Taylor...you are really bad at this. I know you are absolutely desperate for affection right now, but come on.
From a meta perspective, its a little frustrating that Taylor has basically no chance of "winning" against Rosa. She is in her head, can read her mind, and holds all the info. Rosa has nothing to lose and can spend all the time she needs working on Taylor.
Now that I think about it, Rosa might actually WANT to give Taylor a way to shut her out, because when someone doesn't get a choice in being evil, they are very likely to have a last second change of heart from something a hero says, and blow up their own doomsday machine or whatever.
Taylor...you are really bad at this. I know you are absolutely desperate for affection right now, but come on.
From a meta perspective, its a little frustrating that Taylor has basically no chance of "winning" against Rosa. She is in her head, can read her mind, and holds all the info. Rosa has nothing to lose and can spend all the time she needs working on Taylor.
Now that I think about it, Rosa might actually WANT to give Taylor a way to shut her out, because when someone doesn't get a choice in being evil, they are very likely to have a last second change of heart from something a hero says, and blow up their own doomsday machine or whatever.
Roma does have things to risk it's not really known what Taylor dying would do to her but also as she pointed out she's also in danger narratively because she's at risk of both redemption and mentor story lines which end in her death or similar horrible fate. In addition to this there's a pretty basic thing to point out if I remember correctly she's tied to the Name Heiress but that's a transitional one Taylor will grow out of soon enough and gain a full fledged stronger one in its place.
There's additionally Taylor being on the hero side of the spectrum which means she can suddenly develop aspects perfectly suited to be counters against upcoming and imminent threats which is particularly relevant to the whole evil temptress and master storylines so Taylor could get an aspect to deal with her.
Surprised no one has mentioned her being able to speak to Gallant though and using black/cat's thing of mistake tho.
Even if Taylor becomes a villain, in Worm there are stories of flipping sides. The Protectorate does it all the time, hell even the undersiders did it to Flechette, for all we know Taylor could do an Assault and go legit.
Even if Taylor becomes a villain, in Worm there are stories of flipping sides. The Protectorate does it all the time, hell even the undersiders did it to Flechette, for all we know Taylor could do an Assault and go legit.
Yes but in APGtE redemption stories usually end in death of the redeemed villain. A hero tries to off the protagonist once by trying to nudge her onto one.
Yes but in APGtE redemption stories usually end in death of the redeemed villain. A hero tries to off the protagonist once by trying to nudge her onto one.
Anyway, clearly she's already dead, so she has a bit of wriggle room there. And as Catherine showed us entirely too many times, there's dead and then there's dead...
I cant wait for Tay to get comfortable enough with Roma to start trading for more casual info.
I legit think that framed right Tay will seriously eat up how "nice" a proper Tyrants nobles oblige and Praesi feudalism is compared to the dismal state of earth Bet.
Also i want to hear Roma views on democracy.
Anyway, clearly she's already dead, so she has a bit of wriggle room there. And as Catherine showed us entirely too many times, there's dead and then there's dead...
er these are bad examples when you consider ward. GU becomes a titan and crumbles with the rest of them, Bonesaw has complications and Armsmaster has his bad deeds brushed under the rug and has to take a new id most don't know is his old one. These are all also complicated by the fact they haven't happened yet really Madcap going to Assault is the better one since its happened even if made really sketchy.
"The great candour in ruling Praes is that, if you make a mistake, assassination attempts will follow. Unfortunately, if you do not make a mistake assassination attempts will also follow, which admittedly makes it difficult to tell if a mistake was in fact made."
–Dread Emperor Pernicious, the Imperiled
I'd skipped my morning run lest my powers interfere again, but I was already regretting it. Breakfast thus far had been a muted, somber affair of cereal and milk. I didn't know how late Dad had been out last night, but his lethargic movements and the purple circles under his eyes didn't say anything good. He'd always been the first to argue about how long hours harmed work quality and productivity, but it often seemed as though those rules applied for everyone but himself.
"I'm going to need to stay late for the next few days," Dad eventually said in a vaguely apologetic tone. "There was a fire at the DWA offices last night, and… well, it doesn't look like it was accidental."
I was suddenly very, very glad that I hadn't empowered Roma after all. The timing would have been beyond suspect, and it would have smothered what little budding trust she'd earned. She didn't deserve my judgment for crimes she was innocent of.
My dear, I do not believe my tether could extend that far even if you were to grant reckless lenience. I would have been your first suspect, too. I am many things, but stupid is not one of them.
...She deserved to be acknowledged as innocent when possible if only because she was probably guilty of a comical number of other crimes.
Technically, everything I did was legal within the laws of the empire.
Could you hold your comments until afterward? It's hard to focus on a conversation when you're speaking with me, too.
I swallowed my mouthful of cold cereal and tried to imagine what Dad would even do over there. I didn't think it was his job to sort out repairs when something like this happened. Similarly, Dad might be spokesperson and head of hiring for the Dockworker's Association, but he wasn't a criminal investigator. I wasn't, either, but the whole fate thing might compensate for that. Dad knew I had weird superpowers, too; he could ask me if I could help. Instead, it sounded as though he was going to help other people complete their unfinished tasks in addition to his usual workload.
Sometimes, it really felt like he would do anything if it meant being out of the house and away from his memories of Mom. It didn't matter that I was here, too.
"Okay," I replied quietly.
I waited stiffly for him to ask when I was planning to contact the Protectorate, or how my plans were coming along if I had already started. He didn't bother with either. Having said his piece, he seemed intent on eating as quickly as possible so that he could return to his newest excuse for escaping the house. I tried not to blame him for it too much. It wasn't as though he was out drinking; his time spent out of the house was spent ensuring that as many dockworkers as possible could continue to put food on the table and didn't need to tolerate unfair working conditions. Still, it would be nice if he would practice what he preached and spend less time away at work.
His lack of concern is to our benefit, Roma reassured me. It would be good for you to learn more spellcraft before you venture out into the world once more. That trick with the light glamour was clever, but you cannot count on it working when you don't have a story aiding your escape.
I momentarily stiffened, abruptly remembering that my school sneakers were still disguised as ballerina flats. I forced myself to relax before Dad could notice—assuming he would ever notice, which I wasn't sure that he would. It wasn't as though there was anything strictly wrong with their current appearance; wearing any kind of slip-on shoes was frowned upon in gym class, but it wasn't outright banned. The downside, of course, was that showing up in nice flats might support Emma's newfound assumption that I had a girlfriend.
At this stage, any personal improvement will fuel those particular rumors, Roma sniffed. I would not concern yourself with their beliefs.
And when they inevitably try to ruin my 'new' shoes?
It seems to me that they are intent on attacking you regardless of what you do. My dear, they win whenever they force you to change your behavior.
I couldn't stop myself from slouching, but Dad didn't notice. Roma might have a point there, but I still didn't like it. It was nice to say that I should act however I want and ignore what other people might do about it. In practice, though, that was an excellent way to open myself up to all manner of new attacks.
You know that they will oppose you regardless. I have seen enough to know that your actions do not cause attacks, merely provide direction for them. You may even find their opposition to be helpful practice for directing the flow of stories.
That idea was alien enough to make me momentarily pause eating, certain that I had misheard. Roma wanted me to... what? Deliberately provoke the Trio to see how they reacted? That felt like an excellent way to end up with ever more bruises and ruined or stolen school materials.
You cannot possibly be serious.
I am seldom ever serious, my dearest Heiress, but I am telling the truth. Anything you do will be taken as 'provocation,' and as such, you might as well learn something from how you act or present yourself on any given day. You may have a plan to remove your assailants from the board, but I'm afraid that plans can fail. Rather than rely upon a single plan, it is better to develop the skills necessary to aid future plots.
Listen, I already know what will happen if I start acting out. That's why I'm objecting.
But you cannot yet predict the specifics, can you? The timing, their means of attack, and how you might counterattack? Those are all important skills for a weaver of stories.
"I'll leave some money on the table so you can buy takeout if I'm not home by dinnertime," Dad said suddenly. "Is there anything you want from the store? I think I can manage to squeeze in a quick grocery run."
"Um," I said dumbly, and tried to remember what was in the fridge. "More fresh produce? Maybe more bread and some kind of lunch meat? Anything easy, really. I'm going to be spending a lot of time on my costume."
Dad's face scrunched as though he'd bitten into something sour.
"Right. How's that coming along?"
Oh, now he bothers to ask. I made a token attempt to keep my annoyance away from my face and tone, but I probably failed. He shouldn't need to be reminded that his daughter was a Cape with ongoing projects.
"I decided to hold off on meeting the Protectorate until I have some protective stuff worked out," I said honestly. "And I want to practice using some of the parts of my powers that don't just involve punching stuff."
Dad grinned weakly.
"Didn't you say that using those was supposed to be instinctual?" he teased. "I'm fairly certain that was the core of your argument against joining the Wards."
I sighed and tried not to grow too annoyed. It wasn't very funny, but at least he was bothering to talk to me… and he really had dragged the bar pretty low, hadn't he? Ugh.
"And I said that they could help with refinement, but I'm doing just fine on my own. It's just a matter of using my powers when I'm in a hurry instead of when I'm sitting around and have all the time in the world. You know, like taking a timed test versus doing homework with all my notes?"
Dad blinked at me.
"I was under the impression you were like Dauntless, but with–" Dad stalled and furrowed his brow. "Hold on. Weren't you using blood for your magic items? I thought I'd told you to stop cutting yourself. I get that you can heal, but it might scar or worse if you keep it up."
This time, I did scowl. He seriously hadn't noticed the funnel and bottles now permanently installed in my room?
"And if I'm actually attacked, then I'll suffer something way worse than the occasional little cut on my arm. I did check, you know, and it doesn't scar. And seriously, healing myself is stupidly easy, as in—Rise. That easy. And it's not like I drain myself until I'm dizzy; that would be dumb."
The Aspect washed away the last lingering vestiges of drowsiness and left me practically vibrating in my seat with suppressed energy. Was this how people felt after drinking a giant mug of coffee? If so, no wonder it was such a prevalent addiction. It would be hard to stop myself from sprinting all the way to the bus stop just to burn off some of it.
I didn't think that Rise produced light capable of harming one's eyes, but Dad was still left blinking and rubbing at his own. Maybe they just didn't hurt my eyes.
"Can't you at least wait until I can supervise?" he asked worriedly. "I still don't think this is at all safe, but I would at least feel much better if I were there to help in an emergency."
I already have adult supervision, I didn't say.
No Named would succumb to something as ordinary as a ritual injury, Roma sniffed. We do not go quietly.
Weren't you killed mid-speech?
A wave of deep offense struck me, and I winced. Apparently, I had crossed a line there.
Sorry.
There was a small pause, during which time the offense gradually faded into mild bemusement.
It was quite a good taunt, but do try not to pointlessly attack your own allies, my dear. And judging by the holes in my memories, I still did not go quietly.
The what? I balked.
Later, perhaps.
"Taylor?" Dad prompted, and I winced. There I went, seemingly zoning out yet again. "Please, if not me, then could you at least talk to the Protectorate about it? They might be able to spare someone for supervision even before you join."
I glanced at the microwave's clock and shook my head. I didn't have enough time to finish breakfast and explain the story-based aspects of my powers. Really, trying to explain that without sounding delusional could easily be the work of hours.
"Yeah, I'm not comfortable giving the leaky government agency blood samples. I actually wouldn't mind you supervising, but that would require that you be around."
That had definitely come out much more bitter than I'd intended, and I felt a flood of guilt at the dismay on Dad's expression. I didn't like his reasons, but he was working hard and I didn't like giving him more things to worry about. I shook my head and forced my face into a fake smile.
"And anyway, my powers come with an enhanced physiology. Literally the absolute worst that could happen would be a need for hospitalization."
Oh, do try not to challenge fate in such a manner, Roma fretted. Please revoke that statement. Saying such things is not unlike entering melee with a Swordsmaster.
"…Until I said that," I sighed. "Now I might actually need to do something else just to be safe."
I was tempted to propose calling him on the phone while I harvested blood, but I felt as though that would excuse his late hours. If he had time for an extended phone call, then he had time to come home and monitor me in person.
"Describing your powers changes how they behave?" Dad asked, appearing genuinely interested for the first time all day.
I glanced at the clock again and watched the numbers change. I wasn't looking forward to describing the story-based elements at all, but I might need to find a way. Later.
"Sometimes," I hedged. "I'll try to find a good way to explain it, okay? I don't have enough time to go into it right now."
Dad hesitated, checked the time, and frowned back at me.
"And you'll hold off on the cuts until later?" Dad pressed.
I didn't want to agree, but I also didn't want to lie to him. Fortunately, I didn't need to do either.
"I promise not to harvest any more blood without supervision until we've talked about it," I said with complete honesty.
Roma laughed lightly at the back of my head. I didn't share her amusement, but I also wasn't feeling too guilty for the deception. It was his own fault for working such inefficiently long hours.
"Good. That's—good," Dad sighed, slumping with relief. "Thank you."
And now I did feel a little guilty. This really did mean a lot to him, and I had carelessly added to his worries without thinking twice.
"I'm glad you're willing to be responsible about this," he continued.
Annoyance took a large chunk out of my guilt. I wasn't stupid. I just couldn't explain my reasons for being certain it was safe. I concealed my reaction to his words by shoveling my now-soggy breakfast into my mouth.
It is in the nature of parents to mistrust the judgment of their children, Roma chimed in. They have observed your every bad idea as you grow up, and have needed to clean up after many of them.
Admittedly, Roma was probably right, but that didn't make me any less annoyed. I wasn't little anymore; I knew better now. That was arguably the whole point of growing up—but I supposed he had been too busy to notice.
Didn't you really hate Dad? I remember you providing all sorts of rude commentary back when you were pretending to be part of my powers.
Oh, I still consider him to be a terrible parent, Roma cheerfully admitted. But as such comments would upset you and render you likely to ignore me, I have decided to refrain.
Yeah, there's no way that'll last the whole week.
You should have chosen a larger timescale for that particular bet. After all, he won't be present for me to insult.
I frowned at the reminder. I already knew how Dad would react if I confronted him on how such long hours harmed productivity: he would sigh, apologize, and make no changes whatsoever, insisting that it was only a temporary situation. Except there had been a lot of 'temporary' problems since Mom had died, and he showed no sign of acknowledging it as a chronic problem. Maybe he would notice how absurdly busy he had become once he started seeing me on the news. I doubted it, though.
Nothing went horribly wrong that morning. I went to school in my glamoured sneakers, let Roma distract me from the new whisper campaign insisting that I was only exercising for a girlfriend, and reluctantly tried to predict the actions of my bullies. The absence of Emma and Madison made it more likely that they were spreading rumors about me, and that would be unpleasant down the line. It wasn't as though I could refute the rumors, though; doing that would just make them spread faster. Similarly, I couldn't spread unkind rumors about Madison and Emma—not only would any counterattacks get me punished, but I simply wouldn't be believed. Hooray for Winslow, the school which blamed victims as soon as we fought back.
Not for the first time, I wished that I had pushed Dad to explore the idea of Arcadia attendance back when that might have been an option. My grades used to be pretty good; the waiting list might be hundreds of students long. There was no way they would take me now, though. Not when my grades had dipped because of the bullying. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if Winslow had further sabotaged my chances by recording some of the bullshit claims that I was the bully.
Why not consider Arcadia attendance as a secondary plan? Roma proposed. This school is effectively the territory of your foes, and there is no reason to let them continue the war on their favored grounds.
I glanced over my World Issues worksheet and decided it was good enough to focus my attention elsewhere. The answers weren't as comprehensive as I would prefer, but they were pretty much just to prove that we'd actually read the textbook when we were supposed to—or were capable of reading the textbook, considering how many people currently had them open. Still, I'd seen plenty of people get perfect scores for answers worse than what I had down already. I wasn't even sure that Mr. Gladly read them; it often felt as though he graded based on completion rather than content.
I don't see that happening unless I join the Wards, and you've made it abundantly clear that I would be forced into martyrdom if I tried that.
Admittedly, it was almost a relief to have a valid excuse not to join. I hadn't been keen on navigating mandatory social situations with teammates who might hate me, and I imagined the Protectorate wouldn't approve of half the aspects of my powers. There was the story perspective, too: few tales ended well after a government organization chose to ignore or reject the warnings of those working for it. Either I would get hurt, or they would.
I wasn't looking forward to explaining that I wasn't Mastered, though. The mall meeting had just been such a mess.
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.
I could just call, though…? I proposed halfheartedly, still not sold on this idea. It would be pointless, embarrassing, and might get me lectured by adults who thought they knew better.
While such remote communications are remarkably useful, you may find that it is far harder to ignore someone when they are standing before you. As I understand it, Arcadia's administration does not have a vested interest in protecting the staff of Winslow. They will be far less inclined to conceal the misbehavior of those at a rival school.
I should still plan for failure though, shouldn't I? And I think failure leads into a bad story in this case. 'A girl asks for aid, is ignored, and subsequently has something terrible happen to her.' Or… I guess I'm already living that tale.
You are, Roma confirmed, not unkindly. It is an option worth exploring, is it not?
I guess, I replied dubiously, still not sold on it, then paused as a thought struck me. Wait. Can I count that as the fulfillment of a favor? I mean, it's something you want to do while I don't, so…
I do not wish to step into the role of a puppet-master, thank you, Roma replied wryly. There are some very good reasons—such as my desire not to fully die a second time—which have kept me from dictating your actions. The survival prospects of scheming roles are nearly as awful as those of aging heroic mentors.
I choked back a laugh, winced, and hoped nobody had noticed it. Plenty of other students were completing their worksheets with their groups or even just idly chatting, so there had to be enough noise to cover it up, right?
My dear, you would not be the first person to laugh at a stray thought. Do not worry yourself over something so minor.
Spoken like someone who never needed to deal with high school.
My dearest heiress, I come from a land where it was fashionable to identify the specific poisons used for a meal and subsequently administer the appropriate antidote or antidotes. This was for every public meal, mind you.
I tried not to stupidly gape at nothing in particular. You did what? Again, how did any of you ever survive to adulthood?
Oh, they were hardly ever fatal. Just supremely embarrassing for whomever made a mistake. The decreased social status from such humiliating errors could be fatal in the long run, of course, but the poisons themselves were hardly ever fatal.
The difference between 'hardly ever' and 'never' is a corpse, Roma. You do realize how completely fucked up that is, right?
Not only did it separate the wheat from the chaff, but it was excellent for the long-term advancement of—what would be the word here? Toxicology? Goblins so often had us beat, of course, but even the smallest advantage could mean the difference between death and survival.
Lets… just move on. Honestly, I was less and less surprised that Roma had become a villain with every story she told of her homeland. It was seriously messed up. That mention of goblins was interesting, though; were they created by a power, or was even the evolutionary history of her world wildly divergent from Earth-bet?
As you wish. After giving the matter further thought, I do agree that we should wait until after you return your footwear to their previous appearance. Or… no, perhaps a more respectable appearance is in order. A worn individual in nice clothing would provide a suitable contrast.
With what money, exactly? I asked wryly.
The bell rang a moment later. I promptly snatched up my worksheet, darted to Mr. Gladly's desk, and made sure that he was looking as I placed it into the submission bin.
"Be sure to read the first section of chapter twelve before the next class!" Mr. Gladly called above the rising din, blatantly pretending that he thought most of them would do so.
I was halfway back to the classroom's exit when I tripped on an ankle that had not been there moments before. I hit my elbow on the side of a desk and only barely managed to stop myself from falling flat on my face.
"Don't be in such a rush, Taylor, gosh," Emma called, giggling. "It's not as if you have anywhere important to be."
I took a deep breath and pushed myself back upright. I couldn't even remember the name of the unrepentantly grinning girl responsible for tripping me, and it didn't matter. Nobody would believe me if I reported her; all I could do was to keep hurrying on my way and find a hiding place before the Trio could follow me. Below the stairs leading to the roof seemed like a safe bet this time.
And you wonder why I so often recommend violence, Roma commented. One of the best ways to defeat an opponent is to avoid engaging them on their chosen battlefield or in their area of expertise.
…Roma had a point. I hated it, but it was there. From an amoral point of view, violence would be a more reliable solution to my problems than trying to gather enough evidence on my bullies for them to finally earn a harsh enough punishment to make them leave me alone.
Aim higher, my dear. 'Expulsion' is a worthier goal.
I'm trying to keep my expectations realistic. Even just a temporary suspension would be an improvement over them getting me punished.
'Realistic expectations' are just another chain exploited by your oppressors. Ours is to force the world to be better. Do you truly wish for your bullies to escape with a mere slap on the wrist? They would only resume their activities at a lower—
A harsh shove sent me careening against the lockers to the right, and my arm erupted with pain.
"Watch where you're going, Hebert," spat Sophia Hess, the track star stomping past as though that attack hadn't been entirely deliberate.
I gingerly pushed myself away from the wall of lockers and glared after her. The pain faded quickly enough that I was pretty sure that nothing was broken, but I would definitely gain a nasty bruise were it not for Rise. After it was healed away, I would need to wear long sleeves to cover up the lack of such an injury in the coming days.
Or you could keep it, and show it to Arcadia's staff once it begins properly purpling.
As Principal Blackwell is so happy to remind me, there's no proof that they did it. It's my word against theirs.
My dearest Heiress, I am confident that the threshold for proof is different from the threshold for concern. Would you not be worried if someone came to you with injures and the kind of reports that you can provide?
I guess? There really isn't any proof I didn't do it to myself, though.
Plausibility may be all we need for others to exert more effort toward aiding you than they otherwise would, Roma explained patiently. All we need is for their consciences to ask them, 'what if? What if she is telling the truth, and I did not help?' Morality makes people predictable, my dearest Heiress, and therefore open to exploitation.
I was originally going to keep arguing with her about visiting Arcadia, but that comment wasn't one that I could let slide. I crouched in the alcove under the stairs leading to the roof, retrieved my lunch, and resumed arguing with my only friend.
Ruthlessness is just as predictable in its own way, though. I'll know that—that you would kill someone if their death benefited you, for instance, and that you would happily hurt an already injured opponent if an opportunity presented itself.
That topic was rather uncomfortable, actually. She might have spent a lot of time urging me to hurt the Trio, but I didn't like to dwell on the lack of scruples her recommendations revealed. Arguing over Arcadia would be better.
I don't even have enough money to buy the smartphone you want me to get, let alone even more clothes. Assuming nothing I already own meets your standards for a 'respectable appearance'?
Some of it might, Roma admitted, but not in an ideal manner. I realize you have an aversion to bright colors, but this is one situation where they would be exceptionally useful. They would help contrast with your own visible exhaustion.
I'm not that bad.
You will be after a night of finding criminals to liberate funds from.
One, please don't ever use 'liberate' like that again. It's ridiculous. Two, I don't want to risk going out until after the heels are all enchanted and I have more weapons than just glamour flashbangs.
Roma sighed.
Would it help if I let new clothes count as part of the relevant favor? she offered.
It would save me from something even more objectionable, and honestly, I was grateful for the offer. It didn't solve the issue of risking another story, but if she thought it was safe…
What's the worst thing that could happen? It's not as if Roma is trying to coax Taylor into villainy and emotional dependence on her in a manner that might look like ongoing involuntary Master'ing to an outside observer. I'm sure that it will be fine and that nothing will go wrong at all. The chances of Taylor just stumbling across Gallant in his civilian identity as so low as to be harmless.
EDIT: This shitpost should not be taken as an indicator of where the story is (or isn't) going.
They think Gallant is a tinker cause the prt doesn't want to admit they have a human master so they tell people he's a tinker who can create devices that shoot emotion altering beams rather than being someone who can shoot emotion altering beams. Notice how at the shop he was saying stuff like my sensors are detecting two people that's why they think its gear based.
I'm starting to get that feeling I got after reading the sequel series to the Percy Jackson books where I was just glad the story was over because even Rick Riordan had known from the beginning that putting his heroes in stories meant making them suffer Greek tragedies and I really, really liked those characters. I just wanted the story to be done and stay done to give the pour souls a break.
Going from that point in my life to writing stories of my own has been an interesting journey, to say the least.
50/50 Roma will be kicking herself for it later. As a former ruler (and a Praesi at that) she should know perfectly well that war (and all forms of social interaction and competition, in Praes) is deception, and keeping secrets about the limits or nature of your abilities until the moment for a dramatic reveal is exactly the kind of thing a cunning Named does - and "The Gallant" has plenty of experienced mentors. Heroism only means the act of keeping said secret can't be allowed to disadvantage his allies too much - and it doesn't.
(The other 50 is that she'll blame it one the Murphy's Law of Villainous Schemes thing.)
She might not think he's a tinker. Very simple play on Taylor's lack of detailed knowledge to get her to make uninformed decisions, which she has been doing the whole time.
She might not think he's a tinker. Very simple play on Taylor's lack of detailed knowledge to get her to make uninformed decisions, which she has been doing the whole time.
