The phone rings. It’s your mother and she’s upset. “What’s wrong?” you ask. “It’s your father. A spell has been cast upon him and he’s been frozen solid.” You pause, knowing two things that your mother doesn’t: 1) This is your fault and 2) you’re the only one who can fix it. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll take care of it.” Write this scene.
Even before the second ring of the phone, I knew something was afoot. The caller ID was for my mother, and so I played it cool when I picked it up and said, “Robert Cassidy. Grove Capital Investments. How can I help you? ”
“Bob, it’s your father. He’s been frozen!” said my mother Linda.
“Wait. What? Frozen!” This did not augur well.
“Yes. Some weirdo in a blue leotard and funny sunglasses came up to us at the mall and waved a plastic icicle at him. Now he’s frozen. What the hell is going on?” my mother’s panic reached me through the phone.
“A villain in blue you say. Don’t worry, mother. I know someone who can help. He’ll be right there, ” I said and promptly hung up the phone.
The Weather Mage! My arch-nemesis had somehow discovered the identity of my parents. I would need to take care of him straight away, but first my father. I stood up and and went to asked my office manager if I could go get lunch. He was intent on whatever was on his computer screen and off he waved me. I headed out the back and walked behind the Chinese place next door. I used my math based magic to don the red and green uniform of Math Wiz.
Scribing the ancient formula for distance traveling with my trusty number two wand into the air before me, I was instantly transported to Billings Park. I found my parents near the fountain with my father frozen in a light blue pose of terror and my mother wrenching her hands in concern.
“What seems to be the problem here, citizens?” I asked assured of my secret identity even with my parents.
“Are you fricking kidding me? My husband is frozen. That’s the problem. Are you blind?” my mother seemed a little agitated.
“Never fear. I can save him,” I stated as I use my number two wand to scribe the heat transfer formula in the air between me and my father. Beginning with an almost glacial slowness, the color returned to my father and he began to move. With a cracking and a popping of polar icecaps, he freed himself from foul state the Weather Mage had put him.
I grasped his shoulder and asked, “Are you okay, sir?”
“What the hell?” apparently my father was a little disoriented.
“If all is well then I must be off to round up the villain who did this dastardly deed,” I said.
My mother looked intently at me and I expected her to thank me. Instead, she said, “Wait a minute. Bob? Is that you?”
I was only flustered a moment, but recovered and relied, “Bob? I’m sorry. I do not know this Bob person of which you speak.”
I then promptly teleported away to begin my search for the Weather Mage.