Meteor the Muscle ft. Mithras

The younger Crooks swarmed over Mithras, their many hands tugging and buttoning and zipping up the costume they’d elected for him to wear. 

Complying, sheerly because Idris would not appreciate the mess of his adamant refusal to be stuffed into a costume for a holiday he didn’t believe in and could care less about, Mithras remained stock still, rumbling a warning growl whenever someone’s enthusiasm became too much. 

“Wow he really does look like Meteor. Good call!” Said one of the Crooks, a young one that had formed as recently as last year. They were speaking to an older Crook, who was almost ready to venture out of New Paths on their own. 

“I’m telling you, his horns are just too perfect. It’s like they made the character after seeing him.” The older Crook responded. 

Mithras, lending nothing to the conversation, finally rose and shook the busybodies off of him. Landing harmlessly, they giggled, but stayed away when Mithras swished his tail in warning. Under the dull red tassles, a bronze point could be seen, which was something not to be trifled with. 

He headed toward the mirror, wanting to take stock of exactly how ridiculous he appeared. 

What Mithras saw made his stomach flip-flop. The suit hid all signs of his battle-tattered fur, and dull coloring. It was bright gold and blue, with markings commonly used in media to indicate a Crook. The visor hid his face perfectly, and his horns, polished to a shine, matched the suit. He looked like a different Crook, a younger one. Someone who could lead, someone who would fight. 

He swished his tail again, ears bouncing down, then back. “Hmph.” 

With nothing but his seeming sigh of disapproval, he headed out of the room, and out to the gathering area, waiting for all the young ones to get ready. 

He was only supposed to be their chaperone, but they’d insisted he be costumed as well. A community vote had gone up in the New Path’s intranet, and in short order, his costume had been decided, sized and ordered for him. They didn’t even give him time to refuse, or argue. 

Which meant they must have consulted Idris. 

Though they often shared similar sentiments to the tomfoolery the young ones could get up to, it seemed that this time, Idris was feeling a little mischievous. 

She was always doing things to make sure he could shake off that purposeless feeling, so he couldn’t really be mad at her. 

As the younglings began to stream in, costumed up, they crowded by him, taking pictures and videos. 

“We’re here with Meteor the Muscle from the Heavenly Bodies Sentai Rangers!” 

It might as well have been a different language they spoke, but feeling like he could indulge the young ones this one time, he brought his thick arms up, flexing them and puffing out his chest just a few seconds before the digital shutters snapped. 

The uproarious disbelief and gratitude he was met with was almost worth it.