Constellations (Worm/Okami)

qsurf · Nov 6, 2016

Just finished watching a Playthrough of Okami. I'm honestly jealous that I never got the chance to play it. Very, very, very jealous.

I'm still working on the Chapter Soundtracks as well, but I've had a bit of a busy week and I've thinking about a proper format to the whole thing. Got Chapter 4 sorted though:

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Chapter 4:

UnwelcomeStorm said:
There were exactly twenty-three and one half ceiling tiles in this room.

Cutter House: A house full of hardened criminals, some of them, killers. Only option really. That it also has a odd note of curiosity within it, matching Oni's curious behaviour, is a huge bonus.

********

UnwelcomeStorm said:
The beer was bitter.

Kusa Village: There's a mystery in the air, a mystery that guides the Oni's legs to an important place. It is the haunting atmosphere of the scene that had me choose this track.

********

UnwelcomeStorm said:
He just... wanted to.

Miracle: ...I couldn't resist, and I have no regrets.

=============================

UnwelcomeStorm · Nov 9, 2016

28

Life in the Dallon household had gotten… a bit odd, lately.

Really, life in Brockton Bay was always unusual, what with the sheer numbers of parahumans creeping around the city. Or at least that was the excuse last month, before the PRT had apparently decided to take off (or maybe put on) the kid's gloves and declare Shenanigans against the E88. What next month was going to be like was anyone's guess, and that felt like it was going double for Victoria.

Mom getting a kitten had been a bit of the bolt from the blue, literally just accepting the puffball from a door-to-door kitten peddler, from the sound of it. After the initial burst of 'what have you done' and 'how does kitten work?' panic, arrangements were made for a cardboard box and a trip to the vet, and life settled back to normal for all of 10 minutes. Then the subject of what to name it came up, and while Victoria won the debate pretty handily, Mom sadly harpooned her idea to get a second kitten to name Sulu. It had been a longshot anyway.

Thus, Chekov Dallon was born.

His reign began pretty much immediately, and nowhere the kitten's little jellybean toes touched was left unaffected. Sometimes literally, like when he knocked over the jar of flour on the kitchen counter and proceeded to track tiny paws all over the house, but mostly it was more intangible things. Intangible things were something Victoria liked to keep track of. They were always the most useful to know.

For example, she could watch Dad today to get a feel for how he'd be tomorrow. If he didn't look up when she walked by his chair, or couldn't return her smile, then tomorrow was probably going to be a bad day. Those days, it was unlikely Dad would manage to get out of bed, or if he did it was only to move to the couch and watch TV. But if he could smile with her, and talk for a bit (how was your day? any plans tomorrow? did you see the new episode last night?) then tomorrow would probably be okay, and she could probably goad Dad into patrolling with Uncle Neil.

She could watch to see when Mom got up in the morning. Carol Dallon was never out the door late, but if she was in the kitchen with some toast and coffee early, then it was a good bet she hadn't slept well. Victoria would be a chatterbox those days, filling any silences between her mom and her sister, keeping the day moving.

She could watch Ames, though her sister was a little harder to draw out. Amy was just kind of an introvert by nature, and Victoria was so far on the extrovert side of the scale that she sometimes overestimated Amy's tolerance for sociability. Still, she could watch, and when Ames was getting too wistful Victoria could draw her into a debate over music, or academics, or cape politics, until she'd come back down to earth. Or if Ames was getting too surly, she could tease and prod and just be Hurricane Victoria until Amy laughed, and lightened up again.

And she could watch her classmates, her friends outside of her cape life. She could watch and make sure she spent enough time with Jessica, who was too quiet and tended to drift to the edges of Victoria's coterie, and make sure that she didn't spend time with Mike, because Susan was trying to get him to ask her out, and anywhere that Victoria went people turned to her instead, like flowers towards the sun.

Smile, and the world smiles with you.

But Chekov had a gravitational pull of his own, and it seemed like in no time, even Victoria was getting caught in it.

* * *

She'd come downstairs and found Dad in the kitchen, not Mom, and saw the man set a small saucer with a portion of canned food in it onto the floor. After a few moments too many of hesitation, he poured himself a bowl of cereal while Chekov ate.

"Huh. Morning! What're you doing up so early?"

Mark Dallon made a face, and said, "Cat got me up, wanting to be fed. Carol's already off to work, so he put his nose right into my ear and just squeaked until I surrendered."

"Hey, better than the alternative." Victoria grinned, and fetched a bowl and the milk for herself. "Two days ago he climbed up the side of my bed and patted my face until a claw got hooked in my lip. Now I know how fish feel. Speaking of, we should totally get an aquarium, it'll be hilarious."

Her dad made an amused sound, not quite a laugh, but better than a sigh.

* * *

She'd gone upstairs and found Ames on her computer, or more accurately, to the side of her computer. Watching The Princess Bride for the hundredth time had quickly taken second place to crouching near her chair, phone held up to snap pictures of Chekov as the kitten declared war upon the Rodents Of Unusual Size.

"That's the way, soldier. Take no prisoners! Ten-hut!" She set her face into an overly-serious scowl, and saluted. Ames matched her ridiculous frown, and returned the salute. Chekov got startled by his shadow, puffed up, and accidentally walked backwards off the desk.

"Gawd. I can't tell which of us is the bigger dork right now."

"It's definitely you, Ames."

* * *

She'd gotten both her and Amy home late from Arcadia, having stopped for a quick pickup game of basketball—Victoria didn't get to play much since she'd Triggered, as flight was an obvious advantage, and Amy said she didn't mind waiting—and they'd kicked off their shoes in the hallway and gone into the kitchen to find Mom trying to look into the space behind the fridge.

"Oh— girls, help me look for Chekov. I keep hearing him meow, but I can't find him anywhere." Sure enough, a muffled mew sounded from somewhere in the kitchen, but the kitten was nowhere in sight. Carol Dallon's voice was calm enough, but a tense frown had taken over her expression. Victoria floated up closer to the ceiling, and started to look around the cupboards. Cats climbed things, didn't they? Things more dangerous than bedspreads and curtains, anyway.

An increasingly worried search finally ended when Amy pulled open one of the drawers and found the stray kitten curled up on one of the oven mitts. "What are you doing in there, you silly thing?" Carol Dallon sighed. "I swear, it's like he—"

"Nonononono wait!" Amy interrupted before Mom could pick Chekov up and rescue him from his latest hiding place. Their mother's expression darkened a tad, but slowly shifted to a more benign bemusement when Amy pulled out her phone, thumbed to the camera, and took a picture. "Okay, now you can move him."

"What do you need the picture for?" Mom asked, as she scooped Chekov up and set him on her shoulder. It had quickly been claimed as the kitten's favorite perch, at least partly because of his tendency to purr and sleepily nurse on the Dallon matriarch's earlobe. Seriously, how can cats manage to be so weird and remain cute?

"I don't need it for anything, it's just fun." Ames flipped through her phone's photos, and Victoria watched her mom move slightly closer to look over the girl's shoulder.

* * *

Director Emily Piggot watched her herd of cats shuffle in and take their seats, the ones with the more sane exploits over the past few months sharing a sort of mixed expression of tension, the one where things are so unbelievable that you want to laugh, but really really shouldn't. There was a pretty clear divide, one side of the table of heroes having remained relatively free of the M/S quarantine measures, and the other side looking rather hungover. Even Chessman, though Emily was reasonably certain he'd remained sober— he just looked wrung-out from stress. She couldn't really blame him for it.

And as much as she wanted to, she couldn't entirely blame the other three on that side of the table, since their meeting with Brushstroke had the entire Thinker department effectively running in circles. Battery at least earned a slight twinge of pity. Despite her relationship with Assault, the heroine wasn't a frequent drinker, and if Dragon's claims about the blood-alcohol levels she'd registered from Armsmaster were any indication, she was probably still feeling wrecked.

It wasn't enough pity to keep Piggot from turning the lights up bright before the meeting started, but it was there.

"So. Now that everyone has rejoined us… what have we learned?" Piggot steepled her fingers together and looked expectantly at the Party of Shame.

"Several things, actually." Dragon's avatar piped up. The Canadian Tinker's display was on the opposite end of the table from Director Piggot, on a monitor bolted to the conference table. "We've managed to get a cohesive theory on Brushstroke and Good Dog's Master ability, and they've been assigned a provisional rating of 3+. From the different encounters with the pair and surveillance of the shrine, Protectorate Thinkers have concluded that they most likely exhibit a Master/Stranger effect in a similar vein to August Prince. Only, instead of preventing hostile action against themselves, we're thinking it's an area-of-effect relaxation and inclination towards nonviolence."

"Useful comparison, if uncomfortable." Triumph muttered, from the sane side of the table.

"More reassuring is that it seems to be localized only— that is, there aren't lingering effects once you've stepped out of their radius. PRT M/S teams did some focus testing on areas of the Sidewalk, and test members showed no impediment to expressions of anger or the occasional sucker-punch. PRT members had consistent blood panel evaluations pre- and post- test, while the heroes who met at the shrine had a marked decrease in cortisol levels, which have since returned to normal."

"That, at least, is reassuring," Piggot agreed. "All things said and done, a nonviolence aura is a hell of a lot better than most Master powers. What else?"

Armsmaster stood up this time, picking up a folder full of papers as he did so. "I'm not sure if I can call it good news or bad news. Observation indicates that Good Dog is acting wholly independently of Brushstroke— facial analysis of Brushstroke indicated genuine surprise and lack of foreknowledge of Good Dog's actions in regards to the… geothermal anomaly."

"You can say 'hot spring,' Armsy. It's okay." Assault grinned, and Battery gave him a weak tap on the side of the head— definitely still wrecked. Nearby, Chessman took a harsh breath and held it. Armsmaster tilted his head once in what was probably a conciliatory nod.

"However, I was able to scan Good Dog three times during the encounter at the shrine, and the results are promising." The Tinker opened the folder and passed it over to Director Piggot, who had to stop and thumb the edges of the pages.

"You scanned it three times, you said?"

"Yes."

"There are four pages here."

"I know."

Piggot stared at Armsmaster for a second, who had yet to sit down, then turned her attention to the printed images. The first looked like a fairly normal MRI scan of a large canine, but the rest…

"This is… the outline of a dog. Where's the rest of it?" When the Tinker didn't answer she flipped to the next one. "And this is a drawing of a dog!"

"That is correct."

"It appears to be done in crayon, Armsmaster."

"That was my conclusion as well."

Director Piggot skipped staring at Armsmaster and turned to stare at Dragon instead. The digital avatar nodded. "I watched them print out. He reprinted six times, and the results didn't change."

"...this city, I swear to God…" Piggot muttered. She flipped to the last page, squinted, then tossed the folder onto the table with a huff. "And that looks like a wall scroll. Are you going anywhere with this, Armsmaster?"

"Yes. It is my conclusion that Good Dog is, indeed, a projection. Good Dog does not exist. There is no such creature." Armsmaster reached for the folder, took it, then set the crayon drawing on top. A few on the sane side of the table leaned in to get a better look— the drawing depicted a large canine, mostly white, but with red streaks around its body. The lines were a little crude, suggesting a younger or less experienced artist. "Chessman identified this image as one belonging to Taylor Hebert, age 10."

The minon master confirmed this, his voice tight— but if she looked, Piggot thought she could see a bit of relief, as well. Good Dog being a projection meant there wasn't a predator latched onto his daughter, after all. Excepting the ABB, anyway. "She's had it pinned to her wall for years now… it implies she animated a drawing, like I do for models. There's similarities among powers in cape families, it seems reasonable."

"Well," Piggot said, "I guess you'll have something in common you can talk about, then." Chessman shot her a look of pure betrayal, but she would not be moved. He was usually one of the good ones, but as far as Emily was concerned, Chessman had lost his Sane Table privileges until this situation was resolved.

"Wait wait wait," Assault held up his hands, forestalling any further discussion. "So let me get this straight… Brushstroke really believes she's not a parahuman?"

"Facial and vocal analysis supports that claim, yes," Armsmaster nodded. "She may have disassociated Good Dog out of a subconscious need for companionship. Highly unusual, but there have been a few similar cases of parahumans not having full, conscious control of their powers."

"So… a crazy-diverse Master/Shaker: Yes triggered either two or, what, seven years ago? And she didn't notice?" Assault slung one arm over Chessman's shoulder. "Chessman, I take back all those terrible things I said behind your back. She is truly your daughter."

Assault and his newly-broken nose lost Sane Table privileges for the rest of the year.

Later, after the meeting was getting cleaned up and Armsmaster had left, grumbling about having to fill out disciplinary reports again, Dauntless raised his hand and asked, "So, uh… whatever happened to Lung?"

* * *

The streets near the old Dockworker's Union were filled with a throng of red-and-green, the ABB assembled in numbers rarely ever witnessed. Members from all stations were there, from the toughs and the pushers, to the sympathizers, to even the whores. Oil drums had been stuffed with junk and lit, bathing the docks in flickering, anxious light. The firelight gleamed off of Lung's mask and the scattered scales that twitched and crept around his shoulders.

In this false twilight, he looked huge, untouchable. The only Warlord of Brockton Bay that still stood. He roared, and the ABB yelled, pumped their fists in the air.

"The Empire has been broken! Crushed and driven off like whimpering dogs. The Merchants cringe and scrabble at filth, and the Protectorate watch from their towers with fear in their hearts!" Lung bellowed. "And they should be afraid! Their hold here is weak, and ours is strong! And we grow ever stronger!

"This is a new day!

"This is the start of a new reign of the ABB! The bigots, the drugmongers— they will know who this city belongs to, and it is not them!

"I am Lung!" He roared, pacing before the crowd in a suspiciously uneven line. "I am the dragon!"

Lung swept one arm wide, to encompass the full breadth of the crowd.

"And you are now UNION."

UnwelcomeStorm · Nov 10, 2016

29

Taylor and Old Mr. Henrick got her latest project assembled as quickly as Taylor could supply the parts, which amounted to as quickly as she could bring herself to Brockton Central Bank to check out the new account the PRT had given her. True to their word, there was just shy of three-hundred fifty thousand there, with her and Sunny's names on it. Cape names. That was going to take some getting used to.

She supposed she probably should have been more worried about that, really. Capes tended to get into all sorts of trouble, if the Wards pamphlet the Protectorate had left her was any indication. Roughly a six month average for an independent hero or vigilante to get picked up by a gang… though, it seemed like there were a few caveats implied there. Mainly that most teenage parahumans seemed to make a lot of really, really silly decisions, like sneaking out at night to go punch armed criminals. Taylor found that inviting them for tea seemed much more effective and pleasant for everyone involved, so that took care of that. So she wasn't putting herself in harm's way, and she wasn't really making any enemies— oh, except maybe E88. The thought of any of their remaining capes seeking revenge on Sunny was a sobering thought.

Apparently catching sight of her expression, Sunny leaned closer to Taylor and ducked her furry head under Taylor's hand. Taylor smiled on reflex and rubbed one of the wolf's ears. "Sorry— just thinking. Aren't you worried the Empire might be… a bit angry at you?"

To her credit, Sunny tilted her head for a few moments to think about it, before sneezing. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised… though I don't know if you're thinking they won't do anything, or if you're just not worried about it if they do." Sunny's tongue lolled in a grin. "Yeah, I figured it was probably the latter."

The prospect of cape retaliation should have worried Taylor more, but… well, it mostly just didn't. The ABB didn't seem to have any ill-intent towards her, the Merchants were on the other side of the city practically, and Sunny had held her own against the Empire— and Taylor had checked to make sure the E88 didn't have any speedy capes. She'd cautioned the wolf once already, in no uncertain terms, that she'd prefer Sunny run than get into a real fight. The canine had the audacity to roll her eyes at Taylor, but had nodded. And as for herself?

Taylor had Sunny. The wolf hardly ever left her sight, unless she was already somewhere safe, like home or school or the shrine. It was a big change from her usual comings-and-goings, from earlier in the year. And even when Taylor couldn't see Sunny, she had a feeling that the wolf was still keeping an eye on her, or an ear to the ground. She'd stuck to Taylor like a big, furry burr ever since autumn had started— ever since Lung had hit her.

Sunny didn't exactly speak, but she had ways of making herself understood, and the change had been obvious enough to Taylor: Sunny wasn't going to let there be a second time. For Taylor, that assurance was enough.

So, awkward or not, Taylor had gone to the bank in her red skirt and painter's mask, and withdrawn a tidy sum to get things started. On Oni Lee's less-than-subtle recommendation, she was getting a phone line installed, but after seeing how much the PRT had given her and Sunny, she might just upgrade to an internet connection as well. There were probably packages for that— she'd ask the serviceman when he showed up later. A computer logically followed, as well as a space heater or two, so Taylor picked up the week's ads and added them to her day's itinerary. Other than that, it was money to get some thin wood boards and supplies, and a sum of about $350 stuffed into an envelope for Taylor to stare at uncomfortably whenever it crossed her field of view.

It was thankfully not in view, safe in Taylor's backpack as she wheeled her bike down the pawprint sidewalk towards the shrine, the worked wooden boards strapped to the side of the vehicle like a parody of a jousting lance. The urge to simply leave the envelope on Dad's desk with a note had been tremendous.

Dad--
Sorry my dog used your credit card, here is the money I owe you. Love, Taylor.
P.S: You should probably turn off one-click ordering.
P.P.S: Also, sorry about having to keep erasing your browser history.
P.P.P.S: Also also, thanks for the meatloaf.

Right. The meatloaf.

Finding home-made offerings on the steps of the haiden was nothing unusual. The Baachans had of course determined almost immediately that the way to Sunny's heart was through her stomach, but other members of the community would bring by edible offerings more often than monetary ones. If she were being honest, Taylor kind of preferred it that way. Money and small items just seemed more formal somehow, and for something that started out as a summer project and then a hobby, there was an implied sense of obligation in there somewhere that Taylor wasn't quite sure what to do about. That, and… well, a lot of people in Brockton Bay didn't have a whole lot of extra money to throw around.

So, finding a glass loaf dish on the steps wasn't really out of the ordinary. Taylor had even put a basket next to the steps, for the tupperware containers and assorted dishes to be reclaimed after they'd been emptied and washed. But when Sunny had gone over to examine the day's loot, a few weeks ago, she'd sat down in front of the steps and waited until Taylor had come over to investigate her hesitancy. The wolf had sniffed at the meal, cocked her head, and started a slow, careful wag of her tail.

It was far from a gourmet dish. Meatloaf is a pretty common fare, but this one had been a tweaked recipe. Diced green peppers were baked in with the meat, and a stick of pepperjack cheese had been added, the mixture wrapped around the addition to form a molten core. It added a lot of extra moisture and oil, and you had to be careful to balance it with oatmeal to give the meatloaf even half a chance of not crumbling apart the second you cut into it. Mom had been well-practiced at finding this exact balance. Dad had always forgotten, and it had been a common point to tease him on, years ago.

Taylor had taken the dish into the office, warmed it in the microwave, and watched it fall apart around a testing fork.

They'd shared it, her and Sunny, though the dynamic had been turned upon its head. Usually, Sunny took the shrine's offerings, and shared some with Taylor if she was hungry (which she wasn't… entirely sure if that was allowed? But food was meant to be eaten, so…). This time, Sunny had waited to receive a portion, and refused to touch the rest of the dish. This offering had not been for the shrine, but for Taylor.

It was… good. There's a difference in food that's prepared for someone, as opposed to food from a cafeteria, or a restaurant: one is merely nutrition. There'd been a few other things left for Taylor, over time, though nothing as obvious as Mom's own recipe. Sunny always picked them out.

She should have said something by now, she really should have, but… well, it represented a bit of a dilemma, once Taylor got some time to really sit and think about it.

Dad knew about the shrine. That much was clear, and he had to know enough about the shrine and her own habits to know that leaving the meatloaf would actually pan out. So not only did he know, but it was quite likely that he knew that she knew that he knew. So they both knew that the other knew, but neither of them had said anything. Taylor had briefly wondered if he was keeping quiet because she hadn't apologized about the credit card thing yet, but that wasn't quite in character for Danny Hebert. For all that he had a rather explosive temper, he wasn't the type to hold a grudge rather than work things out immediately. She even remembered hearing Kurt and Lacy joke a few times about Danny Hebert's strong right hook, though that sounded a bit far-fetched.

So if he wasn't waiting for an apology, that left two options: that he didn't want to be the first to say anything, probably out of some desire to let her have her 'space,' or that he couldn't say anything. Dad worked for the PRT— in hiring, sure, but still. He worked for heroic law enforcement, and Taylor regularly hosted Oni Lee for tea. Acknowledging what she was doing might actually get him in real trouble.

Hm. Of course, now that she was registered as a rogue and had a designated neutral territory… that might change things. She'd have to find someone who knew more to talk this over with. In the meantime, Taylor mused, maybe there was something she could leave him in unofficial reciprocation? A new model, maybe. She'd have to give it some thought.

Sunny let her lose herself in thought until they reached the shrine, then barked to get her attention. About time, too; city buses had bike racks, so that shortened the trip a bit, but it was still a long walk with a heavy load. Sunny ran ahead to check on her hot spring's source, while Taylor wheeled her bike in and set the kickstand, then unloaded the day's work from it. Old Mr. Henrick had really done a nice job. They'd put together a series of narrow boards with a deep groove, and sanded all the edges smooth before coating everything with a homemade wash: taking the idea from what she'd learned about painting Dad's models, they'd mixed together some leftover red paint and a can of wood stain, creating a deep cherry hue that was going to look lovely against the old oak tree.

From what she'd read, there was a type of oak tree in Japan that was associated with Shinto shrines, but it was an evergreen tree, unlike the types in the Americas. Still, it made her wonder if the tree was what had prompted the shrine to be built here, rather than anywhere else in the city. It was an old tree, very large and thick, and far enough from the power lines that it had escaped yearly pruning. A large white rope was circled around the trunk and knotted, and one of the tasks Sunny had set her to at the start of summer was replacing the paper shide tags that adorned it. Right now, the tags looked intact still, so Taylor carefully set a stepladder against the trunk, then grabbed one of the boards and a few thin rope cords. Putting nails in the old tree was completely out of the question, so instead ropes were threaded through the thin boards and around branches, and as Taylor worked, a loose framework of lightly swaying boards took shape around the tree, hanging from the lower reaches and just within arm's reach from the ground.

Sunny returned as she was setting the last boards in place, and Taylor grinned over her shoulder at the wolf. "So, how's it look?"

Sunny barked, and wagged her tail in approval. The boards had all been lined with planter hooks along the undersides, for ema to be hung upon them once she had some ready. Nobody had said the plaques had to be hung on a bulletin board, after all. Taylor packed up the stepladder, then retrieved her new signpost from the office, and worked to hammer the post into the ground a few meters away. Soon she'd put together a box of painted ema plaques and a donations tin for them, but for now she'd gotten some scrap wood from the Winslow shop class and passed it around at lunch, to get the translations right. Under a careful, simple line sketch of the oak, the words 'Wishing Tree' were written, in English, Japanese, Korean, and Chinese.

Taylor paused to pet Sunny and eye the completed work. It really was a lovely tree, even with its leaves already falling and carpeting the ground in red and gold. "I'm gonna paint that for my final project in class, you know," She told the wolf, who looked up at her. "We're doing still-life next month. I'm going to wait for the leaves to finish up, so I can see the branches better. Then I'm going to divide the crown in four, and paint the leaves from every season. I hope it's got a lot of wishes by then." Sunny smiled, and thumped her tail on the ground in approval.

"It's a little bare now, but… oh! I know!" Taylor turned and marched back towards the haiden, Sunny close on her heels, curious. She located the strings of beads donated from the shrine's visitors— not the ones in Sunny's box, of course. She'd originally hung them in short cords near the steps, but now there was a much better place for them. Taylor unhooked the strings and carried them back to the Wishing Tree, and carefully hung a few short clusters near the ends of a couple of the long boards. Then she stepped back, to observe.

A breeze passed by, sending the hanging boards into gentle rocking motions, and making the clusters of beads click and clack together, producing a cheerful sound. Sunny sat down next to Taylor again, and the girl knelt down to pull the wolf into a hug. She wondered what the tree would look like by next summer, laden with hopes, a full year since Taylor and Sunny had come to the shrine.

"Yeah," Taylor said, and rubbed at Sunny's ears. "It's perfect."

Datcord · Nov 10, 2016

UnwelcomeStorm said:
28

Oh, yes. I needed this. I needed this like a fat kid needs cake. ...shit, I also need cake, now. BRB.

Okay! I've got delayed birthday cake AND a new chapter of Constellations. All is good. All is good.

Life in the Dallon household had gotten… a bit odd, lately.

AND IT'S THE DALLONS. By now, the kitten has them all under his dewclaw.

Or at least that was the excuse last month, before the PRT had apparently decided to take off (or maybe put on) the kid's gloves and declare Shenanigans against the E88.

Sunny: *beams proudly*

Mom getting a kitten had been a bit of the bolt from the blue, literally just accepting the puffball from a door-to-door kitten peddler, from the sound of it.

*snicker* I just... like the image of a door-to-door kitten salesman. It's almost as good as a dude selling shady kittens from the trunk of a running car in a seedy parking lot. ("Yeah, these are authentic! I get 'em from... a guy. Hey! You ain't a cop, are ya?!")

Thus, Chekov Dallon was born.

*facepalm* For the record... the name is spelled differently, so we are NOT hanging him on the wall. ...I said NOT. GET HIM DOWN FROM THERE, THAT'S THE GOOD CHINA-nevermind. Just... just get the broom.

nowhere the kitten's little jellybean toes touched was left unaffected.

His little jellybean toes... right next to the goddamn razorblades he has for in place of claws! (Seriously, how are kitten's claws so SHARP?!)

Intangible things were something Victoria liked to keep track of. They were always the most useful to know.

I'm gonna snip the rest of this part, but... seriously, I think this is the first time I've seen this particular shading of Victoria and I really, really like it. Someone who can see that not everything is great, but she's TRYING to make it better however she can and really, really cares about her family.

I... really appreciate that.

Smile, and the world smiles with you.

I somehow feel like this is the only Worm story out there right now where this line wouldn't immediately devolve into people screaming about Victoria's aura... and that makes me happy.

But Chekov had a gravitational pull of his own, and it seemed like in no time, even Victoria was getting caught in it.

What? He has his own gravity?! He's a Cape! The kitten is a Cape! What is that, Breaker? Shaker? ...or maybe just D'Aaaaaawwww? (If it's that last, it's at LEAST a 10.)

Mark Dallon made a face, and said, "Cat got me up, wanting to be fed. Carol's already off to work, so he put his nose right into my ear and just squeaked until I surrendered."

Hey. It's better than the other options. I've had things like "biting the toes" or "sit on your chest three inches from your face" (always fun with a fifteen pound cat) or "just sit next to the head of the bed and purr LOUDLY and ACCUSINGLY" or-

"Two days ago he climbed up the side of my bed and patted my face until a claw got hooked in my lip.

-YES, THAT. That's the fifteen pound cat, again. Just start smacking me in the face, making increasingly upset noises until I wake up and FEED HER. (Seriously, I have fed the cats IN MY SLEEP to get her to stop making those damn noises. There was VIDEO.)

Now I know how fish feel. Speaking of, we should totally get an aquarium, it'll be hilarious."

Yeah... until the cat falls in. Then it's STILL hilarious, but you vaguely feel like you should feel bad for laughing? Like the time my cat fell in the toilet and managed to pull the lid down on top of her. (The sounds she made. Dear lord, the SOUNDS.)

Chekov got startled by his shadow, puffed up, and accidentally walked backwards off the desk.

Chekov: "I MEANT TO DO THAT!"

"Oh-- girls, help me look for Chekov. I keep hearing him meow, but I can't find him anywhere."

I spent three hours once trying to find a cat the size of a small dog. I could HEAR HER... but I couldn't find her for the life of me. ...suitcase in the closet. She'd gotten into it, knocked it over, and could no longer get out.

Carol Dallon's voice was calm enough, but a tense frown had taken over her expression.

"Carol, are you coming back to work today?"

"I'd love to, but I CAN'T FIND MY KITTY."

(And that's how Carol's boss actually spent a good twenty seconds trying to decide if he needed to get his firm's most famous partner an "Our Body, Ourselves" book....)

Cats climbed things, didn't they? Things more dangerous than bedspreads and curtains, anyway.

Yes! Yes, they do! Things like LEGS and ARMS and oh god I have so many scars!

Seriously, how can cats manage to be so weird and remain cute?

Mind control rays. It's true! Wrap your entire head in tinfoil! I promise you, you won't be thinking about how cute cats are anymore.

Ames flipped through her phone's photos, and Victoria watched her mom move slightly closer to look over the girl's shoulder.

Sunny: *bark* ("Better mother-daughter relationship in the side pocket....")

Even Chessman, though Emily was reasonably certain he'd remained sober-- he just looked wrung-out from stress. She couldn't really blame him for it.

Yes, you can! This would have been solved a while ago if he'd just TALKED TO HIS DAUGHTER.

Battery at least earned a slight twinge of pity. Despite her relationship with Assault, the heroine wasn't a frequent drinker,

That was a hard-earned lesson. She'd gotten drunk with him ONCE before this... and that Incident is why she's no longer allowed into Mexico, Chile, certain parts of Europe, and has a restraining order keeping her 200 yards from any cheesemaker.

if Dragon's claims about the BAC she'd registered from Armsmaster were any indication, she was probably still feeling wrecked.

...why does Dragon have a BAC reading from Armsmaster? Wouldn't that mean she has some way of monitoring his biofunctions remotely? WHY would she have that? ...it's so she can spy on him, isn't it. Yeah, it is.

("His heartrate went up when he looked at that blonde woman on the motorcycle in the tight leathers. Does he like blondes better? Can I change my avatar's hair without it being too obvious? Maybe it's the leather? Is it... oh, it's the motorcycle. Of course. ...can I make a motorcycle suit? Would... would it be too forward to give it to him?")

It wasn't enough pity to keep Piggot from turning the lights up bright before the meeting started, but it was there.

Oh, that's just MEAN. ...well done!

"Several things, actually." Dragon's avatar piped up. The Canadian Tinker's display was on the opposite end of the table from Director Piggot, on a monitor bolted to the conference table.

Director Piggot had spent several minutes with a technician ensuring the speakers had a subtle high-pitched whine that, she was assured, would carve into a hungover person's brain like a flaming chainsaw through butter.

"We've managed to get a cohesive theory on Brushstroke and Good Dog's Master ability, and they've been assigned a provisional rating of 3+. From the different encounters with the pair and surveillance of the shrine, Protectorate Thinkers have concluded that they most likely exhibit a Master/Stranger effect in a similar vein to August Prince. Only, instead of preventing hostile action against themselves, we're thinking it's an area-of-effect relaxation and inclination towards nonviolence."

They... don't know about the lightning bolt, do they. That's gonna be a fun conversation.

"Useful comparison, if uncomfortable." Triumph muttered, from the sane side of the table.

Um. Sane-ish. -ISH. They still dress up in wacky outfits and hit people while insisting everyone call them by special names.

That reminds me of something, but I can't quite put my ~~riding crop~~ finger on it....

PRT M/S teams did some focus testing on areas of The Sidewalk, and test members showed no impediment to expressions of anger or the occasional sucker-punch.

I FEEL LIKE THOSE TWO ARE RELATED. ...in fact, I'm almost certain they are. ("Test three: Sucker punch." "Wha-OOOF! *wheeze*" "Test four: Anger expression. Are you upset about being sucker pu-HOOGH!" "YOU TELL ME!")

"You can say 'hot spring,' Armsy. It's okay." Assault grinned. Battery gave him a weak tap on the side of the head-- definitely still wrecked. Nearby, Chessman took a harsh breath and held it.

Danny has, to his INTENSE discomfort, looked up what a "hot springs episode" usually consists of. Also, the traditional (non-)garments for partaking in them. He is DESPERATELY trying not to put those items and his DAUGHTER into the same thought processes.

Piggot stared at Armsmaster for a second, who had yet to sit down, then turned her attention to the printed images. The first looked like a fairly normal MRI scan of a large canine, but the rest…

"This is… the outline of a dog. Where's the rest of it?" When the Tinker didn't answer she flipped to the next one. "And this is a drawing of a dog!"

"That is correct."

"It appears to be done in crayon, Armsmaster."

"That was my conclusion as well."

*hopeless laughter* Oh, Sunny... you fluffy, trolling bitch. I love you so much right now.

"Yes. It is my conclusion that Good Dog is, indeed, a projection. There is no such creature."

Ah. Armsmaster is an atheist, then. ...adogeist? I... I'm not sure what word to use here.

Good Dog being a projection meant there wasn't a predator latched onto his daughter, after all. Excepting the ABB, anyway.

And, really, that's more of a... symbiotic relationship, at this point. As much as Lung would and will wish otherwise. Desperately, desperately wish otherwise.

"Well," Piggot said, "I guess you'll have something in common you can talk about, then." Chessman shot her a look of pure betrayal,

"How did YOUR day go, honey?"

"G-good.... Dad?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Why is there a large woman with a bad blonde dye-job and a terrible haircut glaring at you through the kitchen window?"

"HAHAHAHAHAHA-No, there isn't!"

"She's making the 'I'm watching you' gesture and holding a rolled up newspaper."

"...anyways, it turns out I have a lot of vacation time from work that I have to use now!"

Assault slung one arm over Chessman's shoulder. "Chessman, I take back all those terrible things I said behind your back. She is truly your daughter."

Assault and his newly-broken nose lost Sane Table privileges for the rest of the year.

....

I

I....

I've read this four times and I am still helpless laughing at it. Just the image of Danny punching Assault in the face before his actual thinky bits even had a chance to get involved. 'cause I feel like that's how it went down. Assault didn't even have a chance to realize how stupid and shitty a comment that was before he was eating a knuckle sandwich. (Later, he agreed that he HAD totally deserved it, though.)

Members from all stations were there, from the toughs and the pushers, to the sympathizers, to even the whores.

Hey! "Ladies of VERY negotiable virtue" if you please!

The firelight gleamed off of Lung's mask and the scattered scales that twitched and crept around his shoulders.

...that's odd. Usually, he only changes in response to a fight or situation with danger, right? I wonder why he's getting all scaly now?

"I am Lung!" He roared, pacing before the crowd in a suspiciously uneven line. "I am the dragon!"

...good lord, he's still drunk. *facepalm* Lung, Lung, Lung. NEVER make huge announcements or decisions until AFTER you sober up! History is RIFE with examples of this! (June 1812: "Oh, how hard can it be to invade Russia?", April 1846: "I'm not wasting all that space on food!", April 1912: "Fuck it, they'll never need ALL those lifeboats!", May 1937: "Pffft, no one would be stupid enough to smoke on a zeppelin!", and June 1941: "Ve invaded VHAT?!")

"And you are now UNION."

The next morning, at the PRT HQ...

Danny: "HE DID WHAT?!"
Piggot: "Lung said, and I quote: 'This is Union territory, and only Union workers are allowed.' And then proceeded to chase our PRT squads out until they returned with the proper hardhats, steel-toed shoes, and hi-viz vests. Also, he took over your old office."
Danny: *starts frothing*

Thelunarwolf said:
Well if Chekov Dallon is Kabegami's avatar, he can walk on walls, with the Catwalk ability.

Chekov uses Catwalk!

It's Super effective.

Great. Now I have THAT SONG stuck in my head. Thanks a whole hell of a lot.

UnwelcomeStorm said:
29

Yaaaay! This is like a present to m-what the hell I just noticed US' new avatar it is staring into my SOUL

Taylor and Old Mr. Henrick

Do... do you think she TELLS him he's "OLD Mr. Henrick"? Is there a NEW Mr. Henrick? Is Mrs. Henrick doing something with the milkman that we should be aware of?

True to their word, there was just shy of three-hundred fifty thousand there, with her and Sunny's name on it.

*choke* Caping pays WELL, apparently!

Roughly a six month average for an independent hero or vigilante to get picked up by a gang…

Don't worry about that, Taylor. You've been in a gang since you were about seven. You... just didn't realize it until very recently. Your capo de capi is a ~~wolf~~ dog, after all.

Taylor found that inviting them for tea seemed much more effective and pleasant for everyone involved,

Taylor: "Tea?"
Mook: "I don't want tea! I want your walle-"
Sunny: *GROWL*
Mook: "tea would be lovely, thank you"

The ABB didn't seem to have any ill-intent towards her,

The ABB are, in fact, almost AGGRESSIVELY well intentioned towards her, at this point. ANYTHING to keep Lung happy and not further in debt to Sunny. (This is their excuse. The reality is that Baachan cleared her throat VERY POINTEDLY at them.)

The canine had the audacity to roll her eyes at Taylor, but had nodded.

Sunny: *whuf* ("All right, MOM!")

She'd stuck to Taylor like a big, furry burr ever since autumn had started-- ever since Lung had hit her.

I appreciate that Sunny's making it OBVIOUS that she screwed up... and that she's going to make sure she doesn't screw up ever again. I... really appreciate when a character can admit their mistakes and work to make sure they don't happen again. Especially in Worm fics, where you usually NEVER see that.

Sunny didn't exactly speak, but she had ways of making herself understood,

Sunny needs a Speak'N'Spell! Hang it around her neck on a string! THIS IS A PERFECT SOLUTION.

There were probably packages for that-- she'd ask the serviceman when he showed up later. A computer logically followed,

"Also, do you offer any sort of combination lock for a keyboard and mouse that a wolf can't pick? ...asking for a friend."

Dad--
Sorry my dog used your credit card, here is the money I owe you. Love, Taylor.

See? Taylor is being responsible! That's good!

P.S: You should probably turn off one-click ordering.

I don't trust one-click ordering. Mr. Scotch and I have a... certain close relationship at times and I distrust my impulses in those moments.

P.P.S: Also, sorry about having to keep erasing your browser history.

Of ALL the possible reasons Danny was desperately, FRANTICALLY, not thinking about for Taylor needing to erase her browser history, her "pet" browsing through weird websites was not one of them.

P.P.P.S: Also also, thanks for the meatloaf.

Taylor's a fan of '80s rock? Good to know!

The Baachans had of course determined almost immediately that the way to Sunny's heart was through her stomach,

Well, yeah. If you go that route, you avoid the rib cage and just have to deal with the- ...oh, you meant metaphorically. *cough* I... I knew that. NEVER MIND MOVING ON

Meatloaf is a pretty common fare, but this one had been a tweaked recipe. Diced green peppers were baked in with the meat,

*narrows eyes* I still don't trust a meatloaf with GREEN PEPPERS.

This time, Sunny had waited to receive a portion, and refused to touch the rest of the dish. This offering had not been for the shrine, but for Taylor.

HNNNNG. My heart can't handle D'AAWWWs of that magnitude!

There's a difference in food that's prepared for someone, as opposed to food from a cafeteria, or a restaurant

I can totally agree with this. I am one of those people who was raised to express myself via food. It's my go-to problem solver. "You make me happy! I AM GOING TO COOK FOR YOU NOW."

I blame being raised in a Lutheran family.

She should have said something by now, she really should have, but…

Assault: "TOTALLY your kid-OH GOD NOT THE FACE!"

So not only did he know, but it was quite likely that he knew that she knew that he knew. So they both knew that the other knew, but neither of them had said anything.

Oh, no. It's turning into one of THOSE. Someone get me a flowchart. No, not THAT Chart. ...well. Maybe that Chart. I remain hopeful.

She remembered hearing Kurt and Lacy joke a few times about Danny Hebert's strong right hook, but that sounded far-fetched.

Assault: "Oh, yeah. TOTALLY improbable! Har-dee-fucking-har."

He worked for heroic law enforcement, and Taylor regularly hosted Oni Lee for tea.

You... have sorta hosted Lung enough times for it to almost count, too. Just pointing that out.

Acknowledging what she was doing might actually get him in real trouble.

Piggot: *bitter, hysterical laughter* "I wish."

maybe there was something she could leave him in unofficial reciprocation? A new model, maybe.

Taylor: "Dad? Why is Chessman using the model I gave you to punch Skidmark in the face?"
Danny: "Um... about that... you see... I...."
Taylor: "He STOLE it, didn't HE?! I'm gonna find him and give him a piece of my mind!" *stomp* *stomp* *stomp* *door slam*
Danny: "...Piggot is going to kill me."

Sunny ran ahead to check on her hot spring's source,

Translation: Soak. (Baths? Bad. Hot springs? GOOD. No, I don't know how that works, either.)

A large white rope was circled around the trunk and knotted,

o/" Tie a white rope around the old oak tree! o/"

Under a careful, simple line sketch of the oak, the words 'Wishing Tree' were written, in English, Japanese, Korean, and one type of Chinese… though Taylor couldn't remember if it was Cantonese or Mandarin.

Cut to the Chairman of the CUI's bedroom. SUNNY is standing on his bed, holding the sign in her mouth. The Chairman is asleep in the bed.
Sunny: *bark* ("Can you make sure this is right?")

She wondered what the tree would look like by next summer, laden with hopes, a full year since Taylor and Sunny had come to the shrine.

"Yeah," Taylor said, and rubbed at Sunny's ears. "It's perfect."

HNNNNG.

I... I gotta be honest. If this story ended right there? ...it wouldn't be a bad ending. A little bit early. A little bit incomplete. But still MUCH, MUCH better than so many stories that never reached any kind of conclusion at all. We see the relationship of Taylor and her Dad starting to get a little bit better. We see Taylor happy, ACTUALLY HAPPY, with where she is and what her life is like. We see the city slowly starting to, if not get better, at least SEE the possibility of getting better.

This is... this is a really good chapter and I am very, very happy now. No insane wackiness. No fights. No tense stand offs. Just... Taylor and Sunny, being friends and making the world a little bit better, one tiny bit at a time.

It's hopeful. And I really needed that after the way this entire year/week has gone. Thank you, US.

UnwelcomeStorm · Nov 17, 2016

30

It started out simply enough.

Taylor had gone over her To-Do list a few times, tweaking suggestions here and re-ordering things there, until she had a rough plan for what she wanted to accomplish first, and what she might need to do it. She'd put the Wishing Tree at the top of the list for a few reasons, some of them practical. As much as she felt a bit awkward about it still, the ema plaques were a potential source of income for the shrine's upkeep, though she intended to just have a donations box rather than a set price; not only did it alleviate the phantom guilt of asking people for money, but it meant that people could come and get wishes written when she wasn't there to oversee.

After she'd gotten her thoughts down on paper, Taylor had needed to stop for a while and just process things. She was, after all, intending to use the honor system in Brockton Bay of all places… and she was actually feeling assured that it would be fine. She had to hug Sunny for a while, just to feel grounded.

After that, it was just a matter of acquiring the plaques themselves, and Taylor found a promising lead on that almost immediately: when she mused aloud about it over her list, one of the other kids at the lunch table had suggested the Shop class. There was always scrap wood kept for student projects, and while it was kind of unlikely Winslow would just let her have it, any home improvement store that sold lumber would have scrap of its own that she could get cheaply, and then the shop class students could cut them for a modest bribe of baked goods. No telling how long it would be before the school staff figured out that the table saws weren't being used for school projects, but it was a good first start. She even had an idea for a sort of… well, 'opening ceremony' sounded too formal, but a kind of welcome for the Tree. Halloween was coming up, and a lot of the baachans had grandchildren, and the thought of a combination pumpkin carving and paint-your-own-ema event sounded fun.

So, with the Wishing Tree mostly accounted for, the next item on her list was to do a proper survey of her new properties.

The Shrine she had mostly explored already, though as it turned out the actual property line extended back a ways from the fence at the rear of the honden. Not by a large amount, maybe eight feet, but even that was enough space for a host of possibilities. It was something to save for next spring, but Taylor confessed to thoughts of maybe moving the Tea Ceremony arrangements there for a more permanent placement, or even just clearing the space for a garden. A couple of stone benches, and maybe a small fountain if she could wrangle one— with Old Mrs. Henrick's teachings making plant maintenance much easier, she could easily imagine creating a quiet, natural space in which to paint, or read. Sunny wagged her tail in approval, then leaned hard against Taylor's legs until the girl lost her balance and took a tumble into a drift of leaves. The subsequent Leaf Fight delayed progress for a while, but it was worth the laughter.

The two properties to the right of the shrine were next, and while Taylor made a mental note to cover up the cheerful graffiti she'd spread around (or maybe just make a proper mural, if she got to feeling ambitious one of these days), the buildings themselves didn't seem to be nearly as damaged as she'd feared. Sure, the insides were filthy with both mundane dirt and evidence of uncaring occupation, but cleaning and re-varnishing the floors were simple enough things in execution that Taylor was pretty sure she could handle it. Real repairs were what she'd been worried about, since that would pose a need to hire skilled workers, and a few internet searches had taught her quickly enough that she was going to have to stretch the bounty money pretty far if she wanted to build something from the ground up. An electrician and a plumber to check the utilities were a given, but not needing roofers on top of that was a godsend.

And the utilities in these buildings were… kind of odd, Taylor realized, as she wandered through the rooms. The building closest to the shrine had one room filled with stripped pipes and hookups for water and gas, and it took her a while to figure out what the room would need so many appliances for. It had likely been a kitchen at one point in time, though there wasn't much open space at the front for tables and chairs. A cafe, then, or something similar.

"Well, that's promising," she told Sunny. "Yuuta said we could maybe rent these places out, but if we could invest in a business and… co-sponsor, or whatever it's called, that'd be even better."

Sunny made a speculative sound, but her wagging tail betrayed her excitement. A cafe or restaurant meant food, after all, and Taylor had no doubts about Sunny's ability to beg.

They left their appraisal of the buildings on the right, and moseyed over to the left of the shrine, where Sunny had dug for the hot spring. These two had more structural damage, but it mattered less since she was going to have to hire people to dig up the foundations anyway. It might even be an advantage, since it meant fewer walls to tear down or build up as needed. Taylor took a detour back to the shrine's office to find a sketchbook, and on the way back out, noticed Oni Lee approaching the torii. Sunny barked at the assassin, and Taylor waved, because apparently that was just her life now. The ABB cape changed course, after a mild hesitation, and gave Sunny a quick pet.

"Good afternoon, Oni Lee. You caught me working, but if you'd like some tea I can put the kettle on real quick."

"I would not wish to interrupt you, Miko." She took that to mean he was willing to wait, since he seemed as reluctant as anyone else to enter the office without her there. He surprised her, though, by following-up with a question. "What are you working on?"

"Oh, Sunny and I've been looking over the buildings Lung gave us. Wanted to see what we'd be working with. I'm about done, though, just wanted to get a rough floorplan for the onsen."

"...you are making a bath house?" He asked, and after a moment turned to follow her back to the abandoned foundations.

"Mhm. I mean really, what else do you do with a hot spring?" Taylor put her pencil to paper and started drawing boxes. She could get exact measurements later, when she or more likely Sunny managed to scrounge up a tape measure. "There's a lot of details I don't know yet, but I had some thoughts and ideas…"

Come to think of it, there was something she could get his opinion on. She could get second opinions later, to judge the idea's practicality, but for now Oni Lee's blunt honesty could let her know if it was ridiculous. "Uh— hey, so… when I looked up bath houses, they're usually split in two, right?" At his nod, she continued. "I was kind of thinking… maybe I could have a half-size third pool, as well. For capes."

He didn't dismiss it immediately, which was a good sign. Instead, he asked, "What is your reasoning?"

Taylor made a vague gesture with one hand, and tried to find the best way to articulate this. "Well— as surreal as that whole thing was, with the Protectorate and Lung and all, and I'll probably be having nightmares for years to come, it was also kinda neat? I mean, the neighborhood is still standing, and nobody got set on fire, even a little bit." These were her standards now, a part of her brain slowly realized. "And I thought that… if the capes were going to help keep neutrality for the shrine, they should get to enjoy that neutrality too, right? So… hot spring. For people with masks on."

* * *

"She wants to build what?" Lung asked, glancing over his shoulder at his second in command. Oni Lee just nodded, rather than repeat himself, as the assassin continued his regular gear check. He tightened, repaired, or sharpened as needed with practiced efficiency. Lung sighed, and reached a hand under his mask to rub at his eyes. He longed for the days without headaches. An onsen alone was both ambitious and laden with significance, but to mention a cape section specifically? It had overtones of a conciliatory gesture, an expression of gratitude towards the city's parahumans— and by extension, himself. But there was more to this, he was certain of it.

"What else did she say?"

"The Miko expressed hopes that with physical restoration of the nearby buildings, new businesses would come and settle there, and make the area populated and thriving again. She made specific mention of curiosity regarding the legal necessities for open-air stalls."

"Ah-ha…" Lung breathed. The Miko's intentions quickly fell into place.

A resort or hotel would have benefited the Miko cape specifically, but instead she turns her attention towards a wider scope. One of the few remaining draws of this city to outsiders was spectacle, the city's large number of parahumans attracting the attention of gawkers and opportunists. The Ōkami had pared that down quite a bit, but a bathhouse that provided a place for, and encouraged parahumans—local and otherwise—to gather in a public space? Couple that with a varied market and the sheer novelty of a hot spring…

"She intends a second Lord's Market." Lung said, still following the threads of thought and consequence. "A subtle request for the ABB to assist with moving in new businesses, and in return, we profit from the legitimized security needs, the investments themselves, and the tourists." Tourists always hungered for decadence, and not only from food or luxury. Drugs and sex were in high demand from travelers, and a few front stores could provide for them, with the added bonus of a reputation automatically higher than the suppliers of the Merchants. Pleasant and relatively safe experiences brought return customers.

And it would be safe, if he followed the example of the Lord's Market. The ABB could form a private security detail, and any who thieved in the new market would be effectively stealing from Lung, a prospect only the most foolish would ever consider. The rumors of safety and opportunity would then draw more merchants, who would also need the ABB's services. As long as he kept to the Miko's stipulations of a paper trail, and his subjects organized to enjoy the benefits of his beneficence, then the return on his investments would be manifold.

Lung sighed, fished out a cigarette, and lit it. "Lee. Arrange a meeting of the lieutenants, and tell them to take a census of their men. I want them listed by trade skills, and by holdings. We will keep a defensive line against the Empire's peasants, but I want the most useful of ours ready to be reassigned."

Oni Lee sheathed the knife he'd been honing, and bowed. His ashes drifted to the floor a moment later.

Lung rubbed at his eyes again, and ran a few sums in his head. He'd held intentions of delaying things a bit, start a slow reorganization of his forces but focus on claiming new territory and assets from the remains of the Empire; reducing his protection racket and similar enterprises would have to be balanced somehow, after all. But the miko cape's carefully-implied plans… Lung considered his usual profits from guns and drugs and women, and compared them to the take from unofficially owning at least part of the most lucrative area in the city. The difference was… substantial.

God dammit. He was never getting away from the Ōkami.

Epic Reader · Nov 17, 2016

Anti-No said:
Brilliant as allways!

I keep seeing the PRT going 'there has to be something illegal going on here', but... a Cape that for all purposes first hammered down the E88, then turned the ABB halfway legit and productive?

I could see the Major of Brockton Bay firing any police officer who insisted on trying to upset that cart. Piggot?

Piggot: *checking report* "So, a gang is using it's resources to make a market and run it legally. This is not a problem. Let it be."
Conflict-driven parahuman: "But but but..!"
Piggot: "I said: Let it Be. Or Else." *glares at the vermin*
Vermin: "...eep. Okay!"

Meanwhile, in the Mayor's office...

"Reports, please."

"Lung registered some 300 ABB, err, Local 433 members as private security; the $45,000 in registration fees was paid in cash. They're in green and red silk vests; made by a local seamstress. The new security is actually friendlier and better behaved than the Boardwalk enforcers; I've got a few light patrols on antitheft foot patrols, and the rest of the officers and SWAT units from ABB territory have been reassigned to Merchant areas. E88's still laying low. Crime is down across the board," reported the police chief.

"Excellent. Fire?"

"Lung's walking the streets in his territory, being, well, helpful. Oni Lee is porting around the streets and the Sidewalks, also being helpful. Spitfire's out of town. Arson's down; regular fires are normal. On the medical side, ambulance calls are way down, primarily from reduction in crime. Hospitals report much less trauma and burn cases... and a higher percentage of insured patients."

"Amazing. Commerce?"

"Well, the PR flaks at the PRT can take their 'It's a Federal building, local taxes don't apply' and shove it. The area around the new shrine is getting four times the local visitors, and ten times the tourists. Turns out being able to safely see a villain, or even rivals and enemies, enter a bathouse or go to a tea ceremony is way more interesting than yet another Protectorate team. There's followon effects in hotels, food and beverage, tourist items, and best of all, Local 433 and its new market is buying 100% local, so craftsmen are getting work. We just had a Chinese potter set up next to some Japanese swordsmith, polisher, something shop near the shrine."

"Well, I don't see any choice, then. I'll nominate Lung at the next Chamber of Commerce meeting. He's managed to really help turn this city around," said the mayor.

"I hear making an offering at the shrine is also traditional," commented Commerce.

ChaosRuneSmith · Nov 17, 2016

Dragonskyt said:
Meanwhile with Numberman...

"My stocks! My numbers! What is going on! What do they mean!"

Uuuugh, why must inspiration strike when these hands are so shit at writing?

Too late now, don't wanna just delete all of it.

--------------------------

I gave the door two sharp knocks, careful not to create more indents on the wood.
"Come in"
"Number man have... you made any progress?"
The man in question was sitting on a office chair in front of a vast wall filled with numbers, maps and charts.
"Not really, no." Replied the man. He was a far bit from his usual self. Dressed in a dress shirt with its arms rolled up, his shoes discarded on the floor and his feet resting on a small table he had brought into his office.
"So you can't tell were the parahuman interference is coming from? I'm sorry for insisting but Contessa has said that the area has become very significant to holding society together after the fact." I walked up to him. His gaze didn't leave the wall.
"I am aware"
"Can't you find any-"
"There isn't any"
"...I'm sorry?"
"There is no interference, parahuman or otherwise that is any way, shape or form altering the economy of Brockton bay." He rose up from his seat.
"I have looked across the entire economy, compared the current trends to the prediction Contessa gave me. A significant boom in cash flow and growth, far exceeding the projected growth, which would have been a decline if you looked at previous years, that would occurs naturally."
"So someone-"
"But that has the simple explanation of the black market in the area shrinking and the money being pumped into the legitimate venues. In just a few years it is quite possible that Brockton bay, the Cape capital of the US, one of the cities we projected to be the best for the new parahuman feudal system based on its weakness and unhappiness, will become the economic crown jewelle of the East coast with the highest wealth per capita in the US. and it all makes complete sense. There is no hole, no sign of interference, unnatural stimuli or artificial improvement."
I took a few moments to wait and see if he had anything more to say before asking. "So... no capes? Watchdog hasn't been missing something?"
He have a sigh. "No, alexandria, there is nothing. The ENE's illusive duo are not manipulating the economy."
"Ok, thanks." I made my way out but stopped at the door. "Just... how is this possible? If they aren't using a power then, how?"
"That is what I'm trying to understand myself. It all checks out. Anyone could have caused it. Just, pushed over the right domino brick at the right place at the right time to cause maximum effect. Not that that is illegal, I checked for you, the report is on your desk."
"Thanks."
I closed the door.

------------------------------------

Don't read it, it's awful!

UltimateGrr · Nov 17, 2016

Mean while, as everyone's running around trying to find out Taylor's angel in all of this, there's Ammy.

EDIT: Credit goes to my sister for making this for me.

Tascion · Nov 17, 2016

Lung: Cape Villian and Businessman
A Retrospective

Interview Excerpts

"Lung, your rise to respectability and capable community leader from villain over the past five years had been an inspiring example of redemption. Both of your redemption and the revitalization of the Asian community of Brockton Bay.

As a last question, would there be any regrets that you would care to share, to help our audience understand your story better?"

"My single greatest regret is a moment of anger that led me to strike The Miko."

"That's a surprising response, would you care to elaborate?"

"No."

"Well, that's all the time we have. Thank you again Lung, and thank you for bringing the acclaimed Good Dog of Brockton Bay with you as well. We here at CNN are grateful for the change to interview these two central characters of Brockton Bay."

========

"Sunny, why are you on TV with Lung?"

*Bark!*

"No, I don't think Lung thought you surprising him on live television was 'just a prank.' Why were you even in New York?"

Datcord · Nov 20, 2016

UnwelcomeStorm said:
Emma is indeed on the To-Do list.

AND THE CHART HAS NEW HOPE!

UnwelcomeStorm said:
30

*cracks knuckles* Okay, let's catch up on things, starting with THIS!

....

...okay, seriously, though. Does anyone else see US' new avatar in their dreams? You know, briefly? Right before you wake up screaming and clawing at your eyes?

...just me then? Well, that's good to know.

It started out simply enough.

Constellations, summed up.

Taylor had gone over her To-Do list a few times,

Again, a list that, per WoG, has Emma on it. Just noting that for the record.

She was, after all, intending to use the honor system in Brockton Bay of all places… and she was actually feeling assured that it would be fine.

Brockton Bay. The place where if they see someone having a seizure in a bathtub... they throw in their laundry.

There was always scrap wood kept for student projects, and while it was kind of unlikely Winslow would just let her have it, any home improvement store that sold lumber would have scrap of its own that she could get cheaply,

Yes. Very cheaply, I'm sure.

"Hi, I'm the girl who pals around with Lung? I was wondering if you could sell me some old scrap wood for cheap?"

"TAKE ANYTHING YOU WANT!"

"...thanks?"

It was something to save for next spring,

Don't say that around Sunny! SHE'LL DIG ANOTHER ONE.

The subsequent Leaf Fight delayed progress for a while, but it was worth the laughter.

but cleaning and re-varnishing the floors were simple enough things in execution that Taylor was pretty sure she could handle it.

Okay, Taylor... this is IMPORTANT: Do NOT skimp on the polyurethane. You want many, many coats. Slather that stuff on. (And then BUFF it. It's hilarious to watch dogs run on a well-polished wood floor.)

she was going to have to stretch the bounty money pretty far if she wanted to build something from the ground up.

Orrrr.... get MORE bounty money! (Jack Slash: "How... how did we get in this prison cell again? I'm very confused.")

An electrician and a plumber to check the utilities were a given, but not needing roofers on top of that was a godsend.

*coughs*

Taylor made a mental note to cover up the cheerful graffiti she'd spread around

GOT IT IN ONE, TAYLOR!

A cafe or restaurant meant food, after all, and Taylor had no doubts about Sunny's ability to beg.

"You're feeding her right now."

"SON OF A BITCH!"

"...you are making a bath house?" He asked, and after a moment turned to follow her back to the abandoned foundations.

"Mhm. I mean really, what else do you do with a hot spring?"

*coff*hotspringepisode*coff*

"I was kind of thinking… maybe I could have a half-size third pool, as well. For capes."

That's... gonna be awkward, given certain traditions for use of an onsen.

Instead, he asked, "What is your reasoning?"

She's a teenaged girl and most capes are... you know... fit?

And I thought that… if the capes were going to help keep neutrality for the shrine, they should get to enjoy that neutrality too, right?

Plus, it'd probably help them sort things out without violence. Because it's REALLY hard for people to fight when mostly naked. (I mean, Assault wouldn't have a problem, but other than HIM....)

So… hot spring. For people with masks on.

Um... exactly WHAT KIND of clientèle are you looking for here, again?

Lung sighed, and reached a hand under his mask to rub at his eyes. He longed for the days without headaches.

Well, that's what happens when you hit someone's Miko, jackass. Sunny HOLDS A GRUDGE.

"Ah-ha…" Lung breathed. The Miko's intentions quickly fell into place.

Taylor: "My what? Sunny, since when did I have intentions?!"

instead she turns her attention towards a wider scope.

Taylor: "I did WHAT?!"

"She intends a second Lord's Market." Lung said,

Taylor: "I WHAT?!"

any who thieved in the new market would be effectively stealing from Lung, a prospect only the most foolish would ever consider.

Oh, so THAT'S how Sunny's going to get the Undersiders! Because we all know Coil IS that foolish.

As long as he kept to the Miko's stipulations of a paper trail, and his subjects organized to enjoy the benefits of his beneficence, then the return on his investments would be manifold.

And your debt to Taylor will just keep getting bigger and bigger! It's a two-fer!

"Lee. Arrange a meeting of the lieutenants, and tell them to take a census of their men. I want them listed by trade skills, and by holdings. We will keep a defensive line against the Empire's peasants, but I want the most useful of ours ready to be reassigned."

This is where I would normally make a joke about Lung's skill at running a criminal gang and how it translates to him being able to run a union, but... well. Perfectly Legitimate Businessmen tend not to like those remarks.

But the miko cape's carefully-implied plans…

Taylor: "Again, my WHAT now?!"

God dammit. He was never getting away from the Ōkami.

Surrender, Lung! Sunny has decided that you're part of HER hoard, now!

shinkicker444 said:
Ah, I see. I need to play Shadowrun.

Yes, you do, chummer

Ghoul King said:
This is silly. You are silly.

You need a fourth one, so you can divide the capes by gender.

Duh.

On the OTHER hand... I bet the capes who visited would be MUCH more open to... working together.

Dark Mage said:
Fliers?

She has to worry about Armsmaster's surveillance cameras!

And Dragon suddenly has new hope that Colin is FINALLY going through puberty! (...and then she realizes he's studying the male side just as intently and has a new WORRY, too.)

Constellations (Worm/Okami)

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