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Constellations (Worm/Okami)
- Thread starter UnwelcomeStorm
- Start date
They've either missed the alert for such events or changed their alert preferences so they aren't alerted for quotes or tags. You get only notified once for each alert after all.
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
So, while I'm shrugging off post-exam fatigue and working on the next chapters, have some uplifting music that, if I used music in this fic, I would be posting for some of the upcoming scenes/arcs:
Early musical accompaniment recommendations, 2
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:
=============================
Chapter 4:
********
********
=============================
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:
=============================
Chapter 4:
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.
********
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.
********
Miracle: ...I couldn't resist, and I have no regrets.
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Mojiizen
Opa stickman style!
- Location
- In your base, Lurking your threads
Still re-reading because this fic will always bring me to my happy place and I noticed this little tidbit this time. (Chapter 12: the first Lung encounter). It says something about the sheer power and Control necessary to make something like this happen. It's things like this that keeping popping up which keep me coming back, @UnwelcomeStorm.
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
:3
A fun thing about Chapter 12, if you're re-reading: if you keep a close eye, you'll notice that Sunny doesn't stray far from Taylor nearly as much after chapter 12 as she does before. Mikos are apparently not as safe in Brockton as they were in Nippon, a mistake Sunny doesn't intend to repeat.
Ellf
Apprentice Wizard
- Location
- Virginia
I think, given the results of the election, we all need a reread of this. @UnwelcomeStorm, how comes the next chapter?
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
In progress. Worked on it off and on all day yesterday, but I seem to be having trouble with channeling hope and creative impulses for some reason.
Ellf
Apprentice Wizard
- Location
- Virginia
Reread your fic. You'll find hope within your own writing.
Thief of Words
Trans lesbian librarian
- Location
- Best book girl
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Or imagine Sunny digging a hot spring to flow, geyser-like out of the gold-played toilet I'm sure our new President -Elect is militating to have installed in the White House.
chocolote12
A Penguin Flailing Against The Keyboard Of Life.
People pay for stuff like that. They're called... I can't quite remember. But yeah, that'd just make it even more luxurious.
RogueInquisitor
Unexpected!
I believe the term is "bidet."
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Well...
We all find it within your writing. And if we can, then I know that you can too.
Chapter 28
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
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."
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."
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- Location
- Somewhere!
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Danny is going to be really upset about someone taking his job.
Khona Moshr
Pink Flamingo Cabal Healer(they/them)
- Location
- Alabama
- Pronouns
- They/Them
This is the single best part of the chapter. I started choking on my burger when I read that.
pheonix89
Wants to be Seven Of Nine
- Location
- North American Plaguelands
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Thank you very much, @UnwelcomeStorm
This really cheered me up after last nights madness. Gonna do a reread I think.
This really cheered me up after last nights madness. Gonna do a reread I think.
Trooper1023
Look, sir! Droids!
- Location
- NYC USA
Oh, wow. Chekov the kitten is making the Dallon's home life better in every way!
Wat.
Oh. doG.
Wat.Oh. doG.
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- Location
- The Land of Many Bregrets
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I have no words for how much I love this phrase. It sums up Piggot, it sums up the situation in the PRT so, so perfectly, it's great.
...It's also probably going to go distinctly unoccupied in the near future, but it's still great.
- Location
- Australia
Hmm, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA..the ending line.
So Sunny is fucking with their printers and equipment, heh. One day, I don't know when, they will realise Sunny truly is independant of Taylor. The "things to talk with Taylor about" that Piggot said makes me think she might end up doing something a little silly.
So Sunny is fucking with their printers and equipment, heh. One day, I don't know when, they will realise Sunny truly is independant of Taylor. The "things to talk with Taylor about" that Piggot said makes me think she might end up doing something a little silly.
Jim Starluck
CO, ICS Vanguard
- Location
- Cincinnati, OH
This is exactly what I needed to read today, @UnwelcomeStorm. Thank you.
- Location
- Italy
Chekov Dallon.
You could be more transparently, you know? Maybe nominating him Chekov "Gun" Dallon.
It made me laugh, I admit.
You could be more transparently, you know? Maybe nominating him Chekov "Gun" Dallon.
It made me laugh, I admit.