New York: Central Park

        Central Park, an area that, at times, has come to be known as the
oasis of NYC. One of the great pleasures New Yorkers and tourists enjoy is
getting away from it all in Central Park. Stretching 51 blocks between
59th and 110th streets, this 843 acre, green rectangle has served its city
well since 1859. From famous statues to castles, there is so much to see
within this pastoral landmark. One of the more famous stops is The Dairy,
built in 1870 as a milk bar, it now serves as the main Visitor Center. On
the more romantic side of the park, Hansom Cabs can be found lined up
across from the Plaza Hotel at 59th Street and Fifth Avenue, for a more
romantic journey through the park.

---Ray Terrill
        Before you is a man, standing perhaps five feet and ten inches
tall. He seems young, perhaps in his early to mid twenties. His hair is
red in color, almost the exact shade of a carrot or perhaps a bit darker.
The top of his head is somewhat unkempt, flowing and a bit wild. However,
the lower part of his hair is shaved almost to the skin, baring his ears
and an inch or more above that. He has a gold hoop piercing his left ear,
and his eyes shift color at times, going from brown to green to almost
gold. His form is slender and athletic, showing that he isn't a
bodybuilder and isn't overly muscular, but still seems to be somewhat in
shape.
        He is wearing a rather casual outfit, consisting of a black
leather jacket with two horizontal yellow stripes on each arm, a collar
and shoulders of the same color, and five yellow buttons on the right
side, with five matching horizontal stripes on the left side. Under his
jacket is a red t-shirt, which is left untucked over a pair of blue jeans.
A pair of scuffed white sneakers cover his feet, completing his outfit.

---Impulse

        The superfast Teenage Tornado - Impulse, in the flesh. Standing
(except he never stands still) at a rather beanpoley 5'11", Bart doesn't
exactly cut a very imposing figure, but that's not generally a problem. He
doesn't aim to scare. In fact, his unruly mop of slightly wavy brown hair
and equally striking costume are far more likely to cheer someone up than
inspire terror in the hearts of evildoers.
        Clear, vaguely amused amber eyes are shielded by a pair of
goggles, which are part of the half-cowl that covers his head (and lets
his hair do what it will). Also on his mask, over his ears, are golden
mercury-wings, which double as radio receivers.
        The boy's lanky form is clad in a very loud lycra costume - which
tears instead of runs. So it really isn't lycra. It's probably that funky
30th century 'unstable molecule' stuff, that the Legion's uniforms are
made of. At any rate, it's sort of an off-white color, with a jagged red
stripe down the center, which ends at his boots. Said boots are also red,
as are his biker gloves and mask; the boots and gloves are fastened with
buckles.

Central Park. Oasis of NYC? Yeah, perhaps. Well, when it's not at night,
anyway. Since it's early Saturday morning in New York, and the weather is
turning somewhat brisk, the crowds aren't nearly what they would be
earlier in the year, or after the ice rink really starts up in another
couple of weeks. Quite a number of people wend their way through the park,
one young man in particular among them. Ray has his hands in the pockets
of his jacket (this thing has pockets? The things you learn...) and is
heading across a portion of the park at a moderate pace, obviously in no
hurry to be anywhere.

And equally as obviously /in/ a hurry to be somewhere - a somewhere, in
fact, that's on the other side of this park - something red, white, and
moving at a speed far past the state limit flashes by the aforesaid young
man. In its wake it leaves a trail of fluttering leaves, newspapers, dust,
and bewildered passers-by. The thing that's faster than a speeding bullet
seems to be headed for the Metropolitan Museum of Art! Oh no! What foul,
evil intent could it possibly - er - intend?

Ray Terrill blinks as dust flashes before his face. Waitaminute. Blurring
past? Wha'theHECK? Ray looks around, seeing people just about everywhere.
He mutters, "Rot." He begins looking for...well...bushes...a
portapotty...-something-....after all, he's a hero, and has to go looking
for whatever this is, right? Right??

Oh, heaven knows, but while Ray deliberates, the unknown speedy factor is
further delayed from its intended target - the feield trip that its oh so
stupid AP History teacher arranged out of Keystone City Memorial High - by
taking the time to rescue a cat from a tree and a kid from teetering on
the brink of the Lake.

As soon as Ray decides that he wants to go see what in the heck is going
on, everybody -in- the park seems to be going in the opposite direction.
He begins to look -seriously- annoyed the longer this goes on, and you can
almost see the thoughts in his mind (Just what I -wanted- to do, have
someone blur past me and not know what it is and not be -able- to find
out! Rot!) However, he finally makes it to a portapotty, and, about
half-a-second later, a blur of yellow and black rockets out, heading after
that blur, at about the same speed.

And ain't them portapotties just so goshdarn - convenient? Muttering
thirtieth century obscenities the later it gets, Impulse finishes his
business by the lake and continues breezing toward the Met- woah. Hot
dogs. Okay, he can't even claim heroics for this delay, but maybe he can
mark it up on his tab as recuperation from strenuous activity. After all,
with a metabolism like that, it doesn't take too long to get mighty
hungry. Ray'll catch up with the tall, lanky kid just *after* he's paid,
and as he's taking a nice, yummy, saur-krauted frankfurter from the stand.

The Ray isn't going to zap first, at least....not -this- time. He zips in
front of the being-formerly-known-as-the-blur and is suddenly
well...standing there. Right in front of Impulse. Right in the middle of
his path....

Impulse zips, without reacting, right through the Ray, hot dog already
gone. Blech, if the kid didn't have a stomach of iron, he'd already be
feeling it, too. A full second later, it's doubletake and backtrack time,
and Bart's standing in front of Light Boy again, look of vaguely curious
irritation on his face. "Yes? Can I help you?"

The Ray looks just about as irritated, if not more so. I mean, after all,
he just got run -through-. Then again, he spends a good deal of his time
as corporeal light, so ...but -still-. He frowns at Impulse, and asks,
"Any particular reason you were blowing dust in everyone's face before
getting a hot dog?"

Crossing his arms, mood not improved by the guy's tone, Impulse juts out
his chin stubbornly. "I *don't*," he says, frowning, "have to justify
myself to you. And besides, I chose a path that'd keep the dust to the
sides, so you don't have a leg to stand on." Also besides, he thinks, the
Ray doesn't need to know I'm supposed to be here for a sprocking /field
trip/...

The Ray frowns. He -hates- kids. Has he ever mentioned this? Hates 'em.
Bah. He looks at the kid, and idly sets the hotdog paper aflame. "Still
dosen't explain what you're doing here, though. Ruining people's day,
y'know?"

In a sudden blur of teal and gold and pale blur electricity, Triumph blurs
into view, the air pulsing in his wake as he stops short of the ground
beside the bickering heroes. LORD, does he look shiny. His blonde hair is
well-groomed his pearly white teeth are practically sparkling. His blue
eyes are twinkling. The golden portions of his costume are so
well-polished that you can see yourself in them. Hell, you almost expect
blue birds to perch on his shoulders and the animals of the forest to show
up to greet him. He salutes lightly. "Top of the morning to you, fellas."
He glances around and jovially inquires of his costumed comrades
sarcastically, "Is Starro invading again? What's up with the spandex
convention?"

Oh, that was rude. Bart drops the burning carton to the ground at Ray's
feet, scowling fairly deeply now. It oughtta be noted he's on level,
heightwise, with Ray. "Cute," he says in a low, icy voice, and is about to
continue in the same vein when Triumph makes his appearance. The teenaged
tornado answers with more than a little surl, "Zot Boy over here decided
he wanted to make me late for the class trip my AP History grade only, oh,
/depends/ on..."

The Ray actually facepalms as yet -another- costumed person shows up.
"This just -isn't- happening." He sighs, "Late for a -history- class? A
field trip? So why were you so late in the first place that you had to
zoom past everyone in a cloud of dust?"

Triumph blinks and glances back and forth between the duo. He looks
blankly and frowns. "I'm Triumph... And the two of you would be...?" He
furrows his brow, at least recalling Impulse's appearance if not his name.

"Again with the dust!" exclaims Bart, throwing his hands up in the air in
exasperation. "/Man/, are you /fixated/ or something? And for the love of
Valor, don't call it a field trip...they stop being field trips in, like,
eighth grade. It's an educational excursion." He turns his gaze to
Triumph, face a mask of frustration. "Impulse, sprock it, my name is
/Impulse/. You only loomed like a frightening statue at Robin and I the
other night, don't you adults remember these things?"

Triumph grimaces and raises an eyebrow at Impulse. "Pardon me if I'm not
'up to speed' on what every big haired no-name with no sense of history or
legacy happens to be calling himself." Oooookay. There goes Mr. Sunshine.
Triumph is back to his usual self.

The Ray groans under his breath. Geez. This guy is worse than -dad- is.
"And we should care because....?" Who says that only the 'kids' can have
big mouths?

Impulse clears his throat, going all ice again. "Look, I'm sorry, Triumph,
but people've actually *heard* of me. And gee, it's funny, but last time I
checked I was Barry Allen's grandson and history and legacy weigh on me
like bricks." He pauses, frowning, but sounding more concerned. "And
what're you talking about? I don't have big hair."

Triumph simply blinks. His jaw drops for a moment. His quickly regains his
composure and plants his feet firmly on the ground. He quirks an eyebrow
at Impulse. "Barry. Allen. has a grandson...?" He blinks several times
once more.

The Ray begins to look really amused as he stands there.

Impulse makes that really irritating face like the one everyone uses in
'Clueless' when they're saying 'Duh' without actually saying it. "Yes?" He
drops his hands to his sides, then reaches up and runs a hand through his
hair, wrinkling his nose. "What, you knew my granddad?" He shoots a glare
at Ray. "And what's so sprockin' funny?"

The Ray smirks at Impulse, and points a figner at Triumph. "He is. Even
funnier than the fact that you're even later now for your field trip for
whatever reason."

Triumph shoots a death stare at The Ray but can't seem to maintain his
anger for long, his curiousity getting the better of him. He turns back to
Impulse. "I...uhm. Yeah. Not very well but we were contemporaries, you
could say. He was in my Justice League way back when." He blinks once more
in disbelief. "I read about... what happened. I didn't realize he had any
blood relatives left."

Impulse facepalms. "Maaaaan - you're right. Valor. I'm so late at this
point there's no /way/ I could explain it away." He sighs, then steps back
to lean against a tree; reaches up and scratches his nose, then, annoyed,
pulls his mask off. "Yeah. Right before Grandpa Barry died, he went time
travelling - spent a while in the future with Grandma. They had twins,
then Grandpa came back here and...well, you've heard the story."

The Ray just listens, and shakes his head, walking a few feet away,
letting the two talk. H's starting to look bored, perhaps.

Triumph glances over at The Ray and smirks. "I suppose you'll tell me
you're the new Crimson Avenger's lovechild, eh? What with the fin on your
head?" He smirks. "You had me going there for a minute, kiddo. Geez."

The Ray's eyes narrow at Triump, "Crimson Avenger? Who in the spaz are you
talkign about? Besides, -you- try going faster than the speed of sound
without something to improve your aerodynamics and keep your head from
ripping off, and see how good -your- helmet looks." Yep, he's annoyed
again.

Bart pauses, face darkening. "You don't believe me," he states.

Triumph allows a chuckle. He says, questioningly. "I don't know. Should
I?"

The teenager crosses his arms again, brow furrowed and jaw set. "Yes."
Then he lightens up slightly, gesturing a bit vaguely and speaking like
he's granting a boon, "'Course, it *is* a little hard to swallow. But hey,
if Wally can rip grandpa's origin off, word for word, then I can squadging
well be Barry Allen's grandson from the thirtieth century." Flashing Ray a
grin, he notes, "Actually, it's got a real 'Rocketeer' look to it. It
rocks, man."

The Ray half-grins to Impulse, "That's the idea. I didn't want to have a
giant banana thing going down like my dad did. I mean, how retro did he
want me to look, anyway? Yellow and white like a big banana split,
complete with the nuts."

Triumph frowns and crosses his arms. "Hell, with my background, I guess
I'm not one to talk." He sighs and frowns, looking between the two heroes.
"Geez. I bet you're *both* time-travellers, aren't you? Or you can both
break lightspeed at least?"

Impulse laughs. "Nuts. Yah, so Jay Garrick says. Over and over." He shakes
his head, grinning, and idly taps out a rhythm on the bark of the tree
he's standing against. He inclines his head toward Triumph, eyebrows up,
hair falling into his face again. "I only did it once. Would really rather
not do it again. Getting lost out in the future isn't a lot of fun."

The Ray looks at Impulse. He smirks, "Time travel? Nah. Light speed? Yeah,
pretty much." He looks back at Triumph, "There -is- a reason I'm called
The Ray, y'know."

Impulse snickers.

The Ray says "Like Madonna said, faster than a ray of light."

Triumph blinks. "Madonna's still singing?"

Shooting a glance over at the Ray, Bart suppresses a smirk and manages to
look at Triumph with at least a modicum of seriousness. "Well, yeah. She's
all new age now. Reinvented herself and everything."

The Ray nods, "Still sounds like utter crap though. Better music out there
by far."

Impulse shrugs, grinning. "I dunno, she's not *entirely* crap. And you've
gotta admit she's a business genius." Then he smirks. "And she made a
great Breathless Mahoney."

Triumph grimaces. "You'll pardon me if I seem... behind the times. I was
away for ten years. Just got back a couple years ago when Hal j---
Parallax started screwing with time."

With a cheerful nod, Impulse crosses his arms and tosses his hair out of
his face with a jerk of his head. "Yeah, I know. I showed up around here
about then, too. Hal's okay now, though. I don't think he even calls
himself Parallax anymore."

The Ray falls silent again, not really having been keeping up with things.
Then again, he's only been in New York for maybe three months or so, and
wasn't a hero for six months before all hell broke loose.

Triumph glances down at the ground. "I'd like to see the old League
together again... if only once. That's not entirely possible without your
grandfather but still, the call of nostalgia is always strong. J'Onn,
Superman, Black Canary, Hal, Barry, Aquaman and me." He pauses.
"Aquaman... Is he still around?"

The Ray thinks for a bit, "I think I've heard that he's still out
there..."

Impulse rolls his eyes. "He's a pain in the neck and he's incredibly full
of himself, but yeah, he's still around."

Suddenly frowning, Bart looks over at Triumph again. "Also, good luck
getting Dinah to act like a team player. She's a little - I dunno,
/bitter/ - about teams in general and the JLA in particular."

The Ray blinks and looks at Impulse, "What's wrong with Dinah?" He seems a
bit defenisve, perhaps?

Triumph smirks. "You know, she couldn't have been that much older than you
when she helped found the JLA, Impulse. Geez. Now, we're about the same
age. Hell, she may even be older than me. Doesn't look it." Triumph turns
toward The Ray, "But you Golden-Age kids sure age well. Take after your
parents, I suppose."

Impulse has a funny look on his face. Partly bitter, partly hurt, kind of
angry. "She's cranky and she stopped making sense. And..." He shakes his
head quickly, dropping his arms again. "Nevermind. I shouldn't talk about
her."

The Ray looks at Triumph, "She's not more than 10 years older than I
am...at least, I don't -think- she is."

Triumph grimaces. "And how old are you, sunshine superman?"

The Rayshrugs, "Twenty two. What's it matter?"

Triumph shrugs. "Just curious how old a guy has to be to be interested in
a woman half a generation older than he is."

The Ray shrugs, "She's my friend. What's wrong with that?"

Triumph nods and raises his eyebrows. "So... You're pulling a Dustin
Hoffman?"

The Ray peers at Triumph, the white eye-plates on his helmet narrowing
(How -does- he do that?) as he asks, "What are you talking about?"

Triumph shrugs. "Y'know... The movie 'The Graduate'? 'Here's to you, Mrs.
Robinson'?"

Impulse looks wonderfully lost, as well. "Isn't he the guy...there was
some guy in some book that channelled everything Dustin Hoffman said as he
said it. I think." Then he blinks, "Oh, I know that song! The Lemonheads
did it, right?"

The Ray shrugs, "Never saw it." He nods to Impulse, "I remember the song,
yeah."

Triumph covers his eyes. "Geez. What kind of Bizarro World have I landed
into...?"

The Ray says drily, "New York City. 1999."

Triumph smirks. "Whatever you say, tin man."

The Ray says "Not a tin man. I got a heart, y'know?"

Triumph rolls his eyes. "Oh. I suppose you do. 'Scarecrow' is probably far
more appropriate."

The Ray says "Nah. That'd be you, with your stuck in the retro 80s time
out of mind scenario you got going there."

The Ray says "Sure you don't have too much mousse in your hair?"

Triumph grits his teeth. "Hey, at least I'm *willing* to let people see my
hair. What's hiding under that mask anyway? A big pimple?"

The Ray oooooohs, "A pimple joke. How....how..." He snorts. "How utterly
lame." he shakes his head, and looks at Impulse, "Aren't you going to be
late?"

Impulse hehs, then shoves off the tree, straightening. He pulls his mask
back on and brushes his back off, grinning. "Does it really matter at this
point?"

Triumph glances around. "Well, Ray, Impulse, it's good to meet both of
you. I'll see both of you around in the days to come, I'm sure."

"Sure," says Bart, tossing off a salute. "Sorry to piss you off, Ray, and
sorry to freak you out, Triumph. I'm off." And with that, he really *is*
gone.

The Ray shrugs as everyone vanishes. He flies up quickly, then darts
behind a tree, and comes back out, sans costume, just normal Ray Terrill
again. He puts his hands back in his pockets, and continues to walk. Just
an ordinary day in New York's Central Park. Yeah. Right.