Remove ads

Cutting Ties [Worm Altpower, Complete]

Reader mode
Remove ads
1.6
  • Threadmarks
    • 1.6 ​

    Masks. Silly things, that didn't really protect much. They were more the concept, a fashion statement that also protected identity. Sure, there were the heroes who actually wore faceplates, like Clockblocker or Eidolon; although it felt odd mentioning those two in the same sentence, because they weren't remotely in the same league as each other. Kind of like saying hot dog and prosciutto. They had the some of the same parts, but... More importantly, heroes wore masks to protect that flimsy thing named identity, but also to show another part of themselves. They could do so many things, when they didn't wear their face. They could pretend they weren't a bullied girl in school, or whatever other secrets they might have. Rune certainly fit that bill, with her inability to walk down the marketplace in costume without attracting a stir of some kind.

    Taylor didn't really like masks very much. She wore hers more as a signifier that she was a cape, a signal that it was okay to attack her, or come after her, that she wasn't just some normal, out on the streets.

    Her mask was a statement, as opposed to a shift in identity. She was always Taylor; knowing who she was, she could act on that, disregarding the discombobulated dichotomy that made up Cape life.

    She was Taylor, and she was a Cape.

    Taylor the downtrodden was something she remembered sometimes, reflecting affectionately on her mistakes and—moderate successes.

    So, Taylor kept her mask on, switched it out for other masks sometimes.

    The facade of both styles of life. She wondered how Shadow Stalker dealt with it sometimes. That thought spurred her speech, as she watched the mask that imitated life, but not the person behind it.

    "Just hunting down some Travellers, if I can get one," Taylor said, looking Shadow Stalker up and down. Shadow Stalker shifted her posture, lifting her crossbow and resting it on her shoulder. The safety clicked into place.

    Different types of expressiveness.

    Taylor didn't take her eyes off Shadow Stalker, folding the straight razor that had been in her hands, (she wasn't quite sure how it had gotten there,) putting it away. "What are you doing so far out? Did Piggot finally let you off the chain?"

    "Something like that. Said good behavior had perks, and to keep it up."

    Taylor inclined her head. "Isn't being out here the best? All the freedom in the world, and—"

    Shadow Stalker didn't say anything, but her bearing drifted slightly.

    "Yeah." Taylor said, grinning. "Hey, mind if I take a bolt? They're tranqs, right?"

    Shadow Stalker shook her head. "Tracked. In case I stick a perp with them, and trigger pulls are recorded."

    "Ah. Shame."

    "Useful, though," grudging admiration came forth, as she flipped it over, casting her gaze across it. "Has perks that make up for things."

    "I'll bet," Taylor agreed, stretching her limbs out, on her tip-toes. "So. Ever fought Trickster?"

    Shadow Stalker rolled her eyes. It was the shrug of her shoulders that told Taylor, the quiet scoff. "Fuck that asshole. Impossible to catch. Has a backup plan of some kind, all the time. He's never been in a good enough position to nab, and it's irritating."

    Admitting she'd failed to catch him was a boon in disguise; it set up the dialogue, empathizing about mutual frustration. "Yeah, I saw him, tailed him, and then he up and vanished on me."

    Shadow Stalker nodded, "Sometimes, we've set up stakeouts, where we received tip-offs from thinkers that they might hit."

    "They didn't show."

    Shadow Stalker didn't respond; she didn't have to. It boiled forth from her, the frustration, the possibility of vulnerability.

    Taylor shrugged. "Maybe they have a precog? Is that the word? Some sort of thinker."

    "Yeah. Precognitive." Shadow Stalker said, a hint of pride creeping in. Slightly and lightly, but it was there.

    "Well, fuck them."

    "Yeah."

    They stayed there for a bit. Shadow Stalker was antsy, pacing. Taylor placed the bait. "I was thinking of tackling the Merchants, after taking in one of the Travellers. What do you think?"

    The words tacked into place, each one linking up like a chain that beckoned. It was a good way to watch Shadow Stalker struggle, laying out the potential consequences and benefits, her foot tapping, the crossbow pointed at the ground, slowly swinging back and forth.

    "Don't need to give me an answer now. I just thought it'd be nice to clean that place up. After I turn them in—I think I'll—" It didn't feel right, mentioning her father. Uncomfortable, but moreso than usual. "—celebrate. Somehow."

    "Like what, drink pop until you're as as hopped up as a Merchant?" Shadow Stalker's voice didn't quite have that vindictive edge it sometimes did when she insulted Taylor. "Eat crack rocks, and pretend it's meth?"

    "While that would be appropriately dark, I would like to keep all my teeth. Something like a joint operation. Nobody likes the Merchants. Not even the Nazis."

    Shadow Stalker laughed harshly. "Probably because the black crack addict is fucking the cracker crack addict."

    "Or maybe because they're fine, upstan—" Taylor tried to keep her voice straight, couldn't, then laughed. "—okay, okay. I'll think of something else. Maybe we could do something on the ABB together? I captured Oni Lee the other day, yknow?"

    "I heard you got help from a Nazi."

    "A little bit. I had it. Ah, it was fun, though." Taylor pulled her lips back, not a smile, but there was satisfaction in it; teeth also featured a major role. "He could move, teleport, and fight, and I was on that edge, living."

    "Shit, nice. I guess." Her voice was positively jealous.

    "Well, let me know if you'd like to do something like it sometime. Oh, yeah, I got a phone. Here, my number."

    Surprisingly, Shadow Stalker had a pen and notepad. Taylor scribbled the info down. The conversation wound down after that; Shadow Stalker's leash was certainly longer, but it still tugged her back. She bounded off, snapping into that shadow-state, snapping back to land, and repeating the process, making ground as Taylor watched her go.

    Taylor took her advice.

    --​

    It had been hours. Taylor flipped the straight razor out, then back in. Out, then back in. The worn handle invited mystery and thought. Who had it shaved, where had it been used? Was it her father's, or her grandfather's? Was it some sort of heirloom, made in the far-off-world of 1972?

    That somewhat stopped the train of thought from going further back in the past. Perhaps she was distracted. Taylor extended the blade, flicking it at the blocks nearby. A small cut appeared, next to nine other small cuts.

    They were tiny and controlled, a catalogue of the last ten minutes, because she'd only started keeping track ten minutes ago.

    Taylor sighed. Stakeouts were boring. She understood why Stalker had been so frustrated, because this was annoying. It was cloudy tonight, so she couldn't even watch the stars. The clouds weren't very interesting tonight, a sort of morose drifting, slowly strangling the light out of the moon.

    Another score on the brickwork.

    Fifteen scores later, (and maybe a nap,) Taylor perked up.

    There was a girl on the sidewalk, along with a girl in a wheelchair, with a guy—Hm.

    They were sure out late, what with all the criminals in the area. The guy was fairly muscular, the girl was thin, blonde, and lithe. The girl in the wheelchair looked more haggard than either of them, with reddish-brown hair.

    The guy shivered, because all he had on was a tank top and jeans. He said something to the girl, who visibly flinched.

    And then it was an argument. The particulars weren't important. Taylor watched with interest, rooting for whoever seemed the underdog at the moment. First the guy, as the two girls ganged up on him, then the blonde, after she said something that shocked the both of them.

    Auburn won, when she said something that made them both stop.

    Muscular guy picked a piece of gravel off the ground, tossing it. Then he flicked it—krak—and then there was a hole in the pavement.

    Ballistic then. Who were the two girls, then? Perhaps Blonde was Genesis? Taylor tilted her head, trying to remember the blurry images of costumes. Perhaps wheelchair was Genesis. An ingenious disguise. The benefit being that she had her friends to push her around whenever she wanted, too. Parking spaces were probably a breeze, too.

    Ballistic stalked away, leaving the girls alone.

    Taylor slowly made her way down the emergency staircase, fruit knife safely pointed away from her. It felt like a fruit knife night tonight. In the sense that Taylor was also craving fruit, and she was probably the most accurate with this knife. She didn't want to hurt them too badly, after all.

    Her footsteps were soft as she nonchalantly moved along, walking up to them. "S'cuse me, do you two need help getting home?"

    Both of them cringed. It had been a very good greeting, so Taylor wasn't quite sure why they were scared of that. She hadn't even taken the knife out from behind her back, and they hadn't seen her mask yet.

    But now they were blanching, as Taylor gave them a wide smile. "Hey. You're both Travellers, right? Supervillains?"

    "Y-you can't do this, the—" Blonde stopped talking when she saw the knife.

    "Sorry, I'm in a bit of a rush. You're Sundancer, right? I'd like to take you in." There were tears in Blonde's eyes, Taylor noticed. There weren't any in wheelchair girl's, but that was because she was— "Your friend appears to have fainted. I apologize, that was not my intention."

    "Y-yeah, she's n-not a parahuman, leave—leave her alone. I'll go with you."

    "Alright! Thanks, the last time I did something like this, it went a lot worse."
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Wow, poor Sundancer. She didn't even get social fu'd, Tay just sorta picked the best time to deal with her.

    Or wait, does Genesis look like she's unconscious when she's projecting? Hopefully she isn't up to something.
     
    Harbin said:
    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.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Is Taylor homeless? :confused:
    Harbin said:
    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.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Taylor's mind is...fractured in some way. Almost in the same way Rachel's mind is fractured. In Taylor's case she understands others so little that she relies on her power to handle the conversations.
    Harbin said:
    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.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    Ah. She's avoiding home. How long has she wandered around Brockton Bay all by herself? How long has she desperately searched for the warmth of human contact that her father can not give her in his current state?
     
    Harbin said:
    I like to have things inferred through context, and like to think that the readers can do so, when given information
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    I consider it a big difference as to whether some things are left implied, making for a nuanced reading experience (there should always be room for subtlety), or the chronology becomes obviously deconstructed in an abrupt manner, leaving the reader to pick up the pieces, and putting them back together (it's a post modern style you seem to have taken to heart in some small manner)
    It seems we have different tastes 'shrugs'. It is not something I'm a fan of, the problem with such a stylistic choice is that it can easily leave the narrative too fragmented thereby hurting the immersion every time the reader has to stop and think "...wait, what?".
    It might make sense afterwards, or when a story is taken as a whole, but after that stumbling block, the 'damage' has already been done.

    Just my opinion for what it's worth.
     
    Huh. We so casually use the words murderhobo and forget the grimy sadness of the hobo.

    Being Taylor is messed up.

    But hell of a fic. Thanks Harbin. Beautiful use of language here, one I envy and admire immensely.
     
    1.7
  • Threadmarks

    • 1.7
    ​
    Plans were things to be kept and minded. Sometimes they could go astray, and had to be reeled in, reassessed. They also required a certain amount of leash, because sometimes things happened; squirrels, for instance, were a great nuisance for plans. They gummed up the works, or just ran everywhere, distracting plans.

    Thus, "This did not go as planned," is a statement that does not bear repeating, unless it is in that voice of inane panic, mumbled over and over again. In this particular instance, it featured a half-baked plan coming to the fore, sent out to pasture at the farm; absolutely no bolt guns were involved here, not even a high-speed projectile, or a nineteen-limbed monstrosity spitting poisonous sprays of liquid. Taylor did not say the term out loud, because things were probably still salvageable. At least, she hoped they were still salvageable.

    Maybe they weren't.

    Perhaps she should not have said that last statement, before her mind screamed at her. The sense of paranoia, that something was deeply wrong. Instinct had certainly saved her life more times than she could count on all those fingers Oni Lee had when he duplicated, so she knew that it was important to listen.

    She began to bring her knife up, then just dove to the side, as something smacked the ground like a thunderclap next to her, sending shards of concrete everywhere. Taylor was momentarily stunned by the noise of it, but immediately slammed her hands into the pavement, throwing herself to the side as another thunderclap happened, staggering to her feet and moving forward, always forward.

    Sundancer was shoving the wheelchair away, trying to get out while Taylor dodged Ballistic's artillery fire. While she wasn't getting hit, she was getting peppered with the shrapnel, and the bits that hit her, stung.

    Taylor's knife was out, and she sliced the air, cutting the wheels out from under the wheelchair. It pitched forward, sending the unconscious girl to the ground, and Sundancer gasped out a name, 'Je—' the rest was drowned out by another thunderclap, bigger, this time. Taylor threw herself forward into a roll, hitting the ground as another something whizzed by overhead.

    Then she was at the wheelchair, with 'Je—' and Sundancer, her knife out and ready.

    The thunderclaps stopped, and there was no more shrapnel. Sundancer was shivering, the knife against her back, frozen while trying to haul the unconscious 'Je—' up.

    "Okay! Cool. Good stuff. Sundancer? Would you mind coming with me, now? I promise nothing will happen." Her arm looped around Sundancer's neck, placing the knife at the jugular. "You guys might be supervillains, but there's no reason why we can't be nice about it, y'know?"

    "Yes, we are," said a male voice, and Taylor was suddenly— on a rooftop. This was not where she wanted to be, for once.

    Sundancer was running one way, and Trickster, he even had his mask on and everything, was taking another position, looking at unconscious-girl—

    —and then Taylor was next to him, and he wasn't, and it was Ballistic and he had a marble—

    Taylor threw up the knife, flicking it outward desperately, and the marble fell into two pieces, split lengthwise, just like Ballistic's hand now was. Then Ballistic was gone, and there was a half-human monster in its place, with enough limbs that Taylor removed some immediately to make it closer to human. It didn't even flinch, and they slowly reformed.

    That wasn't the part that made Taylor skid behind a car, it was when it spat something from eyes that would have 'The Fly' jealous; something Taylor had no desire to to be hit by, and it stumbled forward.

    Taylor could tell, because the legs made squelchy-awful noises, and she flipped the knife over, swiping out from behind her cover; the legs were cut out from under it, and she cut again, slicing off the limbs on the right side with the knife clenched in her hand, making the gist of an uppercut.

    The thing was twitching on the ground, but still fired out liquid from those eyes, and Taylor jerked back into cover, except then she wasn't in cover and was on the other side of the road, and was beginning to really hate Trickster. It was getting easier to get her bearings as she was again—

    —and she was ten feet in the air, falling with a screamed "Fuck!"

    She hit the ground in a roll, her knife skittering away from her, her hands hurting as she tried to get out of sight and collect the knife, but both those things were impossible to do, because—

    —god she hated Trickster so much, and she was back, further away from the knife, and there was a ball of fire in front of her, herding her. Taylor stepped back, slowly, hand reaching into her jacket, retrieving the straight razor and flipping it out. She scanned the rooftops for Trickster—there he was, up on that rooftop, and Ballistic was there with him, looking away, on the street—

    —Taylor dove the instant it happened, and as a result, it only clipped her thigh, sending her into a painful roll, but not one she couldn't get up from. Her hand dove into her jacket, the balisong already unfolding as she whipped the straight razor up at Ballistic—

    —and then she was in his place, ten feet away from Trickster, the balisong extending through her jacket, slashing a line across his eyes.

    Taylor panted as Trickster stumbled to the edge of the building, bleeding. "Good fight. Good stuff. Sorry about your eyes. Make a good team."

    To his credit, Trickster didn't scream, but he emanated a glaring sort of pain, clutching at his face reflexively, only to have the mask block it. Taylor tugged some zip ties out, binding his hands.

    Then the dragon appeared, and she had other problems.

    It was more of a serpent, actually. A winged giant lizard, that had no limbs, but was flying. It breathed out black smoke, and Taylor slashed at the body, the extension skittering off scales with a spray of sparks; Taylor put forth another try on the backslash, some scales broke loose. Taylor breathed a sigh of relief, but stepped backward, her path to freedom blocked by the black smoke. If she was okay with Trickster breathing it, it was most likely non-lethal, but probably not—Trickster was fucking gone? The mannequin lay there, arms askew. Taylor had slashed his eyes! How? Had she not gotten both of them?

    But it wasn't the time to worry about that, and she stepped back from the smoke, looking over the precipice as the dragon stalked closer, it had time. Taylor slashed at it once more, aiming for the nose, but it didn't recoil or flinch. The knives were folded and stored away as she turned and jumped, aiming for the fire escape on the other side, the buildings weren't so far apart that—she slammed into it, the khff of air being forced from her body, her chest hurting like a bitch, her arms struggling to hold her weight, but she didn't have time for that—Taylor hauled herself upward, throwing herself over it, wincing as her leg hurt, her chest hurt, and her arms hurt too.

    It was a party of pain, and she was the honored guest. Taylor almost ran down the fire escape, then changed her mind, running up. It wasn't safer with the lizard up there, but she'd be more likely to be outside—it was up there, and it wasn't moving the same, it wasn't breathing out the black smoke, and Taylor smiled. "Genesis. Who is that girl you're protecting?"

    The dragon coiled outward, the wings protectively circling. The balisong came out, and Taylor sliced, aiming for the joints. A wing fell off, disappearing into bubbly wisps. It started to spray out the black smoke, then stopped. The way it moved, the way it snapped at her as she moved in and out of range… Taylor grinned.

    "She a part of your team? Dating her? No, that doesn't seem quite right." There went the other wing, and the dragon lunged forward, then abruptly snapped backward as Taylor lightly slashed, and a cut appeared across the hoodie of the supine girl. It was a little harder to gauge, a little harder to find those words, but Taylor did her best. "What's going on, here?"

    It was hard to communicate with the dragon, because it had even less to draw on than Shadow Stalker, and didn't move like a human, because there weren't those bones there. There were still words there, ready to grab, but—Taylor grinned. The dragon's scales shimmered. They looked vaguer for a second, and Taylor cocked her head, watching.

    "You're running out of fuel. You didn't plan on the fight lasting this long." The blade cut again, sparks everywhere as it went across the scales, but scales fell off too. These were deeper cuts, not flicks of the knife, deliberate and precise. "I promise, if one of you comes quietly, nothing else bad will happen. Just a delivery to the PRT."

    The serpent was half-wispy now, and Taylor was sitting. Half to stay out of view of everyone else, half because she hurt all over, and sitting was easier. Her butt didn't hurt yet, at least.

    Then the serpent vanished altogether, but the girl stayed unconscious. Ziptie time anyway. Never too safe. A blindfold, just to be sure, not repeating mistakes.

    Taylor hauled the body. Unconscious weight was just as bad as dead weight, as far as she was concerned. It wasn't like this had been particularly difficult. Perhaps this girl was their thinker. No, that didn't make sense, she'd been unconscious the entire fight. Perhaps she could tactically coordinate while unconscious? Taylor continued to think along that winding path, aware of other possibilities, and sampling each. It was a welcome break from the fight, but now she just had to get out. Taylor almost felt bad for her.

    Then she tried hoisting the body, and simply could not. Perhaps Trickster could give her a lift down? The possibility seemed unlikely. She tugged her phone out of a pocket, and looked at the cracked screen regretfully. It still worked, but—she'd just gotten it!

    Taylor texted Victoria.

    Then texted again. Then called. Then called again.

    Something answered grumpily, mumbling a response that might even have been human. Taylor didn't quite catch it, so she asked Victoria could give her a ride. There was no response for a few moments. "You want a ride at three in the morning, I'm hanging up."

    "Hey, no, wait—" Taylor called her back. "—It's important I swear please don't hang up I captured one of the Travellers except I think they're waiting downstairs for me and I want to—"

    "Oh, you're actually in—" There was an enormous yawn, "—trouble. One minute, where are you?"

    "Rooftop. Uhh, I was at, uh, you know right next to the ramshackle gas station where the condemned buildings are? Nearby the Merchant territory?"

    "Oh, yeah, alright. One sec, costume."

    "You don't sleep in yours? The toga-one-piece really suits you." There was a muffled laugh, and then the phone cut out as Glory Girl hung up. Taylor was happy, for today, she had one-upped the Dragonslayers, who didn't even have one dragon under their belts. Winged serpents counted. No feathers, so it wasn't a quetzalcoatl. And so she waited, in the odd sort of stalemate, knives in her hands, and a smile on her face.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Last edited:
    1.8
  • Threadmarks
    • 1.8
    ​
    "So tell me again."

    Glory Girl played the role of the long-suffering police chief, about to retire next week, unless the loose cannon Taylor cut out the intervening days with a heart attack. They were on a rooftop with sleeping girl, who was now sitting girl, propped up against a wall. Not the same rooftop Taylor had held out at, but a different rooftop; that was the crime scene, and she'd already taken down the perp. Her unconventional methods had proven themselves. Glory Girl was unimpressed.

    "So I was minding my own business, just strolling down the street or maybe doing a stakeout on a roof. Money was getting low, I wanted to help the people, so on and so forth. I saw Ballistic shoot the ground with a pebble, and decided that it was necessary to take him in for vandalizing public property." Taylor recited the prepared affidavit, then shrugged. "Or maybe Sundancer, because she was an easier target."

    Glory Girl looked like it was way too early for this. Her tiara was slightly askew, her hair wasn't all in place, her makeup wasn't on, and she looked like she wanted to fold into those fluffy clouds called bed, and attend to everything in the afternoon. "So that's Sundancer?"

    "No, but it's almost Sundancer, and that's what counts." Taylor pointed a finger at the sleeping girl, "I think that she goes unconscious to use her power. She 'fainted' when I showed up, but that was just the expression of her power."

    Glory Girl did not look convinced. "So you kidnapped what, a girl in a wheelchair, who you think is some kind of thinker or master or something?"

    "Hmm. I think she might be Genesis, but I really can't be sure. She's up now. Her breathing changed while we were talking about her." Taylor moved over to the girl, squatting down in front of her. "Hey. Sorry to bother you and all. I know it's rude to talk behind people's backs. But I'm pretty damn sure you're a parahuman."

    "I'm not," said the quiet girl, and Taylor knew she was lying. It was in that subtle way her lips moved, and the too-strained voice, although the fear pumping through it did lend it some credibility. She was open in many ways that others weren't, almost unused to controlling her own facial movements. Her face betrayed her, and Taylor watched as it did.

    "That's okay. I promise there isn't any funny business going on, no soul-selling or blackmail going on here. You guys are wanted for a lot of—disappearances, though. Did you have anything to do with those?" Taylor's voice was quiet, and she kept her hands on her knees, so they didn't root around in her jacket for the balisong. She missed the fruit knife already. The teak handle had been very nice, and she had been working on getting a good whetstone for it.

    But while she was waxing nostalgic, she was watching the girl's face. The quiet shudder that came over her when Taylor talked about the disappearances, even a small one when Taylor said soul-selling. Why was that, she wondered. She looked closer, and pulled the blindfold off. There was something different.

    "What—what do you want?" The girl's voice didn't have to pretend not to be afraid, as Taylor stared at her, less than six inches away. Taylor searched for the words. Glory Girl moved forward, hand reaching out for Taylor's shoulder. Taylor shooed her away, scooting slightly away from her captive.

    There was something. In the way she looked around, eyes glancing upward, but also looking down. Not in the 'condescending' phrase, but there was a way she glanced around looking, it felt different—but similar to something else. She was so close, it was soda, running off the tip of her tongue, bubbly but without that satisfying gulp. Somewhere else, she'd seen that.

    Taylor looked at Glory Girl, and shivered. Ah. That was it.

    "Some powers take fuel. I'd call tinkers one of these, in that they require time. Thinkers get headaches, right?" Taylor went from facts to suppositions smoothly, leaning backward onto her heels. "You look better than you did after your dragon failed."

    "I—don't know what you're talking about! I'm just a girl they uh, met and decided to be nice to. Nobody special." Her voice spluttered, entirely unconvincing.
    "I think you're very special, Genesis. You're one of the very few people who can fly free, look everywhere, at the sun, down at the street, but your power has some costs."

    Another flinch. Another open-mouthed half-uttered word, silenced. A glance down, at her legs.

    Taylor smiled. Things fit, and words were there.

    "You could walk before you got your power, couldn't you?"
    Genesis didn't answer. Glory Girl swore, and her aura grew slightly stronger, pulsing, then pulling back under control.

    Taylor waited for a moment, then spoke again. "So. Why are you a villain?"

    "No choice. Just take me to the PRT. I'll tell them I'm Genesis, and you can get your reward." After the reveal, her voice had dropped to a whisper, exhausted and broken. "Please, just—"

    "No." Taylor interrupted, cocking her head. "You're not just saying that. The bit about choice. What's wrong? Come on."

    But Genesis shook her head, looking down as far as she could in the awkward position she was in, refusing to look at Taylor.

    Taylor sighed, running a scar on her finger across her thumbnail. This conversation was not going nearly as well as she would have liked. She looked at Glory Girl, shrugging. "What do you think? Cut her loose, drop her off with the Travellers? Deliver her to the PRT? You can shunt the blame to me, if you like. I don't mind overmuch."

    Glory Girl's face mirrored Genesis, and Taylor chuckled a bit at the resemblance. Genesis was more average looking, not precisely pretty, but not terrible. She didn't look like she took much care of herself, and Taylor could understand that in spades. The ultimate escapism from a bodily prison, the ability to create creatures of myth and legend, and fly with them, soar with them.

    Taylor would neglect herself if she could do that; it wasn't even in question.

    Points taken away for the red hair, though. They looked nothing alike, but it rankled, just that slight amount, tugging at memories of Emma. Taylor was tired of those thoughts, of things she'd left behind and thought forgotten. Things reminded her, because she'd done everything with Emma. The way someone smiled, that ravioli they'd cooked together and burned, the movements she'd imitated, or just the silly way that they'd talked to one another; whether it was about fantasy or reality.

    Taylor patted Genesis on the head, and she cringed slightly away. Taylor didn't take offense, just looked at Glory Girl for her response.

    Glory Girl looked away, then sighed. "God. You can be pretty creepy when you do all that shit, y'know? But what, you're willing to throw away all that shit you went through, and just—give her back to the Travellers?"

    "Hm. I wouldn't really call it that. I don't know how many people she's personally killed." Taylor watched for that next flinch, but it wasn't so much of a flinch as a shudder, "Why do you stick with them if you've got a conscience?"

    The words provoked her, pushing out a response. "We made a pact. A promise. And they're all trying, so I have to try too. They're not bad people."

    The word held weight and pain, but Taylor thought the word wasn't quite what fit. Oath. That was the word, for what she was saying; in both senses of the word.

    "Hm," Taylor said.

    "What." Glory Girl responded, looking more irritated by the minute. She had bypassed the need for sleep by pacing, and now she was standing still; her attempts to fend it off were swiftly growing ineffective.

    "You were right. This wasn't the right way to go about this."

    "Nice to hear somebody agree with me," she grumbled, but looked mildly more satisfied.

    Taylor's phone rang. She plucked it out of her jacket pocket, glancing at the cracked screen. The number wasn't one she recognized from her memorized lexicon of Dad, Emma, and Emma's dad. "Hello? Taylor speaking."

    Glory Girl's mouth was open in a mix of silent frustration, surprise, horror, and exasperation. Taylor switched the phone to speaker.

    "Hi, Taylor. I'm a member of the Undersiders, my name is Lisa. It's a pleasure to meet you."

    "You too, can I ask why you're calling?"

    "So, I'd like to suggest that you check PHO at some point. It's one of the top threads right now, although that shifts around. It should stay on the front page, but there's a pretty nice video of the fight, where you attacked a crippled girl and her minder, threatening them."

    "Man, when you say it like that, it kinda sounds bad," Taylor responded conversationally, staring at her fingernails. Some of them were in need of a file, after that run-in with the ground. And the railing. "It was Sundancer and Genesis, though."

    "Yes, well, their faces are very nicely blurred out. TinMother, that's the moderator, by the way, is having the time of her life trying to manage the comments."

    "Good for her, it's nice to see someone enjoying their passion." The words were coming, and they were wonderfully slightly acerbic, with that hint of vinegar, prodding and pushing at them. They slid into place with a smack, leaving no slack for the other party with a simple retort.

    Sarcasm was always available, obviously.

    "Yes, but what are you doing this fine day, Taylor? Hanging out at home with your father? Maybe somewhere on a rooftop? I did hear that you like those. Your father certainly doesn't."

    Suddenly it wasn't fun and games anymore, when Dad was mentioned. Suddenly, it wasn't lightly acerbic words, playfully poking fun. Taylor opened her mouth, her voice strangled and thick. "What are you talking about."

    "Just your dear old Dad. See, I'd like Genesis. I could use her for leverage with the Travellers. In fact, he's in the other room right now, with one of my associates. We're friends, you see?" She let out a rueful chuckle, and Taylor hated her, just a little more. Then Lisa's voice went serious again. "This is a job offer, of sorts. Your reputation is shot, and you're going to make a nice big deal with some other villains. You have some opportunities, but you did violate some rules of caping with your—little capers."

    Taylor could control her temper. The balisong was in her other hand, flipping over and through fingers. It simmered inside her, bucketfuls of rage, with hate slowly dripping down. "Okay. Let's talk. Where do you want to meet?"

    The conversation ended, and she looked to Genesis. Genesis looked back at her. Glory Girl looked even more tired, and Taylor shrugged. The sun was coming out, and it was beautiful, all pinkish-blue, with the clouds making those rays slide through. A new day. Taylor was tired too, but it was gratifying to see it. She smiled at all three of them, the sun, Glory Girl, and Genesis.

    "Genesis. I'm going to need your help."
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Silly Tay Tay... did you think that actions had no consequences?

    In short, pretty much what I expected to happen, happened... minus the Tattletale connection.
     
    Well congrats lisa, you got a stick and poked the emotional wound of a girl who (in an alternate reality) mind raped humanity into killing a physical god with the power of the man who convinced said being to murder everyone.
     
    Squirrelly-Sama said:
    Well congrats lisa, you got a stick and poked the emotional wound of a girl who (in an alternate reality) mind raped humanity into killing a physical god with the power of the man who convinced said being to murder everyone.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    Why bring up the alternates? We already know how very well Negotiator and Broadcast get along, don't we? :V

    Hopefully Lisa won't get a scar this time though.
     
    1.9
  • Threadmarks
    • 1.9
    ​
    Rage was an uncomfortable, friendly feeling. Many people referred to it as a fire, burning out of control. But fire only hurt those who were caught in it spiraling out of control, or those unfortunate enough to burn themselves. No intention, no direction. Others could direct it, repurpose it.

    Anger was kind, seductive; when it left that terrible bitter feeling afterward, it wasn't burning out. It didn't leave ash, although it felt like it. It left, and that sick sense of satisfaction was a gift, a reminder that it would happen again. An argument gone too long or wrong, a personal attack that brought something up, a sign that set things boiling again. Resentment that pushed her. Fire hurt others, but it wasn't deliberate. Anger hurt others, but it was all deliberate. Not deliberated upon, but a method of reaching out, finding those words that could most hurt and injure, and putting them to use.

    They came forth, all those little memories and feelings, and it was all hurt-ache-rip, teasing open new scabs, cutting old scars open, and watching them. Because there were more words, more things to be used as vindictive fuel, for that vindication that she was right, and she could hurt them more than they had hurt her. Every time, she could do it. Every time, it came back a little faster, the easiness of retaliation. It was a little harder not to do it, each time. To forgive, to not resort to jibes and jeers. Anger burning bright was an excuse, because the heat that rose in her cheeks wasn't fire, it was shame, intent, and hurt.

    Taylor was familiar with that.
    The knife spun through her fingertips, and she breathed in deep. The day smelled nice, all cinnamony and brown sugar; they had churros, which may have been part of it. The robust aroma of coffee folded in, and Taylor sat there, slowly chewing on things.

    Glory Girl didn't touch the churros, mostly sipping at her coffee.

    Genesis nibbled, but didn't touch the coffee.

    The silence was nice, but unnecessary. It led into unhappier moments, less conversation, and less-fitting words. SIlence at the end of fights, where nobody was right, and nobody was wrong. "So, Genesis. How are you doing?"

    "Fine." Ah, some things could be summed up in a single word. The beauty of language.

    "Okay. Your—" Friends didn't feel right. "Compatriots? Will probably be fine. My cuts are very clean. Trickster will probably even keep his vision, if he gets to a doctor."

    There wasn't a response to that, although Glory Girl winced, speaking. "What did you do to him?"

    "He kept switching me, and they were firing stuff at me. Don't know if they thought I was a brute or what, but—" Taylor unbuttoned her jeans, tugging them down to expose the mess of discolored skin, angry red and bluish-purple, stark from the pale skin. She pulled the jeans back up, frowning. "That one was almost a direct hit. I think I'd have broken my hip or some ribs if I hadn't dodged the way I did."

    "Damn. Definitely not a brute, then. How's the pain?"

    "Excruciating." Taylor said, very seriously, then grinned. "Kidding, kidding, it's more of a dull throbbing, kind of keeps me focused."

    "You're not a brute. He was sure—" Genesis' voice was echoing Taylor's, as she processed the information, then shut down.

    "Just normal. Or as normal as being able to extend knife edges gets. Parahumans are weird ilke that." Taylor shifted in position, looking at her jacket. Strips of it hung down, and there were holes from shrapnel. What a mess. "Gonna have to replace my jacket, too."

    Things tended toward silence again, but a slightly better awkwardness. There was guilt, rather than anger, in the way that Genesis looked down. Glory Girl looked like she wanted to say something, but didn't.

    So things went, and they sat there. Hero, Rogue, Villain.

    A phone rang, blaring a clip from a popular song with drums made tinny and terrible by the phone's speakers. Victoria plucked it out from the folds of her dress, Taylor wasn't quite sure where, but it was there. "Yes? Yeah? Uh, what did she say? Okay, tell her I'll be there in a minute."

    Taylor raised an eyebrow.

    "Mom is furious. Someone emailed the clip to her, and in one of the shots, you can see me in it. I gotta get home. I'll clear things up. Text me if shit goes down, okay? God, I need sleep."

    Taylor considered objecting,then grimaced. It just wasn't worth it, and she wasn't feeling up to it. "Uh, would you mind taking us down to the lower levels before you go? I might be able to get a wheelchair, but I definitely can't carry her all the way down."

    "Mmyeah—knew I was forgetting something. I'll drop the two of you off, and you can decide where to go."

    It was in a fairly unpopulated park, and Genesis and Taylor sat on a bench, as Glory Girl flew off to be Victoria again. There was time before the meeting, and it was less than a mile away.

    "How are you feeling?"

    "Okay."

    The conversation stalled there. Genesis seemed to like the silence, soaking herself in it. Fewer words were necessary while shapeshifted, and perhaps she didn't always have a mouth.

    Taylor sighed. Genesis glanced at her, then went back to looking at the sky. Taylor joined her, chewing on the last piece of the churro before brushing the sugar off her hands. The words were there, but they were a trickle more than a flow. Taylor followed those words "Could you help me with this? I'm not a great person. I have pretty deadly powers, and try to use them in the best way I can. They can hurt people, pretty badly. I have no intention of killing anyone. I'd like to be a hero."

    "Knives as a superpower."

    "Yeah."

    "Could be worse. Sundancer hates her power."

    "Yeah?"

    "Yeah."

    "I don't hate mine. I can focus on it. Use it to think. Calm down, when I'm angry." Taylor took out the balisong, staring at it. She opened it up without any tricks, holding it by the latch. "I can think, I can talk, and then I'm free. It's fun, it's a good feeling, to follow my thoughts, and help."

    "Is that what you're doing here?" Genesis said, sarcastic and annoyed.

    "I'm helping myself, here. I'd like to be on the right side of things, and I think everyone deserves that chance."

    "I can't."

    "Okay," Taylor said, staring down at the knife. Genesis kept looking at the sky.

    "I—"

    "It's alright." Taylor gave her the confident smile. "I'll be okay."
    They sat there, the quiet interrupted by the occasional bark of a dog, or a jogger who moved quicker when they saw Taylor's mask and knife. Genesis interrupted the silence first, as it grew to be too much.

    "He probably wants me back," she said. "I'm pretty useful."

    "He?"

    "...Trickster," Genesis lied.

    "Alright." Taylor agreed. She let the lie slip past, watching the other girl's face. It was pensive, that was the word. Worried, serious, somber.

    The quiet made the lie larger, making the silence suffocating.

    "It's about time. Do you think you can make your way back to the Travelers? I'm going to go meet with Lisa."

    Genesis was relieved, the distraction pushing things under the rug. "Yeah. I'll make a thing to take me back. Sorry."

    "It's okay. I'll call Glory Girl. If you change your mind, you know where it is. Sorry about the whole kidnapping thing."

    "Worst kidnapping I've ever seen."

    Taylor laughed, got up, and walked off, taking her phone out.

    --​

    Perhaps Taylor had been projecting a tad when she met Lisa. Those jibes about her father, the insincere worry that gnawed, it made her think of Emma. Who wouldn't, in that situation?

    Lisa arrived alone, or so it seemed.

    Taylor was sitting in the parking garage, and folded up her balisong as the purple-clad girl walked closer.

    "Hello," Lisa said.

    "Hello," Taylor said.

    Lisa smiled. "Soft spot for sob stories?"

    "Something like that." Taylor said, the words flooding her brain, a rush that made her lick her lips, trying not to indulge. She had thought it would be easier upon seeing Lisa's face, giving her the ability to differentiate Lisa from all those other people.

    Turned out, giving the face to the voice just made it worse.

    "You know, when you play with your hands like that, it's a dead giveaway that you're nervous."

    "Not nervous," Taylor said. "I'm angry. I'm very, very upset. You brought my father into this, so I'm upset."

    "That one is up to you, whether he's brought into this or not. You were the one who did that, by going after Trickster and his little gang in civilian uniform. It's your fault, in that way."

    "It's not about that. My dad—"

    "The one that you haven't talked to beyond one-word answers for two weeks? That one?" Lisa laughed. "You're willing to hurt people for money, but you're not willing to go talk with your dear old dad?"

    "And what about you, getting off tearing people down for kicks? Where's your parents, you piece of shit? Did they get tired of—" Taylor breathed in, then breathed out, flipping the balisong over in her hands.

    "And out she comes, like a little explosion. See, I've been keeping track of your stuff around Brockton Bay. Meeting up with Nazis, playing nice with the SS, having lunch with Glory Girl. It hasn't been really hard, not like you made a secret of it. You're interesting, Taylor." Lisa grinned, "You take the little Nazi on dates, you have fun with her. Do you want to know how many people she's injured, or what Shadow Stalker's done in her spare time?"

    "You're an atrocious little gremlin. Do you get off on this? Is this the only thing that arouses you? Attacking people, tearing them to pieces, telling them they're shit because you can't do anything but hurl words?" Taylor's voice was taut, but carefully controlled, as she responded.

    "There's a reason why I'm called Tattletale. I'm psychic, you see." Lisa laughed, making wavy finger motions. "Oh, oh, that's rich. You don't even know. You're so adorable, this is like taking candy from a baby. After all that, and all this time, you didn't connect the dots. Didn't want to?"

    "How many people have you managed to help, Lisa?" The question stopped Lisa in her tracks, for a moment, her smirk replaced with an ugly expression. "I think you're stupid, for attacking people like this. I think it's a bad way to talk to people, to help others."

    "Says the freak with the knife fetish. It's hilarious. Ha ha. Your entire power is fucked up sideways, and you're just running from your problems, telling yourself it's okay if you help other people, even if you're not solving your own? What a pathetic ball of insecurities you are. Can you even remember your dad's face lately? The best part is—"

    The knife was out, no tricks, just out, in clenched fingers, and there was a grimace on Taylor's face. Lisa looked at her, smirking.

    "Well. The point I'm getting at is that I know every little secret, and I'd like to ask you—since you let Genesis go, to do something else. I'll persuade the Travelers to let this thing go, maybe help that whole video thing blow over. I'm sure that if the unedited version were to be released, with Sundancer using her fire, and Ballistic firing shots at you—well, things would be a lot more sympathetic." Lisa folded her arms, tilting her head. "Let's come to an arrangement."
     
  • Threadmarks
    • It's a long time since I last saw a fic where Lisa was such a smug condescending bitch, makes me really wish that Taylor would act the villain a bit and crush her.
     
    Reader mode
    You must login or register to reply here.
    Remove ads
    Back
    Top