In which an altogether different kind of Shard arrives on Earth Bet
A Grand and Glorious Painting (Worm CYOA)
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Dean.1
Patrolling was something Dean enjoyed. He knew that most of the time, the Wards were sent along the safe routes, and others chafed at that. He did sometimes as well, but he also enjoyed simply talking to people. So when he and one of the other Wards walked the boardwalk, he did his best to engage the public. It was their job and, at least to him, a way to try and make them feel better.
"Here you go, ma'am," he said as he handed back a small scrap of paper to an older woman who glowed a steady yellow. She smiled down at her daughter and handed the paper to her. Her daughter peeked out around her mother's legs, and her cheeks shined a bright red as she flickered between a brilliant yellow and almost neon pink. Dean's smile strained slightly at that, thankful his face was hidden behind his helmet.
Thankfully, crushes were not the most common, but that didn't mean they were uncommon. However, he knew that the girl didn't mean anything, so he nodded at her, causing her to dart behind her mother, glowing an even more brilliant pink.
He was thankful when Dennis walked over from where he had been showing off his powers, freezing a pencil as he went to write with it and then struggling to try and continue writing. His fellow Ward gleamed with a faint green-blue as he stopped beside Dean and leaned on him, provoking chuckles from the small crowd that had grown around them.
"I'm afraid we have to continue on our way," Dean said, his voice sounding tinny to his ears. It had taken him time to get used to it, but he knew that it sounded better to the crowd.
"Yes, yes, I'm afraid we have things to get to. Like paperwork, and more paperwork," Dennis said, laying his hands across his face as he swooned dramatically. Dean kept himself ready just in case he dropped into his arms; he had done that a few times before. Thankfully, he didn't do it this time, so the two Wards headed further down the boardwalk with no more interruptions.
Dean then blinked as he saw a massive shadow, one that was a deep, viscous magenta. He winced; it was much thicker than anybody else he had seen in a while, or at least outside of mentally disturbed people. They, however, tended to be more reds and oranges, with a few being closer to pale blue. Magenta, being related to art as far as he could tell, was more commonly an addendum to other feelings. He had never seen such a pure feeling of art before, so he started to speed up slightly.
"Everything alright?" Dennis asked in a low tone, keeping his voice out of earshot of anybody around them. He wasn't always a joker and knew when to tamp down, which Dean appreciated.
"I'm not sure; I'm seeing something strange. I want to make sure it's fine," Dean replied, receiving a nod from his fellow Ward as they turned the corner into a large crowd. It was larger than the group of people that had met him and Dennis. They were abruptly soaked in the blue of awe.
"Pardon me, coming through," Dean said as he started to work his way through the crowd. This was a bit more concerning now; it could be a masterful street performance, as this close to the PHQ, any sort of parahuman crime would be downright stupid.
Emerging from the crowd, Dean saw a younger man, perhaps nineteen or twenty, with long brown hair that trailed down his back. He wore a simple white robe covering most of his body, leaving his chest open and his feet bare. However, most noticeable of all was held in his right hand a paintbrush he was using to paint the PHQ, the brush gliding over the painting, conjuring paint from seemingly thin air as formerly blank canvas was filled in.
Dean had seen artwork in his time, and he could easily tell that it put all of what he had seen to shame. However, he was also a Ward, and while part of him bemoaned having to interpret the man from his work, it was also his job to make sure that everything was okay.
"Hello, sir. How are you doing?" he asked, walking over to the man. It felt like he was walking through a thick liquid as the weight of his magenta emotions weighed down on him like physical pressure; this was the sort of thing he had only seen from people he had been forced to subdue with his own power, increasing his worry.
"Hello, sir?" he asked, gently resting his hand on the man's shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dennis engaging the crowd. He mentally thanked the redhead for drawing attention away from him with his antics.
"Ah, hello," the painter said, turning to face him. Dean was only stopped from flinching back by his armor as eyes of the purest magenta peered at him. His emotions flickered slightly as curiosity bubbled up, only to be swiftly crushed under the weight of art.
"How are you doing?" Dean asked, rallying himself. Given the sheer weight of the emotion, he was beginning to suspect some sort of mastering, but this man hadn't committed a crime yet, so there was no reason to do anything but be polite.
"Fine, a bit strange," the man replied, his voice quiet and spacy; however, his eyes flicked away from Dean and back to the PHQ, and his hand twitched back towards the mostly complete canvas as if he wanted to continue painting.
"If you don't mind me asking, why are you painting the PHQ?" It was best to ask a few simple questions first, and based on the responses, Dean would figure out where to go from there. However, he cleared his throat and spoke under his voice into his helmet, "Possible master victim," he said; there wasn't much more he needed to say as that would get the person on the other side's attention.
"Copy that. Are there any other issues?" Vista responded, and he could hear a few keyboard strokes, likely her letting somebody else know.
"No," Dean replied before going silent as the man responded.
"It just felt right. This place is important; I felt like I should capture it," he told Dean as his paintbrush returned to the canvas, continuing to draw paint from the ether as the PHQ was captured masterfully on canvas.
"I see; if you don't mind me asking, sir, what is your name?" A name was always a good point; if he replied with a civilian name, that would be another tally in the Master victim collum, although it was feeling a bit weak now that Dean was talking to him more. He didn't have much experience with Master victims, but his speaking seemed more indicative of something else, not a parahuman power.
"Virtuosity" was the simple response, with Virtuosity turning to look at him for a moment before turning back to the painting.
Dean decided to do something that might get him in trouble later. Still, it seemed more and more that he was either a parahuman, given his name, absurd talent, and possible enthrallment of the audience, or a victim, given the sheer weight of the singular emotion that pushed out all others, he would take it on the chin.
"If you want a closer look, I might be able to arrange that," he told the man, who stopped for a moment, more emotions flickering to the surface before being crushed once again. However, that curiosity stayed longer this time, with a sliver sticking around.
"That would be nice," Virtuosity softly replied, and as he turned on his heel, the canvas and easel vanished. Dean sucked in a breath as he mentally filled out the column that said parahuman.
"Ah, Gallant!" Dennis said as he strolled up to him, his arms wide and his voice pushing amusement even if Dean could see that he didn't really feel it. "Finally got your portrait done? I knew knights got portraits, and I saw telling everybody how it was just about time."
The crowd laughed a bit as they started to drift apart, with Virtuosity standing behind Dean and peering into the crowd. A shiver went down Dean's spine; it felt like something massive was looming over him. When Dean looked back, it was only the tall, thin, and vaguely homeless-looking Virtuosity.
"Virtuosity here is a parahuman; he seemed interested in headquarters, so I offered to ask if somebody would be willing to arrange that," Dean explained to Dennis and was completely unsurprised when he heard Vista speak.
"The director said it's fine, and they're sending somebody to pick you up," Vista replied. While Dean may not be able to see her, he had been an empath long enough to pick a few things up. Like her distaste for Director Piggot, which was tightly packed away. That wasn't his business, though, so he merely replied.
"Understood, where are we meeting?"
"Just a block down, Miss Militia was nearing the tail end of her patrol."
Dean nodded and turned to face Virtuosity, who had cocked his head and was looking up at a few birds that were flying.
"They said yes, if you would follow me, we can meet up with Miss Militia," Dean told the parahuman, who nodded slowly. He saw more emotions that grew up, but they shuddered under the weight of the all-consuming art that pushed everything aside except for a few small emotions.
The three of them walked, mostly in silence, with Dean and Dennis content to keep an eye on Virtuosity as he looked around at the streets with unbridled curiosity. Soon, they arrived at where Miss Milita would pick them up, although it was more likely that she would be talking with Virtuosity as a van arrived to transport all of them.
A few moments later, Dean heard the roar of a motorbike and saw Miss Militia turn the corner. As always, her aura was heavily colored, a sharp, dark yellow of duty. A few more emotions played out around the edges, but duty was always the prominent one. She swung her leg over the edge of her motorbike and strode over to Virtuosity, offering her hand as she did whatever trick she had to mimic a smile with her lower face covered.
"Good morning, Virtuosity, was it?" she asked politely, shaking his hand, which the man did, his eyes seemingly locked on her face as he nodded.
"Yes, that is my name," he replied in his soft tone of voice, although for a moment, there was a flicker of deep, dark blue—doubt. Dean frowned at that under his helmet but didn't say anything.
"Well, it is good to meet you; I heard you would be interested in seeing the inside of the PHQ?" she asked once again, and this time, dark yellow suspicion curdled at her edges, nothing major but the healthy paranoia that kept people alive.
"I..." he trailed off, looking back towards the boardwalk and the ocean beyond that. "I'm not sure. It just felt like I should capture it before it's gone."
A deep melancholy flickered through a tiny portion of Virtuosity's emotions before fading to the background. Dean made another note on his mental list; he knew that he'd have to give a rudimentary report on what he saw, so it was best to commit it now.
"Well, it's not going to be going anywhere for some time," Miss Militia replied, reaching out, and, after Virtuosity didn't move away, gently clapped him on the shoulder, "Speaking off going anywhere, that's the van."
She said that a PRT van had turned the corner and parked right next to them. A trooper emerged, not holding any of the weapons that would be used when attempting to apprehend a criminal, and politely waved in greeting.
"You can go with them. I'll meet you at the headquarters and show you around," Miss Militia contained, and when Virtuosity moved towards the van, she did the same towards her bike.
With that, Dean and Dennis entered the van behind Virtuosity, and soon, the three of them and the trooper in the back were speeding towards the headquarters floating in the bay.
Author's Note: I've been rereading some of my old favorites when I stumbled on Prison of Glass (again). That was a great story, so I decided to try to write something similar. (As in a Self-Insert entirely from other people's perspective)
"Here you go, ma'am," he said as he handed back a small scrap of paper to an older woman who glowed a steady yellow. She smiled down at her daughter and handed the paper to her. Her daughter peeked out around her mother's legs, and her cheeks shined a bright red as she flickered between a brilliant yellow and almost neon pink. Dean's smile strained slightly at that, thankful his face was hidden behind his helmet.
Thankfully, crushes were not the most common, but that didn't mean they were uncommon. However, he knew that the girl didn't mean anything, so he nodded at her, causing her to dart behind her mother, glowing an even more brilliant pink.
He was thankful when Dennis walked over from where he had been showing off his powers, freezing a pencil as he went to write with it and then struggling to try and continue writing. His fellow Ward gleamed with a faint green-blue as he stopped beside Dean and leaned on him, provoking chuckles from the small crowd that had grown around them.
"I'm afraid we have to continue on our way," Dean said, his voice sounding tinny to his ears. It had taken him time to get used to it, but he knew that it sounded better to the crowd.
"Yes, yes, I'm afraid we have things to get to. Like paperwork, and more paperwork," Dennis said, laying his hands across his face as he swooned dramatically. Dean kept himself ready just in case he dropped into his arms; he had done that a few times before. Thankfully, he didn't do it this time, so the two Wards headed further down the boardwalk with no more interruptions.
Dean then blinked as he saw a massive shadow, one that was a deep, viscous magenta. He winced; it was much thicker than anybody else he had seen in a while, or at least outside of mentally disturbed people. They, however, tended to be more reds and oranges, with a few being closer to pale blue. Magenta, being related to art as far as he could tell, was more commonly an addendum to other feelings. He had never seen such a pure feeling of art before, so he started to speed up slightly.
"Everything alright?" Dennis asked in a low tone, keeping his voice out of earshot of anybody around them. He wasn't always a joker and knew when to tamp down, which Dean appreciated.
"I'm not sure; I'm seeing something strange. I want to make sure it's fine," Dean replied, receiving a nod from his fellow Ward as they turned the corner into a large crowd. It was larger than the group of people that had met him and Dennis. They were abruptly soaked in the blue of awe.
"Pardon me, coming through," Dean said as he started to work his way through the crowd. This was a bit more concerning now; it could be a masterful street performance, as this close to the PHQ, any sort of parahuman crime would be downright stupid.
Emerging from the crowd, Dean saw a younger man, perhaps nineteen or twenty, with long brown hair that trailed down his back. He wore a simple white robe covering most of his body, leaving his chest open and his feet bare. However, most noticeable of all was held in his right hand a paintbrush he was using to paint the PHQ, the brush gliding over the painting, conjuring paint from seemingly thin air as formerly blank canvas was filled in.
Dean had seen artwork in his time, and he could easily tell that it put all of what he had seen to shame. However, he was also a Ward, and while part of him bemoaned having to interpret the man from his work, it was also his job to make sure that everything was okay.
"Hello, sir. How are you doing?" he asked, walking over to the man. It felt like he was walking through a thick liquid as the weight of his magenta emotions weighed down on him like physical pressure; this was the sort of thing he had only seen from people he had been forced to subdue with his own power, increasing his worry.
"Hello, sir?" he asked, gently resting his hand on the man's shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dennis engaging the crowd. He mentally thanked the redhead for drawing attention away from him with his antics.
"Ah, hello," the painter said, turning to face him. Dean was only stopped from flinching back by his armor as eyes of the purest magenta peered at him. His emotions flickered slightly as curiosity bubbled up, only to be swiftly crushed under the weight of art.
"How are you doing?" Dean asked, rallying himself. Given the sheer weight of the emotion, he was beginning to suspect some sort of mastering, but this man hadn't committed a crime yet, so there was no reason to do anything but be polite.
"Fine, a bit strange," the man replied, his voice quiet and spacy; however, his eyes flicked away from Dean and back to the PHQ, and his hand twitched back towards the mostly complete canvas as if he wanted to continue painting.
"If you don't mind me asking, why are you painting the PHQ?" It was best to ask a few simple questions first, and based on the responses, Dean would figure out where to go from there. However, he cleared his throat and spoke under his voice into his helmet, "Possible master victim," he said; there wasn't much more he needed to say as that would get the person on the other side's attention.
"Copy that. Are there any other issues?" Vista responded, and he could hear a few keyboard strokes, likely her letting somebody else know.
"No," Dean replied before going silent as the man responded.
"It just felt right. This place is important; I felt like I should capture it," he told Dean as his paintbrush returned to the canvas, continuing to draw paint from the ether as the PHQ was captured masterfully on canvas.
"I see; if you don't mind me asking, sir, what is your name?" A name was always a good point; if he replied with a civilian name, that would be another tally in the Master victim collum, although it was feeling a bit weak now that Dean was talking to him more. He didn't have much experience with Master victims, but his speaking seemed more indicative of something else, not a parahuman power.
"Virtuosity" was the simple response, with Virtuosity turning to look at him for a moment before turning back to the painting.
Dean decided to do something that might get him in trouble later. Still, it seemed more and more that he was either a parahuman, given his name, absurd talent, and possible enthrallment of the audience, or a victim, given the sheer weight of the singular emotion that pushed out all others, he would take it on the chin.
"If you want a closer look, I might be able to arrange that," he told the man, who stopped for a moment, more emotions flickering to the surface before being crushed once again. However, that curiosity stayed longer this time, with a sliver sticking around.
"That would be nice," Virtuosity softly replied, and as he turned on his heel, the canvas and easel vanished. Dean sucked in a breath as he mentally filled out the column that said parahuman.
"Ah, Gallant!" Dennis said as he strolled up to him, his arms wide and his voice pushing amusement even if Dean could see that he didn't really feel it. "Finally got your portrait done? I knew knights got portraits, and I saw telling everybody how it was just about time."
The crowd laughed a bit as they started to drift apart, with Virtuosity standing behind Dean and peering into the crowd. A shiver went down Dean's spine; it felt like something massive was looming over him. When Dean looked back, it was only the tall, thin, and vaguely homeless-looking Virtuosity.
"Virtuosity here is a parahuman; he seemed interested in headquarters, so I offered to ask if somebody would be willing to arrange that," Dean explained to Dennis and was completely unsurprised when he heard Vista speak.
"The director said it's fine, and they're sending somebody to pick you up," Vista replied. While Dean may not be able to see her, he had been an empath long enough to pick a few things up. Like her distaste for Director Piggot, which was tightly packed away. That wasn't his business, though, so he merely replied.
"Understood, where are we meeting?"
"Just a block down, Miss Militia was nearing the tail end of her patrol."
Dean nodded and turned to face Virtuosity, who had cocked his head and was looking up at a few birds that were flying.
"They said yes, if you would follow me, we can meet up with Miss Militia," Dean told the parahuman, who nodded slowly. He saw more emotions that grew up, but they shuddered under the weight of the all-consuming art that pushed everything aside except for a few small emotions.
The three of them walked, mostly in silence, with Dean and Dennis content to keep an eye on Virtuosity as he looked around at the streets with unbridled curiosity. Soon, they arrived at where Miss Milita would pick them up, although it was more likely that she would be talking with Virtuosity as a van arrived to transport all of them.
A few moments later, Dean heard the roar of a motorbike and saw Miss Militia turn the corner. As always, her aura was heavily colored, a sharp, dark yellow of duty. A few more emotions played out around the edges, but duty was always the prominent one. She swung her leg over the edge of her motorbike and strode over to Virtuosity, offering her hand as she did whatever trick she had to mimic a smile with her lower face covered.
"Good morning, Virtuosity, was it?" she asked politely, shaking his hand, which the man did, his eyes seemingly locked on her face as he nodded.
"Yes, that is my name," he replied in his soft tone of voice, although for a moment, there was a flicker of deep, dark blue—doubt. Dean frowned at that under his helmet but didn't say anything.
"Well, it is good to meet you; I heard you would be interested in seeing the inside of the PHQ?" she asked once again, and this time, dark yellow suspicion curdled at her edges, nothing major but the healthy paranoia that kept people alive.
"I..." he trailed off, looking back towards the boardwalk and the ocean beyond that. "I'm not sure. It just felt like I should capture it before it's gone."
A deep melancholy flickered through a tiny portion of Virtuosity's emotions before fading to the background. Dean made another note on his mental list; he knew that he'd have to give a rudimentary report on what he saw, so it was best to commit it now.
"Well, it's not going to be going anywhere for some time," Miss Militia replied, reaching out, and, after Virtuosity didn't move away, gently clapped him on the shoulder, "Speaking off going anywhere, that's the van."
She said that a PRT van had turned the corner and parked right next to them. A trooper emerged, not holding any of the weapons that would be used when attempting to apprehend a criminal, and politely waved in greeting.
"You can go with them. I'll meet you at the headquarters and show you around," Miss Militia contained, and when Virtuosity moved towards the van, she did the same towards her bike.
With that, Dean and Dennis entered the van behind Virtuosity, and soon, the three of them and the trooper in the back were speeding towards the headquarters floating in the bay.
Author's Note: I've been rereading some of my old favorites when I stumbled on Prison of Glass (again). That was a great story, so I decided to try to write something similar. (As in a Self-Insert entirely from other people's perspective)
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