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For all that Poundy has been called a pathetic loser his entire life, be by the ones closest to him or people that hate his guts and want him dead, he was never one to throw a pity party over himself.
There are more important things to focus on in this world, like crime rates, or paperwork, or the fact that Fulham ate his sandwich again, even if it had Poundy's name on it, and it has been the 3rd time this week, come on at least steal something from Nerdi to make it even, or more paperwork.
The truth is that no one cares, no one will look after you if you stumble, and if you can't catch yourself and do something about it you are just a waste of space.
No one said that, in those words at least, but Poundcake got the memo.
He got his first pair of glasses when he was three, his life was always a mix of blurs and movements, and it didn't get better with time.
At the age of nine his prescription had a prescription with how bad it was.
He could still go around, stumbling into everything, reading if he was close enough to book pages, and recognizing who was talking with him through color patterns and voices.
And then at 12 it all went to hell. The world was a big splotch of colours, he wasn't able to read, nevertheless tell who or how many people were with him in a room or not, his glasses weren't doing shit and he realized, young and scared, that there were no glasses that could fix this.
He panicked so hard that he escaped out of his body– literally.
Despite having two parents with a null classification, Poundy Poundcake was somehow born with powers, lucky genes and a very unlucky backlash.
At the ripe age of 12, Poundy became legally blind, and at the same time able to see the world in a way no one else could.
Poundy still remembers when the thought of fame enticed him.
Appearing on tv, newspapers, magazines, everyone knowing his name;
President Poundcake, an incredibly hot and handsome hero saves the day all by himself!
He could see the headlines, smell, and taste them. It sounded awesome, he had a super power, he can do good, and be good. At least it's what he used to think.
These days it honestly sounds tiring.
His body is slumped in an uncomfortable plastic chair, the room smells of detergent and cheap perfume, and the plastic plant at the waiting table looks like it could use some water.
Anyone that looked at him at that moment would just think he is really concentrated reading the documents open in his lap.
In reality he wishes he was anywhere but there.
Poundy hates having to work outside the office.
Hates having to leave his comfy chair, and computer with all the music he could want to distract himself from what he was actually supposed to be doing.
Hates leaving the chaotic environment where he can walk literally blind and perhaps just stumble into someone twice.
But today isn't a day he could stay at the office, because Feinberg, the new rescuer at their agency is doing his first interview with a reporter while under their contract.
And Poundy's work involves vetting the questions, vetting the footage, making sure that neither the reporter or Fein say anything that will make him have to fill even more paper work, and make sure Lewis and Nerdi don't have his head at the end of the day when something inevitable goes wrong.
So here he is floating over a camera. The camera man can't see him, can't even complain when Poundy fakes putting his fingers inside of his nose out of pure boredom. He is just making sure this isn't in fact a live transmission.
He has gone over the paper work several times already; as the unofficial head of the PR department he knows reporters are vultures, HBG is very careful with who talks with the rescuers outside of a rescue scene, Poundy has dealt with the worst of the worst, going from deepfakes, fake quotes, reporters hitting on rescuers, to even secret livestreams in official recording settings.
For the last one, they are lucky you can't really make Rek look bad even if you try, the guy is a loyal dog built out of cute puppies, but even so Poundcake isn't taking chances.
He is half listening to the interview, both Feinberg, and the reporter are sitting in chairs arguably more comfortable than the ones Poundy dumped his body in. It has been going for some minutes already, Feinberg looks bored, but doing his best to answer the questions– vetted by Poundy. All the questions go through him before even leaving someone's lips in front of a camera –the reporter is asking.
This is just a regular debut interview, that's also why it's so important that Poundy is here.
Feinberg is new, not to the rescuers industry, but to the limelight scenario of being a rescuer. Feinberg has been working under another agency– specialized on underground work– for some years now, he is a new transfer, and the whole point of this interview is introducing him as the new in field partner to Couriway, one of their most popular rescuers, and the reason why Poundy has alt twitter accounts logged on his office work computer.
So that's why it needs to be perfect, their agency is throwing an unknown small town bar singer to perform with Justin Bieber circa 2012 and asking for it to pretty please do not turn into a supernova.
And it is, much to Poundy's bafflement and surprise, going surprisingly well.
Feinberg needs a bit of camera training, needs more smiles, and less I will murder you vibes, but he is good; doesn't waver in his answers, looks nonchalant in a way that has Poundy wincing thinking about what the market team will do to sell this poor guy to sponsors, and overall it looks like this will be just a normal interview.
And it is at that thought that it went to hell.
It's normal for reporters to assume Poundy will not know everything that goes into the uncut footage. He is in a room, the reporter and Fein are in a completely different other.
He gave her the fear of God earlier, but it was clearly not enough because obviously she had to ask questions that were not agreed upon.
“So, nullify?” The reporter asks, her legs are crossed, and there is a sly smile on her face.
They didn't agree on power talking, this is the type of thing they have on file, but a topic Poundy thinks is better discussed after the first rescues with the agency are done, almost like a proof of concept to the public.
Fein raises one of his eyebrows, crossing his arms over the pink and blue jacket he is wearing– civilian clothes, but close enough to the color pattern of his suit, so people can recognize him from the tv to the field. He nods, his expression doesn't betray anything but boredom. “That's my power.”
“Being able to erase other people's powers…” She pinches her lips, her tone is sweet to the point of feeling fake. “Is truly a power I never thought I would see on the field.”
“Nullify.” Feinberg corrects, before snapping his mouth shut, probably thinking over his words before talking more. “I make people's powers null– temporarily. You can't erase people's powers, they are not pencil scratches."
Poundy has known Feinberg for a total of one week and he can hear the “You dumbass” that would have followed this phrase if this wasn't an official interview.
Poundy is half tempted to snap back to his body so he can call the interview out, but he also knows he should probably just let her dig her own grave. He can kinda see where she is going, and he doesn’t like it.
“Well–” She cleans her throat, a bit taken aback with how fast Fein was to correct her. “It is a unique power for sure, do you think it will bring you problems when working with other rescuers?”
Feinberg raises an eyebrow. “How so?”
Great, so Fein is also letting her dig her own grave. Good to know they both share the desire to see someone putting themselves ablaze.
“Well…” She stretches her words, whatever she is trying to bait out of Fein it's clearly not working. “It does sound like a liability to risk having another's rescuers powers era– nullified in camp, your power works at range right?”
Poundy feels like giggling, he can't because his actual body would do it, looking and sounding like a lunatic if anyone was close by, but it's hilarious how Fein stares at the reporter as if she is the dumbest person he ever had the displeasure to talk with. It's not even in an ugly filthy way, it's in a way a restaurant chef would look at someone eating flour and raw eggs and claiming it’s bread.
“My partner is Couriway.” He says as if it explains everything. The reporter stare is kinda blank, and Fein looks like he really wants to verbally insult her right now. “I can't unmake someone's arms, I can't just unmake Couri's wings, limbs are supposed to stay attached, you know?”
“But don't you think it will set a bad example for the public?” She snaps with the next question as fast as her last inquiry answer was over.
Oh, she has a shovel in her hands, and she doesn't realize the grave she dug has her name on it.
“Using my power to save people?” Fein sounds almost innocent when saying that, he also looks like he wants to punch her nose out of her face, and the only reason Poundy knows that, it's because he also wants to do that.
“Using a bad power in front of normal people. People are worried it may incite more power violence–”
And Poundy is back to his body in a snap.
The world is a blur or colours that make no sense, it always is, he doesn't need time to adapt, used to going from seeing everything, to seeing nothing in a snap of fingers.
He is now more focused on grabbing his cellphone, unlocking it using his face and navigating it in a way only a blind man with occasional otherworldly vision can.
Poundy is here at work, and Goddammit he will do his work.
First thing, request per review of the footage before editing is even considered; done.
Blacklisting that reporter from ever working with them again, and highly suggest to other friend agencies to do the same; done.
Requesting Nerdi for the paperwork he needs to fill over his now justified use of power while doing his job; done.
Three things, he did it all in less than five minutes. A new PB perhaps?
Poundy is a fast typer when he wants to be and a professional spiteful bastard all the days of the week, he just lost some time briefly glancing over his own shoulders looking for grammar mistakes before sending the messages, snapping back on his body, and starting the dominoes that would ruin that reporter’s carrier.
Bad Power.
He has to grit his teeth, to quell his anger.
It's so stupid, the fact that people arbitrarily decided what is a good or bad power, it's stupid in so many degrees he can't even start.
He remembers well, going from the kid with very bad eyesight, to the creepy and dangerous kid, because apparently he can spy on you through walls.
Poundcake learned how to live as if he isn’t blind, master his powers to be able to have a normal life without any pity party or waste of time, just to have these same powers being the reason he was labeled a creep in his old town.
And he will not deny, he does give people reason to think that. What will he do? Not flirt with Silver when their fingers touch while passing the coffee, or god forbid he not call Couri daddy, when bro is just standing there like that?
But that has nothing to do with his powers, and more with people not getting his clever and sophisticated sense of humor.
So Poundy is angry, because not only this reporter just blew up a perfect and normal debut interview, it now feels personal.
So yeah, he will ruin her career, no regret there, wouldn't be the first time, wouldn't be the last. People make fun of him for being bad at everything, but there is a reason he is the head of PR at HBG.
His phone buzzes, the interview is supposedly over. He snaps out of his body, looking over the room and the path he will need to make to meet Feinberg at the entrance, so they can take an uber back to the agency and never step foot at this station again.
It's a bunch of corridors, not enough people to make him worry about stumbling on someone, and a short cut through an empty room that will get him some good minutes in Fein so the other can spot him and not the contrary.
So he gets up, looking to have total confidence as he walks blindly through the corridors of the building. He has done this game for a long time now, only stopping and ‘looking’ around during turns and intersections, making sure his route is on par.
And then he makes it to the short cut, opening and closing the door to what he is almost sure used to be a storage for clothes before being emptied for some reason, there are marks on the ground, and weirdly bare walls that kinda indicate it. It feels like the place workers would sneak to smoke without going outside, it does smell like it.
He makes the motion to leave his body again, just to check around, but as fast as he is out he is already back, forcefully rubber banded back to his own body. The roughness of it hits him hard, his head spins, and he leans against the door he just closed, hand over his mouth, because he isn’t sure if he will vomit or not.
“Shit.” He hears steps approaching him. “Fuck, Poundcake?”
“Call me Poundy, bro.” He gags, hunching to the side, ready to throw up, but holding it last minute. “What the fuck?” He groans, closing his eyes, and holding his stomach.
“Sorry, fuck.” He hears Feinberg stomping his foot. “My power shouldn't make you nauseated like that.”
He sounds even closer, his hand touches Poundy's shoulder and he startles, at least he can blame his eyes being closed for not noticing how close the other rescuer is.
“By your schedule you should be at the makeup boot, taking it off. Not here.” Poundy points out instead of admitting, that he was just flung back into his body so harshly it gave him motion sickness.
“Fuck this shit, bro.” He hears Feinberg stomp his feet again. “I am out of here, she got her interview.”
“She got fired.” Poundy grumbles, the nausea is subsiding, at least.
He can kinda guess he got Feinberg with his powers activated out of anger, it's in his file, he does that, didn't mean Poundy knew it would slingshot him like that.
At least it's off now. He doesn't try using them, but he knows he has his powers back, the same way he knows that wasn't what Feinberg was expecting to hear.
“What.” Feinberg sounds a bit shocked. Poundy smiles, Feinberg doesn't know why he was sent with him.
“We've met already, but let me introduce myself to you again.”
He raises a hand, the direction he heard the voice coming from, barely peeking out of his body to make sure he isn’t making a fool out of himself like he did sometimes in the past.
“The name is President Poundcake, Sub rescuer and best PR you can get assigned to you.” He winks, hopefully in Feinberg's direction. “My power is astral projection, and I watched that entire interview, that woman is cooked.”
He hears a snort, Feinberg shakes his hand, sounding baffled, yet relieved. “Bang, man.”
He sounds a bit tired, interviews can get tiring, stressful to an unreasonable degree, and Feinberg sounds like he needs a nap, not the paper work that Poundy knows they both have to fill when back to office.
“Wanna go grab coffee before going back? You got us an extra thirty minutes ditching the makeup.” That's the minimum he can offer after failing when vetting the goddamn interviewer. Not that he had a way of knowing the piece of shit opinions that interviewer holds.
Feinberg snorts, Poundy assumes he nods at him. “I know a place, I can get us there. Do you got a car?”
“I got uber, and HBG's credit card.”
“Works for me.”