- Location
- Crackship Space!
I generally dont assume anyone is something unless it really matters.
I also dont tend to go checking things like that. I honestly could care less what sex someone else is most of the time.
Faraday [Worm AU]
- Thread starter JMHthe3rd
- Start date
I also dont tend to go checking things like that. I honestly could care less what sex someone else is most of the time.
VolantRedX
Official Conscience of Worm Fanfiction!
Normally I don't either, but I assume if they have it listed they wish to be referred to that way.
apeljohn
Non-Player Character
- Location
- Earth Aleph
Eh, it's pretty much irrelevant unless you accidentally use a gendered swearie. Or if you're a sexist asshole, but thankfully we seem to be pretty short on those around here. (Correct me if I'm wrong.)
VolantRedX
Official Conscience of Worm Fanfiction!
Which quite frankly is amazing given this is a mostly male Sci Fi website.
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apeljohn
Non-Player Character
- Location
- Earth Aleph
Hey! Us eldritch abominations can self-identify as male too!
I mean... um... eldritch abominations? Nope, none of those round here, no siree. Stay put, the black helicopters are en route to your location.
tarrangar
Fat arctic chicken
Eldritch abomination can have genders where do you think new abomination comes from of course the gender is typically whatever I feel like being today often with such genders as tomato rose.You mean this isn't a forum filled with eldritch abominations!?
If Emma hadn't triggered, this would be radically out of character for her, even with Taylor's master attack. That Emma would have either killed herself in a fit of guilt or, if she found out Taylor was behind the dreams, ratted her to the PRT, gloat about how strong she is and then probably kill herself a few months/years later.
But nothing pulls off a personality change like a multidimensional entity attached to your brain.
Trust may be too strong a word, but she does have Queen Bee status. People listen to her, and she doesn't so much follow trends as decide what the trends are.
Emma's not terribly smart, but she has a high social intelligence.
It's a case of having hurt someone who you've realized you've always cared about . . . but now you don't know how to fix the damage and make things right except by hurting yourself. Hence Emma thinking smearing dog shit on her face will somehow make Taylor happy. But Taylor's too mature for that.
Emma still has Sophia's worldview in her mind, but it's been modified significantly. There's still a predator/prey dichotomy, but there's a hefty tribalism element attached ('protect your own'), which if nothing else makes it more evolved than the lazy straw-Darwinism Sophia espoused.
Think of it this way:
Long ago, there was a Hero. This Hero encountered great Adversaries and was filled with fear and uncertainty. Unable to overcome the Adversaries, the Hero in frustration betrayed his loyal Blood Brother, who was vulnerable from recent personal loss. The Adversaries remained undefeated, but by tormenting his lifelong friend, the Hero was able to become strong.
It's not a coincidence that in no human culture anywhere will this Hero be considered anything other than contemptible. Even if you could relay this story to our early hominid ancestors, they too would be repulsed.
In Emma's head, that instinctive revulsion is no longer repressed. And this is how it made her feel.
In short, there are Strong and there are Weak, but you don't turn on your own.
What Emma considers 'her own' is up for debate. Gothapotamus would maybe be on the far edge of that monkeysphere. The ABB? Well outside it.
Emma's betrayal of Sophia is sort of an exemption because Emma sees Sophia as the source of her moral downfall.
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Lunaryon
Dual Aurora Wave
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Okay, where is this from? Because it looks hilarious.You mean this isn't a forum filled with eldritch abominations!?
- Location
- Crackship Space!
Based on the actor I would have to guess, "Community"
Ideation: 1.5
1.5
Taylor's coffee felt warm in my hand. The hallway wasn't yet crowded, but there were a few students who'd stopped to watch us. Good.
"I know it doesn't make up for everything, but . . . here. We want you to have this."
Madison handed Taylor the small silver bag and quickly stepped back beside Julia, Christine and the three jocks. Taylor stared at the bag, then at them, then at me and then back at the bag again. She seemed so lost as to almost be frozen, but after a few moments she dug a slender hand into the tissues and drew out a ceramic mug stuffed with packages of cocoa and marshmallows. A little plush koala was hugging the handle, and taped to the side was a card with a photo of a chihuahua puppy snuggling a kitten. Emblazoned across were the words, 'I'm sorry!'
Taylor flashed me a split-second look of, Really? I tried not to cringe. But at least inside was a $250 gift card to a bookstore. We'd all chipped in, but Madison had picked it out, her logic being: Taylor was a nerd; nerds like to read. Which was accurate enough.
The three football players gave her a teddy bear and a spa gift basket. None of them had wanted to tie her to that telephone pole; it'd been only through the combined bitching of me and Sophia that they'd reluctantly agreed. Out of them, I think André felt the worst afterwards. Charlotte told me he went back for Taylor later in the evening, but by then she'd already been rescued.
André's blush was obvious even through his brown skin. He hung his head as he spoke.
"We're really, really sorry. We're never going to do anything like that ever again."
"None of us are," said Madison. "We've learned our lesson.
"Just don't do anything to hurt yourself," added Julia.
I wrapped an arm across Taylor's back and gave her a squeeze through her hooded sweatshirt. "And if anyone bothers you, you let us know, okay?"
Taylor looked over the presents in her hands. Behind her glasses, her dark eyes blinked wetly.
"Th . . . Thank you?" she croaked.
Madison hugged her first, and Julia and Christine joined in. Taylor's lips trembled into a confused, overwhelmed smile, and the tears fell. She wasn't used to people being nice to her, and that was terrible. I embraced my best friend tight and cried. I nearly spilled her coffee.
"Thank you," Taylor repeated.
I heard someone say, 'Aww,' but it sounded sarcastic. There was some hushed snickering down the hall. It didn't matter. Our message was clear: Taylor's off limits.
Our group hug broke up, and we walked down the hall, Taylor and I with arms linked.
"I'm glad Sophia's gone," Madison said. "I don't think anyone ever liked her. You should have seen it, Taylor. Emma was just talking to her, telling her to lay off you, and then Sophia just flipped out and grabbed her and rammed her face into the locker. And then Emma was on the floor, blood gushing out her nose, and Sophia kicked her and started screaming, 'Fucking Hebert! I'm gonna make her pay!' And Emma was all like, 'You leave Taylor alone, you fucking bitch!'"
That was more or less the version I'd told Taylor. It was so well known now it might as well be true.
"I wouldn't worry about Sophia," I said. "She's already facing assault charges, and right now she has to wear an ankle bracelet that tracks her movements. If she goes anywhere near us, she'll get thrown straight into juvie."
"Which is where she belongs," Julia muttered.
"And even if she does try something, Emma's learning kickboxing!" said Madison, punching the air and kicking for emphasis. "Soon, she'll be able to kick Sophia's ass!"
"That, I'd like to see," Taylor said. And as the group laughed, she sipped her coffee and we exchanged grins. Any fight between Sophia and me would be like a mosquito versus a bug zapper.
We separated for our different classes. I was a little worried for Taylor, since on Mondays we only shared one period together, but I'd recruited several friends to keep an eye on her. If anyone gave her trouble, I would ruin their lives.
***
Taylor sat with us during lunch. She was hunched forward a little, and the round ears poking through her black curls gave her a vulnerable look. Drinking tea from her new mug, she watched the others with reserved caution. I hugged an arm across her shoulders.
When Greg Veder sat at the table behind us, Taylor gave him a polite, "Hello." I groaned inside, but restrained myself. Greg was an obnoxious nerd, but he'd untied her from that telephone pole, which meant he'd been an infinitely better friend to her than I had.
"Hey, Taylor," Madison said as she chewed her salad, "you ever thought of changing your look? Not that there's anything wrong with it, but you could do with some clothes that aren't so gloomy. Unless you're going for gloomy, but then you could do that better than with what you're wearing now."
"I . . . I wouldn't know what to buy," said Taylor. "I don't really put a lot of thought into my clothes."
Julia smirked condescendingly, but said, "You're tall and skinny and have really long legs, so you can pull off the elegant fashion model look better than any of us."
"I think she'd look good in a mini skirt dress," Madison said. "Maybe turquoise with a low slung belt."
I shook my head. "Mads, you and your retro shit. Taylor doesn't want to dress like Kelly Bundy."
"Yeah, your denim skirt's already tacky enough," said Julia. "What's next, leg warmers and feathered hair?"
"Whatever, the eighties are in style!"
Julia snorted. "Only for you."
"No, she's right," Greg said. "The eighties are back."
All of us--even Taylor--turned and stared at Greg as if he'd grown a second head.
"What the hell are you talking about, Veder?" Julia demanded.
"Everyone's doing eighties stuff now. Look at the last Uber and Leet video, the one where they do Grand Theft Auto: Vice City."
Taylor frowned. "I saw that. It didn't have anything to do with the eighties. It was just them being dicks."
Greg poked at his phone. "No, you're thinking of the one where they did GTA 3. They did a sequel for Vice City. Here, I'll show you."
He held out his phone, and as Taylor reached across for it I winced when I saw the red scars crisscrossing her palm and fingers. But they didn't look deep. I could give her a cream to help them fade.
We all huddled around to watch the Youtube video, which was only a short 'trailer.' Swagging in cheesy pastel blazers, the supervillain duo entered a somehow unreal-looking Ferrari and tore down the street while awful synthesizer music blared in the background. The quick montage showed them either posing dramatically with over-sized nickel-plated pistols or spraying the air with bullets. At the end, they used baseball bats on a couple of Asian girls in very revealing clothes. Giggling like maniacs, they grabbed the unconscious girls' purses and ran off the screen. Fade to black, followed by the white text: Coming Soon. Rated 'A' for Awesome!
"They're despicable," Taylor said flatly.
"They're not that bad!" Greg protested. "Those weren't real bullets. And the bats were holograms. They have an electrical field that acts like a taser."
"So, they were tasing two innocent girls."
"Innocent?" Greg said. "They're . . . they're hookers. ABB hookers!"
"Which just makes it worse," Taylor said with disgust. "The ABB's prostitutes come from human trafficking."
"Trafficking?" Greg asked, confused.
"Slavery," I said and shuddered a little. "They have 'farms' outside the city." And one day, I would find and shut every one of them down.
Taylor nodded. "Those girls' lives are already hell; the last thing they need is for a couple of assholes to beat them up and steal their stuff because it's what some characters did in a video game. People treat Uber and Leet as though they're a couple of bumbling losers, but they're worse than that: they're bullies who hurt others with their stupid pranks."
There was an awkward pause. Madison stared down at her salad, her lips pursed pensively. Julie was looking away, chewing the inside of her mouth.
"You're right," Madison said finally. "Uber and Leet are dicks."
"Yeah," Julia agreed. "They're like nerds, but evil."
Taylor smiled appreciatively. "Like I said: despicable."
***
After school, I met Taylor outside by the front doors. Her eyes were red from crying. I ran forward and put an arm around her.
"What happened? Did someone do something? Tell me. I'll take care of it."
She wiped at her eyes. "It . . . it was just Bernadette."
"Who?"
"Heavyset girl. Really goth."
"Oh, her. I'll make sure she won't bother you ever again." A few calls, and I could turn the whole school against Gothapotamus.
"No, don't do anything," Taylor said. "I think she was just concerned for me. It's just that she was puling up bad memories. And she can be a little . . . confrontational."
"I've noticed," I said dryly. "Do you want me to talk to her?"
She shook her head. "She . . . she thinks you're full of shit, Emma. She said you're luring me into a trap."
"Taylor . . . I'm . . . I'm not."
"I know that. Hell, I know it better than you do. But it's not like I can tell her how I know this."
We linked arms and walked across the school lawn. "Who cares what she thinks, right?" I asked.
"I don't, but it made me think about how weird this must seem to everyone. I assumed you'd end up being shunned for being my friend again, but what you've done today, how you've got people to accept me and treat me like a person, I didn't think it was possible. It doesn't make everything all right, but it . . . helps. Thank you. It's nice not to be hated."
I didn't reply. I was glad she was happy, but her gratitude made me feel terrible. It was as if she were thanking me for not shoving her down the stairs.
On the other hand, what I'd accomplished was remarkable. I'd been too stupid to realize it, but I'd been strong all along. I was beautiful, intelligent and charismatic. People liked me. They listened to me.
I'd abused these gifts, but I was no longer Sophia's protege. I was strong, but I was not a predator. I was a human being. And humans protect their own.
"Come home with me," I said. "I have a surprise for you."
When we got on the bus, Taylor soon dozed off and ended up leaning against the window. Sitting next to her, I thought I felt her ghost's presence, and that was confirmed when her stuffed koala 'climbed' out of her backpack and 'waved' at me.
My giggling hurt my nose. "Taylor! Someone's going to see!"
The koala put its paws over its eyes, then pulled them away. Peek-a-boo! said the voice in my head.
I grabbed up the little bear, kissed it and spent the rest of the ride finger-wrestling with it in my lap.
***
When Taylor and I entered through my front door, my mom hugged Taylor and kissed her on the cheek. My dad gave her a pat on the shoulder. I knew this was awkward for them. My mom especially was upset over how I'd treated Taylor, and though she was glad I was trying to make things up to her, she was still bothered that I'd been capable of doing those things in the first place.
I made Taylor a mug of tea, and as we went upstairs, I nodded at my parents. They'd helped pay, but I wanted this moment to be between me and Taylor.
In my room, I pulled the gift-wrapped box from under my dresser and handed it to Taylor. Given the size, shape and weight, she could probably guess what it was, but she only gaped at the package with naked bewilderment.
"Go on, open it," I urged gently.
She placed it on the bed tore away the ribbon and paper to reveal the hard, black leather beneath. I stood beside and just behind her, and I leaned forward a little to catch as her eyes widened. She unclasped the case's latches and slowly raised the lid.
She drew in a breath.
"How?" she asked quietly.
We'd feared it was hopeless. Brockton Bay's instrument repair shops dealt with minor dents and creases or the tarnish that might accumulate on an antique. They couldn't fix the gross, twisted vandalism that had been inflicted on Taylor's mother's flute. But they'd recommended someone who could.
"There's a low-rated rogue tinker out in Manchester," I said. "She specializes in jewelry, fine metalwork, that sort of stuff. There's a video online of how she fixed it. It's . . . it's pretty amazing." And her services hadn't come cheap. My savings were gone, and I still owed my parents over a thousand dollars.
Taylor lifted the fully restored silver instrument out of the felt indentation. On the inside of the lid we'd mounted a small portrait of her mother, from her college days. I tugged loose some sheets folded into a pouch.
"We included some songs your mom used to play. Or at least ones my mom remembers her playing." A lot of them were by composers I never heard of, though I recognized Beethoven and Mozart. "Here's 'Forever Autumn,' by that Moody Blues guy. I remember her playing that a lot when I was at your house. It . . . it's a beautiful song, but sad."
Taylor nodded stiffly, blinking as she stared at the flute, turning it over in her hands. She rubbed her fingers along the engraving of her mother's name.
"If you want, I've set some money aside for lessons. We could take them together. I . . . I've been wanting to learn to play." Which wasn't exactly true, but I'd do it for her.
She sniffled and trembled a little. When she didn't say anything I began to get worried. I put a hand on her shoulder.
"Are you all right, Taylor? I'm . . . I'm sorry for . . ."
Carefully, she put the flute back in the case and turned to face me. Her brown eyes were so dark as to be nearly black, and now they glistened like wet obsidian. Her lips quivered. She wrapped me in a hug, her long, thin arms drawing me close, squeezing me tight.
She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. We held each other. My tears rubbed into her thick raven hair, and through the lump in my throat I whispered, "Thank you for saving me."
I'd been a horrible idiot, but I now saw that things were not irreparable: I could earn back what I'd thrown away. We could move on. Our friendship could rebuild and grow stronger than before.
***
Later, we sat together on the bed, our backs to the wall. It reminded me of the weird dream-room we shared this morning, though Taylor's wide, contented smile was now humanly proportioned.
She leaned forward and snatched up the dream journal from the nightstand. She sipped her tea as she flipped through the pages of costume doodles.
"So . . . you're going to be independent, right?" she asked.
"I'm sure as hell not joining the Wards. Sophia may be in trouble, but she's still there."
She made a face at the mention of Sophia. "Are you interested in a partner?"
I threw an arm around her. "You know I am."
"A secret partner," she stressed. "No cape name, no costume. I don't want anyone even knowing I exist. But I'll be good for scouting, spying, sabotage . . . My powers could do a lot behind the scenes."
"You could also use your 'dream-master' powers, give the supervillains the 'Christmas Carol' treatment."
"I'll have to be careful with that," Taylor said, wincing a little. "By the way, what are your powers? I get that it's an electrical purple haze that can make my ghost visible and knock down doors, but that's kind of vague. How far does the gas extend from you? What can you use it for? How much damage can it do?"
I frowned. "I hadn't really had a chance to figure all that out. I can stretch it I guess about six or seven feet around me. I can use it to lift things and I guess tase people. Oh, and I can hot-wire cars. I can also explode bricks--though I think I could do bigger things."
"Can your purple act as a shield?"
"It protected me from pieces of flying cinder blocks. I'm not sure how strong it is."
Taylor sighed. "If you're going to fight gang members and supervillains, that's the sort of thing you need to know."
***
My dad had to meet with a client, and my mom left for a girls' night with her friends. So, that evening Taylor and I had the house to ourselves.
In the garage, on the rubber mat, we faced each other. Taylor held a broomstick as if it were a quarterstaff. I stood with hands on my hips, my stance defenseless and unconcerned.
"Taylor, that's not going to even touch me. I have a crossbow we can try--shooting just at the cloud, I mean, not me, of course. And my dad has a pistol, though I'm not even sure how to load--"
She swung at my thighs. I scarcely had to think before my purple rushed out to block the blow and then swept out to envelop me in a thick, glowing mist. The stick had absorbed slightly into the gas, which gripped the wood as Taylor yanked it free.
"See, I told you--"
She struck at my arm, my chest, my head. She was neither strong nor coordinated, but what she lacked in skill she made up for with wild determination. She still didn't get through.
"It's like hitting jello," she observed.
"Maybe you could throw bricks at me. I've gotten pretty good at--"
She rammed the broomstick into my midsection. The blunt tip stopped about three inches from my belly. She tightened her grip and--
"Taylor, this really isn't--"
--braced her sneakers and pushed. The tip punched into me. I doubled over, my breath wheezing out, and fell into the punching bag hanging behind me. Sitting on the mat, I rubbed my stomach through my blouse.
"That's cheating!" I cried.
Taylor examined the stick's end as if it were a pool cue. "The slow blade penetrates the shield."
"What?"
"Nothing. But I don't think you're ready to take on guys with knives and guns."
How disappointing. But then, I hadn't even started on my costume. "Well, how long until I am?"
Taylor stood over me, grinning. She held out a hand.
"As long as it takes."
***
I'd like to thank Racheakt for his invaluable help in writing this.
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- Location
- Crackship Space!
Yey. I like this. A couple thoughts.
It's weird that she's drinking Coffee at school. Is it just her mug that she's drinking from or is it actually filled with coffee. Because even shitty teabags would probably be easier to handle at school and more palatable to her than coffee.
And props for the Dune reference at the end.
It's weird that she's drinking Coffee at school. Is it just her mug that she's drinking from or is it actually filled with coffee. Because even shitty teabags would probably be easier to handle at school and more palatable to her than coffee.
And props for the Dune reference at the end.
Finagle007
[Verified Great Old One]
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Hold them to the light now, let them see the glow;
Things will be all right now, we can make it so.
Edison_Trent
Freelancer
I can verify that those statements are accurate.
If you tell a lie loud enough, long enough, people will believe it and defend it as if they had proven it true themselves.
This was a good chapter, the coffee thing was a bit "eh, not quite, but oh well", but the realizations, or at least the inner thoughts about them were good and shows that while Emma has set her sights on a brighter future she still has to get out of the mud pit she's standing in.
Also, Taylor got to swing things at Emma, so I'm sure that was a little cathartic subconsciously.
Dr. Mercurious
Strangest Person You Know
- Location
- New England
I really love how deeply fucked up this is. In a (sort of) good way, but fucked up nonetheless.
I agree. In the first scene, the coffee may have come from a coffee shop, since this is just when school started. She generally prefers tea in canon, but drinks coffee too--and coffee has more caffine. But for lunch, I changed it to tea.
And props for the Dune reference at the end.
Heh, thanks. I figured a few readers would catch that.
Yeah, she's definitely making the effort, though Taylor is the one that gave her the initial leg up.
Oh, I'm sure.
My god they are all so bitchy that it's glorious. The only difference is that Taylor is not on the receiving side of it.
And what's this I see? Some active reinforcement to Taylor's self-esteem? Even if it was done in a slightly backhanded kinda way, it was still there.
Hell, we may even see Emma trying to convince Taylor to do modeling with her if this keeps up!
Also, Emma's going to experience Taylor's resourcefulness hands-on. I'm sure that'll be...fun.
And what's this I see? Some active reinforcement to Taylor's self-esteem? Even if it was done in a slightly backhanded kinda way, it was still there.
Hell, we may even see Emma trying to convince Taylor to do modeling with her if this keeps up!
Also, Emma's going to experience Taylor's resourcefulness hands-on. I'm sure that'll be...fun.
Also, Emma's going to experience Taylor's resourcefulness hands-on. I'm sure that'll be...fun.
Like the philosopher said "Better on the practice field than the battlefield"
Also, Emma's going to experience Taylor's resourcefulness hands-on. I'm sure that'll be...fun.
Better to be behind a Taylor being resourceful than in front of her.
- Location
- North of England
- Pronouns
- She/They
Well this is interesting, to say the least. Watched.
Ideation 1.y (Interlude: Taylor)
1.y (Interlude: Taylor)
Taylor awoke in darkness, her heart pounding. The memories swept through her like a thunderstorm, but she withstood the panic and remembered what her therapist told her.
I'm safe. It was just a dream. My brain's just being stupid.
Trembling, she sat up and pulled herself to the edge of the bed. She filled her lungs, counted slowly to ten and let it all out. Her sweat-damp pajama shirt clung clammily to her back.
Above, a small pink and purple cloud glowed into existence.
"Taylor?" said Emma behind her. "It's all right. It's--" A hand touched Taylor's shoulder.
"I'm fine!" Taylor snapped harsher than she intended. The hand withdrew.
She slipped on her glasses and navigated her bedroom under the soft magenta light. By the door--recently replaced--the carpet still bore the scorch marks from Emma's rescue three weeks earlier. The melted fibers rubbed like a weak sandpaper on Taylor's bare feet.
"I'm going out for some fresh air," Taylor said, gentler this time.
"Okay." They'd gone through this enough that Emma knew Taylor needed to be alone.
Taylor went downstairs and out the back door and sat on a wooden bench overlooking her yard. She hugged herself. The foggy night gave her bare legs goosebumps, but she found a strange comfort in the chill.
She mostly blamed herself for this one. She hadn't had a nightmare for four days. The prazosin had been working. But tonight, she didn't take her medication. She'd tried something new.
Whispering into her own brain had been disorienting at first, and every utterance had been a repeating, distorting echo. But over the last couple of weeks she'd learned to adjust her 'voice' and minimize the feedback. Now, she was not limited to giving Emma dreams like a parent reading a story to a child, but she could indulge in the same dreams herself. Most nights they spent at either her house or Emma's, sleeping beside each other as Taylor's ghost floated above with its spectral hands embedded inside their skulls.
But tonight Taylor had dug deeper and tried to put to rest the haunting demon. But the echoing had returned, and her ghost popped. And once again she found herself thrown into the darkness with the bugs and the smell and the loneliness . . .
She shuddered. It was her own fault. She should have just taken the prazosin. But of course, she wouldn't have to deal with this shit if she hadn't had a traitorous bitch as a best friend.
She'd forgiven Emma. They were friends again. And Emma had done so much to make up for everything. But a year and a half of hell was hard to forget.
Sometimes--especially after a nightmare--Taylor wanted to hurt her. Not hit her, not scream at her, but just say spiteful things, things all the more painful for being half-true: You disgust me. I've tasted your true self; you're a weak, miserable coward. Every memory we share is tainted because I know you were always one bad day from betraying me. Our friendship wasn't worth it. I wish we never met.
It'd feel cathartic, seeing Emma cry again, but it'd also be petty and cruel, something a bully would do. Taylor wouldn't sink to that level. And besides, it may not have been Emma's fault. Not really.
Zoe's brain had tasted ordinary enough, but Alan's was unsettlingly similar to how Emma's had been, with the same sort of bitter textures and buried flavors of guilt and fear. It was an ugly, unhappy mind, but the patterns were close enough that even if she'd never met Alan before, she'd guess just by his brain that he was related to Emma. Taylor didn't know much about genetics or neuroscience, but could Emma have just been dealt a bad hand?
The back door opened, and she caught a whiff of hot coffee.
"Are you okay?" Taylor's dad asked.
"I'm fine."
His slippers shuffled past her on the wood porch. She didn't look up as he sat next to her, his bathrobe a warm presence by her side. Through the touch of wool she could faintly sense his concern.
"Another bad dream?" When she didn't answer, he added, "It's a little cold out here."
Taylor shrugged.
"I need to go to the office early. You still want me to make breakfast?"
"No, Emma and I'll make something later."
"I'm glad you two are friends again. You're . . . not having any trouble with the bullies, are you?"
"No."
"Because if you are, you know you can tell me. Or Emma. We're always here to help."
She gave him a tired smile that wasn't too forced. "Emma's been great. School's a lot better, now."
He sipped his mug and returned the grin. His thick glasses made his wide eyes seem somehow bewildered. "That's good. I don't know how he did it, but Alan said he'd take care of everything. He sounded really worried."
Yeah, worried he was going to get sued. Taylor felt an irrational anger at her dad, even though she never told him and hadn't wanted him to know. He still should have figured it out though. Now, things were just awkward.
The door opened again.
"Taylor, I--oh, hi Mr. Hebert. Taylor, um, you've been out here a while."
Emma's red hair looked rusty brown in the dim moonlight. She met Taylor's eyes with concerned sheepishness. Taylor stood and looked up at the night sky which had lightened from charcoal to indigo. Alone-time was over. She stepped into Emma's waiting arms and through the physical touch reveled in the subtle tickle of little emotions.
Though not as harsh or repressed as before that night, Emma still had her guilt and insecurity. Her fear had been replaced with anger, and she'd kept her vicious bent. But over all that Taylor could feel her love. The Emma she wanted to hurt had died on that bathroom floor. This Emma was not that Emma. This was the Emma she'd saved. Sometimes Taylor just needed a reminder.
"Come on, you two," her dad said, smiling from the bench, "let's go inside."
As they entered and crossed the kitchen, Emma seemed too realize Taylor needed some cheering up. She gave her a squeeze. "How about I make you some hot cocoa?"
Taylor grinned. "With your powers?"
"Of course."
Taylor's dad hesitated. "Last time, things got a little . . . messy."
"Oh, I've gotten a lot better since then, Mr. Hebert. Taylor's helping me practice."
He didn't seem very reassured. They'd had to wipe down the ceiling. He took a carton from the fridge. "At least let me pour the milk this time."
After he poured and stepped back (by the fire extinguisher, Taylor noted), purple flowed from Emma's hand in a smoky anaconda which snatched up one of the packets Madison had given Taylor. Her blue eyes tight with concentration, Emma used her mist to float the packet over the mug, tear it open and dump the powder and marshmallows into the milk. The purple then enveloped the mug and lifted it from the counter top.
It took about a minute as dozens of sashaying lightning veins licked around the white ceramic. The effect looked like a hovering plasma globe unconstrained by glass. When Emma was done, she guided the mug to Taylor's open hand. Taylor sipped the cocoa. It wasn't as hot as she'd liked, but the light show more than made up for that.
***
Slipping on his coat, Taylor's dad passed them on the sofa. "I know you said you want to wait, but I think you still should reconsider joining the Wards."
"I . . . I want to get school out of the way before I get into the superhero thing," said Emma, sitting next to Taylor. "I haven't even told my parents yet."
"We could be there to help you break the good news."
"That's . . . that's all right, Mr. Hebert."
"Just think about it," he said. "And call me Danny."
When he said goodbye and left for work, it was still dark, though the sun would rise any minute. Ordinarily, Taylor and Emma would be getting ready for school right now, but between the teacher conference at Winslow and Presidents Day Monday, they had a full four day weekend to look forward to.
Out of apparent boredom, Emma misted out a beach ball sized nebula to twist and rotate slowly in front of them. Blue and red stars twinkled within. Emma seemed almost addicted to watching her own powers, and Taylor had to admit the sight was beautiful.
Taylor sipped her cocoa. "Are you ever going to tell them?"
"Not unless I have to. They'd probably push for joining the Wards too."
"And fuck that."
"Fuck that," Emma agreed. "Later, you want to go to the spa?"
Taylor smiled. She'd discovered she liked spas, especially aromatherapy sessions. And hot tubs. And massages.
"Sure, but this would be, what, the third time this week? Can you afford that? I know you said you want to do nice things for me. You don't have to, but if it helps you work through your guilt, okay. But I don't want you to make yourself broke."
Emma shrugged nonchalantly--too nonchalantly, Taylor thought. "I owe my parents money, but I'm making some through eBay. And I have a modeling shoot coming next week. That's three hundred right there. And besides, once I go out as a cape, I can take money off the gang members."
"I'm pretty sure that's illegal."
"Pfft! Like I'm going to hand suitcases full of cash over to the PRT. If we're beating up the bad guys, it's ours!"
Taylor wasn't sure she liked that, but these would be criminals they'd be stealing from. And what did she owe the PRT anyway? They sure as hell didn't do anything to stop Sophia. And anyway, spas weren't free.
"All right," Taylor said. "But we can worry about that later. I want to spend this weekend training. With your parents out of town, that gives us the perfect opportunity to try stuff we couldn't otherwise."
"Okay. I was going to go running in a bit. You want to come along? I'll keep pace with you. Your doctor said exercise will help you stay awake, right?"
Taylor sighed. It was true, but getting up the energy to run would take a lot out of her. She put her empty mug on the coffee table. "It's still dark out. Let me take a little nap first."
"Want to dream together?"
"Not right now. I need my rest." It wasn't quite a lie, but shared-dreaming was taxing.
"Okay. Nighty-night, Tay."
She didn't remember falling asleep, but soon she found herself a ghost above her slumped body. Emma sat beside her, an arm around Taylor's shoulders as she continued to watch her own purple.
It'd been a couple of days since Taylor had peeked on her new friends--who until a few weeks ago had been her enemies. It was late enough in the morning that they'd soon wake, but she still had time to visit one.
She decided on Madison. After passing through first the ceiling, then her dad's bedroom and then the attic and roof, she climbed in altitude and headed south. She'd visited Madison's house once with Emma, and since then had flown there a couple of times, but it was still somewhat disorienting navigating the deep twilight sky hundreds of feet above the rooftops. She didn't mind. The cold air felt good tickling through her ethereal form. And she was flying. That made everything worthwhile.
She soared higher and higher until Brockton Bay below was just a sprawling gray cityscape quilt crowded against the dark blue ocean. Arms outstretched like wings, she stood hovering in place and took in the view.
Her ghost had a range of about twenty or so miles before lag broke the connection; she could fly practically anywhere in the city. She wasn't very strong, but she was getting good at moving objects. Even without Emma, she could do a lot of good in this city. She could be a secret hero.
But there probably wasn't much crime taking place at five in the morning. Maybe later, then. She dived down in a swoop.
Though she moved only about as fast as someone on a bicycle, it didn't take long to get there. Madison lived in an upper-class neighborhood not far from Emma's, though her house wasn't much more than a less-rundown version of than Taylor's. Taylor passed through a window into a girlish bedroom full of pink and lace.
Madison was asleep in her bed, tucked under her comforter. Snuggled by her side was Oreo, her pet Chihuahua-Dachshund mix. The little 'Chiweenie' raised its head and looked at Taylor suspiciously. Taylor wasn't sure whether animals could see, hear or smell her ghost, but they were usually aware of her presence and were never happy about it.
Before Oreo could raise the alarm, Taylor reached into its head and touched its tiny mind. *Safety, contentment, sleepy.* She didn't bother with whispers: the dog wouldn't understand. But the projected emotions worked. It yawned, lowered its head and closed its eyes, no longer concerned with the human-shaped smoke-thing lurking around its mistress.
Taylor floated above Madison and watched her snore gently into her pillow. Behind her closed lids, her pupils danced with REM.
Carefully, Taylor eased long ghostly fingers into the sleeping girl's brain. As always, it tasted . . . sweet, soft. There was a fair mixture of negative emotions, of course, but for someone who'd helped torment Taylor for so long, she was a surprisingly 'good' person. More so than Julia or Christina, neither of whom Taylor would classify as particularly 'bad.'
Taylor guessed that before Emma convinced them to accept her, they probably didn't see her as a real person but only as a prop, something to abuse and feel superior to. It was stupid, but if Taylor could forgive Emma, she could forgive 'stupid' easily enough. In fact, she liked Madison. And she was here to make sure Madison kept liking her back.
~Tell me where you are. Tell me what you are doing.
Taylor sent a subliminal signal that allowed Madison to subvocalize while she slept. It was a technique Taylor had long practiced, but it still took concentration to decipher the 'speech' through the finger inside Madison's throat.
"We're at . . . field trip . . . Kitty Cat Zoo . . . kitty cats escaped . . . laying eggs . . . it's Halloween Wednesday . . ."
If Taylor had been in her body, she would have laughed. Typical dream. After pumping Madison for a few more details, she said, ~Taylor is with you at the zoo.
The whisper of her name brought out in Madison a spike of happy recognition salted with guilt. Madison was still her friend. Good. But a little positive reinforcement couldn't hurt.
~Taylor just got back from the nineteen eighties, and for her Halloween costume she's dressed like Marty McFly. Sure, why not? She's helping you look for the escaped kittens. There's chocolate in their eggs. See the long grass at your feet? Siamese cats are hiding in there. Hear their loud meows! You and Taylor fall into the grass and play with all the kitties!
Chances were Madison wouldn't remember the dream when she awoke, but the emotions would nestle in her subconscious. Taylor drew her fingers from Madison's brain and if her ghost had a face, would have smiled at the girl. Later, she would text her a funny cat picture.
Sometimes Taylor felt as if she were crossing a line, manipulating her new friends like this. But if she'd been told a year and a half ago that Emma was going to backstab her, she'd never have believed it. Sometimes friends turn bad, and if Taylor could see the betrayal coming, she could prevent it.
Not wanting to waste time flying back, Taylor popped her ghost and woke up on the sofa. Beside her, Emma had dozed off and was resting her head on Taylor's shoulder. Staring into the mess of ginger hair inches from her nose, Taylor thought it over before deciding she was up to it. She shut her eyes, fell back asleep and spawned a second ghost.
With an invisible hand into both their brains, she whispered, ~Describe where you are, what you're doing.
With concentration, Taylor relayed Emma's subvocalizations into her own brain and then whispered back into Emma's, so that there was a constant stream of subliminal speech cycling between them. The dream formulated inside Taylor like an oil landscape assembling from swirling paint. The living room, the sofa and the two sleeping bodies faded away as she fell inside her own head.
She floated in outer space filtered faintly purple. Emma drifted close by in a white nightgown that flapped gently as if by undersea currents. Emma failed to notice Taylor, however, because she was busy plucking planets from the surrounding sky and eating them as though they were fruit. One the size of an apple looked like Mars. Three bites, and the red planet was gone. Next, she grabbed a cantaloupe-sized Jupiter.
"Emma! Stop eating the Solar System!"
Emma turned and looked at her blankly, her blue eyes like big round buttons. She chewed slowly, Jovian juices running down her chin.
"Taylor?"
"You're dreaming, Emma."
"I am?"
"Remember what I said. Do a reality check."
Emma looked over the planets and stars with childish suspicion. She scrutinized the half-eaten gas giant in her hand. "Oh. I guess I am. I thought you needed your rest?"
Taylor shrugged. "I took a nap. Want to race?"
"Race with what?"
Taylor waved an arm. Two winged horses appeared. They neighed and stamped on void.
"Unicorns!"
Taylor chuckled. "No, Pegasuses. Or . . . 'Pegusi'? They're from Greek mythology."
Emma squinted. A single spiraled horn sprouted from each of the horses' heads. "Now, they're unicorns."
"Fair enough," Taylor said.
They climbed into the saddles. In front of Taylor's stirrups, the giant, feathery wings flapped in preparation, blasting Taylor with wind.
"Hope you enjoy this, because we have a long weekend ahead of us."
"Whatev. Where are we racing too?"
Taylor reared up her Pegasus and pointed at a faraway twinkle. "Second star to the right, and straight on till we wake up."
***
AN: Next up, 1.z, another Taylor interlude, which will wrap up the Ideation Arc.
Special thanks to Rackeakt, who's advice has proved invaluable.
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OmniTracker
Only 85% hilarious.
- Location
- Maybe on Earth, Maybe in the future.
Somewhere Pigott's Master senses are tingling.
Edison_Trent
Freelancer
Gah, one thing I hate about following a story on both SB and SV is that I use my witty comment on whichever I read first and then I don't want to just copypaste the comment over here.
But I will anyway:
No Taylor, that's just your conscious speaking, now follow Kirito's advice about that pesky conscious:
But I will anyway:
No Taylor, that's just your conscious speaking, now follow Kirito's advice about that pesky conscious: