100 Words A Day by Hydrargentium

Well, at least 100 words — best served random….

Tag: Gibraltar

Gibraltar stood with his hands on his hips, waiting for the other guy to make the next move. Brute was what the guy called himself. Gibraltar was pretty sure that was it.

Gibraltar was used to being the biggest hero in the room. Heroes like Phoebe, whose power it was to make themselves bigger, were the exception, obviously, but in non-combat situations, they usually stayed close to normal size. Brute, though, was still pretty damn big.

The guy was muscles piled on top of muscles, probably close to four hundred pounds, and standing over seven feet tall. He was so thick that from a distance he looked shorter, but up close, even Gibraltar noticed how big he was. The fact that he wore nothing but red biking shorts (size XXXL, he assumed) only made the human eye think he was that much bigger. It was only when Gibraltar stood almost toe to toe with Brute that he could say for sure that he was the taller of the two.

The referee flicked his finger, and the spinner whirred as it spun.

“Brute, hand on yellow.”

Moving easily, Brute squatted on his heels, and put two meaty fingers on the closest yellow circle. His muscles rippled over themselves beneath flawless skin. He seemed very confident.

Gibraltar watched, and then nodded. This guy was going to be some real Twister competition.


A rumbling sound filled the gymnasium.

The clerk looked up to see a huge stone figure, craggy and grey, hunched over slightly and arms hanging loose at the sides. Somewhere near the top was what she presumed was the head, so she looked where she thought she might find some eyes. She was rewarded a moment later when the figure blinked, verifying that the darker spots were, indeed, stoney eyeballs. After that, it was easy to make out the rest of the features: wide mouth, blunt nose, slabs of ears on each side. She could even sort of make out a suggestion of neck to either side of the promontory of chin.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Her tone stayed flat. She couldn’t yet find it within herself to try to smile.

A rumbling crunch echoed off the far walls, which somehow managed to sound like someone clearing their throat, if their throat was a stone pipe full of gravel.

“Gibraltar.” The voice was male, and decidedly clear. “My name’s Gibraltar.”

She wrote that down in the entry ledger, and waited. He seemed to have more to say.

“I was, uh, at a concert last night. Wrecked my voice yelling.”

That almost made her smile, imagining this big chunk of rock at a rock concert, yelling and hooting among the other concert-goers. He seemed to notice her reaction.

“Uh, not like this. In my normal form.”

She shook her head.

“None of my business.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.”