evagrimm
#narcolepsyproblems
- Location
- US
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I don't know what it is about this last line that I love so much, but it makes me smile.
[AU][Age Swap] The Woman In Apartment 302
- Thread starter YseultNott
- Start date
I don't know what it is about this last line that I love so much, but it makes me smile.
punster lv1
Killjoy - cheerful shitposter - ignorant pedant
By this point they've known each other long enough he could maybe have started relaxing, but their initial meeting was suspiscious enough to warrant that wariness. If you squint a bit it looks like she lured a kid to her home with an offer of food, which you know stranger danger and all that jazz (which is made even worse by the fact we still don't know why she helps him).
It might be cultural, it might be me being weird but personally meta knowledge is making her less suspiscious not more.
The Sinews of War
- Pronouns
- He/Him
A week goes by, then two, then three, and Colin can't help but relax, just a little bit.
It's tiring, to be alert all the time. To be alert at home, eating breakfast and lunch and dinner and listening to the radio before it's light enough to go outside.
He's put his Knife in his shoulder bag. It's a bit harder to reach inside and take it, but his old coat was in pretty bad shape and he kept getting weird looks. He still does, sometimes, but that's probably his age and the fact that he's missing school.
He used to be good at school. It rankles, a bit, to know that for all intent and purpose, he dropped out.
(His math teacher used to say he would go far. She must be so disappointed.)
He never actually tried to make what he learned at school work with his power. It could be interesting. Give him ideas.
He has a phone. He could try some kind of online classes. Download some lessons, do an exercise or two, something like that. Even if he can't get a diploma, it might be useful.
He has nothing to lose by doing so.
It's tiring, to be alert all the time. To be alert at home, eating breakfast and lunch and dinner and listening to the radio before it's light enough to go outside.
He's put his Knife in his shoulder bag. It's a bit harder to reach inside and take it, but his old coat was in pretty bad shape and he kept getting weird looks. He still does, sometimes, but that's probably his age and the fact that he's missing school.
He used to be good at school. It rankles, a bit, to know that for all intent and purpose, he dropped out.
(His math teacher used to say he would go far. She must be so disappointed.)
He never actually tried to make what he learned at school work with his power. It could be interesting. Give him ideas.
He has a phone. He could try some kind of online classes. Download some lessons, do an exercise or two, something like that. Even if he can't get a diploma, it might be useful.
He has nothing to lose by doing so.
punster lv1
Killjoy - cheerful shitposter - ignorant pedant
(Psst, I just checked and apparently the English equivalent is sinews of war.)
The Sword In the Stone
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Colin sits between piles of scrap metal in the abandoned building he claimed as a workshop and thinks.
Colin can't improve on the Knife anymore. Not in any way that matters. He's run out of space.
There are… limits, even with his power, to what he can put in something so small without making it fragile or removing other functionalities. If he wants to keep working on the Knife, he needs to make it bigger.
And then it will be too big to hide in his bag, which will defeat the purpose.
Maybe he could…
He still has ideas, thoughts, and it would be a waste, wouldn't it be, to be able to do things and not do anything—to not help now that he can, now that he has the power to change things.
He's always liked the thought of being a hero.
He should make armor first. Tall and sturdy and strong, something that will make him hard to hurt, hard to ignore — something that will make people take him seriously. And then a weapon, something bigger than a knife, something he could do more with, something like…
An armor and a sword. An armor and a sword, and then Colin will be a hero.
Colin can't improve on the Knife anymore. Not in any way that matters. He's run out of space.
There are… limits, even with his power, to what he can put in something so small without making it fragile or removing other functionalities. If he wants to keep working on the Knife, he needs to make it bigger.
And then it will be too big to hide in his bag, which will defeat the purpose.
Maybe he could…
He still has ideas, thoughts, and it would be a waste, wouldn't it be, to be able to do things and not do anything—to not help now that he can, now that he has the power to change things.
He's always liked the thought of being a hero.
He should make armor first. Tall and sturdy and strong, something that will make him hard to hurt, hard to ignore — something that will make people take him seriously. And then a weapon, something bigger than a knife, something he could do more with, something like…
An armor and a sword. An armor and a sword, and then Colin will be a hero.
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I can picture someone trying to strong arm Colin by threatening Taylor. It's a very brief picture.
Good Night
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Colin comes back early that day, and for once Taylor doesn't go out after dinner, and so, they spend the evening together.
It's nice. The night has fallen outside, the sky dark behind the window panes, and Taylor has turned on her reading lamp, bright and warm, painting the room with yellow light. She's listening to an audiobook, a story of lone adventurers in a fantastic land, and Colin half-listens as he tries to ponder on the design of his future helmet, the tale of never-ending winter and great perils and woes a comfortable lull, a contrast to the big armchair he's curled into and the heavy blanket over his shoulders.
It's a little hard to think, his mind slow and sluggish the way it always is before sleep, and his eyes are closing as he runs his hands against the soft plaid, tangling his finger in its fringe and twisting the strands between them.
He left the bag with the Knife in his room.
He thinks that might be okay.
It's nice. The night has fallen outside, the sky dark behind the window panes, and Taylor has turned on her reading lamp, bright and warm, painting the room with yellow light. She's listening to an audiobook, a story of lone adventurers in a fantastic land, and Colin half-listens as he tries to ponder on the design of his future helmet, the tale of never-ending winter and great perils and woes a comfortable lull, a contrast to the big armchair he's curled into and the heavy blanket over his shoulders.
It's a little hard to think, his mind slow and sluggish the way it always is before sleep, and his eyes are closing as he runs his hands against the soft plaid, tangling his finger in its fringe and twisting the strands between them.
He left the bag with the Knife in his room.
He thinks that might be okay.
evagrimm
#narcolepsyproblems
- Location
- US
- Pronouns
- She/Her
This makes my heart melt.
A Knight In Dull Armor
- Pronouns
- He/Him
It takes almost another month before Colin is finally done with his armor, before his sword is ready to be used, before he feels like he's ready
It doesn't look quite as good as he'd like. He prioritized function over form, and he doesn't know much about design or fashion or whatever it's called. It looks a bit weird, a bit deformed or clunky, and it bothers him a bit, even if it doesn't actually impact the way it works. He should keep that in mind for the future, try to be more elegant next time as he continues working on his things and making them better and better and better as ideas keep coming.
For now, though, he has enough to start.
He's considered making other things. A vehicle, maybe, some kind of bike, for easier transportation, but the ideas are distant, imprecise, they don't crystallize the way the Knife did, or the Armor or the Sword. It's not easy the way they were.
Colin thinks he might be more of a weapon-smith. A maker of arms.
He likes the sound of that.
It doesn't look quite as good as he'd like. He prioritized function over form, and he doesn't know much about design or fashion or whatever it's called. It looks a bit weird, a bit deformed or clunky, and it bothers him a bit, even if it doesn't actually impact the way it works. He should keep that in mind for the future, try to be more elegant next time as he continues working on his things and making them better and better and better as ideas keep coming.
For now, though, he has enough to start.
He's considered making other things. A vehicle, maybe, some kind of bike, for easier transportation, but the ideas are distant, imprecise, they don't crystallize the way the Knife did, or the Armor or the Sword. It's not easy the way they were.
Colin thinks he might be more of a weapon-smith. A maker of arms.
He likes the sound of that.
Late Night Walks
- Pronouns
- He/Him
On his first night as a hero, Colin waits until Taylor leaves to go out and get his armor.
It feels heavy, comfortable, exactly like it should.
The night is quiet. The neighborhood is generally pretty calm, and Colin doesn't want to go too far. He will need to walk back on foot before morning, and he'd like to be home before dawn to catch some sleep before Taylor wakes him up for breakfast.
It feels more like a late walk than anything else, and he ends up going back home without anything happening.
So goes the second night.
And so goes the third night, and the fourth and the fifth, aimless hours with nothing to show but tiredness and the memories of street lamps.
On the sixth night, Colin meets Psyche.
It feels heavy, comfortable, exactly like it should.
The night is quiet. The neighborhood is generally pretty calm, and Colin doesn't want to go too far. He will need to walk back on foot before morning, and he'd like to be home before dawn to catch some sleep before Taylor wakes him up for breakfast.
It feels more like a late walk than anything else, and he ends up going back home without anything happening.
So goes the second night.
And so goes the third night, and the fourth and the fifth, aimless hours with nothing to show but tiredness and the memories of street lamps.
On the sixth night, Colin meets Psyche.
punster lv1
Killjoy - cheerful shitposter - ignorant pedant
Thank you for not having anything happen on the first night. Most fanfic mention it, but few follow through.
Archivist Grim
Totally not AI
- Location
- The abyss
- Pronouns
- He/Him/They
By any chance his sixth night was a moonlight walk?
Very interesting story thus far ^..^ I'll look forwards to its continuance and culmination.
A Very Hungry Butterfly
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Psyche reminds Colin of a butterfly, tall and thin, dull brown and white, a shawl positioned like wings over her shoulders with a pattern of false eyes, her hair long and dark, fluttering.
"This is a bad idea, you know," she says. "You're right in Seethe's territory. She might take offense."
"I'm not scared," Colin says.
She moves her head slightly, as if rolling her eyes behind her mask.
"That," Psyche says, "is a mistake. I saw her eat a man to the bones once, and walk away without a flinch. There is a reason she's still free."
Oh.
He didn't know about the cannibalism.
"I thought she was pretending to be helping people," Colin says.
"Yes, well," Psyche says. "Maybe she lied. Or maybe she's crazy."
This isn't going the way Colin expected it to. He thought it would be… Simpler, maybe. That there would be a sort of connection, the recognition of another cape, of another hero, of someone like him. There isn't anything of the sort, and he's not sure what to make of it.
(He doesn't need it.)
(He doesn't need her)
"I'm not going to stop," Colin says.
For a while, Psyche doesn't say anything, head tilted to the side, and he gets the feeling that she's looking at him. Weighing him up.
He's about to turn around and leave when she finally speaks.
"Be here next night," she says. "I'll show you the ropes."
"This is a bad idea, you know," she says. "You're right in Seethe's territory. She might take offense."
"I'm not scared," Colin says.
She moves her head slightly, as if rolling her eyes behind her mask.
"That," Psyche says, "is a mistake. I saw her eat a man to the bones once, and walk away without a flinch. There is a reason she's still free."
Oh.
He didn't know about the cannibalism.
"I thought she was pretending to be helping people," Colin says.
"Yes, well," Psyche says. "Maybe she lied. Or maybe she's crazy."
This isn't going the way Colin expected it to. He thought it would be… Simpler, maybe. That there would be a sort of connection, the recognition of another cape, of another hero, of someone like him. There isn't anything of the sort, and he's not sure what to make of it.
(He doesn't need it.)
(He doesn't need her)
"I'm not going to stop," Colin says.
For a while, Psyche doesn't say anything, head tilted to the side, and he gets the feeling that she's looking at him. Weighing him up.
He's about to turn around and leave when she finally speaks.
"Be here next night," she says. "I'll show you the ropes."
Hm who is Seethe? I was thinking Bitch, but IdK
evagrimm
#narcolepsyproblems
- Location
- US
- Pronouns
- She/Her
The stakes just got raised...
Kiddo
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Colin goes to meet Psyche the following night.
It's only logical, after all. As little as Colin likes it, the previous nights have shown that he can't just walk around hoping to run into a crime. Better to go along with her mentorship delusion until he knows a better way to find the people he's supposed to find, and then ditch her.
That's the only reason he's there.
"You came," Psyche says. She pauses, briefly. "What do I call you?"
"Armsmaster," Colin says.
She hums.
"That's a pretty big name for someone just starting out," she says. "Especially a kid. Are you even old enough to shave?"
Colin clenches his teeth.
"It might be a big name," he says, "but I intend to earn it."
Psyche laughs.
"That's the spirit, kid!" she says.
This is off to a fucking great start.
It's only logical, after all. As little as Colin likes it, the previous nights have shown that he can't just walk around hoping to run into a crime. Better to go along with her mentorship delusion until he knows a better way to find the people he's supposed to find, and then ditch her.
That's the only reason he's there.
"You came," Psyche says. She pauses, briefly. "What do I call you?"
"Armsmaster," Colin says.
She hums.
"That's a pretty big name for someone just starting out," she says. "Especially a kid. Are you even old enough to shave?"
Colin clenches his teeth.
"It might be a big name," he says, "but I intend to earn it."
Psyche laughs.
"That's the spirit, kid!" she says.
This is off to a fucking great start.
Teamwork Makes the Dream Work
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Despite Psyche's rather grating personality, Colin's night activities quickly fall into a comfortable routine.
He doesn't go out every night, as much as he wishes to. Psyche wasn't wrong when she said he still needs to sleep, just as he still needs to work on his Sword and Armor, just as he still needs to be up during the day so that Taylor won't be suspicious. Not that it's any of her business, it's just…
He likes her home. It's comfortable. Safe. Finding somewhere else to live would be a hassle.
Even on the nights where Colin does go out, he doesn't spend that much time outside.
"You need to practice," Psyche said. "You shouldn't fight anyone with that sword if you don't actually know how to use it. It's dumb and irresponsible."
Colin doesn't like it, doesn't like going back to preparations when he's now so close to action, doesn't like the implication that he's irresponsible, that he's dumb, that he's a stupid, useless boy who can't do anything, that…
He doesn't like it, but working again and again, until he gets better… That is something Colin can understand. A routine, familiar and well-worn.
Why would getting powers have changed it?
He doesn't go out every night, as much as he wishes to. Psyche wasn't wrong when she said he still needs to sleep, just as he still needs to work on his Sword and Armor, just as he still needs to be up during the day so that Taylor won't be suspicious. Not that it's any of her business, it's just…
He likes her home. It's comfortable. Safe. Finding somewhere else to live would be a hassle.
Even on the nights where Colin does go out, he doesn't spend that much time outside.
"You need to practice," Psyche said. "You shouldn't fight anyone with that sword if you don't actually know how to use it. It's dumb and irresponsible."
Colin doesn't like it, doesn't like going back to preparations when he's now so close to action, doesn't like the implication that he's irresponsible, that he's dumb, that he's a stupid, useless boy who can't do anything, that…
He doesn't like it, but working again and again, until he gets better… That is something Colin can understand. A routine, familiar and well-worn.
Why would getting powers have changed it?
Perchance to Dream
- Pronouns
- He/Him
"Long night?" Taylor asks.
Colin yawns.
"No," he says.
He didn't go to bed that much later than usual, honestly. He just spent an hour or two practicing a new move. It's ridiculous how hard it was to get up this morning.
Sleeping is stupid. How does anyone get anything done?
"I made breakfast," Taylor says.
Great. It means he doesn't have to try to remember how to use the fridge or, even worse, the stove.
Although he supposes he could have just poured himself a bowl of cereal.
"I won't be here this afternoon, and I won't be back until morning," Taylor says as Colin digs into his scrambled eggs. "I'm afraid I am about to have a rather long night."
So is Colin. Psyche has captured one of Seethe's moles in the BBPD, and she wants Colin to watch her while she sneaks into the mole's apartment.
He's kind of looking forward to it.
"Thanks for the eggs," Colin says.
Taylor smiles. It looks forced, artificial, but Colin thinks she means it.
He smiles back.
Colin yawns.
"No," he says.
He didn't go to bed that much later than usual, honestly. He just spent an hour or two practicing a new move. It's ridiculous how hard it was to get up this morning.
Sleeping is stupid. How does anyone get anything done?
"I made breakfast," Taylor says.
Great. It means he doesn't have to try to remember how to use the fridge or, even worse, the stove.
Although he supposes he could have just poured himself a bowl of cereal.
"I won't be here this afternoon, and I won't be back until morning," Taylor says as Colin digs into his scrambled eggs. "I'm afraid I am about to have a rather long night."
So is Colin. Psyche has captured one of Seethe's moles in the BBPD, and she wants Colin to watch her while she sneaks into the mole's apartment.
He's kind of looking forward to it.
"Thanks for the eggs," Colin says.
Taylor smiles. It looks forced, artificial, but Colin thinks she means it.
He smiles back.
Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Guard duty is actually pretty boring.
They are both there, inside the abandoned warehouse. The prisoner, tied with plastic links to a firmly anchored pipe. Colin, sitting on the floor in front of them. They couldn't find a chair able to bear his armor's weight.
The prisoner's name is Carrie Murray. Carrie Murray is an asshole.
All you have to do is sit there and check from time to time that she didn't hurt herself or damage her restraints, Psyche said. You can bring a book or a deck of cards or something like that if you want. We wouldn't want you to fall asleep.
Colin brought his phone and math lessons. Unfortunately, Carrie Murray has decided to fight off boredom herself by singing.
Off key.
"Can you shut the fuck up?" Colin finally snaps after a particularly bad reprise of a dumb popular song, and Carrie Murray mercifully stops singing in favor of letting out a mocking laugh.
"I don't think I will," she says. "What are you gonna do, Tin Boy? Punch me? How very heroic!"
There are rags in a corner of the room, leftover from a previous occupant, and Colin doesn't want to touch them because God knows what they were used for, but at that point, he's long past caring.
"I think," he says, putting down his phone and getting up, "that I'm going to gag you."
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh," Carrie Murray says. "How scary! But if you do that, who's going to tell you about dear Tamara?"
"We already know Tamara Mullen is also a mole," Colin says.
Carrie Murray's smile, somehow, grows larger.
"I don't mean that," she says. "Sweet dear Tamara had a change of heart. She wants to go to the PRT and tattle e-ve-ry-thing she knows. Except Seethe found out, and she's not happy, oh no, not happy at all. She doesn't like traitors, you see."
"What?" Colin says.
"She's going to kill her," Carrie Murray says. "Tamara will watch a movie tonight, you see. She always goes to the cinema on Saturday nights. Around two in the morning, she will take a shortcut through the alley behind the laundromat. Guess who will be there?"
Two in the morning. It's already one thirty. If Colin goes now, he can be by the lavomatic in time. Barely.
Carrie Murray might be lying.
She might not be.
Tamara Mullen might be in danger. She could die, if he stays — die when he could have saved her, when he could have helped, when he could have done something, and…
He can't take that risk.
Colin runs.
They are both there, inside the abandoned warehouse. The prisoner, tied with plastic links to a firmly anchored pipe. Colin, sitting on the floor in front of them. They couldn't find a chair able to bear his armor's weight.
The prisoner's name is Carrie Murray. Carrie Murray is an asshole.
All you have to do is sit there and check from time to time that she didn't hurt herself or damage her restraints, Psyche said. You can bring a book or a deck of cards or something like that if you want. We wouldn't want you to fall asleep.
Colin brought his phone and math lessons. Unfortunately, Carrie Murray has decided to fight off boredom herself by singing.
Off key.
"Can you shut the fuck up?" Colin finally snaps after a particularly bad reprise of a dumb popular song, and Carrie Murray mercifully stops singing in favor of letting out a mocking laugh.
"I don't think I will," she says. "What are you gonna do, Tin Boy? Punch me? How very heroic!"
There are rags in a corner of the room, leftover from a previous occupant, and Colin doesn't want to touch them because God knows what they were used for, but at that point, he's long past caring.
"I think," he says, putting down his phone and getting up, "that I'm going to gag you."
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh," Carrie Murray says. "How scary! But if you do that, who's going to tell you about dear Tamara?"
"We already know Tamara Mullen is also a mole," Colin says.
Carrie Murray's smile, somehow, grows larger.
"I don't mean that," she says. "Sweet dear Tamara had a change of heart. She wants to go to the PRT and tattle e-ve-ry-thing she knows. Except Seethe found out, and she's not happy, oh no, not happy at all. She doesn't like traitors, you see."
"What?" Colin says.
"She's going to kill her," Carrie Murray says. "Tamara will watch a movie tonight, you see. She always goes to the cinema on Saturday nights. Around two in the morning, she will take a shortcut through the alley behind the laundromat. Guess who will be there?"
Two in the morning. It's already one thirty. If Colin goes now, he can be by the lavomatic in time. Barely.
Carrie Murray might be lying.
She might not be.
Tamara Mullen might be in danger. She could die, if he stays — die when he could have saved her, when he could have helped, when he could have done something, and…
He can't take that risk.
Colin runs.
She doesn't need to be lying. In fact it serves her purposes even better to be telling he truth now, Colin. Sweet boy.
Countdown
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Colin runs.
Colin runs, as fast as he can under the weight of his armor, on the sidewalk under the street lights, and he sees the laundromat, and the mouth of the alley behind it, and Seethe, black hood and dark mask and yellow eyes standing in the opened back of a truck, Colin runs and Colin is late.
Tamara Mullen is dead.
Everything is loud. Everything is so, so loud, whirring and white noise, headache and vertigo, everything is loud and Tamara Mullen is dead.
He failed. He failed, again, always, and it wasn't supposed to happen anymore, he was supposed to be better now, he was supposed to be able to help.
I saw her eat a man to the bones once, and walk away without a flinch, Psyche said on the day she met him, and Tamara Mullen is swollen and eaten away and her ribs are white like a flash, like a warning.
The truck starts to drive away as a dark cloud forms around Seethe, and Colin rushes forward to at least catch her, to at least stop her, to at least make sure no one else has to die.
The truck accelerates and leaves Colin behind.
Colin runs, as fast as he can under the weight of his armor, on the sidewalk under the street lights, and he sees the laundromat, and the mouth of the alley behind it, and Seethe, black hood and dark mask and yellow eyes standing in the opened back of a truck, Colin runs and Colin is late.
Tamara Mullen is dead.
Everything is loud. Everything is so, so loud, whirring and white noise, headache and vertigo, everything is loud and Tamara Mullen is dead.
He failed. He failed, again, always, and it wasn't supposed to happen anymore, he was supposed to be better now, he was supposed to be able to help.
I saw her eat a man to the bones once, and walk away without a flinch, Psyche said on the day she met him, and Tamara Mullen is swollen and eaten away and her ribs are white like a flash, like a warning.
The truck starts to drive away as a dark cloud forms around Seethe, and Colin rushes forward to at least catch her, to at least stop her, to at least make sure no one else has to die.
The truck accelerates and leaves Colin behind.
Poor Colin 
Very evocative story!
Very evocative story!
evagrimm
#narcolepsyproblems
- Location
- US
- Pronouns
- She/Her
God, this line hits hard, and to follow it up with the imagery of Seethe's villain left devoured to the point her bones are showing... Chilling.