From Archiveofourown.org by DragonTail
Summary:
Kyle Rayner has hit a dead end - professionally and personally. But a chance encounter with one of the most mysterious, powerful beings in the universe will change the young freelance artist's life forever. Thrust into a world of excitement, danger and heroism, does Kyle have what it takes to wield the power of the Green Lantern? And if he does, will it be enough to spare him the wrath of the bloodthirsty intergalactic hunter known as Fatality?
Notes:
A proposal for a reboot of DC Comics' Green Lantern franchise, written in "scriptment" style with some dialogue (like the old '60s Marvel plots, somewhat ironically). This work covers the first four-to-six issue arc of the series. Originally written and posted online November 27-30, 2004.
Every time Kyle Rayner thinks his life couldn’t be worse – girlfriend left him, stagnant art career, little or no relationship with his mother – all he has to do is glance sideways along the bar and look at Tyler Hutchence. Yes, one look at his best friend since childhood constantly reassures the young freelance artist that he’s far from rock bottom.
Tyler, meanwhile, is a permanent fixture of the end of the line. Not only does he live on rock bottom, but he eats off it and sleeps on it. Perhaps the most talented artist and draftsman in their class at UCLA, the most Tyler’s skilled hands do these days is push the photocopy button at the office or heft another schooner of beer to his lips.
In school, Tyler had teased Kyle for being “such a dreamer”. Tyler was 100 per cent focused on becoming San Francisco’s next hot architect, while Kyle dabbled in watercolours and oils, trying to find his medium. The end result, in truth, is that Tyler’s focus was too narrow to make him employable, while Kyle became proficient in most forms of art but failed to truly master any single one. His teachers all told him he had a fantastic imagination, but often lacked the determination or skills to fully translate his ideas onto the canvass.
It was a bad time for Kyle, during which he seemed to have only one real supporter – Alexandra DeWitt. Tyler had introduced them, as the budding architect was trying to impress her enough for a date. But it was Kyle who accidentally stole the svelte blonde’s heart, and they had become “the” couple of the UCLA art set.
Daughter of an upper class family, Alex – as she preferred to be known – turned her back on the glitz and glamour her parents and older sister moved through and “lowered herself” to attend their college. Her dream was to become a photographer and, out of the three of them, was the only one who had achieved her goal. True, it was for a rag newspaper tabloid, but it was more of a start that Kyle or Tyler had made.
Their love remained unbreakable, unshakable, and Alex was the one person who told Kyle his imagination was more important than his focus. She was the reason he kept going through a seemingly endless sea of greeting card designs and bad flyer advertisements. A few days ago, the adult world caught up with the two young lovers. The stresses and pressures of Alex’s job, combined with Kyle’s lack of steady work and childish refusal to find more, had ripped out the heart of their relationship. Then Kyle made the biggest mistake of his life – both artistically and personally – and Alex left.
Always the best pal, always the knowledgeable one, Tyler knew the perfect cure for his friend’s woes. The unshakeable hangover. Tyler had become a regular at San Francisco’s Heretic nightclub – “I’ve got my own stool… the Tyler Hutchence Memorial Spot” – and had dragged a morose Kyle in for a drink. One drink that became lots. Kyle watches as his friend becomes more and more inebriated, finally steering him to the public toilets to “vent” the results of his dedication.
Tyler feels better immediately, deciding it’s time to hit the dance floor and “scare up” a girl for each of them. Kyle disagrees and leaves his friend, letting himself out a fire exit and into a quiet back alley. The flashing lights and pumping music have done nothing to soothe his pain. The darkness in him only becomes deeper as he fingers the small box in his jeans pocket.
True, it’s only a small diamond, and probably not real 24 karat gold, but it was the best he could afford and he knew Alex would have loved it. He’d had the whole thing mapped out in his head, how he was going to propose, how he would suggest her moving in with him – a long engagement, enough time to save up for a nice wedding and a real honeymoon. None of which mattered anymore. He had goofed, he had stuffed up “as usual”. He had wandered away from his responsibilities and now Alex had walked away from him.
Leaving the ring box alone, Kyle steps further into the alleyway. A small green light seems to pool in the corner of his vision. He shakes his head, thinking it to be a remainder of the club’s bulbs, but the pool remains – and has grown bigger. Kyle starts to panic, worrying about seizures and fits and his greatest fear, going blind. But now the green light has filled his vision totally. Everything is green hued and green tinged, the world is a verdant canvass, drained of all colour except one. He falls to his knees, covering his tearing eyes, and is about to call uselessly for help when he hears a small, quiet voice.
“You shall have to do.”
When Kyle opens his eyes, the green film has dropped and before him stands a small man. A small blue man. A small blue man in black and green robes. The midget’s face is stern, his jaw set strong and proud, but there also seems to be a small sprinkle of mirth in his dark eyes. His long white hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, tied off with a length of green and black cord.
Kyle, still on his knees, looks at the small man for a moment. Realising the sheer stupidity of the situation, his humour and his anger kick in. “Have to do? I wonder if you have any idea just how many times I’ve heard someone say that lately,” Kyle spits.
“Indeed I have, Kyle Rayner,” the stranger answers, his unearthly voice seeming to penetrate deep into the young artist’s skull. “But the constraints of chronos and chaos leave me with no choice but to add to your burden.” Her raises his small blue fist and unfurls his pudgy fingers, revealing a brilliant emerald ring. It sits in the palm of his hand and seems to be made completely of green gemstone, from the band to the brilliant emerald set in a stylised face-plate.
“Take this ring,” the small man says, his expression grave and brooking no argument. “Do with it what you must.”
Ignoring instinct, Kyle reaches forward and takes the ring. As his fingers touch the sparkling jewellery, small jets of green flame seem to leap from the stranger’s arm and over Kyle’s. The ring is warm in his hand, and it hums slightly. The vibrations tingle through him, and for a moment he thinks he can feel them in his head. “Now what’s supposed to happen?” Kyle asks.
“What must,” the small stranger replies. “Order will see to the rest, and so I place my faith in that. Hopefully, order will place its faith in you.” The stranger smiles sadly, and the emerald haze fills Kyle’s vision once again. This time he does not panic, instead he grips the strange ring tightly and waits for his sight to return.
When it does, Kyle finds himself standing in the studio of his small apartment. The first rays of dawn are slicing through gaps in his shutters and illuminating the rooms within. He glances around to see familiar sights – his drawing board, his equipment, pages and pages of discarded ideas. Unfinished watercolours, oils that have flaked and peeled from disuse, his latest freelance job that has been done eight times, each in a different style and medium and each without satisfaction. He stands in the half light and the chaos of his ideas and slowly opens his fist.
The ring is still there. The humming in his mind is even more potent now. No matter what happened last night – and despite the loss of the last few hours – none of it was a dream. A blue midget in a green dress handed him a humming emerald ring.
Dumbfounded, Kyle clambers down the last flight of stairs, and opens the private door into Radu’s coffee shop, the small cafe beneath the apartments. Radu Stancu is the owner of both the apartments and the cafe. A lovable, big hearted Romanian with a passion for baseball and a kind word for all, Radu has been Kyle’s moral support and cheerleader through many a crisis. And no crisis – not even his break-up with Alex – is stranger than this one.
As is usual for a Monday morning, all of Radu’s tenants are sitting at the front counter, eating their breakfast and holding the weekly “Tenant’s Meeting” - a joking reference to their usual gathering to start the week. Radu, as always, is behind the counter – an hour before the store is due to open, and the big man is looking even more relaxed than usual. He bellows a cheery “good morning” to Kyle and quickly hurries into the kitchen to make his tenant’s usual breakfast - a bowl of Rice Krispies in cold milk, followed by scrambled eggs and toast with ketchup. The smell of good food pushes the humming from Kyle’s mind, and he slips the ring into his pocket – right next to the engagement ring – and tries to focus on the moment.
Kyle scans the counter from left to right – all of Radu’s tenants jokingly refer to themselves as “Radu’s Irregulars”, and they more than live up to that name. At the leftmost end of the counter sits Rachel Ginty, a bohemian poet in her forties. Rachel makes her living selling her poetry in the San Francisco markets, and actually makes a good living out of it. Every once in a while, she will knock on Kyle’s door and get him to do a pencil sketch for her to attach to the poem - they sell better that way. Kyle never takes any payment for the pictures, but Rachel always manages to find time to cook a meal for him in return.
Next to Rachel sits Nathan Straussman, a film student at UCLA. Nathan is the Irregular closest in age to Kyle, but seems older – he is more intense, more focused, and always taking notes to turn into a screenplay. Kyle has been trying to avoid Nathan lately – not because the young student is annoying, but because he keeps trying to convince Kyle to storyboard his latest project. Kyle likes to think he has far too much to do without trying to help Nathan out – even though nothing could be further from the truth. Nathan is so absorbed in his conversation with Rachel, however, that Kyle doubts Nathan notices his presence. Rachel and Nathan live on the same floor of the building, and Kyle has always wondered about the two of them - granted, she’s old enough to be his mother, but something in the way they act towards one another suggests they may be more than friends.
The next two people sitting at the counter are definitely more than friends – Li Chiang, the Chinese-American manager of a local community theatre; and her lesbian partner Lee Adamson, who holds a part-time position at one of the city’s museums. They live on the same floor as Kyle. Li is tall – her father was Chinese, her mother American – with hazel, almond-shaped eyes and a lithe, athletic figure. She is always dressed sensibly in business style pants suits, turning many a man’s head. Amusing, especially seeing her devotion to Lee. The homemaker of the partnership, Lee is short, dumpy and Caucasian, with mousy blonde hair and a cute, pudgy face. While Li is the more dominant of the two – the one who pays the bills – life for the pair would be impossible if not for Lee’s efforts in the home. Lee is very shy, bordering on a recluse. Li is the loud one, full of bawdy sexual humour and armed with a fiery temper.
Lacking the concentration for humour, he nods at his housemates and eases into the spare seat next to Cleveland Rose. Out of all the Irregulars, Kyle feels the closest connection to the blind African-American jazz musician. Rose lives in the apartment below Kyle, and spends many a summer evening sitting on the fire escape belting out another blues tune on his saxophone. Kyle and most of the other tenants usually open their windows and listen as the haunting melodies drifted up past them and mingled with the ambient noise of Los Angeles. Kyle and Cleveland’s friendship grew from their mutual love of music and desire to expand their horizons. They often trade CDs, and Kyle had splurged an all-too-rare freelance cheque to buy an LP player, just so he could hear Cleveland’s old jazz records. Kyle had discovered Bird, Brubeck and many others through this “musical exchange program”, while Cleveland had developed a love for Depeche Mode, Stabbing Westward, Third Eye Blind and Everclear.
The others give Kyle his space – very little is private in a community as small as theirs, and so the story of his break-up with Alex is well known. But they group is not nosey as much as it is protective, and despite his obvious carelessness Kyle will never hear a harsh word out of these five. They will talk about Alex if he wants and, by the same token, ignore the topic until he speaks of it.
Kyle watches his five neighbours chat amongst themselves until Radu returns, arms laden with plates of food. Most of the others have finished their cereal, and were on to their second course – Radu insists every meal be a three courses – so Kyle wolfs down the Rice Krispies to catch up. Radu smiles and pours the young artist a cappuccino with double sugar – Kyle’s usual drink. The big Romanian has always had a soft spot for the dreamy, somewhat irresponsible young man, and is quick with advice or assistance. Noting the young man’s mood, he offers simply “As I always tell you, the best cure for a bad day is good coffee.”
“Yeah,” replies Kyle, “and like I always say to you, if that’s a Romanian proverb then I’ll eat one of these stools.” Radu guffaws loudly, his large belly rumbling with mirth. “You’re a good boy, Kyle,” he said between chuckles, “you always make old Radu laugh.”
Then the door to upstairs opens, and for the first time since last night, something takes Kyle’s mind away from the puzzle of the ring. His eyes grow wide as Allison Chandler enters the room. Her short reddish-blonde hair, blue eyes and full pouting lips have long made her the darling of the Frisco modelling scene. So too has her body, which is “to die for” – as Kyle already knows quite well. His relationship had died because of it.
Kyle had long admired Allison, and she had made it pretty clear that she had noticed his approval. She flirted with Kyle constantly from the moment he moved into the top-floor apartment opposite hers. As time passed, and they became friends, Allison had even posed nude for Kyle – a momentary lapse of judgement that signalled the end of Alex’s patience. It was during their argument over the nude painting – “you know all about exaggeration, don’t you,” Alex sneered, “because you’ve drawn her chest way too big” – that she’d found the door.
In truth, Kyle really did only see a friend in Allison. Sure, his 22-year-old mind has no trouble imagining the physical possibilities – lack of focus or no – but the fact remains she is a girl who had been through much the same as him. Young person moves from a less-than-stellar home life into a big city and tries to make it in an image-conscious industry. Bitterly, Kyle had told Alex that her real problem with Allison was the model had struggled, as had Kyle, while Alex had much of her life handed to her. He’d regretted the words instantly.
Allison floats over and sits next to Kyle, taking a moment to say hello and ruffle his already-unkempt hair. To one side Rachael groans and rolls her eyes. The poet has been in the building longer than anyone, Radu included, and she has little patience for the flirtatious model, who only moved in a few weeks before Kyle. While the Irregulars are protective of their own, few of the group view Allison as a member. She is an outcast among them but scarcely seems to care or notice – a fact that infuriates the close-knit group even more.
For her part, Allison ignores the rest of the diners, takes a blueberry muffin from the display case to go with her take-away coffee and dashes off to a job. Ever the show-off, she pauses at the door to blow Kyle a kiss. The jangle of the door bell is enough to set off a chain reaction of gossip and snide remarks amongst the Irregulars. Kyle once again lapses into silence, the emerald ring feeling impossibly heavy in his pocket. He’d hoped to talk to Radu about the strange encounter and get some perspective, but now knows that would be a waste of his time. The hackles of the landlord and his tenants are raised over Allison, and their knives are sharpened to blame her for the Alex break-up. Unlike him, they’re too focused on one thing to be able to take in a blue midget’s words.
Kyle finishes and leaves, dragging a cheery goodbye from somewhere within him. Despite the sour feeling in the pit of his stomach, he knows there is only one person he can talk about the ring with – Alex.
Kyle sits outside the elaborate gateway to Alex’s family home, waiting to make sure everyone is gone – particularly her older sister Amy, who has never liked him. Convincing Alex to the truth of his story will be hard enough without interfering relatives who feel he is not good enough for their little princess. The family, he imagines, would have been ecstatic when Alex moved out of the apartment above Radu’s and back to the mansion – the first time their tearaway daughter had asked for help since she set foot on the grounds of UCLA. He watches Amy’s pink BMW peel away from the coastal mansion and slips inside the gates, sauntering up to the door.
Not surprisingly, Alex answers it herself – she hates using maids – and Kyle is immediately taken aback by her beauty. But the disgruntled look on her face makes it clear it is not the time for flattery or words of love, so instead he manages to convince her to let him inside. She barely has time to close the large white doors before Kyle pulls the ring from his pocket and starts babbling madly – about the club, Tyler, the midget, the ring and the humming in his head that hasn’t stopped.
Despite her obvious scepticism, Alex is intrigued. Kyle is imaginative, she knows, but not delusional. She is still not sure about blue dwarfs, but is willing to put out her hand and take the ring. Abruptly, the humming stops. Kyle can no longer hear it, and Alex could not at any stage. But as soon as she tosses the ring back to him, dismissing it as “gaudy junk jewellery”, the humming begins again. Kyle notices that the closer the ring gets to one of his fingers, the quieter the humming gets and, telling Alex to cover her eyes, he thrusts the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand.
A brilliant, concussive flash of green light blinds Alex and knocks her backwards, over a coffee table and into a lush recliner chair. The chair tips too, and she finds herself lying on the floor upside-down, emerald sparks still streaking across her vision. Pulling herself into an upright position and rubbing her suddenly tired eyes, Alex sees Kyle in a totally new light.
Her former boyfriend is dressed head-to-toe in a strange military-style uniform. The tunic is a deep and brilliant green, the arms and legs a black that seems to suck in the very light of the room. Clasped green boots enwrap his feet and legs, and pure white gloves coat his hands. On top of the right glove is the ring, no longer a gaudy piece but now a shimmering, energy-spitting emerald. A deep green mask obscures his nose and most of his upper face, his brown eyes replaced with pupil-less white slits. In the centre of his chest is emblazoned a white oval with the same stylised green symbol that makes up the face-plate of the ring. Alex now believes Kyle’s story, without a doubt in her mind.
Rapid discussion follows, both of the young people falling over each other’s words to make themselves heard. As Alex stumbled in the brilliant light, Kyle stood in its centre and caught visions of alien faces and worlds, of ferocious battles and a great citadel in the stars. The humming that had dominated his thoughts for so many hours reached a crescendo of majestic words – a phrase that was repeated over and over as the strange costume wove itself around him. The humming is now gone and of the words he can only remember the phrase “in brightest day, in blackest night”. Neither he not Alex has any idea what to do next.
And so they do what any Californian kids do – they walk outside the house to the pool, and sit and think. Alex dabbles her bare feet in the cool, clear water while Kyle paces back and forth, picking at the stuffy confines of the costume and glancing at the ring. He wonders aloud, jokingly, if the blue man was a hobbit, and Alex splashes water on him. Amazingly, the strange suit dries itself a moment after the water hits. They repeat the experiment again, marvelling at the results.
