Scify
It always starts with a lighthouse.
Fire purifies everything.How unhygienic. On his scales? You don't know where he's been!
Constellations (Worm/Okami)
- Thread starter UnwelcomeStorm
- Start date
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Vox De Harlequin
Consequences are for other people
- Location
- Hyalean Theoric World
Fairly sure that's chibiterasu.I welcome our new fluffy overlord.
Yea... Sophia Hess, Madison Clements and Emma Barnes would have issues in a post Locker world here.
Even discounting that every footsoldier in the ABB would be hunting for them, Oni Lee would be hunting for them, Lung would, since she is the Miko of the Shrine in ABB territory be obliged to make a statement of displeasure.
Having his car trashed, riddled with bullets and ABB tagged with a polite letter to police his daughter, might get thru to Alan Barnes.
Chibiterasu, Son of Amaterasu reflects the Happy Doggy Goddess, Happy is not the only state of mind.
With rage like unto the Blazing Sun.
Then of course there's the Anti-Simurgh/Sun Goddess of Unity mode. If she goes that far, play-time is over and even Kenta/Lung would not dare to fight that.
Because even Kenta can't fight Truth, Benevolence and Valour.
Even discounting that every footsoldier in the ABB would be hunting for them, Oni Lee would be hunting for them, Lung would, since she is the Miko of the Shrine in ABB territory be obliged to make a statement of displeasure.
Having his car trashed, riddled with bullets and ABB tagged with a polite letter to police his daughter, might get thru to Alan Barnes.
Chibiterasu, Son of Amaterasu reflects the Happy Doggy Goddess, Happy is not the only state of mind.
Then of course there's the Anti-Simurgh/Sun Goddess of Unity mode. If she goes that far, play-time is over and even Kenta/Lung would not dare to fight that.
Because even Kenta can't fight Truth, Benevolence and Valour.
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Parabola
Divided Loyalties Librarian
- Location
- The Destination of Fate
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Yeah, this is definitely what I like most about Okami, and this fic. The idea of what a god is varies a lot from culture to culture, and in various settings, but Amaterasu acts most like what I'd personally wish from an actual god - someone who can help the world heal, instead of just destroy evil.
As a random aside, I wonder what will happen if Bitch meets Ammy. A tag team for the ages?
Pheoxy
Scatterbrained Dreamer
- Location
- The Land of Oz
Pretty sure Ammy would just give her a lick on the head and Bitch would cuddle her.
NexysDhyArchen
Throne Breaker
I'm betting Bitch would see the red markings...not that she'd have ANY clue what that means.
Or her powers will slide right by Ammy because she's not actually a dog, or even a wolf, really.
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
She will pet the dog.
GiftOfLove
From the Heart
I imagine it'd be the same reaction as if Taylor suddenly hulked out into a giant lizard thing. Confusion. Maybe a little indignant. But mostly confusion.
Bigj217
Ooooooohhh!!! Pretty!
- Location
- Metropolis, IL
step 456 slap David upside the head
step 457 tell him "Try parenthood, idiot!"
Because Friendbringers! ....
I just realized this could totally happen in this story.....huh.
- Location
- Australia
*switches to video feed of Ammy dragging her butt across the floor of the holding cell*
Datcord Says: 08
Dear madame,
I am writing you this day to complain about a most grievous offense that your story "Constellations" has offered to me. Due to the heartwarming and amusing content of said story, I have been unable to fulfill certain key responsibilities that I hold as a C&C'er, to wit: puerile giggles. You, madame, have rendered me unable to engage in this most sacred of duties and I... well, honestly, I'm not even upset. I was going to try and fake outrage, but... not gonna work. Please do keep up the good work.
Sincerely,
Datcord (Who isn't as bad as that judge keeps insisting, honestly.)
PS. However, I AM going to demand to see what happens when Bitch meets Sunny. Because that should be GLORIOUS.
PPS. I've decided that I'm going to ship Oni Lee/Amaterasu. (People expect me to have Teams for The Chart and Team "Explosions are ART!" works for now.)
Armsmaster: "OBVIOUSLY a plot to extend her powers throughout the city! ...excuse me? HOW?! Well... look, that's not important right now!"
Official PRT designation: Miko/Tailor
...for once, I think Taylor's usual approach to dealing with things might actually work? I... I'm not sure I'm equipped to deal with this.
Taylor Hebert is... THE SHOVELER! She's here to kick ass and dig, and she's... well, she's got a shovel.
Cut to five minutes later, as someone's stolen a jackhammer and a bunch of pickaxes to MAKE dirt and space....
Well, you know the old saying: "Many hands of gang members desperately trying to keep on the good side of an amoral serial suicidal bomber makes light work!"
Well, it's common in Brockton Bay, at least.
Added to "Miko's" rap sheet: Inciting a public disturbance, disturbing the peace, defacing public property (with trees), and eating at unlicensed food stands.
Hey! SOMEBODY finally noticed!
I... gotta be honest. I don't think I've ever seen a canon Oni Lee redemption attempt. I find myself intrigued and oddly delighted.
- Location
- NC
I cannot wait until more people can see Ammy's markings. Just out of curiosity, does Taylor have any powers (or the ability to use Celestial brush techniques) or is everything Amaterasu's doing?
I'm also hoping that the first cherry tree at the shrine becomes a guardian sapling.
I'm also hoping that the first cherry tree at the shrine becomes a guardian sapling.
Chapter 9
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
9
"Hey, Mr. Henrick!"
"Hm?" The old man shuffled his feet until he turned in Taylor's direction. She waved at him from over the white picket fence, and he gave a slight wave and a smile back in return. "Good morning, young lady. On your way to school?"
Taylor winced, just a little, but nodded, and let at least some of a smile slip back onto her face. "In a minute. Wanted to ask you something first."
"Go on."
"Okay, this is kinda outta the blue, but do you do any woodworking, Mr. Henrick?"
"Well, I've put together a few things in the past. Did you break a chair, or something?"
"No, nothing like that." Taylor frowned, then dug into her backpack. She withdrew a piece of paper torn from one of her sketchbooks, then held it up. Old Mr. Henrick squinted and pushed his glasses a bit further up his nose. The paper had a drawing of a curio cubby— or maybe a curio box, there was a small scribble that looked like hinges. The whole thing was a large rectangle with 13 differently-sized sections. Odd choice, but cleverly planned to make everything fit. Old Mr. Henrick shuffled forward a bit and took the paper for a closer look.
"Could do with some sizing, but it doesn't look too tough. You wanting a jewelry box?"
"I don't... think so?" Taylor shrugged. "Not actually sure what's going in it yet. A friend wanted it."
"You should," he grunted. "Boys'll be giving you calf eyes an' gifts soon enough. You'll see." He grinned at Taylor's embarrassed flush and rapid protestations. "I think I can handle this, if you want."
"That'd be great, Mr. Henrick! Thank you!" Taylor's smile came back. "Want me to mow your lawn or something later?"
"Well, that'd be mighty helpful of you, Taylor. It's a deal."
* * *
Their group was splintered, today, without focus or drive to hound Taylor. Easy enough to see why, as half of the core was missing: Sophia Hess had called out sick today. It was a welcome reprieve. Taylor ate lunch in the cafeteria at the mostly-barren table of exiles. There was time left in the period still after she finished her sandwich wrap and apple (the cookie was not worth the name), so she pulled out some thicker sheets of paper, a brush, and an inkpot, and set to practice.
Calligraphy was hard, with so much precision needing to be balanced with the somewhat chaotic nature of raw ink. This book was a little easier, in Taylor's opinion. Instead of having the characters flow together, here they were arranged neatly atop each other on simple white slips of paper. Some of the advanced ones had twining swirls and artistic flair, but these required concentration enough. Taylor didn't even notice her inkpot had moved until she reached over to dip her brush.
"Hey Tayyyy-lor. What'cha doing? Are you dwawing again?" Emma crooned, pursing her lips as she reduced Taylor's effort to babytalk. She held up the inkpot in one hand, smirking.
"Give it back, Emma," Taylor scowled, but her heart wasn't in it. This was a doomed cause and she knew it. And what was more, Emma knew that she knew. The other girl rolled the inkpot between her fingers, smiling wider. She opened her mouth for another volley, then suddenly froze, eyes widening as she looked at the papers in front of Taylor. Abruptly, her face twisted with hate, so much so Taylor leaned back away from her.
"And what the hell is this?!" Emma swiped a hand at the table, knocking away the brush and sending paper slips scattering. Around the cafeteria, heads were turning. "What, are you ABB now? Don't make me laugh! They wouldn't take you. Nobody would take you, Taylor. Not even if you whored yourself to them!" Emma had a flush riding high on pale cheeks, her eyes wide and almost rolling. She was yelling, too— Emma never yelled. She whispered, murmured, crooned. She didn't raise her voice so others could hear.
"You're not even worth— "
"Then why are you here?" Taylor interrupted. "You're always saying that. I'm not worth the time, I'm not worth attention, I'm not worth the air I breathe. So why are you over here to tell me?" Taylor took an uneven breath, watched a muscle near Emma's eye twitch. "Just give me back my ink, and leave me alone."
"Oh, you want it back? Of course, how rude of me." Emma didn't smile— she showed her teeth.
Then she snapped her wrist and splashed the ink over Taylor's face.
Taylor jolted back so hard she slipped from the table bench and fell, giving her head a sharp crack on the linoleum as she landed. It seemed a very loud sound in the silent room. Taylor groped for her bag, found the strap, and lurched to her feet. The floor and walls were swimming— was there ink in her eyes? No, just tears. Taylor fled into the hall and kept away from the walls, all shifting and dark as they were.
Still at the table, Emma watched Taylor flee with her metaphorical tail between her legs— just like always. She gave the empty inkpot a quick glance to judge its solidity, then hurled the object to the floor. It splintered to pieces. "Stupid bitch. Who does she think she is?"
"That's what I'd like to know." Emma's gaze whipped up. Just behind her was one of the upperclassmen, a well-built Asian boy with a red and green wristband and a jacket that smelled like smoke. Behind him were a few other students— and behind them, Emma spotted dark-haired heads all turned her way.
Souta didn't smile— he showed his teeth.
* * *
Taylor jumped off her bike when she reached her yard, not bothering to park it neatly. The vehicle clattered to the grass as Taylor stumbled up the steps and unlocked her front door. Mr. Henrick was out on his porch, saw her disheveled state, and called out— "Taylor? Young lady, you okay? Taylor!"
Taylor shut the door and locked it behind her. She didn't answer when the doorbell rang, a few minutes later. What she did do was put her head under a running faucet, until she felt Sunshine bump against her legs and whine. Taylor didn't say anything. She just slid down the cabinets to the floor and buried her wet face in the wolf's fur. Sunny turned her head to cover Taylor's neck and hold her closer. She gave a single low, mournful howl, then settled into a comforting silence.
"...Sunny?" Taylor asked, some time later as sunset turned the kitchen window to stained glass.
Mrrmrr?
"Let's go paint the town again."
* * *
The motorcycle purred to a stop. Armsmaster dismounted quickly and took two long strides to the sidewalk, where a rough mural had been added to the dividing wall between the street and the houses up the hill. This was on the other side of the docks from the last stretch of parahuman vandalism he'd encountered, closer to the Trainyards and the Merchants this time. Armsmaster leaned closer for a second, then strode quickly back to his bike and opened the small storage compartments. He came back with two pieces of paper, stuck one against the wall a few meters to his left, and the other a few meters to his right. The one on his right came away with more paint. The tinker opened his radio connection as he straddled the bike again and kicked it off.
"Armsmaster reporting, I've picked up the trail of our painter. Still fresh, I'm going to follow it."
"Roger that Armsmaster. Keep in contact." Sounded like Chessman was on console tonight. That was fine with Armsmaster; the other hero had a natural knack for organizing and coordinating that his power had only built upon. Armsmaster could respect that. He turned up the speed and followed the trail of paint and restored buildings. It wasn't long before a figure appeared in his headlight: tall, long hair pulled back, wearing loose white clothes and a red apron. They were currently splattering paint across the trunk of a dying oak tree in a wide, spotted arc, like a shooting star. They jumped when the headlight illuminated the area, cast a quick look over their shoulder— wearing a mask, natch— then dropped the paintbrush and bolted into the night.
Armsmaster, already half off his bike to make an attempt at a friendly approach, cursed and started running as well. He disengaged the magnetic lock on his halberd and gripped the weapon, just in case. "Halt! This is the Protectorate!"
The fleeing painter did not halt. Why did they never halt when he told them to? A slight brush of his chin inside his helmet activated the comms again. "Got them in my sights, they're fleeing. On pursuit."
Miss Militia's voice joined the channel. "You're not running after someone with a weapon drawn, are you?"
The halberd clicked back into the magnetic lock. "Of course not." The painter was closer— Armsmaster was picking up speed, hitting his stride, while the parahuman (teenager, most likely) was starting to flag. They turned a quick corner onto another street, out of his sight. "Almost got them, I just need to— "
Chessman frowned at the console. Beside him, Miss Militia moved a bit closer, eyeing the suddenly silent radio with suspicion. Her hand drifted to her power, a knife at her hip. Chessman pushed the CALL button and said, "Say again, Armsmaster, you cut out. ...Armsmaster? Armsmaster!"
Another worryingly quiet moment, the two heroes already grabbing gear and sending an alert for backup, when the tinker's radio hissed back to life.
"I am petting this dog," Armsmaster said.
"Wh... what was that, Armsmaster?"
"It is a good dog."
"Alert the Master/Stranger containment team," Miss Militia said. "He's been compromised."
* * *
Sunny met up with Taylor again when she was halfway back home, pedaling harder than she'd thought possible. The wolf ran alongside easily, tongue lolling happily. "Oh man, Sunny, why did we do that it was such a bad idea why."
Woooo~!
"Don't woo at me we ran from Armsmaster!"
WOOOOOOO~!
"This had better not come back to bite me in the ass, Sunny!"
* * *
Taylor parked her bike neatly this time. She headed up the steps, then stopped to pick up the bundle sitting in front of the door. A casserole dish, with a savory-smelling quiche, just faintly warm. A note was taped to the lid, from Mr. and Mrs. Henrick. Taylor read it, then folded it neatly and tucked it in her pocket to keep. Damp eyes made it hard to see the door's lock, but she managed.
Taylor--
It looked like you had a bad day. You can always come over and talk to us if you need, sweetie.
Here's some dinner, in case your papa works late again.
--George and Martha
Taylor warmed it in the microwave, then split the egg dish with Sunny.
It was a good quiche.
"Hey, Mr. Henrick!"
"Hm?" The old man shuffled his feet until he turned in Taylor's direction. She waved at him from over the white picket fence, and he gave a slight wave and a smile back in return. "Good morning, young lady. On your way to school?"
Taylor winced, just a little, but nodded, and let at least some of a smile slip back onto her face. "In a minute. Wanted to ask you something first."
"Go on."
"Okay, this is kinda outta the blue, but do you do any woodworking, Mr. Henrick?"
"Well, I've put together a few things in the past. Did you break a chair, or something?"
"No, nothing like that." Taylor frowned, then dug into her backpack. She withdrew a piece of paper torn from one of her sketchbooks, then held it up. Old Mr. Henrick squinted and pushed his glasses a bit further up his nose. The paper had a drawing of a curio cubby— or maybe a curio box, there was a small scribble that looked like hinges. The whole thing was a large rectangle with 13 differently-sized sections. Odd choice, but cleverly planned to make everything fit. Old Mr. Henrick shuffled forward a bit and took the paper for a closer look.
"Could do with some sizing, but it doesn't look too tough. You wanting a jewelry box?"
"I don't... think so?" Taylor shrugged. "Not actually sure what's going in it yet. A friend wanted it."
"You should," he grunted. "Boys'll be giving you calf eyes an' gifts soon enough. You'll see." He grinned at Taylor's embarrassed flush and rapid protestations. "I think I can handle this, if you want."
"That'd be great, Mr. Henrick! Thank you!" Taylor's smile came back. "Want me to mow your lawn or something later?"
"Well, that'd be mighty helpful of you, Taylor. It's a deal."
* * *
Their group was splintered, today, without focus or drive to hound Taylor. Easy enough to see why, as half of the core was missing: Sophia Hess had called out sick today. It was a welcome reprieve. Taylor ate lunch in the cafeteria at the mostly-barren table of exiles. There was time left in the period still after she finished her sandwich wrap and apple (the cookie was not worth the name), so she pulled out some thicker sheets of paper, a brush, and an inkpot, and set to practice.
Calligraphy was hard, with so much precision needing to be balanced with the somewhat chaotic nature of raw ink. This book was a little easier, in Taylor's opinion. Instead of having the characters flow together, here they were arranged neatly atop each other on simple white slips of paper. Some of the advanced ones had twining swirls and artistic flair, but these required concentration enough. Taylor didn't even notice her inkpot had moved until she reached over to dip her brush.
"Hey Tayyyy-lor. What'cha doing? Are you dwawing again?" Emma crooned, pursing her lips as she reduced Taylor's effort to babytalk. She held up the inkpot in one hand, smirking.
"Give it back, Emma," Taylor scowled, but her heart wasn't in it. This was a doomed cause and she knew it. And what was more, Emma knew that she knew. The other girl rolled the inkpot between her fingers, smiling wider. She opened her mouth for another volley, then suddenly froze, eyes widening as she looked at the papers in front of Taylor. Abruptly, her face twisted with hate, so much so Taylor leaned back away from her.
"And what the hell is this?!" Emma swiped a hand at the table, knocking away the brush and sending paper slips scattering. Around the cafeteria, heads were turning. "What, are you ABB now? Don't make me laugh! They wouldn't take you. Nobody would take you, Taylor. Not even if you whored yourself to them!" Emma had a flush riding high on pale cheeks, her eyes wide and almost rolling. She was yelling, too— Emma never yelled. She whispered, murmured, crooned. She didn't raise her voice so others could hear.
"You're not even worth— "
"Then why are you here?" Taylor interrupted. "You're always saying that. I'm not worth the time, I'm not worth attention, I'm not worth the air I breathe. So why are you over here to tell me?" Taylor took an uneven breath, watched a muscle near Emma's eye twitch. "Just give me back my ink, and leave me alone."
"Oh, you want it back? Of course, how rude of me." Emma didn't smile— she showed her teeth.
Then she snapped her wrist and splashed the ink over Taylor's face.
Taylor jolted back so hard she slipped from the table bench and fell, giving her head a sharp crack on the linoleum as she landed. It seemed a very loud sound in the silent room. Taylor groped for her bag, found the strap, and lurched to her feet. The floor and walls were swimming— was there ink in her eyes? No, just tears. Taylor fled into the hall and kept away from the walls, all shifting and dark as they were.
Still at the table, Emma watched Taylor flee with her metaphorical tail between her legs— just like always. She gave the empty inkpot a quick glance to judge its solidity, then hurled the object to the floor. It splintered to pieces. "Stupid bitch. Who does she think she is?"
"That's what I'd like to know." Emma's gaze whipped up. Just behind her was one of the upperclassmen, a well-built Asian boy with a red and green wristband and a jacket that smelled like smoke. Behind him were a few other students— and behind them, Emma spotted dark-haired heads all turned her way.
Souta didn't smile— he showed his teeth.
* * *
Taylor jumped off her bike when she reached her yard, not bothering to park it neatly. The vehicle clattered to the grass as Taylor stumbled up the steps and unlocked her front door. Mr. Henrick was out on his porch, saw her disheveled state, and called out— "Taylor? Young lady, you okay? Taylor!"
Taylor shut the door and locked it behind her. She didn't answer when the doorbell rang, a few minutes later. What she did do was put her head under a running faucet, until she felt Sunshine bump against her legs and whine. Taylor didn't say anything. She just slid down the cabinets to the floor and buried her wet face in the wolf's fur. Sunny turned her head to cover Taylor's neck and hold her closer. She gave a single low, mournful howl, then settled into a comforting silence.
"...Sunny?" Taylor asked, some time later as sunset turned the kitchen window to stained glass.
Mrrmrr?
"Let's go paint the town again."
* * *
The motorcycle purred to a stop. Armsmaster dismounted quickly and took two long strides to the sidewalk, where a rough mural had been added to the dividing wall between the street and the houses up the hill. This was on the other side of the docks from the last stretch of parahuman vandalism he'd encountered, closer to the Trainyards and the Merchants this time. Armsmaster leaned closer for a second, then strode quickly back to his bike and opened the small storage compartments. He came back with two pieces of paper, stuck one against the wall a few meters to his left, and the other a few meters to his right. The one on his right came away with more paint. The tinker opened his radio connection as he straddled the bike again and kicked it off.
"Armsmaster reporting, I've picked up the trail of our painter. Still fresh, I'm going to follow it."
"Roger that Armsmaster. Keep in contact." Sounded like Chessman was on console tonight. That was fine with Armsmaster; the other hero had a natural knack for organizing and coordinating that his power had only built upon. Armsmaster could respect that. He turned up the speed and followed the trail of paint and restored buildings. It wasn't long before a figure appeared in his headlight: tall, long hair pulled back, wearing loose white clothes and a red apron. They were currently splattering paint across the trunk of a dying oak tree in a wide, spotted arc, like a shooting star. They jumped when the headlight illuminated the area, cast a quick look over their shoulder— wearing a mask, natch— then dropped the paintbrush and bolted into the night.
Armsmaster, already half off his bike to make an attempt at a friendly approach, cursed and started running as well. He disengaged the magnetic lock on his halberd and gripped the weapon, just in case. "Halt! This is the Protectorate!"
The fleeing painter did not halt. Why did they never halt when he told them to? A slight brush of his chin inside his helmet activated the comms again. "Got them in my sights, they're fleeing. On pursuit."
Miss Militia's voice joined the channel. "You're not running after someone with a weapon drawn, are you?"
The halberd clicked back into the magnetic lock. "Of course not." The painter was closer— Armsmaster was picking up speed, hitting his stride, while the parahuman (teenager, most likely) was starting to flag. They turned a quick corner onto another street, out of his sight. "Almost got them, I just need to— "
Chessman frowned at the console. Beside him, Miss Militia moved a bit closer, eyeing the suddenly silent radio with suspicion. Her hand drifted to her power, a knife at her hip. Chessman pushed the CALL button and said, "Say again, Armsmaster, you cut out. ...Armsmaster? Armsmaster!"
Another worryingly quiet moment, the two heroes already grabbing gear and sending an alert for backup, when the tinker's radio hissed back to life.
"I am petting this dog," Armsmaster said.
"Wh... what was that, Armsmaster?"
"It is a good dog."
"Alert the Master/Stranger containment team," Miss Militia said. "He's been compromised."
* * *
Sunny met up with Taylor again when she was halfway back home, pedaling harder than she'd thought possible. The wolf ran alongside easily, tongue lolling happily. "Oh man, Sunny, why did we do that it was such a bad idea why."
Woooo~!
"Don't woo at me we ran from Armsmaster!"
WOOOOOOO~!
"This had better not come back to bite me in the ass, Sunny!"
* * *
Taylor parked her bike neatly this time. She headed up the steps, then stopped to pick up the bundle sitting in front of the door. A casserole dish, with a savory-smelling quiche, just faintly warm. A note was taped to the lid, from Mr. and Mrs. Henrick. Taylor read it, then folded it neatly and tucked it in her pocket to keep. Damp eyes made it hard to see the door's lock, but she managed.
Taylor--
It looked like you had a bad day. You can always come over and talk to us if you need, sweetie.
Here's some dinner, in case your papa works late again.
--George and Martha
Taylor warmed it in the microwave, then split the egg dish with Sunny.
It was a good quiche.
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The Fourth Monado
S U B A R A S H I I
- Location
- Away
He heeee....
- Location
- In the depts of despair.
On one hand we got the junior ABB closing ranks against Emma after her abuse of the closest thing they got to a moral compass, which is going to awaken the brutal insecurities of her attempted rape and PTSD. On the other hand we got Armsmaster trying to agressively persecute the only vandal who actually repairs the places she paints instead of a most sedated approach to a peaceful pillar of the asian community.
This is going to get ugly.
This is going to get ugly.
Umbra
Accidental Munchkin
To be fair, he technically did.
And now I'm watching this on both forums so I'd read it twice every time
Dragonskyt
Ashen one, hearest thou my voice, still?
- Location
- Kiln of the First Flame
Nah it'll be fine.
This is a fluff fic.
Stop worrying and just pet the dog.
...
I should make that into a T-Shirt.
ILurk
Insert Demeaning Remark Here
Don't forget Ammy just brought down Master/Stranger protocols on Armsmaster, which is going to raise Taylor's threat ratings something fierce.
Angurvddel
I am Large. I contain Multitudes
I mean, I'd come to that conclusion for anyone if they were in hot pursuit and then suddenly stopped to pet a dog.
If Danny isn't Chessman, he's being a complete ass. If he is Chessman, he's handling things very poorly.
I can understand on an intellectual level if you're so depressed you just can't handle anything at all. But if you've got the motivation to go and fight crime, you should reserve some for talking to your daughter. Ironically, Danny is now in a position to sway the PRT and Protectorate in Taylor's favor at school in a way that completely trumps Shadow Stalker, but he's not interested enough in his daughter who was nearly bullied to death to find out if it needs doing.
You're a parahuman with superpowers working for the Protectorate and you can't get your daughter into Arcadia? Seriously?
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JamesB
You needed worthy opponents.
- Location
- Kansas
I like how nearly-oblivious this Taylor is. It's almost as clueless as Go Gently [Worm/WTNV], where she doesn't know that she's friends with (unmasked) Lung or that her dad is a cape in Boston.
Very nice fluff fic. It would be a shame if something were to happen to it...
Very nice fluff fic. It would be a shame if something were to happen to it...