maybe. But it was more about him being a bored old man... he had a lot of ideas. And a lot of downtime in which to contemplate this. If others could utilize his brain pan, hey! At least he could feel useful, in his old age. Criminal enterprises were simply his area of expertise... but hey! Maybe knowing how criminals think makes one an expert in training heroes in order to combat that way of thought? Eh? Eh!

Ohhh, to it was a powers workshop! He'd attended a few when he'd first gotten his power, but none from someone with such an extensive track record. He smiled widely and spoke plainly. "Sounds neat!"

It was standard faire, from brainstorming, to testing, fine tuning, and then practical application. What would separate the wheat from the chaff here was execution. He had a good feeling about this, though. The workshop, the resume, the presentation. It all screamed legit.

"Alright. Let's give it a go, then! Where would you like to start, Mr.Z?" He grinned, thinking it cool to limit the older man's name to one word as well. It made then feel more syncronised, more... synergetic. He was getting excited already.

"So far, I've taken up parkour to ease landings when I throw myself, and I've learned to aim thrown objects in a solid general direction. I can't seem to aim with pinpoint accuracy, but it hardly matters when I'm throwing bigger things." He got into the nitty gritty, explaining details of his powers and experiences, and listening for any insight he might find as a response.

Lucien listened to X and his summary, taking keen mental notes of what the kid had done, did, and did well. As well as what he did poorly.

He had little control over finesse operations. His accuracy was poo. He took parkour to help with landings? Lucien knew jack diddly about parkour, and all them Frenchy French things. But maybe a martial art would help more with that? Those martial artists knew how to take a punch and fall over right. He hadn’t done any martial arts other than boxing, eras ago. And that was eras ago, as previously mentioned.

As for the nitty gritty, and details of his powers and experiences— the kid really laid it all out. He had no shame.

“So, you really took down Mothra?” He asked curiously, eying the kid. “That was you. I saw it in the papers. Two X-men. Giant moth.” Pronounced mawth. “Reporters didn’t get to interview either of you. You’ll have to tell me about it some time. But that story definitely tells me you need to work on accuracy.”

“With more accurate attacks you could have pelted him with smaller things. From more angles. And worn him down rather than launching something big and heavy for a single large attack.” He said.

“And we should find you a martial art. Help you learn to take a punch and fall right. Just saying.”