She gave a tiny frown, and it only made her lovelier. "I… I'm afraid you've got it wrong, my beloved First Man. This evening is for the dreamers, the ones who act, who write, who direct."
"Fuck me sideways, no wonder every bastard here's prancing like a peacock on meth. Ah, Hollywood… yeah, some foggy brain cells just flickered. You got the acoustic couch and those kiddie diddlers? Shit, I'm surrounded by the opposite of nerds."
"..."
"No, I don't believe so. But we do have communist problems."
"Communists? Hold the fuck up, is Stalin still breathing? That shit-stache still owes me a hundred high-IQ Russian beauties, the bastard," Marshall snarled. "Anyway, you said movies? Shoulda dragged Marty's ass here. Wait. Holy shit. I need to make a goddamn movie. Baby Jesus on water, listen! Batshit alien invasion, cowboys, dinosaur, balls-to-the-wall action insanity."
"..."
The woman lost count of how many times she was left speechless.
"That sounds…"
"Hell yeah!" Marshall barked and rose to his feet. The entire theater thundered into silence, the same for the stage.
"I'll make the most badass movie. I'll do every single stunt myself. Shoot me square in the face with live rounds, I dare you! No fake CGI horseshit, everything real. Shit, I need Gamora to kidnap some actual space freaks too. Throw in my goddamn mammoths! Hela can float shit around with her mind and… Holy fuck, this is gonna be a blood-soaked masterpiece!"
The woman smiled and stood up as well, not looking around as everyone's gaze made her nervous. "If it's you, I doubt it'll be a problem."
"Damn right. Who makes the best movies these days?" Marshall asked.
"MGM, I believe. They're the top of the heap right now. But I happen to be signed with Twentieth Century Fox."
Marshall hummed, rubbing his beard. "MGM. Why'd I picture a fucking lion? Fuck it, doesn't matter. From now on, the logo is Marty's ugly mug forever. I'll buy it… What's your name?"
"I'm Marilyn Monroe, First Man. The pleasure's all mine." She gave a sweet, graceful little bow.
Marshall nodded and patted her naked shoulder. "You're gonna be the lead actress beside me. Don't worry, I'll throw you in the sky, we'll do all the stunts, crazy ones. Wait, you got a manager or something—"
"Yes, I accept! I'll do it, First Man. Honestly, I'm just starting to be noticed. Fame hasn't quite found me yet. I still have so much to prove, so many years ahead. Working with you would be an honor, both because I follow the faith of the First Man and because it would mean everything to my career."
Marshall clapped his hands so hard that the people around him covered their ears. "Done! Fucking done! I'm gonna hunt down someone to be my assistant. Clear your goddamn calendar, you're about to become world-famous… Shit, maybe galaxy-famous. Wait… can I just beam this crap to other planets? Fuck it, why not? See you around."
With that, he flew away, over the seats and towards the exit. He quickly got out and walked the same red carpet. The cameras started flashing instantly, but he didn't leave this time. He kept looking at the photographers.
Soon enough, one of the young photographers stopped clicking pictures and voiced. "F-First Man? Can I help you with something?"
Marshall grinned. "There's my little good boy. Come here, son."
The nerdy boy couldn't have been older than twenty. But that didn't matter. Marshall saw the boy struggling, so he just levitated him and brought him over.
Pat!
Finally, he smacked the boy on the shoulder.
"Listen up, you glorious little meat-sack, you're my assistant now. And together we're gonna shit out the most batshit, universe-crushing, popcorn-gargling blockbuster the multiverse never asked for. Let's fuckin' go."
"W-What?"
Honk!
Before the boy could ask him anything, a horn rang from the road. He turned and found a roofless car, driven by a thin man with an equally thin mustache, looking all intelligent. Marshall's nerd radar was working. In the passenger seat was the tall, strong, one and only Captain Rogers.
"Right on time! I needed a ride." Marshall barked and dragged his new assistant with him. "Steven, son, will you invest in my movie?"
"..."
While Captain America was speechless, the driver chirped. "I will! I'll fund it whole!"
"Who the fuck are you?" Marshall asked.
"Sorry for the intrusion. I'm Howard Stark, founder of Stark Industries."
Marshall frowned and scratched his head. "Did you build something with scraps in a cave?"
"Not that I can remember."
"Hmmm… my goddamn brain. Let's go."
####
Marshall didn't plan to, but the Stark boy drove them to his mansion. Being a sucker for new tastes and foods, he eventually accepted the invitation. Strangely enough, the cooks had prepared everything already, as if they knew that he was coming beforehand.
"You're a Dinosian? The hell are you doing here then? Seems to be a waste of a good nerd."
"Ha. Guilty as charged, I'm a nerd. The difference is, I'm the kind of nerd who turns ideas into cash. Those boys on Dinosia? Happy just running experiments and writing papers. Me? I build things that shake the world, put them into production, and yeah… make a fortune doing it."
Marshall just nodded. He never understood the concept of earning money. He just had whatever he wanted at all times. Dinosia was rich on its own as well.
"And you?" Marshall looked at Steven, sitting stiffly in civilian clothes and not that tight ass-clenching uniform. "What have you been up to?"
"Got married, have a son, serving the country still," Steven replied.
"Sweet. Who did you marry?"
"She fought alongside me in the war. Name's Peggy. That's what everyone calls her. Her full name is Margaret. She received the serum after me."
Marshall hummed, frowned, and then shrugged. "Can't remember."
"What's this movie you want to make?" Howard chimed in, as if trying to change the topic. "Never figured a god would be interested in that."
"Why the hell not? I'm bored out of my goddamn skull. This time I've got a real vision and a story. Just gotta scrape the shit off it and bam! Instant blockbuster. Might even drag some Asgardians in for cameos. Odin already looks like a grumpy old war-god prick. Zeus could play a solid dickhead villain. And Lady Death, hold the fuck up, didn't that pale-ass goddess get knocked up by me? What the shit happened to our kid?"
"..."
Howard Stark and Steven Rogers watched the ancient god speak to himself, riddles that got answered by the god himself.
"You have a kid with who?!" Howard exclaimed.
"Pale chick, pretty hot, old, I guess, but still hot... You wouldn't know, not before dying."
"You fucked death?" Howard asked further.
"I sure did. Hela is also called the Goddess of Death, though. What does that make my kid? Half-death? Death ultra?"
"..."
The two men seemed to realise there was a level to a man's insanity, and this level was too high for them.
"Sir, First Man… What happened before you vanished? Who was that in the sky?" Steven asked, getting back to the topic. "We know it was someone powerful called an Aspirant. But we don't exactly know what that means. If such a threat comes again—"
"You're fucked. Kid, that thing is older than this whole universe and six more before it," Marshall replied nonchalantly. "Judging by Stark's dumbass gaping mouth, you had no goddamn clue, huh? The universe is just one long circle-jerk that eventually blows its load and dies. That sky-thing is a leftover from Universe Numero Uno, and it's itching to drag the original big-dick cosmic asshole, personification of the first universe, back into play."
"W-Wha-What? What? Huh? Personification of what now?" Howard exclaimed. "That makes no sense."
Marshall laughed at their dumb faces. "It ain't supposed to."
"Please, Sir. Help us understand it, at least," Steven pleaded.
Marshall nodded and looked at the upright man. "Weird. The whole planet's out here chanting 'First Man' or 'Your Holiness' like I'm the second coming with better hair. Then you stroll up and drop a plain old 'Sir' on me."
"There is only one true god, Sir—"
"Ah? Jesus?" Marshall blurted, leaning back in the chair. "Hah, who'd have thought that little snot-nosed gremlin would turn into a goddamn legend? Kid was cute as fuck, though."
"..."
Howard Stark and Steven Rogers exchanged glances.
"By 'that kid' you mean….?" Howard asked, curiously leaning in.
Steven Rogers was the same.
Marshall shrugged. "Jesus, who else? Fine kid, didn't cry much. His mom and dad came to me to hide from some retard king. I couldn't be bothered to babysit, so I just killed the king and his kingdom. Marty was caught fucking a house there, never gonna forget that shit."
"You know Joseph and Mary?" Steven exclaimed.
"T-Rex fucked a house?" Howard was the same, for a different reason.
"Yes and abso-fucking-lutely yes. Heh. Marty's carrying this embarrassment to his goddamn grave. Sucker."
Somewhere, out there, a certain T-Rex sneezed on a poor baby mammoth.
####
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