This is an intermediary fic, made to be a sort of break from my other fics, because I had a lot of ideas and this was one I enjoyed. It involves racism, food, and talking about how weird mythology is. It's posted on SB, but I figured not everyone goes there, so I might as well post it here along with the reasons why Twinnings will be updating a bit more intermittently.
Snickersnee
1.1
Jabbering voices, words, words, everywhere, and not a voice to hear. It was nice to listen to in the background, but Taylor didn't like hearing too many of the voices all around her. It ate into her, like someone was poking her in the back of the head, but when she turned around, nobody was there. She knew words. She loved words. Words were the light of her life, the salve to her soul.
That's why she was on this rooftop, speaking to noone, staring at the sky; why she had stopped going to school a week ago, and gave the most perfunctory answers to her father when she left each day.
Because she loved words.
Taylor sighed. That cloud looked like a dog. That was nice. She thought up ways to describe it, flicking through adjectives: Fluffy, snooty, adorable, so on and so forth. None of them stuck. There were words that stuck to people, filled them, described them in that oh-so-perfect way.
Sophia was the easiest of all. Aggression. Aggression that demanded fear, that demanded respect, because she had been scared, and wanted to make sure that everybody else never knew it. In the way she moved, the way she spoke, it screamed strength so loudly that anyone attempting to question it would be drowned out.
Sophia did a good job of it too, Taylor ruminated, looking through the clouds, glancing at the sky and the sheer blueness of it. She yawned. The heat made her listless, drowsy, and she rolled into the shade to doze. It was a good nap.
The sun woke her up, high in the sky, changing her shady sanctuary into what would probably be a sunburn later. Taylor shrugged, rising from her supine position and making her way to the edge of the rooftop. There wasn't much going on today. People living their lives, being happy, not killing each other. Maybe a little killing each other, but that was with their voices, saying things that left indelible, invisible marks.
Where would she go today? It was up to her, and there wasn't really anyone stopping her. She hopped down onto the fire escape, listening to the creak of metal, the rusty screws that would undoubtedly give way some point in the future, but that wasn't today. She took stairs two at a time, listening to the clomp of her shoes against the metal, her gloved hand tracing its way down the ballister, tink, tunk, tink, tunk.
The act of moving helped her to think, as she hit the ground with a thud. Taylor began retracing her steps, walking out into the Market with a smirk and a swagger. She might not own the place, but she felt at home here. It was the right amount of noisy. Maliciousness was the byproduct of business transactions gone wrong, or a jilted lover debating where certain objects could go. Not petty things, grabbing, squirming, tiny, massive, and everywhere. Taylor listened to the hawking of the stalls, kneeling down before one that caught her eye.
Cutting utensils. Steak knives, swiss army knives, even some passable counterfeits. She picked one up, the hawker jabbered, Taylor ignored him. The handle wasn't just plastic, it was hollow plastic, and hadn't been treated well, sitting in the sun for who knew how long. She put it down carefully, for fear that hers might be the hand that it crumbled in. The hawker changed direction, showcasing the goods by sweeping their hand across another set of similar knives. Taylor made appreciative clucking noises, heading off the prospective pitch by walking away.
She already had knives in her jacket that fit her. None of these were in any way belonged. From the shabby, worn, but treasured straight razor, to the teak-handled fruit knife, to the balisong that just—felt natural in her fingers, flipping end over end, flicking in and out, shut, open, through and over fingers.
And Taylor cared for those knives, because they cared for her, in that same way. It was the meditative nature of sharpening them, oiling them, making sure everything was right with them, that made the day a little bit better. Staring down that edge, making sure everything was in order.
Taylor bought an apple, removing the fruit knife to peel it. Damn. Couldn't manage to get it all off in one peel. It took two. Maybe next time. The faraway dream of achievement.
Carving an apple wasn't the only dream Taylor had, but right now she was sucking the juice of the apple off the blade before wiping it off, replacing it in its sheath. Priorities had to be kept. This was an immediate thing, and was better for the knife than a covering of fructose.
But, Taylor would have liked to be a hero. It'd solve a lot of problems, and she had the unique abilities for it. Or at least she thought she did. Y'know, it was hard to be sure, what with people running around, being all crazy.
Taylor decided to try her luck at it. After all, if she captured a villain or two, she'd be doing something with her time. As a bonus, it'd probably be enjoyable.
Maybe tomorrow, Taylor thought, staring up at that bright blue sky, hearing the crunch of the fuji apple, the crisp, sweet flavor embracing her tongue. Today was a day to be enjoyed.
--
If you had asked Taylor what had sent her footsteps this way or that way, she wouldn't have been able to very accurately tell you. It was an odd sort of whimsy, one that sent her trekking into alleyways while chewing on a sandwich. She went down this path, not that one, walked toward something, with a slight sense of purpose, because that was the best way to have people leave you alone. There was a mugger or two. They'd live. As long as they kept pressure on it, at least. The authorities had been notified, and she had folded the straight razor carefully, putting it back into her jacket.
If they had just wanted her money, that would have been fine. That wasn't really something to be worried about, in a world where highwaymen were disturbingly common. Money was something exchanged, bandied about like words, and bitter ones like those would lose it at some point in time. From hand, to hand, to ground, to blood. But they had wanted her jacket, and everything in it.
And that was a part of her, so she could not give that up. Unfortunate.
Taylor sighed, then looked up. The sky was comforting, a mass of stars peeking through overcast grey, the moon was a lukewarm shard of dripping light. Yeah. That sounded good. It fit.
She continued walking, moving around people on the street, smiling the whole time. It was a worldly smirk, the kind that she'd seen on people who knew too much and too little at the same time. Taylor had changed that smirk, shifted it around some while looking into windows and public bathroom mirrors; from smug to friendly, from self-righteous to self-confidence. It felt right, felt happier to her, so she wore the expression. More people returned the smile, in their various ways, and Taylor returned the gesture.
Taylor walked deeper into ABB territory on that smile, looking at the bugs floating around dim-yellow streetlamps, watching for the moon occasionally glimpsing back at her.
She stumbled across a group of men and women, clad in the colors of their gang, red and green, christmas-y and jolly. But little joy was to be found here, and it wasn't really what Taylor was looking for. It didn't fit. Too dangerous, too. She couldn't be as precise with her cuts, and they might end up dying. It wouldn't do to make a poor impression, on her very first night out.
Taylor finished her sandwich, wiping her hands free of crumbs—their dreams dashed on her on her jeans. Then, she walked in another direction. Maybe more mustard, next time.
--
It turned out her prey had been stalking her all along, in that mix of irony and satire that crashed down in the form of a katana. Taylor felt alive, at home and moving to the rhythm of the fight, cut, block, slash.
All it took was a little flick of the wrist, and—Taylor threw herself down, out of the way, as the blade slid directly into the space where her shoulderblades had occupied. It was a very nice sword, honestly. A sword that she could definitely understand the desire to be used.
But she didn't really get that impression from Oni Lee. She saw more of the sword in him than the man. Someone to be directed at a—Taylor stopped thinking as she whipped her arm up, the straight razor flicking open—and it extended forward, into the air, as Oni Lee appeared, slicing downward with the blade, and they clashed off each other. Her power, his arm. She tried for a moment longer, throwing out her hand once, twice—
She gave up first, backing to the side, "Hey, come on, can't we talk about this?"
The words bubbled up, unbidden and unbound, the smile on her face shifting back to smug and self-satisfied. The words simmered, and she nudged them, stirring them.
Oni Lee made a noise that was muffled through the mask, but it sounded sarcastic, and amused. She watched his eyes very carefully. They glanced to the left, then to the right.
"Okay. Nice to know you can talk. The first step is contact, you know. Major points to communication." Taylor said, then abandoned that particular line of thought as she dove to the side once more, Oni Lee's blade slicing through the air. She slipped to the left, the blade slamming into the brickwork of the alleyway. It made a heart-rending noise, to Taylor's ear, and she wanted to draw her gloved fingers along the flat, assuring it that it was going to be okay.
She winced sympathetically. "God, you're going to break it."
"Shut up." Oni Lee responded, drawing back, then slicing again. Taylor slipped under the blade, keeping her eyes on his as she cut—left! once, twice. Oni Lee's legs slipped under him, but Taylor was already dodging right as the blade stabbed at her again. The hamstringed clone collapsed into dust, and Taylor kept moving. The fight continued backward, people screamed as they saw, or ran, and Taylor ignored them. It was background noise, to the life of the fight, words and cuts from her mouth and hands, but none of them really struck anything.
He seemed determined to chase her, and she was delighted to let him. But, there were limits to her stamina, and none with his. The streetlamps were brighter, some flickered, some went out as Oni Lee alighted on one, his blade out, his mask almost actually demonic with the way the light played on it.
They were in unfamiliar territory now, the both of them. Perhaps Taylor had spurred him on with her words, she wasn't quite sure, because they spooled from her lips as they had moved, a heady rush of not-quite sonnets, but something akin to half-made insults and jibes.
"Y'know," Taylor panted, as she shifted backward, then to the right, then to the left, "I think—"
She dodged another blade by a hair, and they were coming closer each time. Now Oni Lee was using two clones, and he still wasn't breaking a sweat.
Perhaps her ill-conceived quest to try intercepting the powers that be, or perhaps Lung, using her powers—was not as good of an idea as she had originally thought.
Oni Lee grabbed at her throat, and Taylor whipped her left hand up, the fruit knife's extended edge running a thin line against the side of the alleyway, as well as doing the favor of removing Oni Lee's hand from her throat. And his arm.
He dusted. Of course. Taylor coughed for a moment, then flicked out the cut behind her, hitting Oni Lee across the chest with it—and then she flicked it out above her, hitting him again—then to the right, and dodge! As the momentum carried him forward and then a dumpster hit the fourth one. Fifth one?
Taylor sat there, trying to regain her breath, covered in—Oni Lee. She wasn't sure if this was more disgusting than having his blood on her or not. Oni Lee was out unconscious, and Taylor kept on trying to clear her throat.
"Thanks," she croaked upward, then went back to making sure Oni Lee didn't kill her with mesothelioma.
A robed girl floated down, a smirk on the part of her face that wasn't concealed. Smug. "You know, you're both in E88 territory."
"Yeah." Taylor said, then coughed. "Figured closer than PRT. White and—" She continued hacking, partially for her own benefit, partially because this was disgusting.
"Well, happy to put down the chink. You a villain, or a hero? That's an awful lot of knives."
"Japanese. So Jap."
"What?" Rune replied, kicking the unconscious Oni Lee, who groaned.
"Oni is a Japanese term. Like an ogre, or demon." Taylor finally got the rest of the shit out of her throat. "Wait, Lee is chinese, though. Hm. Can't you just call him Asian with a Z? I feel like that's bad enough." Taylor folded the straight razor carefully, sliding it away into her jacket, then the fruit knife, which went back into the makeshift sheath.
"What, you a Jap-lover, then?" Rune said, and Taylor winced.
"No. Just—okay. So, insults are a lot better when they hit close to home. I know from experience. Or, if they're inaccurate, but you can't dispute them." Taylor hmmed for a moment. "So, like, the typical example of that is, have you stopped beating your wife yet?"
"What?" Rune said, as Taylor meandered over, rolling Oni Lee over, cuffing him.
"You got a cell phone? Mind calling the PRT while we chat?" Taylor looked at her, giving her a tired grin. "I don't have one."
"What were you going to do if you ran into someone you could take? Are you retarded?" Rune was taking out the phone though, so Taylor counted that as a victory.
"Thanks." Taylor said, disregarding the not-really insults as she contemplated the deeper meanings of life. Or Oni Lee's powers. "He was looking to wherever he blinked to. Do you know if his teleport is vision-limited, or just to stop himself from getting into walls?"
"How should I know?" Rune asked irritably. She said something that Taylor didn't pay much heed to into the phone, and then what was probably the street address. Taylor waited for her to finish, which happened about ten seconds later, before she opened her mouth.
"Well, I'm debating whether to like, blindfold him or something so he doesn't just like teleport straight up and give himself time to get out of this or whatever." Taylor shrugged. "You don't have a problem with me taking him in, right?"
"Takes Oni Lee out of the equation for at least a week, so I get less work. And you don't seem like you want a fight. You a heeb or something? Doin' it for the bounty?" Rune asked, those cinderblock pieces idly orbiting her.
"Nah. White as white can be. With a dusting of Asian now, I guess. God, I'm going to have to wash this like five times to get it all out. It's in my hair." Taylor bent down, shaking it out. "It's like I've got the worst dandruff in existence. Why are you so worried about race, anyway?"
Rune shifted uncomfortably. Taylor watched her, amused. "Because they're a bunch of useless scum, and they take up valuable resources, that could be used for people who aren't rapists and murderers."
"Alright," Taylor said amicably, ripping a strip of cloth off her shirt, and blindfolding Lee with it as best she could. "Wanna go get some pizza or something after this? It'll be my first villain capture."
"What?" Rune said, for the fifth time.
"You're going to sound like a broken record if you keep asking questions like that. Do you want indian food instead? Sushi? Italian is white, right? Do you have a white-only diet? Only anglo-saxon food?" Taylor shrugged. "I need to get this taste out of my mouth. I'll pay."
"Are—you asking me on a date?" Rune said, incredulous. "Do you think I'm a fag?"
"Jeez, repressed much?" Taylor grinned. "Just a thank you. You saved my butt; it is common to return the favor. Completely platonic. You can stare at all the butts you like. I won't tell anyone if they happen to be female."
"I—fuck you!" Rune said, indignantly. The rocks began to swirl around her faster.
"No pizza? I mean it. I know a good place, and you'd be missing out." Taylor said, then showed her hands in the universal motion of 'I really don't want to get hit by five cinderblocks for pissing you off, Little Miss Racist Riding Hood.' "I promise. No funny business. Just good, free (for you,) pizza, then we go our separate ways."
Rune narrowed her eyes, but the cinderblocks slowed.
Taylor smiled invitingly.
--
There wasn't much of a line when a girl with a jacket and mask, covered in gray dust, and a known supervillain of the E88 showed up to Angelo's Stonefired PIzza & Calzones. Especially because they floated down.
Taylor paid. They sat on a bench, eating the pizza.
"You're really fucking weird." Rune said, taking a moment from chewing.
"Yeah. That's what makes people cool though, y'know? All screwed up, different, and weird." Taylor grinned, glancing at Rune. "We should do this again sometime. Flying was fun."
Rune smiled awkwardly. The smug smile was gone, replaced by something different. "I thought this was a one time thing?"
"You looked like you were having fun," Taylor said, dipping the crust into marinara and pointing it at her. "So I thought I'd make the suggestion."
It was easier to talk, to call up the words she wanted, whether they were superfluous or had substance.
"Fine. Give me your number." Rune muttered darkly. It didn't sound at all like she meant it, though.
"Uh, yeah, so I don't have a phone yet. Mind if I just get yours?" Taylor smiled sweetly.
--
It was a day before Taylor called her, and she hummed while the call connected.
"Hello?"
"Is this Jamie, Child Telekinetic? This is the Amazing Knife Thrower, here to show you to a land of wonder." And that was the end of the conversation, because Rune hung up.
Taylor sighed. Nobody appreciated her.
"Hello? Rune. It's me. I won't apologize for my past deeds, but I'd like to make it up to you. You bring the transportation, I'll bring the food. A night watching stars, or—whatever, really. You in?" Taylor flipped the fruit knife over, caught it by the blade, then flipped it over again, catching the handle.
"...Sure. When and where?"
--
Taylor knew her father was out, and took the opportunity to bring some ingredients in, and make them nice and tasty. Rune probably ate a diet of strictly shepherd's pie and hard bread. With some mead, or something.
Rune was there on time, with a slab of metal that didn't wobble as Taylor stepped on it. "Up, up, and away?"
Rune glared at her, through the veil that made up her mask. Taylor shrugged.
"Why are we doing this?" Rune said. Her voice wasn't particularly angry, just slightly impatient. The metal drifted into the air, and Taylor looked downward.
Taylor laid back on the floating slab of metal. "Because I like to enjoy the little things? And I brought food? You are okay with General Tso, right? It's not a native Chinese dish. It's faux-Chinese food. Just like fortune cookies. Pretty sure."
"What?"
"I'm making the assumption it's like being vegan. You don't eat other cultures, for fear that they're delicious. Do you have any other dietary restrictions? Celiac? Lactose intolerance?" The metal tipped dangerously, but Taylor just grinned. "I know you wouldn't do that and miss out on this. Come on. If you don't want the chicken, I've also got some chowdah' in that thermos."
"Yeah, well, you're the worst racist. Look at you. You aren't even wearing a hood or anything." Taylor took a bite of chicken. "You sure you don't want any? I made it myself."
"Probably disgusting. I'll have one, I guess." Rune said. Taylor offered her the plastic container. "You're using chopsticks too?"
"Hell yeah. These things are disposable. Have you ever thought of using your power to eat with? That seems like it'd be convenient." Taylor said, and Rune grimaced, taking hold of one of the chopsticks and spearing the chicken piece. "Get the pepper off unless you want a serious kick. They're good, but spicy."
Rune chewed.
Taylor stared, expectantly.
"Not bad." Rune admitted. "Kind of like fried chicken with barbeque sauce?'
"Yeah! Kind of! It's super crazy how that's a recipe with a bunch of different cultures now. All on the path to deliciousness." Taylor used the single chopstick to spear another, and chewed reflectively. "I'm using smoked paprika next time. Wanted to try the recipe I found, but I think it'll be better with it in the flour."
"So did you like, cook it all on your own?" Rune said, sitting next to Taylor, who smiled and placed the plastic container between them so she could easily reach it. Rune speared another piece of chicken.
"Yeah. My Dad isn't around much these days. I kinda have a hard time talking to him, y'know? So I figure if I can be amazing at this whole hero thing, I can start up a conversation sometime with that as the header." Taylor extended her hands out, index and thumb extended on both. "Enter stage left, Armsmaster and Me. My Dad is at the table, eating food. He drops his fork."
"You're hanging around an E88 member. I don't think Armsmaster would be very happy about that." Rune's face soured as she spoke.
"An E88 member? Where?" Taylor chuckled at her own joke, "Rune, you're okay in my books. And I have a lot of books."
"Thanks." Rune's face was less downcast, and there were the beginnings of a smile emerging.
Taylor grinned. "Besides, I need a taste tester for my food. If things are too spicy—and I love spicy, I am terrible at knowing what to turn it down to. You seem pretty good for that."
Rune huffed, the sound of laughter caught before it could emerge, with an attempt to make it into a sarcastic sigh.
"So! What do you want to do tonight, Rune? Go hunting for villains? Arcade? I don't mind sitting here looking at the stars, though. It's nice." Taylor flopped back down, staring skyward. "I've pretty much stopped going to school. I figure I'll just work on my GED. Superpowers make me a commodity and all. What about you? What's in your fuuuuture?"
"...Haven't really thought about it." Rune said, matching Taylor and staring up as well. "Always kind of working in some way for my uncle. Or for the rest of E88. My power is useful and all."
"What's your limit on weight? You don't seem to have much trouble lifting this, and us." Taylor removed a balisong from her jacket, flicking it through her fingers while still shut, then beginning with a routine with one hand, then the other. "I'm good with knives. I can kind of make a quick motion and extend the edge of the blade. For an instant or so. Makes my range pretty long."
Rune didn't say anything for a moment.
"If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to," Taylor said, continuing to play with the knife. "Won't push you to do anything you don't want to. Promise."
"It's fine. Couple tons. Kind of soaks into it, so if I'm worried about it falling apart, I have to touch it at multiple points." Rune shrugged, the motion made odder in her position. "Whatever."
"That's really powerful. You could be lifting stuff at the docks, or like, helping transport stuff. Excavation, other things." Taylor said what thoughts came to the top of her head, skipping them off into sound. None of them really stuck. She switched tack, thinking idly. The words came easier, felt like they had more meaning behind them. "My Dad isn't really an ass. He's just not there. I don't really know how to talk to him. Feels like things fall flat, and I just don't know what to say anymore."
"I get that," Rune said, quietly.
Taylor knew when to speak, and when not to.
"I—" Rune fell silent.
There was the cusp of something there, that Taylor could grab onto, push, ply her into speaking.
"Stop." Taylor said, and turned her head toward Rune. "You're not comfortable talking about it. Don't feel pressured to share, just because I do, okay?"
"Thanks," she said, and meant it.
Taylor smiled, then turned her head skyward once more. "So! Wanna hear some mythology? I warn you, there's absolutely screwed up different cultures in the stars. Like—Leo. Where is it—there! Hercules killed it with its own claws, used those claws to skin it, and then Zeus put it up in the sky to commemorate the moment. Truly a kodak moment. Except a nemean moment, I guess."
"Yeah. Kind of. Except it's also present in some other myths, too. Turks and some other cultures, named it Lion too. Just a bunch of exploding matter in a pattern that looked similar. Might have gotten it from other cultures, or had a common root." Taylor gazed at the constellation. "Kinda weird."
"Yeah," Rune agreed.
"Same time tomorrow?" Taylor asked, already knowing the answer.
There were more stars than scars in the world, and somehow that made things a little happier. The cascade of thoughts that led Taylor to that conclusion were measured in smiles and chats. Conversation with Rune was never dull, and they worked through topics that were inane but interesting; a delectable treat to the mind.
"Honestly, magic swords from the Ulster cycle sound like they're stories people made up while drunk to one-up each other. 'Hey Viking Jim, my sword can cut off mountaintops.' 'Oh yeah? Well my spear can hit every vein in their body, instantly killing them no matter where it hits.'" Taylor used her most serious voice for the revelation, grinning at Rune. "And that's not even getting into the weirder stuff."
Rune didn't speak, chewing on the charcuterie that Taylor had brought, but she was smiling, and Taylor smiled back.
"Mythology is great. It's so weird, but so great. How's the food?" Taylor walked over to the edge of the metal, staring down at the city below. Rune answered something in the positive. There weren't too many flyers in Brockton Bay, but it felt nice to try watching for them. Who was there? Rune, Aegis, Glory Girl, well, most of that entire family, really. Taylor felt there should really be some sort of limit on crazy powers handed out in one family unit. Superpowered inequality or something. Perhaps she was just jealous of being able to fly. To float and just watch things go, talking with friends, that was—idyllic? Yeah. That fit. "Anything you'd like to do today?"
Rune shrugged, swallowing and looking introspective. It looked good on her, lips twisting slightly as she considered possibility. Not just one, but the concept of choosing, a stream of branching options that opened up before her.
Taylor was patient, and laid down, closing her eyes; waiting for an answer. There was time.
"You look like the cat that caught the canary," Rune said. "Self-assured and pleased."
"Yeah, that sounds good," Taylor said, her eyes closed, basking. She yawned. "Good description."
"Wasn't a compliment," Rune protested, but there was only huff and puff there, no venom to be found; only a smile. She yawned as well, and Taylor reached out, lightly punching her in the knee.
"Let me know when you make up your mind."
"I want—" Rune paused, the sound of deliberation, then decision. "I want to be normal. Just for a day. Can we do that?"
"Sure. Where d'you want to be Normal?" Taylor tasted the word, pursing her lips, pushing it into the air. It didn't feel right to have Rune described by such a thing, but—that was just a descriptor that fit at a moment, anyway. Something like happy, sad, and angry, drifting by. "Unmasking to me already? You sure move fast."
"Shut up, I'm being serious," and she was, so Taylor shut up and listened, half-propping herself up and opening her eyes. "I—I mean, I could use a mask like yours, right? And we could—just go? Along the boardwalk, and buy stuff at the market? Something?"
"Yeah," Taylor said, smiling. "That sounds good."
They alighted on a roof, and Taylor hopped off, taking her pack with her. She rooted around in it for a moment, then took out a mask that looked more at home at a masquerade, getting dangerously drunk. Pink and garish in such a way that it guaranteed attention, if only disgust.
"You don't have anything else?" Rune said, hesitantly. The tinge of disbelief, welling up and becoming incredulity amused Taylor, who chuckled and put the mask back in the bag. "You do, right?"
"Yeah. Don't worry," Taylor said, pulling out a much more conservative mask, grey and black. Rune took it, smiling that unsure smile people had when they weren't sure if a joke was still going on. Taylor smiled, this one fit Rune better, sliding around her cheekbones, exhibiting grey-blue eyes. "Looks nice on you."
Ah, and the smile became more genuine, more natural—cautiously stretching across her face, and Taylor was happier for it.
"Thanks," Rune said, shyly. For a moment, she was what she professed her desire to be; that far off dream of Normal.
Taylor helped her pull off the robes, carefully bundling them up and storing them away in her bag. Some of the material was diaphanous, some silky and smooth. Other pieces had hardpoints, protective surfaces. Taylor admired it, wondering how it held up under stress. The wonder of new things, of things revealed and realized with new information.
Rune, under the costume, was wearing a tank top and pants.
"Hm," Taylor assessed.
Rune's countenance slid from hesitant happiness to suspicion. "What?"
Taylor shrugged her jacket off, handing it to her. "You'd look good with this."
"...Alright?" Rune took it, her arm dropping a bit at the unexpected weight. "Jeez, the hell do you have in—oh. Right."
"Sorry, it'll be a bit heavy." Taylor smirked. Rune was shorter, the jacket a bit too big, and produced an amusingly charming appearance. One mismatched, makeshift hero, ready for duty. "Consider it repayment for me carrying your costume. Shall we go?"
They would go.
The market was a happier place, for company found and kept. Taylor moved in sync with her. They got snowcones, because the humidity was annoying, and they had money to make the problem go away. Lychee and melon with some mochi bits made for a delicious treat, chewy, sweet, and indulgence. It greeted her tongue and mouth with the pure cold of it, relieving her and painfully pressuring the roof of her mouth.
"Nn." Taylor said, and Rune laughed; the show of glee was a welcome relief, a distraction Taylor stuck her now-greenish tongue out at.
Rune smiled blithely back, slowly eating her blue raspberry ice with condensed milk. Taylor put a mochi piece on her shaved ice, a gift of immeasurable value. Rune tried it, frowning. "Weird. Not bad."
"It's better when there's a strawberry inside it, layered with sweet bean paste. Mm. It all goes together. Crispness, chewiness, mushiness, all in one; all that, along with three different kinds of sweet." Taylor looked at her shave ice for a moment, longing for what she'd just described. But the impulsive urge drifted away, and she continued eating her shaved ice. More slowly, this time. Never let it be said that Taylor didn't learn from her mistakes.
Once they were done, and threw away the paper bowls, they walked onward. There were gawkers, people who stared, and people Rune shrank away from, which included all of the above.
There was an easy fix for that. Taylor took her aside.
"Stop that."
"W-what?" Rune looked around, shrinking further. "What are you talking about?"
"No, no. Look at me." Taylor placed one hand on Rune's shoulder, straightening her back with the other. "Nobody knows who you are, and you look just fine. They're just wondering who the new capes are, not trying to pick you apart. You said you wanted Normal. This is about as good as you're going to get with a mask, and you're just—mixing the two. They're all wishy-washy, like—splotchy paint. It will be fine."
"But—what if someone I know, who sees me and it all goes wrong or a chink ganger recognizes or—"
Ears perked up over the slur, and Taylor shook her head, pushing Rune against the wall. "My name is Taylor. Yours is Janet. Today, that's who you are. You're my friend, but right now, not Rune. If someone you recognize sees you, we can leave. But you wanted to walk out here, and not feel judged for certain things. That's okay. Let's go shopping. Let's buy some nice things. I'll get a phone, you can get a dress.
"But you're playing at something here, just like you do as Rune. Everybody does, to some extent. That's fine. But you're letting them take your fun away. You're not being what you wanted to be." Taylor stared at her for a moment longer, then stepped back. "I think you don't need to be scared or angry."
Rune sank against the ground. She was biting her lip, letting her teeth roll over it in that terribly pensive manner that predicated doubt. Not in Taylor, but in herself, in what she'd come out here to do and attempt. It was her, pressuring herself, crushing her own whimsical dreams, and thoughts.
Taylor waited for a moment longer, watching. Then, she extended a hand. "Janet. Let's go have some fun."
Rune looked up at her. Her face wasn't inscrutable, but it tried to be, holding itself in place, a mask for adults and people who'd needed to hide. "Why Janet?"
"Seems like a fun name. I haven't met a mean Janet yet. Emma, Sophia, some others, sure. Janet? Eh." Taylor smiled at her, and Rune giggled for a moment, restrained laughter breaking out, bubbling over until it spread to Taylor, and they laughed there in the alleyway together.
"Not even funny," Rune said, taking Taylor's hand. She pulled her up, giving Rune a hug.
"We're all funny. Just takes practice." Taylor released her, keeping her hands on Rune's shoulders. "Gotta be willing to try."
"What, should I be the Nazi girl, making jokes about heil hitler, niggers, aryans are the shit?"
"If you want. Not going to apply to a large audience that way. Gotta make the jokes really good if you're doing that. Or play off people. Like the one about the six million Jews and the clown." Taylor leaned back. The setup had gone well, letting the joke out like a bit of offensive fishing line, ready to reel in when—
"The clown?" Rune said, confused. Taylor pounced, and did so a bit too quickly.
"See? People don't even care about the clow—shit. Well, now it's ruined." Taylor threw her hands up, the fishing line snapped, but Rune giggled anyway. "Well, it takes practice. Being self-deprecatory helps. You make yourself the joke, and nobody is afraid to laugh."
Taylor sighed, shrugging. Missed opportunity. She wanted to have something moving through her fingers, using them, flicking the blade back and forth, extending the edge, trying to hold it there for a moment and then—release.
"But that's not the point. What if—"
"You can think about what if, and let it stop you, or you can put on a different sort of face, and enjoy things with me. We can even work on a new costume or something. Something frilly, less concealing. Or just wear a motorcycle helmet or something. Nah, that won't work. You couldn't eat stuff with me." Taylor grinned at Rune guilelessly. "Let's get you a half-mask. Maybe something that covers your hair. Or you can get a wig."
Rune glared at her.
"You could crossdress! It's not like it's out of character for Norse gods." Taylor smirked back, just as devious as Rune was irritable. "Although the whole bestialty horse-seducing thing isn't really something I'd recommend."
"What."
"Come on. Really. Just be Juliet—"
"Janet."
"Hey, you remembered!"
"I hate you."
It had devolved, or evolved, really, back into banter; the words that had them both smiling at the end. That was the point of such things, really.
"Janet," Taylor said, tasting the word, rolling it over in her mouth. "Let's go have some fun together."
"Okay," Janet replied, the mask sliding into place, her back straight, wiping her eyes.
Besides, if I use the same meta-joke twice without a good reason, it starts going bad. Or it becomes 'my thing', and I'd like to look/find new and interesting methods of being eccentric.
Just crossposting it here for more coverage/for anyone who doesn't go on SB.
Twinnings is an Alt!Power Taylor. She has Coils power. At one point she starts to break into Brian's house to learn to fight and stave off boredom also while continuing her normal routine in the other timeline. At one point Grue gets hit by Shadow Stalkers bolts. She had to choose one timeline to keep. In the SB version she stayed with Brian, called for healing, and kept him alive. She then starts dating Brian and getting more sane from the start of the story. In this forum she stayed home and called for help. Brian died and Taylor's sanity took a massive fall. The two stories continue in their own self contained timelines split across two forums.
Some people had a limited supply of words, clutched close and held tightly, for fear that they might use too many, or sound the same. Some people had words like a neverending stream, knowing it all, saying what they pleased, as it came to them. They didn't know the value of silence, and tried to force it out; as if it were an unwanted guest. There were other types, but Taylor was being introspective, so she was the center of attention. Like divining for oil, or perhaps dowsing water, she found a source of words, a wellspring that burbled and gossiped, murmured and prattled. Taylor could sup deep; by quenching herself and others with the oily words that slithered forth. Or perhaps she could also sip lightly; a mellow experience that required the light touch, a cool refreshing moment.
Truth and lies went hand in hand, intertwining and spinning outward.
It wasn't just simple, it was effortless, and Taylor yawned.
Janet sat next to her, on the beach. It wasn't her name, but what she was called. In a way, that was what she needed.
Taylor let the rough and fine sand filter through her fingers, and they sat there, watching the moon become brighter, and that moment when the light shifted; the sky going from from azure, to a purple-violet mix with coquelicot burning away. Then it was dark, the stars winking into being.
Silence was good. You could tell a lot with silence, whether someone was telling the truth, lying, or somewhere in-between. Janet understood this silence, or at least acquiesced to the existence of it, understanding that today was today, and tomorrow would come; perhaps tomorrow she'd be called Rune again, hurting someone, taking from them. Perhaps she'd take on a truer name, but for now, she was called Janet.
And Taylor was her friend. They were Normal, or at least as normal as they could be, one sitting, one sprawled. They listened to their surroundings. The sand sifting through Taylor's fingers, the sound of waves breaking as they met land, and people talking in the background, walking by.
They went and ate dinner. Taylor had sushi, Janet had a burger and fries. They shared with one another, Taylor trying the cheeseburger, enjoying the sweet-sour taste of ketchup and pickles mixing with the savory, oily beef. Janet jerked as the taste of wasabi flooded her senses, her eyes watering and sinuses suddenly deciding to be clear, if only to feel like they were burning.
Taylor laughed, Janet punched her in the shoulder; then had another piece of sushi. This time, with more caution.
Janet enjoyed the tekka maki, the spicy ahi temaki that she called a 'jap wrap', (but ate all of,) and was fooled by Taylor saying that ika meant onion.
She still liked them, but there was an annoyed smirk that promised retribution in kind.
Their day slowly drew to a close, each minute punctuated with laughter and smiles, odd glances ignored and smirked about.
Nothing really happened, aside from time spent together, not wasted, just enjoyment.
It ended, as all things did, and they went back to that rooftop, Taylor trading the robes for the jacket, the mask for a hug. Janet left, and Rune was there again, with the traces of a smile still creasing her lips.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" Taylor asked. She knew the answer, but wanted to hear it anyway.
Rune nodded, the traces growing back into that grin before it could be dampened, squirreled away and concealed, so that questioning would not draw it out.
It lingered, and Taylor liked that look. She inclined her head slightly, then backed away from Rune.
"I—have stuff. Tomorrow." Rune's halting speech was followed by the struggle to keep that look on her face, as Taylor frowned.
"Alright," Taylor said simply, "I'll see you the day after tomorrow. I'll miss this."
Rune left, but the night sky was still there, so it wasn't all bad.
--
Taylor went to find a place to brush her teeth.
She used Fugly Bob's, buying a small pack of fries that had been sitting for hours, time and oil permeating through it, making them limp facsimiles of what they should have been. Taylor threw them away and went to go use the bathroom.
The bathroom smelled, with tiles that probably dreamed of their original color.
Taylor ignored both, brushing her teeth, rinsing with bottled water, and looking at herself in the mirror. Sunscreen could only do so much, and there was a slight tan in the form of the places her hair and mask hadn't concealed. She yawned, and went to go find somewhere to lay her head; preferably not the place called home.
Taylor chose another rooftop, this one seeming more interesting than the last, for whatever reason. It was older, more broken in, and had a particular weight to it. Taylor committed the sin vagrancy, staring up at the stars. It wasn't raining, and that would be good enough.
She fell asleep in fits and starts, awoken once by two people screaming at each other, once by someone drunkenly screaming song. Perhaps it would be melodious someday, but not on this night. Taylor drifted off, finally falling away into slumber.
She dreamed of the ocean.
--
Taylor awoke, in the fuzzy panic that besets those being yelled out of slumber. She took out the balisong, flipping it over in her hands; not to threaten, but to think. The yelling quieted anyway, with assurances of police.
Taylor left before they came, the process of evasion was old hat, although it appeared they hadn't actually done as they threatened. Where could she go? Maybe capture another villain? Or maybe just go down to the bay, and stare at the water.
Tiredness and an aching back had left her lethargic, so she went to go get some coffee. Taylor felt sticky and slightly smelly, so she took the coffee and went on her way, dumping creamer into it until it was cool enough to drink.
She was grateful for her near-nonexistent chest, because she didn't have to worry about underthings; instead, Taylor just showered at the beach, scrubbing herself down while wearing panties and an oversized shirt. Drying herself off, wringing the clothes out, getting dressed once more in the public bathroom with fresh clothes. It made her feel more human, albeit a wet and cold one.
Taylor gazed into the mirror, having gone from street rat to drowned rat. She put that smile back on, sliding her mask into place, and walked back out to the bay.
A few hours later, Taylor hadn't found any villains, but she had found someone who thought she was a villain. Even if she hadn't introduced herself, it was awfully difficult not to notice her. Some people lit up a room when they walked in, drawing attention to themselves with their charisma.
Glory Girl may have been one of those people before she got her powers, but now she dragged eyes to stare at her, giving faint urges to worship, that mix of both sides of reverence.
To Taylor, it felt like the sun, warm and comforting, an assurance that she'd be there.
"Hey." Taylor said, that lazy smile drifting into place. "How's it going? Big fan."
"What are you planning?" Glory Girl said, glaring. Ooh, she was upset, "You're that girl who's been flying out with Rune, right? You E88?"
"Oh. No, she just kind of looked like she needed a friend." Taylor thought for a moment, vestiges of lethargy wiped away by the keen edge of awareness. Thoughts flowed freely, and she spoke. "I think everybody could use a friend."
"So what, she's got plenty of Nazi friends, why would you—" Cameras were being taken out, cell phones were starting to film.
"Would you mind continuing this conversation elsewhere?" Taylor asked, frowning. "I don't want to betray her trust to—voyeurs."
Startlingly, that worked. Perhaps due to Glory Girl's own awareness of the limelight, perhaps because that meant that Taylor would have to allow Glory Girl to grab onto her, preventing any escape. Whichever it was, Taylor flew, held by her wrists. It was awkward and slightly painful, but the wind blew in her face, and that was nice.
They alighted on a rooftop, a seeming constant in Taylor's relationship with heroes.
"I have the ability to project blades from edged objects," Taylor said, opening her jacket up and displaying the array of knives. "I'm going to take my jacket off, and put it down. Is that okay?"
"Okay," Glory Girl said, watching carefully. Her fists were clenched, ready to make a move if Taylor did.
Taylor slowly removed the jacket, folding it, then placing it in front of her before sitting. "How are you doing?"
"What?" Slightly irritated one-word queries were also a constant.
"Just asking. I'm hanging around Rune because she helped me take down Oni Lee, and she looked like she could use a friend."
"So you're hanging around Nazi psychos because they look lonely." It wasn't a question, just an angry statement.
"You've never not had friends, have you?" Taylor asked, her hands moving through the motions of a helix, because she was concentrating. "It's tough. Nobody listens to you, and everybody tells you what you need to do. She's lonely, and I could help. Rune doesn't hurt anyone while I'm with her. Isn't that a good thing?"
"What are you doing with your hands?"
"Sorry. Nervous habit. Knife trick." Her hands stilled.
"So you're what, playing magic carpet with the Nazi, showing her the world?" Glory Girl's voice verged on incredulous, and Taylor smiled.
"Yeah. Pretty much exactly that. That was a good description of it. Rune tried sushi last night. She enjoyed it." Taylor looked at her hands, then back up at Glory girl. "Have you ever had rough times with your parents?"
"What?"
"I don't know what Rune is going through, but I think she's a better person with someone to be alone with. It's just—I don't know how well I can make the comparison, but—" No, those weren't the words that fit. It fit Glory Girl, but not Rune at the same time. Taylor reached deeper, her head tilted, mouth half-opened, "—but have you ever been unsure that people really liked you?"
Glory Girl's reaction was a flinch that vanished almost immediately. Taylor pressed deeper.
"I never had that problem. I knew they hated me. They did whatever they could to hurt me, and I had that as a clear, definitive answer. Why is Rune doing it? Is she pushing herself into this whole belief because she doesn't know what else to think? Does she hate Asians because all she's ever seen is the ABB, or because she's been taught that by someone who she thinks knows better than her? Has anyone else tried to be her friend?" Taylor shut her mouth, watching Glory Girl's reaction. Stone-faced, but listening. Taylor continued. "I don't know the answers. Not really. But I'd prefer to find out, and help her find out. I think she has potential. I don't want to ruin it, by it blowing up in her face."
Glory Girl sat down. Taylor smiled.
"Show me." Glory Girl said. "The trick with the knife."
Taylor unfolded the jacket, removing the balisong. The knife sang through her fingertips, and Glory Girl watched. Taylor taught Glory Girl how to flip it open and shut, and it turned out that invulnerability was very useful in avoiding the small cuts that Taylor had received as lessons on her hands.
They had a late lunch together. Taylor in her 'costume', Glory Girl in hers.
Digits that formed a pattern, a method of contact. Put those into a phone, and you'd get Victoria Dallon. Give or take a few rings. When Victoria introduced herself, Taylor had introduced herself in kind. It was only right, there was the same weight to their names.
Victoria was shocked, perhaps for good reasons, perhaps for poor ones. "Listen, you can't go giving out your name. People might attack you at home, or something. It's just—not something you should do."
"You gave out your name, knowing that. It's very valiant of you. I think it's good for me to trust someone who trusts others. You seem like a good person, Victoria." Taylor smiled that practiced smile, but she meant every word.
Victoria smiled at the praise, radiant and happy. Even without the aura, she was that sort of Emma-person; always destined to be popular, bringing that selfsame light into the room. Without the hate, with a fitting name. "Thanks. But unless you've also got a family of superheroes to back you up, I don't suggest giving out your name like that."
"Alright," Taylor lied amicably. "I will not do that."
"Good," Victoria said, visibly relieved. Fake psychics would have had a field day with her, as her aura pulsed weaker and stronger with emotions felt and repressed. Now it was weak, those stray beams of sunlight poking through the cloud.
There was something there, a dangling thread. Taylor decided to pull, just a little bit. "What happened, that has you so worried?"
"You don't know?" Victoria was a bit confused, but shrugged. She was a very expressive person, her face moving readily to her command. Whether it was because she talked to many people, and had learned it to get her intent across, or a natural part of her family's nature, Taylor wasn't sure. Nevertheless, Victoria continued. "There was an incident, where Fleur was attacked, in her civilian identity. She died. New Wave lost a lot of popularity, and—well, things went a bit downhill from there."
"Huh." Taylor did remember, but the outrage and surprise of the mess had dulled by the time she was old enough to know what the consequences were. A sordid affair for the newspapers, and one that her parents had discussed. She couldn't remember what their positions were, or the headlines that crossed the table before she retrieved the comics page. Those, she remembered more clearly, and even that was vagaries; just memories of giggles and outlines. "Yeah, I remember it. Took me a minute."
"Yeah, so—take care of yourself. You seem nice enough, and I wish you good luck with your—project." Victoria paid, a guilty smile on her face. An implied apology for kidnappings rendered, of sorts.
"I will. Thank you," Taylor said, mimicking that smile. "I appreciate the gesture. Please, for you as well. You're honestly my favorite hero. I really look up to you; Alexandria is all dark and grey, but you're like the day. Vibrant and light."
The lie slipped out easily, her lips packaging it sincerely, the words quirking up at the end in an embarrassed chuckle.
Taylor was not prepared for the flush on Victoria's cheeks as the hero smiled, beaming with the praise. "I—mean Alexandria is so awesome though, she fights endbringers and just does so much and—really? Me?"
And in that moment, Glory Girl was Taylor's favorite hero, because of that unbridled enthusiasm, bursting forth, the reminder of happier times with a best friend; that child could also perform that same trick, because they both did it together. Taylor held onto that memory for a moment, basking. "Yeah, really. You."
"Thank you," Glory Girl said, and Taylor listened to that particular timbre of abashed cheer, her face sliding back to that easy smile.
"I like saying how I feel. Especially when I'm saying good things."
They parted, not too long after. It was a friendly parting, a hug and an offer to fly her back to where she needed to go. Taylor didn't take her up on it, happy to explore from where she was now. She memorized the number, and proceeded to add another sin to the list; her fingers idly shredded it as she walked along, her eyes watching it blow away.
Taylor was not accosted in her exploration, had fun in town, and night arrived, as usual.
Taylor decided to go to that place called home tonight, where she could sleep with only the worry of seeing her father's face, disappointed and still-grieving.
She neared the door, walking up to it, feeling her stomach churn in so many little ways, her breath catching in her throat—
Taylor walked away from the door, the balisong flipping through her fingers. It clacked, made noises that weren't as smooth, because her hands wouldn't still or move as she wanted them.
Maybe if she caught another villain, she'd be able to walk through the door.
Taylor decided to go hunting.
--
Taylor tapped away at the phone, trying to figure out exactly how not to have a mobile site. The PRT's normal website was bad enough to circumnavigate, because she continuously ran into the same circles of 'password needs to be two numbers, two lower case, two upper case, some symbols of some kind, eight to ten characters, and probably her star sign.' Then she needed to change that password every two to four weeks, or she'd be locked out of her account?
That frustration was only preceded by the mobile site.
It was clear that someone who hated villains had made this site; in a take no prisoners, salt the earth way, it made sense. If other people had to suffer as a result, that was only just, so that villains couldn't look at their current bounties.
Taylor was finally rewarded with the normally infuriating website, tapping her password on the tiny screen. Wrong password.
Wrong password.
You have been locked out for fifteen minutes.
Taylor sighed. Fifteen minutes and change later, she put the password in with glacial slowness, double checking and making sure each arcane symbol and letter was inputted correctly.
It let her in, and Taylor thanked it; she may have been somewhat sarcastic about it.
Taylor looked at bounties.
She picked one at random; well, not entirely at random. Not super-thieves, nor those destructive people who were just destructive enough to be still inside 'please tell us so we can deliver a ballistic missile in their direction' range.
Ends of the spectrum that she didn't feel like preying on, or dying for.
Hookwolf. The reward of $15,000 seemed oddly low. Perhaps the bounty hunter was supposed to draw sustenance from the fact that the villain was purported to have dogfighting rings, in addition to being a murderer.
Lung was much the same, with a reward of $25,000.
It seemed that, if she were to make a strike from a distance, it would be easy. Perhaps people hadn't thought of this solution yet. Just do X, and collect money.
Taylor could hope that this was in fact true, but somehow doubted it.
Rachel Lindt, Hellhound. $4000. Taylor had no real desire to turn the streets into a dogfighting arena. Why was picking a villain to chase after so hard?
Taylor decided to sleep on it, because her tiredness was only adding to her frustration. Perhaps she could discuss it with Victoria in the morrow. She found a park, climbing into the playground canal pipe. The phone was running low on battery. She'd charge it tomorrow, perhaps at a coffee shop.
She woke twice, once to the patter of rain, made louder by the plastic. Once, someone stumbled across her, an underpaid guard, telling her that she had to leave, and wasn't allowed here.
Taylor got up and left. She went to the beach, and watched the sunrise, falling asleep for an hour or two before the people walking by roused her from slumber.
--
In the end, she did not contact Victoria. It didn't truly feel right to do so. No, more than that, it would have necessitated an explanation. Today or eventually. Taylor could not bear that.
She could not bear the cloying sympathy she might have expressed. It was past that, it treaded into pity, in that Emma-gaze that filled Taylor with a quiet loathing, both outward and inward.
Taylor abhorred that. She could talk freely about it, as long as—independence. That was the word that described it. The independence from her past, from her personal current state of affairs, where she attempted to eke a living out of—this—to the—
She stopped trying to think of a description of why she didn't want to ask Victoria, and looked down the edge of the fruit knife. Taylor extended the edge for a brief moment, feeling.
It snapped back into place. She repeated it, until she had reached that almost meditative state of calm, staring at the water flow back and forth.
Taylor went and washed herself at the beach shower. She was running out of clean clothes.
There was almost six hours left before her meeting with Rune. Enough time to try again.
--
Taylor hauled the body. Unconscious weight was just as bad as dead weight, as far as she was concerned. Some people paid the bills by dealing in coke, others in less honest jobs. Tonight, Taylor was putting her name out there, making tomorrow's headlines. Perhaps she'd apply to be a butcher. She had the particular skill for it without much effort. Either way, it wasn't like this had been particularly difficult. Taylor almost felt bad for her. Then she tried hoisting the body, and simply could not. With the body armor, it was too heavy. Perhaps even without it.
When she'd set out, it started as a coin flip.
Heads. Tails.
The whole Traveller group were wanted in connection with something and disappearances going on. She'd take who she could get. Except one: Genesis. It wasn't a great idea, because they was some sort of super-changer. Taylor didn't want to accidentally hit something that killed them, or, well, simply die by means of Genesis simply—turning into Lung. Something that Taylor couldn't outpace without going lethal, and would lose any and all advantage of surprise if they escaped.
Hm. There was also the Merchants, but that wasn't really a place Taylor wanted to step foot in just yet. The mix of drug-addled people, squirming for their next fix like maggots, the entire thing was a pus-spewing, infected wound. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but where it was, and what it was doing to that area?
That irritated Taylor. The effects radiated out, whether it was the helium-high voice of Squealer, whose name seemed ever more appropriate when she opened her mouth, or the constantly chapped lips of Skidmark, moving up and down, swearing, babbling, hurting others in the worst possible manner; first their bodies, then their minds, and finally, any semblance of dignity.
Her information was both firsthand and secondhand, having walked into Merchant territory before, but having also seen the fringes, able to listen to people describe, curse, and beg.
But she held no doubts, in that even if she were to sneak in, disable one of the hygiene-disabled villains, she would have to deal with much more than that.
So, she was glad that it came up heads, in that sense.
She already knew where the Travelers were, after all. They had their own little spot of territory, perhaps foisted off or taken from another gang. Taylor wasn't sure. It was much smaller than almost any other territory, with the possible exception of the Undersiders, who didn't really have much of anything in particular.
Trickster was the easiest to identify out of costume. The hair, posture, it all carried over. It was almost a game of sorts, to avoid attention when she'd tracked them down.
Taylor decided to make him her target.
And then he was gone. She'd lost him, somewhere.
Had he seen her? There had been no change in posture, no difference in the way he moved, he'd gone around a corner, and then he was gone.
Taylor shook her head, and went to go meet with Rune.
--
The night was uneventful, and perhaps it was better that way, because Taylor didn't disclose her attempts just yet. She felt good, and Rune felt like she was reaching a certain point.
That was a lie, that Taylor let herself believe.
Taylor didn't want to tell Rune, because she was being selfish. Selfish, and wanted to show off to her friend. A childish action, looking for praise and validation in a harmless way to everyone but the unlucky Trickster.
Rune silently ate the curry. Taylor hadn't made this one, because she couldn't exactly make authentic naan. Brushed with butter and honey, with that blend of golden-brown marks and wheaty color; the treat was used scooping up the murgh makhani. Rune made fun of the name, Taylor had responded by taking the food away, eating some of the naan with a beatific expression.
Rune stopped making fun of the name.
Taylor smiled, and gave it back; after all, she had her own food to eat.
They finished, and Rune waited. No, that wasn't quite right. She dithered, faltering in what she wanted to say, and instead of pushing it out, stammering, she stayed silent.
It was a good time to push her. Taylor laid back, watching the moon. The clouds meandered over it, but they weren't quite thick enough to block the light. "We should do that again."
Rune jerked. "Y-yeah? I mean, the whole Janet thing was stupid and dorky—"
"But you'd like to do it again?"
"Yeah."
"Alright, tomorrow." Taylor said. "Janet can swing by the marketplace with me. Try more stuff."
Rune smiled.
Taylor planned to make it as fun as possible.
--
After Rune had left, Taylor went back to trying to find Trickster.
He just wasn't anywhere.
Taylor went from rooftop to rooftop in their territory, looking, trying to find—
"Freeze!" The words were gruff, rough, and female. That was all Taylor could tell without spinning around, but she did as they said, although her hands were already halfway into her jacket. It was a shame that she had been found. Perhaps it had been Genesis, shapeshifting into something small? Her opportunity had been stillborn. Was it possible to make it out?
"Hello," Taylor said. "What's your name?"
"Shut up. Asswipes like you don't get to talk. Turn around, slowly."
Taylor smiled, slow traces of recognition seeping in, her panic gradually fading as she turned around.
The stern, porcelain face of a woman stared back at her; body armor and a cloak concealed her physique, and she held a crossbow, pointed downward.
"Hey, 'Stalker," Taylor said.
"Hey, Taylor. You look like shit." Shadow Stalker said. "What are you doing here?"
The night was long and cold, and the wind was sharp and biting, reaching for anything it could find; her nose, her lips, her ears, and her fingers, were all fair prey for the nipping frost.
Taylor sniffled, her nose red as she blew warm air into her cupped hands, rubbing them together. The winter was usually warmer than this, or perhaps she'd never been out quite so late, in the worst of it.
The snow was very beautiful sometimes, near houses where people played, not worked, where the cars didn't splash through the melting slush; there, it was dirty-grey-black, painted so by the bustling people who avoided but contributed to it. The snow took on the properties surrounding it, in that sense.
It was white, in the places where there were family, that conceptual far-off thing that meant hugs and warmth, creaky floors and hot chocolate.
Taylor missed family, or maybe that memory of it, the gossamer trace of things fondly done together, the bad waived into oblivion. Nostalgia made the good, better; regret made the bad, worse. Such was the way of things, but Taylor missed it.
The moments spent enthusiastically talking about that new thing that just happened, or maybe it had just been Taylor babbling, her parents listening.
Whichever it was, Taylor yearned for it.
That's why she was out here, in the cold, stepping out toward the dirty-grey-black slush.
--
Taylor's hands didn't shiver while she held the knife. They weren't warm, they weren't dextrous, but they were stilled by the presence. The very existence of it calmed her, but the movement of it was what settled her, made her mind calmer, the cold more distant.
She wasn't sure what she was looking for, and the cold dulled her mind, made most things irrelevant. There was warmth, and heat. Somewhere. She wanted it badly.
...Not badly enough to turn back. Taylor's teeth chattered, but her hands were still, stored inside her jacket, clutching the knife.
Her father had a temper.
He was scared of it, bound it down. There had only been two incidents that she could remember, where it had come to the fore. The thin, balding man, made larger by rage, desperate to protect his daughter.
The police hadn't been called, but it had been a close thing, as the rage slowly sank away, replaced by that emotional cocktail of bitterness and grief.
He regretted those outbursts, regretted that she had seen it, even more. There had been fear, etched into her face, and he could never take those moments back.
Taylor wished she could take those moments back.
Because she had a temper.
--
The 24/7 supermarket was open, and Taylor walked in, rubbing her soles on the provided mat. She didn't buy much of anything, just picking up coffee from the fast food chain inside. It was an excuse to stay, or at least warm up.
She threw it away, half-finished, and left. Taylor felt even worse after drinking even that much, nauseous. Her throat felt sore, her stomach was worse.
Taylor wandered, in that cold.
She wasn't sure what she was looking for, and if asked, would have been unable to tell you, her teeth chattering, her mind covered in bitter thoughts.
Instead, she walked, the dirty-grey-black side-by-side with things that would rot in the spring. Someone was following her. Taylor became convinced, not because of the crunch of footsteps in slush, but just a feeling that something was wrong, that the wind should have been a certain way that wasn't, the rooftops didn't have enough snow.
It didn't make sense, and neither did she, as she walked into an alleyway.
He demanded her money, in a stammering way.
The gun almost looked plastic; a shiny black thing, almost a toy in the hands that wrapped around it.
Taylor clutched the knife.
The sense of paranoia had not left her, and was even worse, now. Her throat burned, with the overly crisp air.
She felt very cold.
"I don't have any money," Taylor said, the words halting and unbelievable. "I'm—I don't have anything you'd want. Please."
"Sh-shut up, just—take off your jacket, e-empty your pockets! All of it!"
Taylor's hands felt warm. Her eyes peered through frosted glasses. They felt like an obstruction, a barrier to her vision.
She smiled, a reflexive response to the wrong situation, her body shaking. "I don't have anything. I have some spare change. That's all I have. Please."
"F-Fuck you. You're just make-making fun of me—fuck!"
Taylor had seen this part in many movies. The hammer of the gun was cocked. That allowed the weapon to be fired. Had the man remembered to take the safety off? Was that a problem?
The noise wasn't as loud as it was in the movies, as the hammer moved back. A car drove by, on the street. It made more noise, someone was playing White Christmas, sung by a dead man, too late for the date.
Taylor blinked.
"Take out your wallet, and give it to me!"
Her fingers were awkwardly positioned around the knife. They weren't in the right position to hold it for a proper cut. Her fingers fumbled around the knife, and then flicked upward. The edge cut through Taylor's jacket, and Taylor could see the distortion it created, scoring the gun, flensing the tip of the mugger's trigger finger. The weapon went off, and then that was all that Taylor could hear, the sound ricocheting off the walls, directly into her head.
The man was clutching his hand, presumably screaming, although it was dulled. The gun hit the floor, and clattered, sending cracks across the patch of ice it had hit. The man was still screaming, louder now, or she could just hear better. It was as if he'd never really felt pain before, only inflicted it upon others.
She felt empty.
The man scrabbled for the gun with his other hand.
Taylor brought the knife down again. Carefully. A line opened on the man's other hand, along the back. It was white and stark as the flesh parted.
Blood began to flow.
Taylor watched him run away, clutching his hands to himself. She sank against the wall, looking at the knife. Her hair surrounded her like a curtain.
--
Taylor jerked upright, as someone landed in front of her. She stared at them, through the shield that was her hair, the knife held up. The stern, porcelain face of a woman stared back at her; their crossbow pointed at Taylor.
"Jesus christ, you look like shit. Drop the knife. Then get up. Slowly. You got a name?"
"Taylor." Taylor dropped the knife. She tried to get to her feet, using the wall as a brace.
"No, not—" There was a scoffing sound, like she couldn't believe she was doing this. "Here."
Taylor took the hand.
Shadow Stalker hauled Taylor to her feet.
"Over there. Gun." Taylor said, pointing to the splashes of blood. They mixed with the snow, giving the grey-black splotches of color.
"Yes," Shadow Stalker said, tapping something into her phone. "Stay there."
"Okay."
--
Taylor didn't say anything about her powers.
Neither did Shadow Stalker.
Taylor stayed under the blanket they'd given her, drawing it around herself as a shield. The police talked with her. Their voices, kind and gentle, were somehow more grating than Shadow Stalker's.
It was easier to lie by omission, saying little, while she watched Shadow Stalker tell her own part in the story. Taylor nodded along to that.
Taylor wasn't sure which of them was better at it, but Shadow Stalker's lies always sounded—as if they had a tinge of anger lining them, as if she was frustrated, exasperated; that she should have to explain herself.
--
Taylor stared at the ceiling in her room. Home felt like hugs avoided, the mutual fear of one another, and her father's face, disappointed and still-grieving.
He had talked on the way home. The words had gone somewhere. Taylor stared straight ahead, unblinking.
The taupe of the ceiling was more interesting than thinking.
There was a knock at the door, a long pause—and then footsteps away.
--
Taylor slid the coins into the payphone. She pressed out the number, quirking her lips upward, because you could hear a smile over the phone, and it was important that she had the particular tone of cheer. Her ebullience bulled over the secretary, as she lavished praise for Shadow Stalker. Perhaps it was out of surprise that anyone had the ability or desire to do such a thing.
And then she had an appointment.
Taylor smiled.
--
"Taylor."
"You remembered. Let's go for a walk," Taylor felt happier already, her exuberance slowly growing to match the falsified one.
Shadow Stalker stood there, like an angry statue. Like a statue, she looked like she couldn't make a decision.
Taylor made it for her, beginning to walk away.
Shadow stalked after her. "What is your problem?"
"My problem?" Taylor asked, the smirk now firmly in place on her face. "Do you not want to be here?"
Shadow Stalker didn't answer, but she didn't particularly have to. Her posture told the story as they moved along.
"That's fine. I just wanted the opportunity to thank you. It feels like you don't get a lot of praise for what you do, even if you do it well." Her words were candid and coarse, testing the ice.
"This is a joke. You're doing this as some kind of joke? Did one of your friends dare you to?"
"No. I just want an opportunity to know you, Shadow Stalker." Taylor's smirk shifted into a guileless grin, and the hero was taken aback. Her movements faltered, and she stopped moving.
Her response was a coarse bark of laughter, too short and hard to be from amusement. "The fuck? You want make a fan club or something? Get together with all your nerdy friends, and celebrate me taking down even bigger assholes?"
Taylor's laughter was genuine. "That's more honest. Less censored, more you. Feels better."
Shadow Stalker moved in front of Taylor, who gave her the same smile she had been.
The stern face stared back.
"Fine. You know what? Fuck it. Let's go. Gets me out from Console shit. I don't owe you anything, understand?"
Now I'm wondering about where this fic split off from canon. I guess that Taylor's trigger was something other than the locker, but was it still the trio's fault? (Getting a social fu power in response to being socially isolated does kind of make sense.)
This is getting even more interesting...I know something fun is going to happen soon, but I don't know what. That's something hard to do with a simple alt!power fic.
The chronology in that chapter made things pretty confusing, needlessly so, especially since the time shift after that paragraph isn't explicit, but something that has to be inferred by context.
Honestly, I thought it was an editing error at first. I would suggest removing the paragraph and having it appear in its chronological place instead, it feels like a writing experiment that didn't really work properly.
Also, the beginning of the next chapter feels in no way connected to the chapter end when Shadow Stalker pops up, it's a very abrupt jump that makes things even more confusing and completely destroyed the narrative flow for me.
I found the first three chapters a lot more enjoyable overall.
I'm sorry it completely destroyed the narrative flow for you.
I like to have things inferred through context, and like to think that the readers can do so, when given information. I also feel that it's much better to write things while looking into how it'll be read as a whole as well as on a chapter by chapter basis. I'm sorry. I'll likely continue to do such things. Thank you for your review.
Watched.
