Post by scottenkainen on Aug 21, 2011 12:55:46 GMT -5
From Amazing Adventures of the 1970s: Featuring the Inhumans #3 (and reprinted from the Marvel Lab forums):
Florence, Italy. July 1971. Santa Maria Novella Train Station.
Fabrizio Caroti thought he made a clean escape when he hopped the 12:15 westbound train to Lucca. The engine was slowly pulling out of the huge building, tugging the rest of the train into motion with a lurch. Fabrizio held the railing of the caboose with one hand and holstered his pistol with the other, concealing it under his light jacket before the conductor spotted the weapon.
He took one last look back and saw long, red hair fly into his face.
The next thing he knew, he was being lifted off his feet with his arms pinned to his sides. When the hair fell away from his face, he could see he was being carried away from the train. “Help!” he screamed, but no help came. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Medusa behind him – or rather, he was behind her back as she ran from the train to the wall of the station. Her impossibly long tresses lashed out, snagged a balcony above them, and Medusa rappelled up the wall with ease, Fabrizio's weight not noticeably slowing her. Once they were on the balcony, Medusa slammed him down on the floor hard.
Medusa was wearing a tight purple bodysuit Fabrizio had seen her wear before, but this time with short sleeves. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have ogled her figure, but there was something too menacing in those eyes staring out from behind her black mask and he barely took his eyes off of them.
“Where is Nefaria?” Medusa asked fiercely in Italian. “Where?”
“Not-a here,” Fabrizio said in a thick Italian accent.
“I can see that,” Medusa said impatiently. “If I could see him, I would not be asking you. Now...” her threat trailed off as she tightened her hair around him like a vice.
“All right! He's-a still alive...recovering in a private-a hospital.”
“Did he order the hit on me?”
“The last I heard, he still-a had not regained consciousness. His remaining lieutenants are standing guard-a over him, but all are afraid-a to do anything, fearing that if they make-a the wrong call, that Nefaria will be wrathful when he recovers.”
“What of the man the Americans call the Mad Thinker?” Medusa continued. “What do you know of him?”
“I know-a nothing of him!”
Countess Stephanie De la Spirosa walked out onto the balcony from the doorway where she had been standing. She looked casually on the proceedings, arms folded in front of her, as nothing Medusa did surprised her anymore. “We have heard the same story from three criminals now in as many weeks. You are making a good start as a crimefighter, but you are not getting us any answers.”
Medusa gave the countess a look. She preferred it before the countess became accustomed to her and the sarcasm came back. “If we must settle for little victories, then let us hand Fabrizio here to the police,” Medusa said.
“Ladies, please,” Fabrizio said. “It sounds-a like you both have bigger game than me to hunt. Why don't I just see myself to jail and save-a you the trouble, eh?”
“Nice try with the smooth talk,” Medusa said, lifting Fabrizio off the balcony floor again with her hair, “I'm guessing you're still wanted for some things from the old days, even if you've been a perfect saint since then. I'm also guessing there are some police looking for us downstairs after my chasing you all the way across the train station. Let's go talk to them.”
Florence, Italy. July 1971. Santa Maria Novella Train Station.
Fabrizio Caroti thought he made a clean escape when he hopped the 12:15 westbound train to Lucca. The engine was slowly pulling out of the huge building, tugging the rest of the train into motion with a lurch. Fabrizio held the railing of the caboose with one hand and holstered his pistol with the other, concealing it under his light jacket before the conductor spotted the weapon.
He took one last look back and saw long, red hair fly into his face.
The next thing he knew, he was being lifted off his feet with his arms pinned to his sides. When the hair fell away from his face, he could see he was being carried away from the train. “Help!” he screamed, but no help came. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Medusa behind him – or rather, he was behind her back as she ran from the train to the wall of the station. Her impossibly long tresses lashed out, snagged a balcony above them, and Medusa rappelled up the wall with ease, Fabrizio's weight not noticeably slowing her. Once they were on the balcony, Medusa slammed him down on the floor hard.
Medusa was wearing a tight purple bodysuit Fabrizio had seen her wear before, but this time with short sleeves. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have ogled her figure, but there was something too menacing in those eyes staring out from behind her black mask and he barely took his eyes off of them.
“Where is Nefaria?” Medusa asked fiercely in Italian. “Where?”
“Not-a here,” Fabrizio said in a thick Italian accent.
“I can see that,” Medusa said impatiently. “If I could see him, I would not be asking you. Now...” her threat trailed off as she tightened her hair around him like a vice.
“All right! He's-a still alive...recovering in a private-a hospital.”
“Did he order the hit on me?”
“The last I heard, he still-a had not regained consciousness. His remaining lieutenants are standing guard-a over him, but all are afraid-a to do anything, fearing that if they make-a the wrong call, that Nefaria will be wrathful when he recovers.”
“What of the man the Americans call the Mad Thinker?” Medusa continued. “What do you know of him?”
“I know-a nothing of him!”
Countess Stephanie De la Spirosa walked out onto the balcony from the doorway where she had been standing. She looked casually on the proceedings, arms folded in front of her, as nothing Medusa did surprised her anymore. “We have heard the same story from three criminals now in as many weeks. You are making a good start as a crimefighter, but you are not getting us any answers.”
Medusa gave the countess a look. She preferred it before the countess became accustomed to her and the sarcasm came back. “If we must settle for little victories, then let us hand Fabrizio here to the police,” Medusa said.
“Ladies, please,” Fabrizio said. “It sounds-a like you both have bigger game than me to hunt. Why don't I just see myself to jail and save-a you the trouble, eh?”
“Nice try with the smooth talk,” Medusa said, lifting Fabrizio off the balcony floor again with her hair, “I'm guessing you're still wanted for some things from the old days, even if you've been a perfect saint since then. I'm also guessing there are some police looking for us downstairs after my chasing you all the way across the train station. Let's go talk to them.”