Chapter 13
Chapter 13



Taylor woke up on an unfamiliar couch, with a bag of frozen peas lying on her face. The first thing she did was to swat them off, letting the slowly-melting vegetables tumble to a stop on her chest, instead.

The second thing she did was to turn her head and empty her stomach. Someone next to her exclaimed in disgust, but she was too busy coughing on the acid to apologize.

"Yuuta, boy, stop flailing and go clean yourself up. Souta, get a washcloth and help."

"This isn't my house."

"Souta."

"...yes ma'am."

Warm fingers gripped at Taylor's shoulder and tugged, and she sat up to follow their direction. In the next moment a glass of water was pressed into one hand, and a damp paper towel into the other. Taylor made use of them, and finally wiped at her face enough to let her squint more clearly. She was in someone's apartment, now sitting on their couch with Sunny taking up the bulk of it. A stooped old woman with a cane stood in front of her, giving her a visible once-over. The woman clicked her tongue, then stomped away towards the kitchen. Taylor looked for her glasses, found them in Sunny's mouth, and retrieved them. A quick tug on the wolf's fur and Sunshine wriggled into Taylor's lap for a hug.

An upperclassman she vaguely recognized was nearby, cleaning the rug and grumbling about it. Souta, she supposed, and the teen returning to the room with a fresh shirt was Yuuta. "Uh... hey." He offered. "Sooo... you're awake now?"

"Stop stating the obvious, Yuuta." The old woman called.

Yuuta glowered, but didn't speak against the old woman. Instead, he turned back to Taylor. "I saw you in school earlier, but uh... you looked busy. I wanted to return your ofuda that bitch slapped around."

Taylor shook her head, ignoring the woman in the background ('Yuuta, language!'). "Keep them," she mumbled.

Souta finished cleaning her mess, tossed the rag into the garbage, then came back to give her a steady look. "The Oni called, had me pick you up. Didn't say to give you a ride home, but you want one?" On her lap, Sunny sneezed, and Taylor shook her head in response. Souta grunted, "Okay."

"Going home, Miko?" The old woman clomped back into view. "I give you some melon bread to take home. Yes, Souta, I have some for you too. Don't beg." Souta gave the tiniest fistpump. Taylor heard Yuuta snort and cover his mouth with a hand. The old woman came back with a large ziplock bag, filled with bread rolls with a cross-hatched crust. Sunny was gracious enough to take the bag in her teeth, tail already wagging at the faint smell of sugar. The canine hopped off the couch, stretched, then leaned into Taylor until she agreed to swing one leg over and settle atop the wolf's back. Souta opened the door for them as the wolf carried the girl out of the apartment.

Yuuta watched them go, accepted a bread roll from his baachan, then after a moment asked, "Did we just watch a shrine maiden ride off on a wolf the size of a donkey?" ('Yuuta, what did I tell you about speaking the obvious?') Souta just grunted. "Is... nobody else bothered by this?"

Souta gave the younger teen a sideways glance. "How long you lived in the Bay?"

* * *

They took the elevator down, then exited the apartment building and started down a sidewalk, Sunshine keeping to a fast, easy gait. Heads turned, but no one barred their path. When Sunny turned down a familiar street, heading towards the shrine, Taylor grabbed the wolf's ruff and tugged.

"No. Take me home." Whiiine.

"No, Sunny. Take me home!" Taylor gritted her teeth, felt her mouth pull down in a grimace. "I just-- I want to go home."

Sunny slowed, then stopped, her tail lowering from its jaunty wave. She turned her head as far as she could, looking back, but Taylor looked down and hid behind her hair. Sunshine whined, just once, then turned around and started back down the street, towards the edges of ABB territory.

The sun was setting by the time Sunny turned the corner of the Hebert's street, then sidled behind the house to the back door. Taylor slipped off the wolf's back, fumbled for her key, and unlocked the door. The bread rolls were tossed onto a counter in the kitchen, and a fresh bag of frozen vegetables was taken from the freezer and pressed into service for Taylor's bruise. Taylor took her ice and her silence and sat down with them on the much more familiar Hebert couch. Sunshine sat in front of her, and waited.

"Sunny, I..." A tremor worked through Taylor's shoulders. "I don't want this."

The wolf cocked her head. Taylor swallowed, and continued. "I don't— I know you were right there in the shrine, and— and you wouldn't have let him really hurt me, but... Sunny, I know I said I wanted to be something special someday, but if this is what it takes I don't think I'm cut out for it."

Sunny whined, ears folding back and brows drawing together. Taylor wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I just.... I just want to hang out with my friend. Is that okay?"

Sunny made a low noise, then leaned in forward and licked at Taylor's unmarked cheek, covering her face with the slobber of sorrowful apology. Taylor squeezed her eyes shut, but grabbed Sunny's ears and rubbed them. She traced the red markings along the wolf's brow and cheeks. Forgiveness.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, but I'm scared." Sunny hopped up onto the couch and put her head in Taylor's lap. They sat like that, together, for the rest of the daylight.

Danny Hebert came home after dark, every muscle and tendon taut as a bowstring. He found his daughter asleep on the couch, salt and a darkening stain on her cheek. Danny walked out of the room, curled one hand into a fist, and bit on it until he broke the skin.

Then he returned, and picked his daughter up, to carry her upstairs and put her to bed.

* * *

Taylor was at school the next day. She rebuffed all questions: the teachers ('what, you're concerned now?') and the students ('it's fine'). She answered only one: Yuuta wanted to know if she'd liked the melon bread. She had. It was a family recipe, apparently.

The students who recognized her asked each other, and their friends, and their families instead. There weren't any answers, only more questions, but the ripples began to spread.

Lung had gone to the shrine. Lung had been there, and the shy girl was still alive. Not unmarked. But unburned, and unbowed. Mostly.

Even better, Sunny was waiting by Taylor's bike when the last bell rang. She'd found a Frisbee, and the wolf was more than happy to find an open field to toss it around in. The canine was quite good at it, surging into somersaulting leaps and tossing the disc into the air. Then Taylor would run, and try to catch the toy.

About a half hour into the game Taylor stopped and held her hands in a T. "Wait, wait, stop! Are we doing this backwards?"

Sunshine chuffed.

* * *

Danny was at work the next day, despite his reservations. Dragon had sent out an alert yesterday, when satellites picked up a sudden change in weather patterns over the city of Brockton Bay. It had lasted for only five minutes or so, but that was enough to have the Protectorate on edge. Weather-like powers weren't unheard of among parahumans. Aerokinesis, hydrokinesis— even forming small, localized storm clouds had been reported. But to change the cloud formations, wind direction, and humidity over an entire city? Capes could be powerful, even obscenely so, but they weren't forces of nature.

(Not to say that there weren't powered forces of nature... but those didn't bear thinking about. Chessman had never participated in an Endbringer battle, and he had no intentions of starting. Not while Taylor was still in school, at least.)

It was worry enough to get Armsmaster to stop going over his helmet cam of his encounter with the dog and get back on the street, taking Chessman with him as they followed Dragon's derived GPS of the weather disturbance's center. They had to pass into the ABB's territory, which did not lessen the worry. Anything that was trying to poke at Lung was cause enough for concern, though likely more for the collateral damage than anything else.

"You know... I don't remember all these trees being here," Chessman remarked, looking out the passenger window of the unmarked PRT transport. Saplings, covered in pale pink buds, about five feet tall on average.

"Neither do I. I'll grab a sample from a few before we leave, just to be sure. And make sure Blasto is still in one place."

Dragon's directions led them to a quiet back street. About halfway down, a red painted arch stood proudly at the entrance to a large lot, the only one well-kept in sight. A cobblestone path led to a medium-sized building with an uncommon design. Armsmaster and Chessman approached, taking note of the lot's appearance and structures. There were some items left near the opening of the recessed building, and Chessman took a quick look through them. An odd selection, and to just leave them here? Something was missing.

"There's some significance to this, but I don't recognize it offhand. What about you, Armsmaster?"

"I'll get it photographed and confirmed later. Right now, I recognize this."

Chessman walked back out of the lot, to where Armsmaster was examining the fence and the neighboring properties. The fences for all of them had been painted, and recently by the bright hues. It was more carefully done, but the color selection was a match to the rogue painter Armsmaster had encountered. It was difficult to tell under the coating of vines and fallen leaves, but the buildings bordering the shrine looked more intact than they had any expectation to be. Armsmaster hmmed and started eyeing the closest power lines and poles.

"I've got a few motion-sensor camera setups. Legal, though technically for deer. Get some of your pawns ready and we'll get this place wired."
 
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Omake: Camera Feed
Oni Lee hijacking the cameras and setting them on a loop with Pinkie Pie.

And have Sophia do her first monitoring duty.
Better to start subtle and escalate.

---

Things started simply enough. An off the shelf deer camera didn't have the greatest resolution, but it could keep recording for a week, and it was enough to identify someone across the street. Armsmaster was looking forward to reviewing the footage after a few days to see if their new mystery cape would make an appearance. Maybe he'd get to see the dog again! It was a good dog.

The first day, nobody of note visited the shrine. Just a few people entering the gate with offerings and leaving shortly after without them.

The second day, Oni Lee walked past, slowing briefly. He might have noticed the camera, or perhaps Armsmaster was simply imagining that the slight break in his stride as he looked around meant more than it did. Odd to see him out during the daylight, just walking around.

The third day, Oni Lee walked past again, seemingly oblivious to the camera, and a minute later he was followed by... Oni Lee. And then another one. The intervals between each new appearance growing shorter until there was a veritable conga-line of the serial suicide bomber walking into view of the camera, vanishing into dust before they even made it halfway across.

Armsmaster frowned. Something very weird was going on here. Skipping through the fourth day, he paused the video when Oni Lee made his next appearance, this time teleporting to stand in front of the gate itself. Aside from his usual mask, the man was wearing a full set of samurai armor, complete with a pair of swords at his side tucked into a sash. He stood at attention, back straight and shoulders back with his arms folded in front of his chest, as if waiting for someone to challenge him.

Not a minute later, his challenger arrived: Oni Lee. Dressed the same. Of course. They bowed to one another. Every few moments, one or the other would disintegrate into ash, only to be immediately replaced by Oni Lee, presumably teleporting into the now-vacant space. It was easy to miss if you weren't watching closely.

Polite formalities over with, the Oni Lees drew their swords and engaged in a highly theatrical duel, with Oni Lee switching roles every few seconds as the clones disappeared. Eventually, both swordsmen landed highly telegraphed but suitably dramatic fatal hits, scattering to ash. The real Oni Lee must have teleported away just before the end.

The footage was notable by virtue of showing a villain at a routine location, but the behavior shown was highly atypical of Oni Lee, and Armsmaster hadn't a clue what the purpose of all this was.

The next day's recording featured Oni Lee speeding into the frame on a bicycle with a trash can lid in one hand and a broom in the other, jousting a copy of himself on another bike. It was clear now what was going on: the psychopath had found a sense of humor somewhere along the way and had decided to start fucking with him.

He sighed. If they knew the camera was there, he probably wasn't going to get anything useful from it.
 
Datcord Says: 13
Power Slash spam, everywhere.
Slash, you say? I'm going to pretend that means shipping, because I have a twisted, disturbed delightfully whimsical brain.

Lucky 13!

Taylor woke up on an unfamiliar couch, with a bag of frozen peas lying on her face.
"Unfamiliar couch"? Oh, god! She's turning into Shinji! THE HORROR!

The second thing she did was to turn her head and empty her stomach.
Well, at least you didn't do that on Lung's shoes! You gotta be proud of that!

...also, how long has she been unconscious? It has to have been at least a couple of minutes. That's SUPER bad.

"Yuuta, boy, stop flailing and go clean yourself up. Souta, get a washcloth and help."

"This isn't my house."

"Souta."

"...yes ma'am."
Baachan! I can tell I'm gonna like her already.

She was in someone's apartment, now sitting on their couch with Sunny taking up the bulk of it.
I get the feeling that Sunny was laying on Taylor right up until she started to wake up. Probably making just the saddest wolf face you've ever seen.

I wanted to return your ofuda that bitch slapped around.
*coff*coff*TaylorisactuallySailorMars*coff*coff*

"Keep them." She mumbled.
"So... you're just gonna carry those things around with you forever?"

"She said 'keep them', I'm going to KEEP THEM."

"Did we just watch a shrine maiden ride off on a wolf the size of a donkey?"
<obvious puerile joke>

Souta gave the younger teen a sideways glance. "How long you lived in the Bay?"
"This ain't the weirdest thing I've seen TODAY. Hell, 'bout five minutes ago, I had to dodge Uber dressed up as some chick with GUNS FOR SHOES."

Heads turned, but no one barred their path.
You're... riding a wolf big enough to... well... RIDE. Damn right no one's barring your path!

...also, that whole "Miko protected by Oni Lee" and "People recognize you as the girl who's been making the place nicer" thing.

(Items added to "Miko's" PRT rap sheet: Riding an animal in the streets without a permit, causing a disturbance, jaywolfwalking.)

"I just-- I want to go home."
*wince* Ah, poor Taylor. Seriously, she just faced down LUNG, woke up in a stranger's house, and now her pet "dog" is trying to take her BACK to where she just got knocked the fuck out. She's... not in a good headspace here, I'm sure.

Sunny slowed, then stopped, her tail lowering from its jaunty wave. [snip] Sunshine whined, just once, then turned around and started back down the street,
For what it's worth, I think Sunny has only JUST realized that she might have pushed Taylor too far, too fast. To her credit, as soon as this is made apparent, she does accept it and listens to Taylor.

Sunny, I know I said I wanted to be something special someday, but if this is what it takes I don't think I'm cut out for it.
*glances at canon*
*wild, hysterical laughter*
Oh, Taylor... if you only knew....

"I just.... I just want to hang out with my friend. Is that okay?"
Hmmm, what's this? Oh, it's a fist. A fist in my feels. Punching them. Forever. I'm just gonna go over here and cut these invisible onions, now.

She traced the red markings along the wolf's brow and cheeks.
*squints* Hmmm... is this the first time we see Taylor comment on the markings? Also, I think this chapter is the first time we actually SEE Taylor acknowledge that Sunny's a wolf, right? ...I could be wrong. I should reread the entire story to make sure! (Ooooh, twist my arm.)

Danny walked out of the room, curled one hand into a fist, and bit on it until he broke the skin.

Then he returned, and picked his daughter up, to carry her upstairs and put her to bed.
...okay, on the one hand, Danny's an idiot for deciding to just... continue on ignoring this. On the OTHER hand... I gotta give him credit for not immediately going into psycho protective Dad mode.

On the gripping hand, god damn, Danny. You been working out or something? Your daughter's skinny, but NOT small and, from what I recall, you're not exactly winning bodybuilding competitions yourself. (Minor Brute rating, perhaps?)

She rebuffed all questions: the teachers ('what, you're concerned now?')
Ha! Good on you, Taylor! (Admittedly, actually telling them something, anything, might have worked BETTER, but... moral victory, I suppose?)

and the students ('it's fine').
"Lung hit me. He had to be carried away."

Lung had gone to the shrine. Lung had been there, and the shy girl was still alive. Not unmarked. But unburned, and unbowed. Mostly.
"She still has a face! Lung must not have wanted her dead."
"Lung must have respected her!"
"Lung respects the Miko!"
"We have to respect the Miko or Lung will kill US!"

Even better, Sunny was waiting by Taylor's bike when the last bell rang.
Hidden just out of Taylor's view: The pieces of clothing she'd bitten off the various people who'd tried to fuck with Taylor's bike.

Danny was at work the next day, despite his reservations.
Reservations, you say.... *glances at the Protectorate in BB, ponders* Well... Battery doesn't strike me as an open marriage type, Piggot is married to her work, and I'm fairly certain Danny's straight, so... Confirmed. Danny's dating Miss Militia. I'm putting it on The Chart.

Capes could be powerful, even obscenely so, but they weren't forces of nature.
Well, except for Captain I'm Not A Wolf, I'm An Okami, but... Sunny keeps refusing to put on the cape Taylor made for her, so....

It was worry enough to get Armsmaster to stop going over his helmet cam of his encounter with the dog
"I don't get it. It's a good dog, but...."

Anything that was trying to poke at Lung was cause enough for concern, though likely more for the collateral damage than anything else.
Hey! Sunny has PRECISION. Not even a single singed blade of grass, remember?

"You know... I don't remember all these trees being here." Chessman remarked,
Don't remember? Quick! To M/S quarantine with the both of you!

A cobblestone path led to a medium-sized building with an uncommon design.
It was made entirely out of ham!

There were some items left near the opening of the recessed building, and Chessman took a quick look through them. An odd selection, and to just leave them here? Something was missing.
I... I'm pretty sure it's SUPER bad to be riffling through the offerings like that? I mean, I'm not an expert in these things, but....

It was more carefully done, but the color selection was a match to the rogue painter Armsmaster had encountered.
Oh, your god, it's COMMON HOUSE PAINT! You'd better arrest every house painter in Brockton Bay! *facepalm*

"I've got a few motion-sensor camera setups. Legal, though technically for deer. Get some of your pawns ready and we'll get this place wired."
Okay, so. Given the whole "public street" thing, they can PROBABLY get away with an argument that there's no expectation of privacy here and use that to justify the cameras. It's still a huge PR screw up waiting to happen, especially if/when the PRT gets confirmation that it's a shrine. People take that sort of thing REALLY poorly.

Not a dog. Wolf. No... wolf spirit? Disapproves of theft. Disappointed in me. Wants me to return my loot. Doesn't think I'm being the kind of person Mr. Rogers would want me to be.
This does make me realize the solution to Fixing Everything Wrong In Worm, though:
  1. Learn necromancy.
  2. Summon Mr. Rogers' shade and direct him towards the nearest parahuman.
  3. Rinse, repeat as needed.
  4. Get mai tais!

It's kinda funny how the PRT in so far into the Fandom's shit list. Pretty sure they could start a bake sale to support war orphans and people would be convinced the money would go to screening said orphans for power and strong arming them into the wards or something.
Don't be ridiculous. No one is suggesting they'd use a bake sale to screen the orphans for powers... they'd use it to MAKE the orphans get powers and THEN conscript them! It's much more efficient that way.
 
Chapter 14
Chapter 14



Time moves slowly in autumn, with the world still clinging to the memory of summer. The leaves changed their colors with a quiet sort of dignity.

Even with the world slowing down, there were never quite enough hours in the day, it seemed. Sunny's naps grew infrequent, and the wolf would often reappear with her fur littered with bits of leaves, or streaks of dirt and concrete dust. Taylor bought a brush, and began a habit of grooming her friend every afternoon, once school was done. It didn't help that the wolf was shedding like mad-- Taylor joked about making another wolf from the hair. Sunny snorted, and Taylor admitted there wasn't nearly enough fluff. The wolf helped her pick out the longer, coarser hair shed from her tail instead, and Taylor borrowed a library book to learn how to make her own brushes.

Winslow began to change with the turning of the leaves. Only a week or so since her encounter with Lung, and already Taylor couldn't believe the difference. Sophia had never returned to class, and Emma had grown distraught. Her hair was less finely kept, her nails less polished. The redhead's resentment simmered like a visible heat haze, and her attacks grew bolder-- but they were more commonly interrupted by a much more vigilant faculty, or by the watchful eyes of other students. For the first time in nearly a year, Taylor could turn in homework without fear of sabotage, or enjoy her lunch in the school's cafeteria unmolested.

It was during lunch that Haru caught up with her, as she idly drew in the margins of some scrap paper. The boy set his tray down next to hers, mumbled a greeting, and opened his carton of milk with careful motions. Once he'd dropped a straw in, he glanced Taylor's way, then spoke.

"Hey— Miko?"

"It's Taylor, like I said."

"Right, sorry. Taylor, are you gonna be at the shrine today? I've been trying to catch you, but I haven't seen you there after class."

"I… kinda wanted to let You-Know-Who cool down a bit."

Haru winced. The bruise had faded quickly, but the memory had not. "Right, yeah, I can see why that might be a thing. You could probably ask Souta if he's heard anything."

"I might do that, thanks. Why were you looking for me?" It had been a week… Taylor hoped the flowerbeds weren't overrun. Old Mrs. Henrick's lessons had been clear on the importance of keeping ahead of rogue plants.

"Well, uh, Yuuta said you made ofuda… I was wondering if you'd make charms, too. If I could buy one off of you."

"I can't say that I have," Taylor said, "But if it's something I can draw… if you show me what you need, it shouldn't be a problem." She peeked into her bag, then rifled around for some of the books Sunny had unearthed for her. She set them on the table, then returned to her lunch as Haru flipped through them.

"Uh… oh! Here, this one." He spun the book back towards her. Taylor eyed the characters, then nodded and started digging for her calligraphy set.

"Is that on paper?"

"They're usually on bags, or bits of wood. I'll take what I can get, though."

Taylor exchanged her white paper slips for some tagboard paper left over from art class. A few quick cuts, and she copied the rough shape of the charm displayed. She eyed the page, then selected the thickest of her new brushes and got to work. "Hey, can I ask something?"

"Sure?"

"Thanksgiving is coming up next month. Is there an equivalent I should prep the shrine for?"

Haru sipped at his milk. "Not that I know of. I know most places have a harvest festival of some kind, but if there's a specific one, I don't know it. Mom's been complaining about not being able to travel for Chuseok this year." He caught her confused glance, and elaborated. "Mom's family is from Korea. Dad's Japanese-American."

"Huh. Okay." Taylor traced a few more lines with care. "It's just… I kinda had an idea for something. You ever make popcorn strings for Christmas?"

"In kindergarten."

Taylor flushed a bit. "Uh, yeah. It's silly, I know. But I thought about doing something similar for the shrine. Only not for Christmas. And… not with popcorn. I guess it's not that similar, when I think about it." A silly tradition, yes, but a missed one. Annette Hebert had corralled her daughter into making the strings every year, one at the start of each week in December. Taylor didn't want to continue the habit without her, but an idea had taken root lately, and Taylor thought her mother would approve of it.

Taylor finished the charm and blew on it gently to help dry it. Haru offered her a few dollars to pay for it. She told him to keep his money, but maybe bring something for the shrine, if he got what he wanted.

After school, Taylor rode home with Sunny, then told the wolf her idea as she brushed out her long fur. Sunshine tilted her head back and smiled at her in response.

* * *

When Haru got home, he ran upstairs to his room first thing, and pulled the makeshift talisman from its nest of kleenex in his schoolbag. It was the second thing Taylor had given him, and he set it carefully into the frame of the first— the oil painting she'd handed off to him, in thanks for his and the other boys' actions. Since he'd been the de-facto delivery boy, he'd gotten first pick of the three paintings, and while they were all roughly similar, he'd liked this one the best. It was a simple thing, an image of a lilypad on water. It brought a much-needed spot of color to his room, and it brought Haru a smile to pick out details he hadn't noticed on first inspection: a small bee nestled in the lilypad flower, a few minnows hiding in the shadow of the plant, a frog swimming near the edge of the frame. He ended up doodling that frog into the margins of his math homework, the image tickling at him for days.

When he'd brought it home, he'd lied to his parents and said he'd picked it up on a whim from Lord's Market, rather than go through all the knowing looks and smiles that would have followed if he'd admitted he'd gotten the gift from a girl. To be fair, he had gotten the frame from the market, so it wasn't a total dishonesty.

Haru fell asleep still looking at the Success talisman sitting in the corner of the frame. The next morning, he shoved a towel and his swim trunks into his already-packed bag, and signed his name onto the swim team tryouts notice, just before the deadline.

There were jeers and rolled eyes when he showed up, as he'd known there would be. Haru wasn't an athlete, anyone could tell you that just by looking at him. He ignored them, focusing instead on that frog, and the Success charm it swam towards.

Haru didn't take first place. He didn't even take third. He changed in the corner of the locker room, head bowed and silent. The coach stopped him on the way out, giving the boy a critical eye.

"You're not shaking, Haru."

"...huh?"

The coach tapped at his shoulder. "Most guys shake like leaves. Swimming's a tough workout. You caught your breath pretty quick too, I saw."

"So?" He didn't need this. Didn't need to be singled out any more.

The coach ignored his mulish glare. "This was the speed trials, you know."

"Yeah, and I sucked at it. I know."

Coach snorted. "Distance trials are tomorrow. I want to see you there. Don't be late."

He wasn't. Haru didn't take first place, but he did make the team. When he told his parents, his mom made his favorite gochujeon, with extra peppers. Haru wrapped up the leftovers and took them to the shrine, still feeling like he was walking on air the whole way.

He found a measuring stick planted upright, about halfway down the cobblestone path. On it was hanging a wooden placard, which he eventually identified as an ema, though an unusually large one. The wish was written in English, in familiar black ink:

I want to decorate the shrine with beads. If you have something you are grateful for, consider leaving some beads at the shrine, and I will string them together, so we can all be reminded of how many blessings we have known. I have much to be thankful for, and I hope that everyone else does too.
 
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Datcord Says: 14
I'd read it.
(Seriously, has anyone written a good Sailor Moon cross? Either a true cross or a Taylor-triggers-as stroy? Recommendations welcome.)
Hmmmm... true cross means that it wasn't Metallia that was sealed away... because she's fucking DEAD thanks to the Entities, obviously. (Or Triggered, but let's not contemplate THAT.) Really, a triggered-as option isn't even worth it, because you want those sweet, sweet past life memories showing to fuck with her headmeats. (Obviously.)

For example, in order:
"Great, I'm a wallflower again...."
"Oh, that's it, someone's getting a Love Me Beam RIGHT UP THEIR ASS!"
"Who the fuck has ROSES as weapons?"
"I just wanna hang out with my friiiiiiiieeeeeeends!"
"Oh, Lung thinks he knows FIRE, does he?!"
"Hey, at least I'm still tal-WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY TITS?!"
"...oh, good. All I have to do is sneeze wrong and I'm sitting on an S-Class rating."
"Oh, man. That chick has AMAZING ti-god dammit!"
"Oh, man. I am AMAZING with this makeup."
"The International Astronomical Union did WHAT?!"
(We're... not even gonna touch on the Starlights.)

Danny is a better dad than Alan, just throwing that out there.
Yeah, but so's a dead haddock, so....

Whoo-hoo!

The leaves changed their colors with a quiet sort of dignity.
The next day, there was a sneeze of a breeze and all the leaves fell off, resulting in ugly ass bare trees for the next five months. ...or is that just where I live?

Sunny's naps grew infrequent, and the wolf would often reappear with her fur littered with bits of leaves, or streaks of dirt and concrete dust.
...concrete dust? Why are you covered in concrete dust, Sunny?

Sophia had never returned to class, and Emma had grown distraught. Her hair was less finely kept, her nails less polished.
What... what is this feeling I'm feeling? Is... is it happiness? No. No, it's not. It's schadenfreude! Full on gleeful schadenfreude! (Which, to the untrained eye, is close enough to happiness to not matter.)

The redhead's resentment simmered like a visible heat haze, and her attacks grew bolder-- but they were more commonly interrupted by a much more vigilant faculty, or by the watchful eyes of other students.
Resulting in EMMA actually getting detentions and punishments, which has to get in her craw. Also, the fact that so many of those students liked to wear red or green is just a coincidence. Surely. Surely.

*snicker* You might as well learn to love it, Taylor. They've decided you're a cape.

"Right, sorry. Taylor, are you gonna be at the shrine today? I've been trying to catch you, but I haven't seen you there after class."
*checks last chapter*
Hmmm... that means that Armsmaster hasn't gotten anything on his cameras, yet. It's possible (though not likely), that he's taken them down. I'm sure there's a limited amount of time he can fudge the rules to keep them up.

It had been a week… Taylor hoped the flowerbeds weren't overrun. Old Mrs. Henrick's lessons had been clear on the importance of keeping ahead of rogue plants.
Upset at Lung trying to slap her head off? No. Upset that her flowerbeds might look bad? YES. Taylor has her priorities in order. (Also, never plant mint IN THE GROUND. This is the only thing I know about gardening.)

"Thanksgiving is coming up next month. Is there an equivilant I should prep the shrine for?"
I like this. Taylor's TRYING to do the good thing and be the best caretaker of the shrine and its traditions that she can. That's awesome.

an idea had taken root lately, and Taylor thought her mother would approve of it.
Is it "Slap your father until he stops being such a dumbass seriously, Danny, what the hell are you thinking?!"? Just hoping, here.

After school, Taylor rode home with Sunny,
I know this means she was on her bike, but... I muchly prefer to think that she's just started riding Sunny around constantly. Just... this giant wolf waiting for her every day after school. (Meanwhile, Winslow doesn't say ANYTHING. Because it's Brockton Bay. That doesn't even rank in the top ten for weirdness.)

Sunshine tilted her head back and smiled at her in response.
That's not worrisome AT ALL. I'm sure Taylor will handle whatever Sunny comes up with with grace* and aplomb**.

*panic
**disbelief

When he'd brought it home, he'd lied to his parents and said he'd picked it up on a whim from Lord's Market, rather than go through all the knowing looks and smiles that would have followed if he'd admitted he'd gotten the gift from a girl. To be fair, he had gotten the frame from the market, so it wasn't a total dishonesty.
Probably for the best, really. The whole explanation would go over... poorly.

"No, no! We're just trying to stay on Oni Lee's good side by taking care of this white chick who's dressing up like a miko and taking care of that old shrine! You know, the one riding that giant wolf all over the place and planting those trees that managed to grow and flower in under a month. That girl! ...no, mom. You do NOT need to give me 'The Talk!' Are you even listening to me?!"

He ignored them, focusing instead on that frog, and the Success charm it swam towards.
God dammit, Haru. Why do you have to make me like you?

Coach snorted. "Distance trials are tomorrow. I want to see you there. Don't be late."

He wasn't. Haru didn't take first place, but he did make the team.
Go, Haru! See? You go to Miko, nice things happen for you!

Haru wrapped up the leftovers and took them to the shrine, still feeling like he was walking on air the whole way.
I like stories where good things happen to good people. (Or at least people who'd be good given half a chance.) I like this story.

I want to decorate the shrine with beads. If you have something you are grateful for, consider leaving some beads at the shrine, and I will string them together, so we can all be reminded of how many blessings we have known. I have much to be thankful for, and I hope that everyone else does too.
For example, that bitch Sophia is gone and Emma looks like SHIT. Life is rainbows and puppies.
 
Chapter 15
15


It really was a long week.

Armsmaster started it as he did every week, at exactly 12:01 AM, still in his lab, absorbed with his various tinkertech endeavors. Dragon had her avatar displayed on a nearby screen, the Canadian tinker as unconcerned with regular sleep schedules as her friend, and in between bouts of using a host of micro-sized tools to create, tweak, and expand fields of nanocircuitry, they carried on a quiet conversation.

In an hour, Armsmaster would bid Dragon good-night, then retire to the cot folded into a wall panel and sleep for three hours. Then the schedule dictated a workout, followed by shower, breakfast while reviewing his email or a recent tinker-published article (it was always the latter, if he could get it). Then the rest of the day would proceed, interspersed by three to five twenty-minute naps. Polyphasic sleep cycles were a perfectly acceptable means of maintaining health, without losing nearly as much time to idleness. It was also far more adaptable in case of crisis; sometimes Dauntless would return to the Rig after a hard night at his civilian job with the city's fire departments, because not every fire in Brockton was set by Lung, and the younger hero would yawn the rest of the day. A little bit of schadenfreude was also perfectly acceptable.

It wasn't an easy schedule that Armsmaster had given himself, certainly. But it was something he was content with.

It was quite unfortunately disrupted one morning, when he had to look over the photographs collected from the shrine instead of catching up on company emails or new research. Armsmaster strode through the Protectorate cafeteria, idly tapping at the tablet he'd downloaded the cameras' memory onto. He passed by Triumph and Battery sitting at one of the tables; Triumph waved. He collected a selection of easily-transportable foodstuffs to take back to his lab, then resumed flipping through the saved photographs, a frown starting on his face. The cameras weren't supposed to be quite this sensitive, he'd have to check them later to rule out the possibility of a surveillance-immune parahuman. The photos were uniformly innocuous: old lady, several old ladies, falling leaf, tree branch, bird, more old ladies, teenager, another bird, a woman accompanied by children, more leaves— DOG.

Armsmaster stopped, right in the middle of the cafeteria, and hissed at his discovery. It was that canine, the same one, he was sure of it. It matched the feed from his helmet display— all white, no signs of albinism, physical structure of the head ruling out most domestic species. The wolf was staring into one of the cameras, eyes nearly crossed to focus on the close lens. The photo after that—every photo after that—was smeared to illegibility by a prominent nose print.

"Dog," he hissed again, fingers tightening on the tablet. He heard a chair squeak against the linoleum, just before Triumph moved closer to peer over the tinker's shoulder.

"Is that the same one? Looks cute."

"It is not cute. It is most likely a master projection and it is very dangerous."

"Sir, I know you're upset about what happened, but I think it's a bit of a leap to assume it's a parahuman effect."

Armsmaster turned his head to glower at Triumph. "That camera is at the top of a telephone pole." And now also compromised. He'd have to grab Chessman and go remove the devices.

Triumph paused. "...oh."

"Indeed. Investigation is now ongoing." The tinker stalked away. Triumph raked a hand through his hair, then sat back down opposite Battery. The heroine chewed on a piece of toast, watching Armsmaster leave.

"I know a probable new Master in town is a big deal, but I'm kind of having trouble moving past the fact that Armsmaster has a canine nemesis."

Triumph's lips twitched. "Maybe Armsmaster's the nemesis. We'll turn around one day and he'll be ruling Latveria."

* * *

Sunshine had decided to go shopping, and thus Taylor was inevitably pressed into service as courier. Lord's Market was an interesting change of pace, at least, and Taylor was happy enough to ride down the street, Sunny trotting alongside her. They browsed, picking up a few needs and looking at wants. Some more fine paper for calligraphy, a small knife to carefully sharpen her charcoals with, some comfy-looking mats that Sunny licked, thereby claiming as her own. Lots of birdseed, but no feeders— Taylor gave the canine a Look, but the resulting Puppy Stare was far too powerful. Another red skirt, also claimed by Rite of Lick, and while Taylor relented she warned the wolf to stop pushing her luck. Sunny lowered her ears, chastised— and then immediately perked back up and barked, running over to a food vendor. Taylor sighed.

Sunny snuffled excitedly at the ice cream cart, and dodged the owners attempts at shooing her away until Taylor caught up. The girl was honestly a little surprised to find the vendor here. They usually vanished as autumn settled in, and Brockton's brief summer faded, but the year had been unseasonably warm and bright so far. Flowers were still blooming in the roadside pots, and Old Mrs. Henrick was still plodding happily through her garden every morning. Maybe it wasn't so unreasonable for cold-treat carts to still be around. Taylor checked her wallet, hummed, then nodded.

"Yeah, okay. Two vanilla cones, please? Sunny, find us a place to sit maybe?" The wolf snapped to attention, barked once, then dashed off to claim a bench. Taylor ignored the vendor's expression and paid for the cones, then carefully wheeled her purchase-laden bike after the canine.

She reached the bench and, with some finagling, propped the bike against the back of the seat and sat down. Sunny vacated the rest of the bench and sat down beside her. She was about to hand one of the cones over—or lower it within tongue range, at least—when a noise started up close by. Sunny's ears perked, and she turned her head. A woman was pushing a stroller down the sidewalk, and the baby had started to cry. The mother shushed and cooed at the infant, to no avail— the poor woman looked harried, like she was about to cry. Taylor bit on her lip, then called out.

"Hey— come sit down!"

The woman looked up, startled, then after a moment of hesitation, she wheeled the stroller over and sank onto the bench. She was shorter than Taylor, with unremarkable brown hair, but her nails were well-kept and the stroller looked new. "Ah— thank you. Sorry, it's been a long day, and— and she's being so fussy, I don't—"

"Hey, no worries... wow, she's tiny. How old is she?"

"Just a couple months. Her name's Aster," the woman smiled, and it lifted some of the strain from her features. "Like the flower." She seemed about to say more, but a sudden giggle drew both their attentions. Sunny was crouched in front of the stroller, and every few moments she'd pop her head up to look at the baby, then crouch down again, out of sight. Aster, for her part, was fascinated. Sunny popped up again, and the baby blew a spit bubble at her. Sunny chuffed.

"Is... your dog playing peek-a-boo?"

Taylor considered the question. "She is a very smart dog."

"I... guess so." The woman pushed back a lock of hair, and watched Aster stare at Sunny. Taylor watched as well, for a moment, then eyed the woman, and the stress lines around her brow and mouth. She held out the second cone, which was starting to drip a little. "Wh— goodness, aren't you waiting for someone?"

Taylor shook her head. "Nah, it's just me and Sunny. Go ahead."

The young mother hesitated, then took the icecream with a sigh and a slight smile. "Well, thank you. I'm Kayden."

Taylor and Kayden exchanged numbers, after a pleasant time sitting in the sunlight and chatting. Aster had a bottle and then a nap, with Sunny resting her head on the stroller's rim and watching the baby with clear adoration. The wolf's attitude enamored her to Kayden, who even Taylor could see was completely devoted to her newborn. Then as soon as the baby was asleep, Sunny turned her big pleading eyes on Taylor, who dutifully surrendered the second half of the icecream cone. Kayden had laughed until she had to wipe away a tear.

* * *

A few days later, Sunny started making meaningful looks at the corner of the garage where Taylor stashed her paint cans. Taylor shook her head. Sunny whined. Taylor put her foot down, and cited homework. Sunny wuffed, then laid down on Taylor's bed and put her muzzle on her paws. Taylor savored her victory, and pulled out her World Studies assignment.

Twenty minutes later, Taylor was loading the half-empty cans onto her bike. Homework sucked.

Thirty minutes after that, Taylor rode down a street, Sunny dashing ahead and then circling back, while Taylor looked for bare patches of buildings to vandalize. She was beginning to think she'd made a mistake—not so much the vandalism, because that ship had sailed when she ran from the Protectorate, so she may as well just keep going—but in choices of neighborhoods to visit. This area of Brockton was pretty clearly upper-class, a suburb protected from all the miscreants and general humanity that couldn't afford to live in gated communities. Taylor was accepting the fact she'd have to move on and look elsewhere when Sunny started barking, and the girl pedaled a bit harder to catch up.

Sunny had not found a good place to start painting. She'd found a box, a sturdy cardboard thing with high sides, and a sound coming from inside that gripped at Taylor's heartstrings and plucked at them insistently. On the side of the box, scrawled in marker, were the words 'Free Kittens.'

"Oh man..." Taylor parked her bike, and peered down into the box. Inside were three-- no, four-- kittens, all different colors and clambering over each other in a mix of excitement and desperation. The fluffballs looked old enough to be weaned, probably, but they were so tiny! With big eyes and poofy little tails and little jellybean toes. They squeaked and cried, pawing at the sides of the box. Sunny whined and looked up at Taylor.

"Yeah, we're not leaving them here. I hope they haven't been out here long... there's a supermarket not far, let's grab them something to eat and then figure out what to do with them." Sunny's tail wagged. Taylor balanced the box on the rear rack of her bike, and started walking. "Jeeze, Sunny... I don't think we can take them home with us, I'm pretty sure Dad is allergic." Whiiiine. "Look, we'll think of something, okay? One step at a time."

They reached the supermarket—which didn't have bikes racks, Taylor was annoyed to notice—and a clerk pushing chains of shopping carts stopped to investigate the mewls coming from Taylor's cargo. It was good fortune for both of them that the clerk liked cats. She took some of Taylor's money, went inside, then came back out with some pouches of wet cat food and a three-pack of dishrags, which they worked together to open and array inside the box for the kittens. The clerk's shift ended in 10 minutes— and she had room for a pet in her life.

Just after 6 pm, they parted ways— the clerk with one of the kittens and a bright smile on her face, and Taylor with three more refugees, and a plan.

Sunny led the way back to the gated district. It was a high-class neighborhood, all big houses and little car traffic, and fenced yards— the perfect sort of place for people with pets, and the means to care for them. Taylor started knocking on doors.

An hour later, the second and third kitten had both found homes, and the fourth and last was sitting huddled in the corner of the box, looking even smaller and alone without its siblings. Taylor eyed the darkening sky, but continued walking her bike along the sidewalk. Sunny walked in front, and the canine turned at the mailbox of the last house on the row. Taylor gave it a cursory glance as she followed on her way to the door— the mailbox had fancy lettering that spelled out 'Dallon.'

Taylor knocked, waited, then knocked again. The door of the house opened and Taylor managed to resist the urge to take a step back. The woman who answered the door was blonde, with stern but handsome features and a three-piece suit. She narrowed her eyes at Taylor and the scuffed box in her hands. "Yes?"

"Uh, hi. Sorry to bother you, but— I found these kittens, and they need homes. Do you think you could care for a pet?" She held the box out a bit more, then added, "There's just the one left."

"Look, I'm really not..." The woman trailed off, her eyes on the box. The last kitten, curled very small in the corner of the box, looked up. It gave a small, pleading cry. The woman—presumably, Mrs. Dallon—stared, transfixed.

"I..." She started, then swallowed. Her hands reached for the box, and she lifted out the kitten with shaking fingers. The kitten mewed, then licked at her polished nails. "...sure. I'll take it."

Taylor beamed. "Thank you! Please take good care of it." Mrs Dallon nodded, and almost automatically cupped the vulnerable creature a little more securely. Taylor waved, then wheeled her bike back out of the Dallon's lawn, and started off down the street. Sunny ran alongside her, tongue lolling in a happy grin.

"I hope they're happy, Sunny. Wanna still go find someplace to paint?" Bark!
 
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Datcord Says: 15
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE*coff* None of you saw that.

in between bouts of using a host of micro-sized tools to create, tweak, and expand fields of nanocircuitry, they carried on a quiet conversation.
"Digimon is CLEARLY a distinct series and not a cheap ripoff of Pokemon, and I don't know why you keep insisting otherwise!"

"You're just saying that because of your thing for Renamon! I've SEEN whats on on your computer!"

"It's called hentai and it's art!"

breakfast while reviewing his email or a recent tinker-published article (it was always the latter, if he could get it).
They had to be short articles, though. His meal times had been drastically reduced since he figured out the combination of food processors and high-pressure pumps and hoses.

Then the rest of the day would proceed, interspersed by three to five twenty-minute naps. Polyphasic sleep cycles were a perfectly acceptable means of maintaining health, without losing nearly as much time to idleness.
...of COURSE Armsmaster would have one of those weird ass sleeping schedules. Why am I even surprised?

not every fire in Brockton was set by Lung,
Error: Understanding not found.
Abort, Retry, Fail?

It was quite unfortunately disrupted one morning, when he had to look over the photographs collected from the shrine
Just endless images of Oni Lee presenting the ol' pressed ham.

old lady, several old ladies, falling leaf, tree branch, bird, more old ladies, teenager, another bird, a woman accompanied by children, more leaves-- DOG.
Hmmm.... Teenager, you say? I'm betting that's Haru.

Also, hi, Sunny!

Armsmaster stopped, right in the middle of the cafeteria, and hissed at his discovery.
I now have a mental image of Armsmaster doing a full on, arched back, noises from the pits of hell cat hiss... in the middle of the Protectorate cafeteria. In the background, Miss Militia is sighing and phoning in the M/S quarantine... for EVERYONE in the cafeteria.

The wolf was staring into one of the cameras, eyes nearly crossed to focus on the close lens.
Okay, that's ADORABLE.

he photo after that--every photo after that-- was smeared to illegibility by a prominent nose print.
Armsmaster spent the next five weeks going through the city, noseprinting every stray dog he could find. (Also, good job, Sunny!)

"Dog," he hissed again,
Don't forget her meddling kid! That's an important part!

some comfy-looking mats that Sunny licked, thereby claiming as her own.
Another red skirt, also claimed by Rite of Lick,
Wait, if that's how Sunny claims things.... *glances at Taylor*coffs* NEVER MIND, MOVING ON.

(Taylor had a cowlick for a week.)

Maybe it wasn't so unreasonable for cold-treat carts to still be around.
Maybe Sunny just really wanted ice cream. Either-or.

The woman looked up, startled, then after a moment of hesitation, she wheeled the stroller over and sank onto the bench. She was shorter than Taylor, with unremarkable brown hair, but her nails were well-kept and the stroller looked new.
*glances at woman's description*
*checks timeline*
*eyes Sunny*
...yeah, chances of that being Purity are approximately 200%.

"Just a couple months. Her name's Aster."
*DING*

Sunny was crouched in front of the stroller, and every few moments she'd pop her head up to look at the baby, then crouch down again, out of sight. Aster, for her part, was fascinated. Sunny popped up again, and the baby blew a spitbubble at her. Sunny chuffed.
Okay, that's friggin' adorable. Not the spitbubble, of course. Or the baby. NEVER the baby. But Sunny playing peekaboo, THAT'S adorable.

Taylor savored her victory, and pulled out her World Studies assignment.

Twenty minutes later, Taylor was loading the half-empty cans onto her bike. Homework sucked.
*hopeless laughter* Oh, that's good. That's just GLORIOUS. Well done, UnwelcomeStorm. Well done.

Taylor looked for bare patches of buildings to vandalize.
Not... vandalize. More... apply an unauthorized mural. It's guerrilla civic improvement! They'd thank you, really! Tell them you're on a mission from God!

They reached the supermarket--which didn't have bikes racks, Taylor was annoyed to notice---
What? They must pay! Burn them! BURN THE HERETICS!

Sunny led the way back to the gated district.
Added to Miko's PRT rap sheet: Trespassing, unlicensed trafficking in animals, riding the wrong color bike per the HOA regulations. (The BBPD won't arrest her for that one... except for her own protection. Brockton Bay HOAs have VERY zero tolerance policies.)

"Look, I'm really not..." The woman trailed off, her eyes on the box. The last kitten, curled very small in the corner of the box, looked up. It gave a small, pleading cry. The woman-- presumably, Mrs. Dallon-- stared, transfixed.
Oh, man. That's DIRTY pool. The only thing more cheating than that is the dreaded silent meow!

Mrs Dallon nodded, and almost automatically cupped the vulnerable creature a little more securely.
And that's how Carol Dallon started showing human emotions and caring for something... and ended up in M/S quarantine right next to Armsmaster.

"I AM NOT GETTING YOU A BABY."
It's said that Sunny's urge to ship Taylor with a nice boy grew three sizes that day....

Kittens for Amy (or Brandish, whatever)! Why don't stories do that more often?
I believe because fanon Carol would eat it while mentally screaming about how it can't be trusted, Amy would promptly go into a self-hate spiral about how she's not worthy of a kitten because she's secretly a terrible person and blah blah blah, and Victoria would either use it as an excuse to break up with Dean or accidentally collateral damage it through a wall.

Frankly I'm still waiting until someone declares Sunny to be a Case 53, and frankly the evidence is pilling up, especially if they talk with Taylor and discover she's the pet.
Coil: A pet, you say...?

(And, for the record, I cannot wait to see how Sunny destroys Coil. My schadenfreude cannons are fully armed and ready to fire!)
 
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Omake: That Guy Who Mugs Skitter
I now have a mental image of Armsmaster doing a full on, arched back, noises from the pits of hell cat hiss... in the middle of the Protectorate cafeteria.
Now I'm imagining Armsmaster with the Neko-Ken.

Also, reposting this here for those who don't read the SB thread:
Omake:
The Guy Who Mugs Skitter In Every Fic​

With a *pop*, he found himself in another unfamiliar alley, looking out at another unfamiliar gloomy street, as a very familiar figure (the red and white outfit was new, though) walked past. Following the compulsion, he stepped out and shouted "GIMMIE ALL YOUR MONEY!"

The girl blinked at him, and he waited to see what new hell she would unleash upon his defenseless self. But she made no move to attack. Instead, there was a soft 'chuff' from behind him, and he slowly, reluctantly turned around.

A huge wolf stared at him, and he winced, preparing for the mauling. But it never came. Instead, the creature stepped around him and followed the girl as she walked away, glancing back at him from time to time. The looks it gave seemed almost... pitying.

Could it be, he wondered. Could the guardian have seen he was not doing this of his own free will, and spared him? Was he finally going to be able to walk away from one of these encounters with his body and dignity intact?

"彼は巫女を攻撃しました! あいつを捕まえろ!"

No, of course not, he thought as he turned to face the gang of angry ABB thugs. He hated his life.
 
Chapter 16
16



Danny Hebert was a man who was used to hardship. It had been a companion growing up, it had been a more distant frenemy during the years of his marriage, only to come around again and crash on his couch in the years after. It was a colleague now, adapting smoothly from struggling against the rising tide of poverty and obsolescence in the Union to the Sisyphean push against crime and parahuman villainy. Danny was used to hardship, and to making the most of his abilities in the face of it.

So why, he wondered, staring into his refrigerator at 6:00 AM, was such a simple thing as talking to his daughter so unconquerably hard?

On the wire shelf next to the milk was a pair of boxes— fine-set wicker ones, of all things. They were attractive boxes, he'd give them that, painted and lacquered red with a few white flowers for contrast. Danny took a moment to listen for sounds of Taylor rising with the sun, and then took a peek inside the boxes.

It was more boxes. Well, okay, it wasn't a nesting doll situation, but it looked like the stackable wicker boxes were more to hold and decorate a pair of plastic tupperware containers. These were divided up into compartments, separating an array of food that had Danny scratching his head in no time. There was rice, sprinkled with some sort of herb, and a section filled with vegetables. There was a neatly-arranged fruit salad. There were—were those octopi?!

No, he concluded, after a moment. They were hot dogs, cut to have little tentacles, and with small holes poked in the ends for a face. The other box had a cup of yogurt, a slightly-flattened bread roll, and a bunch of little rolled-up egg things. Danny packed the lunches back up, and shut the fridge. Okay. So the selection and presentation was a little odd, but— cooking! She liked cooking. That was a thing they could talk about, a nice safe topic. With a satisfied nod, Danny started on brewing a pot of coffee, and set a kettle of water on the stove to heat up for tea.

Taylor came down a bit later, with her backpack slung over one shoulder, and wearing trim white overalls over a red shirt. She'd been wearing those colors a lot lately... maybe they could repaint her room sometime, redecorate to her taste? Yes, that was another good plan. She dropped her bag near the table and moved for the cereal, and Danny saw her smile when she spotted the steaming kettle. Progress. Okay Danny, deep breath, time to make this work.

"Good morning, Taylor," he started. "I've got the kettle on. So, uh, how's..."

How are your studies? Is school going any better for you? Do you have a favorite class? Do you need any help with homework? Did you need anything from the store to make your lunches? What's with the boxes? Is there a reason you want to eat marine animals? Are hot dogs more delicious that way? Where'd you get the idea for that? Maybe you could show me how to pack lunches sometime? We could do it together, would you like that?

"...how'd you sleep?" Damn it.

"Fine." She poured herself a bowl of cereal, then switched to getting a cup of tea ready. Danny silently poured himself a cup of coffee, and steeled himself for a second attempt.

"Any plans for today?" There, yes, good!

"Just the usual, I guess." Taylor shrugged, and didn't elaborate further. Danny felt defeat settle over his shoulders and give him a mocking pat on the back. Soon enough, Taylor was out the door and on her bike headed to Winslow, and Danny was left alone in the house, to face the rest of the day. He finished his coffee, then walked around and shut the blinds on the windows before dragging out his work bag and rifling through it a bit. He pulled out a pair of well-articulated wind-up toy dolls, then set them on the kitchen floor. A quick mental push, and the two dolls grew to life size while Danny finished his toast. He put the dish in the sink and cracked his knuckles, once.

"All right. Vacuum's in the closet, duster is under the sink. Let's get to work."




An hour later the house was clean, the dolls were returned to inanimacy and packed away, and Danny was out of things to do. This was why he'd rather be at work, when possible. There was always something he could turn his attention to, something he could accomplish. Not an option today, Emily had warned him if he even tried to clock in on his day off she'd have him thrown into M/S Confinement out of spite. He had no doubt she'd do it, too. Director Piggot had a never-ending well of spite.

Danny sighed, and headed out the front door, instead. Maybe he could check the mail again. Or… weed the sidewalk. Something. It was that or surrender to the fact he'd be spending the rest of the day reading rule books, or watching cat videos, or something as similarly brain-draining.

He pulled open the mailbox—empty, what a surprise—then turned and started towards the back yard, instead. Maybe he could check on that tree Taylor planted, make sure it was doing okay. The sapling was certainly growing quickly enough, Danny rather doubted there was anything it needed from him. Of course it wouldn't. Before he got there, he caught sight of Mrs. Henrick weeding her flower beds, and Mr. Henrick on the front porch, rocking slightly in the loveseat swing. Danny abandoned the tree and went to go lean on the white picket fence, instead.

"Morning George, Martha."

"Good morning, Danny! Nice to see you, are you taking the day off from work?" Mrs. Henrick smiled up at him, her face a portrait of wrinkles. Mr. Henrick simply watched from the porch. Danny nodded, and made an affirmative noise in his throat.

"Sure am… hey, can I ask you two a question?"

"Of course, Danny, what do you need?"

"Christmas is coming up, y'know. I was wondering if you two had any ideas of what Taylor might want. I don't want to ask her and ruin the surprise, eheh…" Mr. Henrick raised a single brow, his face making it clear he saw the excuse for what it was. Shame seeped through Danny and joined the vast groundwater reserves of itself.

"Oh, well, let me think…" Mrs. Henrick grabbed for her cane and pulled herself up. "She does a lot of drawing and painting, of course, she's always looking for sales and bringing home buckets of the stuff." Danny nodded… wait, buckets? How much paint could she need?

"She helps me garden a bit sometimes, and she's usually got a project or two downtown to work on. She's asked me for help with cooking a fair few times, too! I think there's a boy she fancies," she added in a stage whisper. Danny's brain screeched to a halt.

"Oh, leave the poor girl alone on that, Martha. Wait for her to come around on her own before you try and foist your cherry cakes onto her." Mr. Henrick grumbled. "Danny, that goes for you too. If you're looking for gift ideas, I'd say take her craft shopping, or maybe get her some things for her dog."

"Uhuh," Danny replied, his thoughts far away. He mentally calculated how many shovels he might need to get the point across. Or maybe he could get a toy bulldozer, a mini-cement truck… "Thanks, you two. I'll be sure and do that, that's… helpful. Yes."

He made absent-minded small talk for another minute or two, before excusing himself and heading inside. Danny sat down on the couch to let things settle. He was overreacting, and he knew it. Taylor was a smart, down-to-earth girl, she wouldn't get into anything crazy. Not like he and Annette had, he reflected. And anyway, she was fifteen, she didn't need him poking his nose into her business. Just— deep breaths. Taylor hadn't said anything, but that was normal for girls her age. He was overreacting.

He found a pad of paper and a pencil, and jotted down a few notes on what the Henricks had told him. Craft stores, and cooking supplies… She'd been a creative girl since she was young. Maybe he could extend that offer to paint minis together again. Yes, good plan. He could even ask her today, after she got back from school. In fact…

Danny set the pad of paper aside, then headed into the kitchen. He checked the fridge and jotted a few items on the grocery list, taped to the front of the appliance, then rummaged into the cupboards a little. Maybe one of the old cookbooks had survived the Great Basement Migration. And if not, maybe Taylor could pick one out? Danny's hand found a red-checkered binder, then pulled away as though it burned. He'd save the handwritten recipes inside for another time. Better to find something new, something without memories already attached.

Danny went back to the couch, eyed the clock, then laid down. Time enough for a nap, get rid of a few hours and maybe some of the weight in his chest. Danny closed his eyes, and counted sheep, until he settled into that hazy half-asleep state, where thoughts flow together and blur. A couple of thoughts, half-memory, bumped together and stuck. Danny jolted himself awake, sat up, and blinked. The thought was still there. He scrambled off the couch and ran for his work bag.

* * *

In her office, Director Emily Piggot tap-tap-tapped away at her keyboard, sending emails and writing memos and just generally putting out fires. Or more helpfully, smothering them before they could start. In Brockton Bay, it was an unending battle. A ring pulled her attention away from the computer monitor, and Emily had half-reached for her desk phone before she realized it was her own cell that was ringing, not the inter-PRT phone. She pulled out the device, checked the caller ID, and frowned.

"Chessman. It's Monday, what seems to be the probl—"

"I don't have a dog!"

"Try the city pound."

"No! No you don't understand, I don't have a dog!"

"Okay, Chessman. Could you hold for a moment?" Director Piggot sighed, set down her cell, and reached for the desk phone after all. She had entirely too many reasons for having M/S Containment on speed-dial.
 
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