I'm guessing that Roma's family (or perhaps just herself) was under some kind of debt-bondage, with the logic being she had signed away her rights and the enchantments focused on obedience are justified along the lines of a magical NDA given her apparent proximity to her mistress.
EDIT: Canonically, Akua has a whipping-girl that she is forced to ritually sacrifice and that seems to be a standard lesson in Praesi noble upbringings.
Eh, seems pretty likely. While slavery is technically outlawed in Praes, they do use humans as commodities (ie. blood sacrifice is practically an industry there), which when combined with bog-standard aristocratic coercion basically amounts to the same thing.
As for whether this is something that actually happened to Roma? I'd also say that seems likely - she appears to be reasonably genre-savvy (though not to the same extent as Black) and should therefore recognize that deceiving Taylor to such a degree will just result in Taylor inevitably finding out at the worst possible moment.
Roma knows that one of the best ways to get people invested in your welfare or make friends is to share something deeply personal. Talyor can't use this knowledge to hurt Roma in any way so the only reason Roma wouldn't share it is if she felt insecure about her past and Roma doesn't feel insecure about anything. That's like half her motivation for becoming a villain.
Oh, I think she is. She just doesn't want to be so blatant about it she gets caught (at least until Taylor wouldn't mind) but yeah, that's the whole "her constantly saying Danny is a terrible parent" thing is about. Taylor in this story is already notably more hostile and bitter towards Danny than in canon.
Not quite sure what Roma's angle is with the pastels tho. Faking distancing between her and Taylor seems like it would be a mistake - despite her statement otherwise, her and Taylor aren't fully aligned (yet, maybe), and faked division can turn into actual division.
Maybe Taylor will accidentally slot herself into "creepy young girl villain" like Bonesaw, but she seems a bit old for it. Or maybe it'll set up for an unexpected betrayal.
Eh, seems pretty likely. While slavery is technically outlawed in Praes, they do use humans as commodities (ie. blood sacrifice is practically an industry there), which when combined with bog-standard aristocratic coercion basically amounts to the same thing.
Yeah, like even today, even though slavery is outlawed, you still have a fair number of them popping up in the USA via really bizarre twisting of multiple laws, regulations, and guidelines.
Not quite sure what Roma's angle is with the pastels tho. Faking distancing between her and Taylor seems like it would be a mistake - despite her statement otherwise, her and Taylor aren't fully aligned (yet, maybe), and faked division can turn into actual division.
Maybe Taylor will accidentally slot herself into "creepy young girl villain" like Bonesaw, but she seems a bit old for it. Or maybe it'll set up for an unexpected betrayal.
Yeah, like even today, even though slavery is outlawed, you still have a fair number of them popping up in the USA via really bizarre twisting of multiple laws, regulations, and guidelines.
It's not even that bizarre, at least in the US: the amendment that "abolished slavery" allowed for it as a punishment for crime. On a completely unrelated note, the USA's first prison boom happened in the years following the Civil War. Wonder why that is...
I'm guessing that Roma's family (or perhaps just herself) was under some kind of debt-bondage, with the logic being she had signed away her rights and the enchantments focused on obedience are justified along the lines of a magical NDA given her apparent proximity to her mistress.
EDIT: Canonically, Akua has a whipping-girl that she is forced to ritually sacrifice and that seems to be a standard lesson in Praesi noble upbringings.
Worse than just that, IIRC she was her cradle sister, and the one that would get punished for every mistake Akua made, in the end she had to slit her throat and because she hesitated/trembled the cut was shallow so suffered longer. Ofcourse she had to watch till the end.
It wasn't so much a standard Praesi lesson but a Sahelian one. I *think* it was just for the mainbranch of the family but it has been a while.
-
As for Roma's backstory I believe its true for the simple reason that in story logic any lie would get revealed in the most inopportune moment.
The backstory also fits the Narrative of the Tower and specifically the Song associated with it.
You know, "The Girl Who Climbed The Tower"
There was once a girl without a name,
There was a tower no one could claim
No one remembers why she has climbed,
Or all those she must have left behind.
Also, it fits Malicia's whole backstory which has some nice narrative resonance.
This story is a lot of fun, and Roma is such an interesting snarl to untangle. The interlude with her was brilliant, suddenly emphasizing the imbalance in one-way mind reading which I hadn't even noticed until they point. It's made me suspicious of every interaction between them since, in the best way.
Also one thing I keep wondering is: did Roma keep de-facto slaves herself, after ascending? Did Roma genuinely make any effort to break the system she rose above, or did she just co-opt it?
Also one thing I keep wondering is: did Roma keep de-facto slaves herself, after ascending? Did Roma genuinely make any effort to break the system she rose above, or did she just co-opt it?
We don't have information on what she did in canon, but it's a near certainty she just co-opted it. No matter what she sais about Heroes, Villains and their respective philosophy, the truth is that the overwhelming majority of the later aren't good people. Dread Emperors tend to be even worse, and I doubt she was one of the kinder ones.
Also one thing I keep wondering is: did Roma keep de-facto slaves herself, after ascending? Did Roma genuinely make any effort to break the system she rose above, or did she just co-opt it?
That is why i asked if her first words where geniuain,its extremly likely she views her situation more like a glorious crucibel and/or wheetstone then somthing wrong.
We don't have information on what she did in canon, but it's a near certainty she just co-opted it. No matter what she sais about Heroes, Villains and their respective philosophy, the truth is that the overwhelming majority of the later aren't good people. Dread Emperors tend to be even worse, and I doubt she was one of the kinder ones.
"No man is an island, Chancellor. We've tried the ritual, the result is mostly screams."
–Dread Emperor Malignant III
On my own, I would never have picked out a sleeveless white and cornflower blue floral print tiered midi dress—by the time Roma needed that many words to describe an article of clothing, I felt as though it was starting to get rather pretentious. But even if it didn't feel like something I would wear on my own, it did look like the sort of clothing that a conservative family might make their daughter wear. That apparently made it sufficiently 'respectable' to let me wear it to Arcadia, especially with a cream cardigan sweater layered atop it. Matching the cardigan was a little embarrassing, actually; I kept thinking that it was too small, and Roma had needed to repeatedly insist that the sleeves weren't supposed to reach my wrists. I had to wonder just how much people-watching was needed for her to learn that. I didn't think the fashions of her old home were anything like modern styles.
We ran into a problem upon realizing that Roma's plans for my Arcadia clothing and my costume had a disturbing amount of overlap. If my costume was going to end up so similar to normal clothes, then I didn't want to make a habit of wearing the same or similar colors in my civilian ID and in costume. Such similarity was just begging for someone to make the connection. At least the need for contrast let me talk my way into repurposing the blue, white, and cream Arcadia outfit as my costume, and using something else for Arcadia. I could fulfill the respectable requirement with something less bright.
…Even if I wasn't looking forward to fighting evil in something with flowers on it. Unfortunately for me, my certainty that I would look absurd was a bonus. I would appear to be utterly unprepared for Cape life, and that would apparently be associated with the 'innocent' image we were aiming for. At least we could apparently cheat and ensure that dirt and stains would wash out with water alone, or possibly whenever I used Rise if my Aspect worked the way Roma suspected. Magic was such bullshit.
My actual outfit for Arcadia utilized colors I was much more comfortable with, albeit applied in ways that I considered far more dubious. Our compromise of a black drop waist dress with a tiered skirt would have been far better without that last detail, but Roma was insistent that the decorative folds pushed it from sinister into the realm of "cute." I didn't, couldn't do cute—but what I did wasn't working, so I would reluctantly trust Roma's judgment. The accompanying black, white, and gray striped thigh-high socks pushed my tolerance to the breaking point, and I would have rejected both the dress and socks if they hadn't been on sale. I was still planning to metaphorically throw the whole set to the back of my closet once it had served its purpose, but I had expected to do that for basically anything I wore to Arcadia. A cheaper sacrificial outfit was better than a more expensive one.
The price difference became a bit less obvious once we remembered that my forearms and elbows would also be bruised by tomorrow, and therefore needed to be covered until the meeting. That problem was solved by a pair of fingerless black "arm warmers"—they were blatantly just longer versions of fingerless gloves, but I guess giving them a different name might make them seem more fashionable to teenagers. I didn't make the rules.
Once I'd added the gloves, every part of my skin was covered from the neck down save for part of my fingers. That barely helped; I still felt alien and exposed. Ironically, it was thanks to those feelings that I ended up buying slightly more than Roma had originally bargained for. Not because I was particularly attached to the extra clothes, but because I could imagine occasions where it might be helpful to wear them and I was not going through another multi-hour testing session. Heroism involved violence and getting dirty, and that meant having backup outfits would only be wise.
The first of the two extras was a teal blue long-sleeved maxi dress that was at least somewhat tolerable. Possibly because I was halfway convinced that it wasn't actually teal; the fabric looked comfortably darker unless it was in direct light. It didn't quite match the innocence that Roma was aiming for, but it at least looked like the sort of thing that a fantasy sorceress might wear. I might be able to switch to it once first impressions were over and done with and I could get away with being a little less bright.
The other addition was mentally labeled as a backup plan in the event where I absolutely couldn't stand the public's response to a brighter costume, or for a situation serious enough that wearing bright colors would travel past personal discomfort and into the realm of being cruel to others. The baggy knee-length grey turtleneck sweater dress was as close to my preferred clothing as I could get in this hellstore, and it was more practical than what we'd actually chosen for my costume. I almost hoped that Roma's predictions were wrong and that I could wear this instead, but I didn't expect to be that lucky. The choice back in the changing room had felt too… heavy, for that. Roma wanted me to buy matching shoes, but I put my foot down at that and opted for a new pair of dark grey sneakers instead. Safe, bland, and didn't need extra enchantments to be usable.
Paying for the clothes and shoes ultimately dragged my (stolen) funds below three digits, and I was reminded of why one did not impulse-buy when shopping somewhere with uncomfortable price tags. Escaping was honestly a relief after that, and it felt nice to fulfill all outstanding favors. The phone I had yet to obtain was for one of Roma's future services, and could therefore be delayed indefinitely. Honestly, I still didn't regret donating the favors, if only because Roma's confusion at that thought remained hilarious. Roma might be in my head, but I was confident by now that she hadn't attached herself to me, specifically. The rest could wait.
Roma continued my lessons on the conjuration of fire on our way home, but lapsed into silence when I entered the empty house. I didn't have long to wonder why she would interrupt an ongoing lesson.
Your ignorance of some subjects is mildly troubling, considering past demonstrations. You may have been… additionally influenced, shall we say, when I was acting as part of your Name's instincts rather than as a discrete entity. For instance, you shared my surprise when Danny Hebert interrupted your first bloodletting, and you habitually concealed knives nearby.
I blinked and forced myself to finish taking my shoes off. Now that she pointed it out, I realized that the certainty I'd felt then and some of the choices I'd made were really, really weird. Sure, I could heal, but I'd still jumped straight to self-harm as a viable method of acquiring power. That wasn't normal. Fortunately, the only similar incident I could remember was when Providence tried to take hold back at the mall. I'd resisted Villain for basically everything else.
I'll… keep an eye out for that, I guess? Thanks for telling me.
It was a bit scary that she'd been able to borderline Master me, but I was back to being close enough to normal to notice just how abnormal that had been. Plus, I'd resisted her when it came to everything important. If she'd actually been able to override me for things I cared about, then I would have started committing murders and would loathe Dad. I might be a bit annoyed and upset by his perpetual absences, sure, but I still loved him dearly. There wasn't any lingering influence to worry about there.
If you're going to develop a dislike of your father, I would prefer that it be for good reasons, Roma agreed. You deserve better, my dear. A better parent would have noticed and fixed your bully problem by now.
Fuck off.
I didn't want Dad to notice; the (lack of) aftermath for the post-Locker hospitalization had proved that he couldn't help. Letting him learn would just upset him for no good reason, and might ruin his friendship with Emma's dad. Just because I'd lost a friend didn't mean that Dad needed to.
Besides, I added spitefully, Your first through ninetieth choices for helping all involved murder. If that's your idea of helping, then I don't want it.
I care about you, my dearest Heiress, not those who harm you. Would your life not be so much more pleasant were they not in it?
I took a deep breath and declined to respond. It would be better, but that was different than wanting them dead. I would be the monster at that point, not them, and I refused to let them have the satisfaction of compromising my morals like that.
A deliberately late night of pyromancy and calligraphy lessons—igniting my failures was surprisingly satisfying, I would admit—gave way to a sleep-deprived morning, and I wondered why I'd thought it was a good idea to go along with that particular impulse of Roma's. I could have imitated the visible effects of sleep deprivation with a glamour; I didn't need to actually stay awake.
When engaging in such deceit, the truth will often be revealed whenever it would be most inconvenient. We do not want to leave any room for ambiguity in this tale; you will neither introduce any additional markings via glamour, nor will you tell anything but the truth when asking for aid.
And the whole outfit thing won't push us toward 'scheming?' Because that still feels manipulative.
You are not scheming. You are an innocent young maiden refused help by those who are meant to provide it, and you are simply trying to look your best in the hopes that this time will be different.
I snorted. She would've even sounded sincere there if the claim wasn't so absurd.
I take it that careful framing is an important part of surviving stories?
Many Named have turned it into an art form.
I hadn't formed concrete plans to skip classes that day until I'd actually gotten up, removed the glamour on my injuries, and looked in the bathroom mirror. It was—bad. My arms were too long and stick-like for the purpling bruises to cover all of them, but the sheer quantity gave an illusion of having more injured skin than clear. Frankly, it looked as though I'd tried to defend myself with my arms while someone beat me. Even the mild pressure from clothing hurt a little, and I didn't want to imagine how agonizing it would be if the Trio exacerbated an existing injury.
So, I covered my injuries with a long-sleeved shirt and pretended I was getting ready for classes until Dad actually left. I promptly dropped the pretense and rested my head on the kitchen table, already considering a nap. I didn't think maintaining the appearance of exhaustion was worth numbing my ability and desire to do anything; this had not been a good plan. I was glad that I'd taken the time to do laundry between lessons last night; it would suck if I had to stay up to wash my new outfit.
Such plans would not be necessary if we were to live away from your already distant father, Roma remarked. You would not need to concern yourself with a conventional education, and would be free to do whatever you liked in any given day.
Yes, because relying on an unrepentantly evil villain for my future prospects and livelihood would be an excellent idea.
I am quite glad that you are appropriately cautious, my dearest Heiress, but consider what you have already learned. You can easily change your surface appearance to match that of another. Even while confining yourself to strictly legal ventures, this would be utterly invaluable for any career reliant upon appearance—as an actress, for instance, or a clothier's model.
I tried, and failed, to kick my exhausted mind into something vaguely approaching working order. Roma might not be wrong. I would need to maintain a consistent appearance in order to conceal my status as a Cape, but it was technically an option. Of course, Mom had occasionally ranted about rampant sexism, frequently inadequate compensation, and harassment in the modeling and acting industries. I doubted that had changed in the last few years.
A far, far more arrogant idea occurred to me then: there was nothing stopping me from anchoring a glamour to a portrait frame and fueling it with... something. It was hard to think. Could I use appreciation without draining the observers? Or was I thinking of some fictional type of magic rather than the real kind? Surely there was something harmless I could use to keep a glamour going indefinitely; they weren't supposed to be expensive.
It didn't even need to be a false painting. People would probably pay for a stable Cape-created artwork, and I could accompany the sights with sounds and even smells. That wouldn't be something I could do outside my Cape identity, though, so maybe not. Still, Roma's point had been made: even if I dropped out of school and left Dad, I wouldn't be reliant on her. I had ways to make a living.
...Hold on. Why the hell am I entertaining this idea in the first place? I huffed and wished that Roma had a representation that I could glare at. She knew damned well that I wasn't going to pick her over Dad, let alone drop out of school. I did still want to learn, and dropping out would as good as scream that I was a Cape. Plus, Brockton Bay was seldom kind to dropouts; I was betting that I would make myself vulnerable to all sorts of stories if I went that route.
I am well aware of that, yes. However, it is important to always be aware of the options available to you. You are not forced to maintain your current lifestyle; that is itself a choice, and one you can change if absolutely necessary.
I couldn't decide if it was the sleep deprivation which made her logic sound reasonable, or if Roma might actually have a point.
Backup plans are important.
I honestly felt as though that was still a weak excuse, but there was still a chance she was operating in good faith. Maybe being a fairy-tale villain taught Roma to conjure some exceedingly unlikely contingency plans—she had said that I should plan for absolutely everything to go wrong. Which, honestly, didn't say good things about our Arcadia visit. The one perk was that I would get to say "I told you so" when everything went wrong.
The world can be kind to you once in a while, my dear.
I'll believe it when I see it.
Roma sighed.
Perhaps you should rest after all. A very minor advantage is not worth your sustained unhappiness over the course of the day.
Since when do you possess more empathy than a pinecone?
As I have said, Heiress, I am capable of caring for others. I merely reserve such sentiments for worthwhile individuals, yourself included. Was the implied offer to raise you not enough of a hint?
This conversation would be embarrassing and uncomfortable enough while fully awake. I was not having it while sleep-deprived. It wasn't as though we'd known each other for very long; scant days if you included the time I knew she was a person, or weeks otherwise. Admittedly, weeks were probably a better metric. Still.
Oh, but we have been interacting for that entire time, have we not? You and I are, in a very real sense, present in the other's thoughts at all times. That is very different from merely conversing for a few minutes a day.
You wouldn't look twice at me if it weren't for my powers.
That earned me an outright laugh.
Unlike Above's lot, my dear, ours is to take power. Attempting to establish a divide between your personality and your abilities is a pointless venture; one led to the other.
Didn't you complain about how Earth Bet didn't work like that? I remember you being pretty unhappy about how upward mobility is harder here.
Perhaps. I still dislike your assertion. Most parents would not look twice at their own kids were it not for their preexisting relationship; it is foolish to dwell on what-ifs. As it stands, I would much prefer to raise you myself rather than leave you under the dubious care of your father.
That certainly wasn't going to happen, but the underlying sentiment still wasn't one I wanted to discuss. I pushed myself up from the table and started making my way upstairs, engaging in the time and teen-honored art of ignoring issues that made me uncomfortable.
Nope. Not talking about it.
Roma accepted my evasion and was gratifyingly silent until after I'd gingerly eased back into bed. I probably should've set an alarm, but I was sure that Roma could awaken me later. I couldn't muster the energy to open my eyes again, let alone stretch my bruised arm and actually set the damn thing.
Enjoy your rest, my dearest Heiress.
Because that isn't ominous at all coming from you.
Wake up, Taylor. It is time for your preparations to begin.
Roma's gentle insistence dragged me from the oblivion of slumber and back into painful existence. It was tempting to reduce that pain with a quick Rise, but that would completely undermine the whole point of yesterday's shopping trip. I slowly slid out of bed with aching limbs and made a beeline for the shower.
As expected, I felt exposed and uneasy as I walked toward Arcadia in the dress, socks, and arm-warmers that Roma had picked out for me. However, I wasn't sure how much of that was from the clothing and how much was worry over a story's interference. I didn't think that anyone I passed looked twice at me, but how much of that was wishful thinking and how much was accurate?
My dear, is the deviation from your normal attire not a boon? Who would truly recognize you rather than simply assume you were someone with a similar face?
I hated that she was probably right. It wouldn't work at Winslow, not when Emma would already be looking for me, but out here? It might be enough to foil casual glances. I wasn't even carrying a purse for someone to steal; since my dress completely lacked pockets, I'd decided to stick my wallet and journal inside a double-bagged plastic grocery bag. Honestly, if the story was going to interfere at this point, I expected it to do so by targeting the journal cataloguing most of the Trio's actions over the last several months. It was a shame that I couldn't manage outright invisibility through glamor.
Yet.
I had to admit that my powers might have some really obnoxious side effects, but I was increasingly sure that I could become a successful Cape with the Stranger powers alone. Disguises, illusions, and outright invisibility? I was pretty sure that I would qualify as a higher end Stranger with those abilities alone. My magic and Rise would—once I was better at using them—push me toward the stronger Capes within Brockton Bay. It would be enough to push me toward idle power fantasizing if the villain in my head wouldn't take that as an invitation.
The outward appearance of Arcadia had one thing in common with Winslow: they were both schools. That was about where the similarities ended. The fence around Winslow's grounds was more of a joke than anything else—even if the gates hadn't frequently been left open at all hours of the day, there were still gaps in the fence cut large enough for people to fit through. In contrast, Arcadia's front gates had a visibly bored and armed security guard atop a lawn chair beneath a patio umbrella. He didn't give me much more than a brief examination as I passed, but the presence of anybody was a step up. There wasn't even any graffiti on the parts of the school I could see. I supposed I might find some around the back, but I wasn't here for that.
I really, truly wished I could have gone here instead of attending Winslow. I might've even had a pretty good chance had I gone straight to Arcadia from middle school. Unfortunately for me, my grades had tanked due to the bullying, I wouldn't be surprised if my permanent record had some fairly unflattering things in it by now, and Arcadia's waiting list was known to be in the triple digits.
I paused next to the security guard and again wished my dress had pockets that I could rest my hands inside. Crossing my arms would look confrontational, but clasping my hands or letting them hang limp would look weird.
I would recommend clasping your hands if it truly bothers you.
That would make it seem as though I needed both hands for whatever I'm carrying in the bag.
"Could you point me to the main office?" I asked the security guard.
Remember your manners, my dear. They are one of your greatest tools for framing a story.
"Please," I belatedly added.
"There are signs up," he replied a moment later, seemingly bemused. "Just hang a right and follow them. Can't miss it."
I nodded, already regretting having asked. Now I looked like an idiot.
None of that. You do not need to cultivate a personal relationship with this particular individual. So long as they are not annoyed enough to impede your goals, their opinions do not matter.
That might technically be true, but my irrational brain still didn't feel much better.
"Thanks," I said aloud, and hurried past the gates and toward the doors of Arcadia proper.
I almost expected a card reader demanding a student ID or something similar, but there wasn't any of that. The doors were just left unlocked for anyone to walk right in—which, well, was just like Winslow, but I expected Arcadia to be a little better about security.
The front office wasn't quite at the entrance, but like the signs on the walls made up for that. The interior of the school was almost eerily clean, with no long-ignored gum stuck in corners, stained carpet, or chipped bricks long gone overlooked. The abundance of trash bins might have helped on that front, but having so many back in Winslow would inevitably lead to them being kicked over. Unless they were bolted to the floor? I supposed that would solve a great many problems all at once. It was even weirder to see posters on the walls that hadn't been defaced in some small way, even if only by having the corners torn off.
The front office itself was surrounded by blurred windows with the door hanging open invitingly. A discarded gum wrapper sat below the four seats at the front of the room, and I was almost disturbed by how that was the first litter I'd seen so far. Was this place even populated by real, living teenagers?
Four doors led out of the office lobby and into what I was guessing were smaller offices. Five wide desks with phones, organizational shelves, and miscellaneous office supplies were scattered throughout the room, but were currently empty. A name plate identified the woman behind the frontmost desk as Saundra, the woman I'd previously spoken to over the phone. She glanced up when I approached the desk.
"Can I help you?"
"Uh, I have an appointment at 3:50? I'm the person who called and only gave a phone number."
Saundra's expression went from vague boredom to a slightly worried frown. She covered it up fairly quickly and gave me the fake smile of one expected to play nice with an unending stream of obnoxious teenagers.
"I'll need you to provide the number in question," she said almost apologetically.
I recited my home phone number with as little enthusiasm as she'd asked for it. Then again, she had done me a favor by letting me get away with that at all; I should have kept my thoughts about the recitation from bleeding into my tone.
"Perfect," she said when I was finished. "Vice Principal Howell is in a call right now, but she should be done soon."
Vice principal? I guess that still works. I still wasn't entirely clear what the differences between a vice principal and a principal were in the first place. Or maybe the secretary just hadn't wanted to waste the time of someone more important on a non-student who refused to even state her goals. I glanced at the clock mounted on a nearby wall. 3:44.Well, I guess I'm not getting any extra time today.
Three, two, one! Roma said in a singsong voice, and a door opened at the back of the office on the unspoken zero.
Okay, that's actually a little creepy. How many little events needed to be nudged for my powers to enforce such timing?
"Could you send the next one in, please?" called the voice presumably belonging to Vice Principal Howell.
Saundra blinked and gave me a bemused look.
"Never mind. Go right ahead."
I hurried to the back of the office and tried not to think about how many times I'd tried something similar to this back at Winslow. I really shouldn't have let Roma get to me—she'd said from the start that I wouldn't lose anything by trying this, but somewhere along the way, I let hope take root again. I shouldn't have.
Sure enough, a nameplate beside the door identified the office as belonging to one Vice Principal Howell. The woman in question didn't bother with any of the rude power plays that Blackwell seemed so fond of; she quickly closed a folder when I approached and had her full attention on me by the time I was through the doorway. She'd dyed her hair blonde, I noticed, and it was definitely dyed—the darker roots made that part rather obvious.
"Good afternoon," she said politely, again contrasting herself with Blackwell. Winslow's Principal always gave off an air of impatience and irritation. Vice Principal Howell at least pretended to care about what I had to say. "Feel free to close the door behind you, or don't, depending on which you are more comfortable with."
I nudged the door closed and reflexively glanced at the pair of chairs in front of her desk. I felt ridiculous a moment later. Nobody was going to be reckless enough to vandalize a seat in the principal's office, were they? Not with anything worse than gum stuck to the bottom.
"What can I do for you today?" asked Vice Principal Howell. "I must confess that what little we know of your situation has me rather concerned. For that matter, I'm still not clear why you wanted to avoid giving your name prior to your arrival."
I opened my mouth to answer, hesitated, and decided to follow Roma's advice from earlier. As honest as possible for as long as possible.
"Because I don't know what's in my records at this point," I admitted, "and I didn't want you forming a poor first impression beforehand. Uh, I'm Taylor Hebert. I know my appointment is short, so I'll just summarize the overall situation—er, if that's alright?"
The vice principal raised her eyebrows, but didn't appear bothered by my attempt at haste.
"Please, feel free. However, I can't promise anything but an open mind without knowing more about the situation."
"That would still be an improvement," I muttered darkly.
I took a deep breath, clung to the distant hope that this time would be different, and pulled my journal out of the grocery bags. The book was placed on Howell's desk, although I couldn't quite muster up the willpower to push it toward her.
"There are too many incidents for me to go over in ten minutes—I've catalogued most of them in there. In short, I've been the target of a prolonged and increasingly violent bullying campaign, primarily led by three individuals, since I first started High School. They've repeatedly stolen or destroyed my homework, verbally attack me almost constantly, trip and push me even on or near stairs, hospitalized me, and so many other acts that I needed to start that journal to track them all. I reported their actions on multiple occasions and nothing has come of it. I've always been told that it's my word against their own or that I need to stop 'attention-seeking behavior.' Winslow has even started punishing me when I try to report the bullies."
I pulled off my arm warmers, wincing at the momentary pressure on my bruises, and rolled up each sleeve to expose the severely purpled skin underneath. Howell's eyes widened. I hoped she would settle on horror and dismay rather than just surprise.
"These are from the last two days—I showed up to school in flats instead of my usual sneakers, and the Trio took it as an excuse to literally shove me around or trip me at every opportunity. I know that more than one of the teachers saw it happen to me, again, but none of them ever help. At this point, I think the school just thinks it's too much trouble to bother a rich kid, a track star, and the daughter of a lawyer, but that part is speculation. I don't know why they're refusing to do anything to help, just that they are. This isn't even the worst thing the Trio has done to date. On the first day back from Winter Break, I was—"
I swallowed and tried not to think too much about what I was saying. Even a partial success had me sitting in silence for well over ten seconds.
"–locked inside my locker," I eventually forced out, "which had been filled with used tampons before the break. There were–never mind. Despite all my screaming, I wasn't released for over an hour, and the school's only response was to pay for my hospital costs. Nobody came forward—who would risk it, when the Trio can get away with doing that? But that part is speculation again; all I know is that it was my word against theirs, again, and that apparently wasn't good enough. Nothing happened."
I ran out of steam then. I tried to think past the numbness clouding my thoughts, and didn't even care that I was no longer sitting up straight. I couldn't even hide my shaking hands in my pockets, because the stupid dress didn't have any. I couldn't cross my arms without making my bruises hurt more, either. The soreness of my knees kept me from gripping them, too, and I ultimately ended up clasping my hands together due to the lack of better options. The momentary distraction didn't let me get my thoughts in order; I still didn't know what to say.
You're convinced that they won't be punished, and just want out, Roma prompted.
I seized the prompt and took a deep breath.
"They're not even trying to be subtle anymore, and they still get away with it. At this point, I'm resigned to the idea that they won't be punished, and I just want out."
I paused and realized that Roma's prompt had led me slightly astray. I did want to escape, it was true, but that wording made it sound like I wanted a transfer. That wasn't going to happen.
"But I know that Arcadia has a waiting list hundreds of students long, and my grades have plummeted, so I already know I can't transfer here. Just—my friend told me you might be able to help somehow or direct me to someone who can? Literally any progress would be an improvement."
I chanced a look upward and wasn't at all encouraged by what I saw. Vice Principal Howell wore the weak smile of someone who has heard something horrible and wants to help, but couldn't.
"I can't extend our meeting," she said, and my hopes plummeted further. "However, this is… I can justify staying late for this. Good Lord, I can't justify not staying late. Do you need to be home at or before five today?"
I blinked rapidly, momentarily convinced that I had misheard her. It took me several more seconds to comprehend her words. She still hadn't said that she could help, but she wasn't immediately booting me out the door; taking her own time out of the day meant that she at least hoped that she could help.
"I can stay."
"Good," the vice principal replied firmly. "Now, I still need to determine the limits of what I can do, but I want to thank you for approaching me and assure you that you do not need to go back to Winslow. As a worst case scenario, online schooling and homeschooling resources are much further than they were a decade ago, and there are accredited programs available to you—yes, that means a high school degree instead of a G.E.D. I'll admit that they have their issues, but it's vastly preferable to leaving you in that kind of learning environment."
I was shaking my head before she could even finish speaking.
"Dad works full-time, so homeschooling is out. And the online ones cost money, right? I don't think we can afford any of those."
"The programs I was thinking of were free," she patiently explained. "A laptop and microphone headphones are provided to families who cannot afford them, although reliable Internet access is still a necessity. The flaws I had in mind were simply that online schooling is, no matter how hard we try, still generally not as good as most in-person instruction. Some students have reported feeling underprepared for college even after acceptance. However, I believe that would still be a significant improvement over your current learning situation, and you strike me as the sort to pursue knowledge even above the bare minimum dictated by your classes."
I thought back to how I'd willingly stayed up for hours after midnight just to learn magic, and had to stifle a laugh. More than you know.
"You're not wrong. So—should I be doing anything for the next hour?"
The vice principal reached toward my journal, but stopped short of touching it in an unspoken request for permission. I wordlessly pushed it toward her. She flipped through the pages too quickly to be properly reading it, but I imagined she only wanted a surface understanding anyway. At the very least, her increasingly distraught expression made it seem as though she was grasping the overall trend.
She flipped a few extra pages upon reaching the end of the current entries, a frown forming, and turned to the desktop computer atop her desk. She tapped the spacebar to wake it back up, clicked a few times, and typed in what I was pretty sure was my name.
"H-E-R-B-E-R-T?" she asked, and I sighed. Why did so many people try to add an extra R?
"Without the first R, so H-E-B-E-R-T. But I'm not sure that my records actually support what I'm saying at this point—like I said, Winslow has been willfully ignoring it."
"Oh, I just wanted to be sure you're who you say you are before we go any further," she said, still distracted. "On that note, date of birth?"
"Six twelve ninety-five," I rattled off.
"Thank you," she acknowledged, swiveling her chair back to facing me. "In the meantime, you can either wait in the office or explore the main halls, as well as any rooms with open doors and the lights on. Don't expect to have good cell reception anywhere in the building—Arcadia maintains something akin to a Faraday Cage in order to help protect Ward identities. Phones for emergency use are located in each hallway."
On the one hand, going exploring sounded like story bait. On the other hand, not exploring was a recipe for meeting any kids brought into the office, and was its own kind of story bait. I might as well go with the option that sounded more interesting.
"I guess I'd like to look around? If you're sure I won't get in trouble for it. That doesn't seem like very good security."
She waved one hand as though to dispel my concerns.
"The Wards haven't been in the building for hours, and you don't strike me as the kind of girl to vandalize anything for the fun of it. Just be warned that some of the after-school clubs react to new faces like enthusiastic litters of puppies. Regardless, would you be willing to leave your journal with me to review? I may have some time between meetings to read through it, and I imagine it would save you from needing to carry it with you."
No, was almost my automatic response. This might not be Winslow, but I still didn't want it out of my sight. Refusing seemed like it would throw the vice principal's assistance back in her face, though.
"I guess I can just stay in the front office if you're going to be looking it over?" I said instead. "No offense, but I'm not comfortable leaving it with you while I go traipsing around the building."
Vice Principal Howell frowned faintly, but didn't appear outstandingly offended by my refusal.
"If that is what you are most comfortable doing," she acknowledged. "Would you like to borrow a book while you wait?"
I glanced at the various motivational and productivity-related books at one side of the room. The only vaguely useful books were the textbooks at the bottom, and I almost refused the offer outright. I might not be able to immediately practice anything Roma taught me while we waited, but there was always room for more theory. I should probably try to act like a responsible student, though.
"Mind if I borrow the World History textbook?" I asked, idly wondering what Roma would think of our world's various missteps and conflicts.
I will be immensely surprised if your books are not heavily biased nationalist propaganda.
I mean, yeah, but they still work for the broad strokes.
"Be my guest."
She shifted and began to stand up as though planning to fetch the book herself. I quickly slipped off the seat and went for it before she could. This way, I had an excuse to stay standing and just leave the office.
"Thank you for the help so far," I said, mindful of Roma's remarks regarding politeness and story framing. "I'll talk to you in a bit?"
Even if I'm still not convinced that I'd actually be able to switch to online schooling. My record might interfere, I guessed—the Trio had accused me of cheating before, and even if nothing had come of it, just the accusation in my records might be enough to keep me in Winslow.
"I do think there's still more I can do to help you," Howell tried to reassure me. "As I said, those are the bare minimum that I know can be provided. I'll need to review some rules and procedures before I can promise more than that. I'll see you in an hour."
I exhaled and wordlessly shook my head. Howell might mean well, but Winslow had made it pretty clear that those rules were not on my side. I would still wait around just in case, if only to make sure that I could withdraw from Winslow, but I didn't have high hopes. I pulled my arm warmers back on, wincing slightly from the extra pressure they placed on my wounds, and made my way out of Vice Principal Howell's office.
My souring mood degraded further when I saw the blonde-haired pretty boy offering Saundra what appeared to be slightly mangled cupcakes from a doughnut box. He glanced at me as I crossed the width of the office and promptly dismissed me to look back at Saundra. A moment later, his gaze snapped back to me with a faintly shocked expression.
…I swore, if the fucking story that my life had become was trying to set me up with some spoiled rich brat–
Please don't try to flirt. I am so not in the mood right now.
~ ~ ~
Dean Stansfield stared at the familiar streamers of gold rising from an unfamiliar face and kept all his whimpering firmly on the inside. How was this his life?
Dean Stansfield stared at the familiar streamers of gold rising from an unfamiliar face and kept all his whimpering firmly on the inside. How was this his life?
On a different note though, what would the conclusion be when he reports this? Changed appearance is an obvious one, but the possibility of Roma being the actual parahuman with a power-granting/projection power would look plausible as well.
And if Dean was to talk with Vice Principal Howell, the notion of a bullying victim with superpowers may be alarming enough to have Taylor transferred ASAP.
I get that Roma thinks that Gallant's tech is responsible for his powers, Gallant straight up lied to sell that story like he probably always does. But how did Taylor not see this, of all things, coming? She went through all the ways this could go bad but conveniently ignored, "what if a Ward walks in and takes notice of the unusual girl in the office?" You just had a less-than-friendly interaction with these people, Taylor, and then you walked brazenly into their chosen educational institution. Did you expect the Story to just ignore that little faux pas?
I get that Roma thinks that Gallant's tech is responsible for his powers, Gallant straight up lied to sell that story like he probably always does. But how did Taylor not see this, of all things, coming? She went through all the ways this could go bad but conveniently ignored, "what if a Ward walks in and takes notice of the unusual girl in the office?" You just had a less-than-friendly interaction with these people, Taylor, and then you walked brazenly into their chosen educational institution. Did you expect the Story to just ignore that little faux pas?
I get that Roma thinks that Gallant's tech is responsible for his powers, Gallant straight up lied to sell that story like he probably always does. But how did Taylor not see this, of all things, coming? She went through all the ways this could go bad but conveniently ignored, "what if a Ward walks in and takes notice of the unusual girl in the office?" You just had a less-than-friendly interaction with these people, Taylor, and then you walked brazenly into their chosen educational institution. Did you expect the Story to just ignore that little faux pas?
Taylor doesn't seem to have gotten into the right mindset for thinking about that sort of thing yet. Though Roma might well have forseen an encounter with the Wards, it's classic secret identity drama for the two civilian identities to meet each other after all, but there's no real problem there for her. The Ward won't recognise Taylor (unless she messes up or the Ward has unknown powers) and Roma will know the identity of a Ward. So it would kinda work in their favour.
I get that Roma thinks that Gallant's tech is responsible for his powers, Gallant straight up lied to sell that story like he probably always does. But how did Taylor not see this, of all things, coming? She went through all the ways this could go bad but conveniently ignored, "what if a Ward walks in and takes notice of the unusual girl in the office?" You just had a less-than-friendly interaction with these people, Taylor, and then you walked brazenly into their chosen educational institution. Did you expect the Story to just ignore that little faux pas?
You should consider traveling to Arcadia to ask their leadership how you might expedite a transfer.
The Wards attend Arcadia. As in, the people who want to throw me in a cell and break my civilian ID wide open.
But the Gallant could only recognize my presence thanks to the aid of his artifacts, correct? Your 'Tinkers' create objects capable of feats they cannot perform without aid. They know nothing of this face, this identity.
I had to admit that she was probably right there. I doubted that Arcadia kept a copy of Gallant's armor just laying around; that was just begging for a villain to attack the school and steal it.
Lol, poor Dean. Nice to see Roma continue to subtly push mom vibes at Taylor while reminding Taylor of how unreliable Danny is. Even if Taylor still feels obligated to defend Danny, constant reminders are still helpful to make Roma look much better in contrast.
On a different note though, what would the conclusion be when he reports this? Changed appearance is an obvious one, but the possibility of Roma being the actual parahuman with a power-granting/projection power would look plausible as well.
And if Dean was to talk with Vice Principal Howell, the notion of a bullying victim with superpowers may be alarming enough to have Taylor transferred ASAP.
Well, there are 'twin' power issues in the setting, so maybe they'd assume taylor is the 'other' half of a pair from the one he previously met? But there's also body-jumping, another victim of a master effect, and other 'fun' options to think of.
