Operation Wyldhand 5.7
What do we do now, she had asked. I didn't quite know. I stood, motioning for her to follow me. I told her over my shoulder, as I led her to the apartment's bathroom, "First, the bullets. Then we can plan. You weren't injured much, were you?"
"Just sore," she said, before gently touching her back and wincing, "And a scrape or two. I've had worse."
In the bathroom, I took off my jacket and top. Modesty be damned, I needed to see how hurt I was. I frowned at the grimy shirt, wondering just how much of the East River I picked up during my little swim. Small favors that I had been shot after. Damsel averted her eyes, sitting on the closed toilet. I tossed the shirt in the hamper and looked over at her, "How long have you been a cape?"
"Two years or so. But every-time I come here, ready to make it big, I get sent home with nothing to show for it but aches and pains."
My shoulder had a thin film of dried blood, extending out in a v-shape from my gunshot wound. The hole on my forearm, aside from having a partner on the other side of my arm, was much cleaner. The bag with my drugstore purchases from last week was under the sink, and I pulled it out, removing the bandages.
"Pass me a few sheets of toilet paper, please," I said to her. She ripped several off, and handed them to me. As I wet them to clean off the blood, I could see her internally debating something.
"What is it?"
"Uh, it's, just... Uh, could you turn the light on? It's pretty dark in here," She said, waggling her fingers in front of her face.
Ah. Right. She didn't have night-vision. I leaned over, flicking the light-switch, adding the overhead light to the faint illumination coming from the lights outside the bathroom.
"Sorry."
"It's fine. So, like I was saying, two years."
I nodded, less from a need to respond, and more from a lack of anything to say. Forearm clean, I wrapped it, before pinning the bandage together with a safety pin. Now for the shoulder. Did I have to remove the bullet? Would my healing power work, with something in the wound? Using my fingers, I did a closer examination. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, torn and tender flesh moving, but I could see the dull metal, about an inch in. Right underneath my collarbone, and barely missing the rest of the bones in my shoulder. Lucky.
"So you were the one," she asked, making wavy motions with her hands, "doing that whole mess?"
"Hitting the gangs? Yes."
"They are pretty mad," she said sounding impressed, and with a hint of envy.
"I destroyed over a million in drugs, even before tonight, and stole over two hundred grand. I'm not surprised they're angry."
"A million- and did you say two hundred grand? Cash?"
"Cash," I confirmed.
"Wow. What did you say about tonight?"
"I wrecked a semi full of five million bucks worth of cocaine, right in the middle of a gang meeting, and called in the Protectorate to pick them all up."
"Then all those helicopters were from you?" She asked, now very impressed.
"That, and Legend, and probably three dozen other heroes."
"Uh, wow. Can I say, that I'm really glad I've signed on with you?"
"Sure," I said, bemused, before asking her, "What exactly is your power?"
I could see her face darken slightly, but whether from a blush or from anger, I couldn't tell. She said, "I can't demonstrate in here, but I can warp space."
"Warp space? Like, tear it apart?"
"Yes. So, the plan is to keep robbing gangs?"
I shrugged, but only with one shoulder. I didn't want to move the injured one. "I'm not sure at the moment. I hadn't seen the effects on them. For all I know, they are still going strong, even with their now reduced manpower."
And she was on-board with the plan to rob gangs? Why?
"Five million is a huge amount, Defiler. Or, Taylor. What do you want me to call you?"
"Either is fine," I replied. I didn't particularly care. My mind whirred. Was she a hero then? She hadn't had any objections to my plan, and seemed quite happy with the idea of taking money. What kind of hero- Oh, a vigilante. That would make the most sense. She wanted to do damage to the gangs, without the rules of the normal capes holding her back.
"Taylor, when we aren't public, then. Like I said, five million is a huge amount of money."
"Nearly an entire month's supply," I confirmed, adding, "For big deals and for local usage, both."
Damsel pulled off her domino mask, and said, "And if I'm calling you Taylor, you should call me Daphne."
"Nice to meet you, Daphne," I said, mostly from habit.
"Same. If we make more money, I could really use a new costume. No one was willing to sell to me," she said, pinching her shirt with her hand, and releasing it. She wore black – all black – clothing, a skirt, long sleeve shirt, and a vest full of doodads. I could see what had to be a cellphone, and what was probably pepper spray. We both didn't look very professional, now that I thought about it. And if she was a no-name vigilante, she probably couldn't get rogues or whoever made costumes to work for her.
"A set of costumes for both of us, then. Well, not immediately. No one else knows I am here, in New York, and I want to keep it that way for some time," I said, finishing my contemplation.
"Sure, so we can make a bigger entrance, right?"
"Not quite, but that's not too far off my train of thought," I replied. I pulled my knife from its sheath at my belt, and put it over my wound, leaning forward as well to get a better look.
"Uh, what are you doing?" Daphne asked, looking askance at me.
"I need to get the bullet out. I'm not sure if my power can heal it, otherwise."
"You can heal, too?" She said, surprised.
"Yes. It just leaves my flesh bronze for awhile," I said as I gestured at my varying wounds.
"Handy."
"Yeah," I grunted out, as I dug the tip of the knife into my wound. A trickle of blood accompanied the cold metal pain. Gritting my teeth, I dug further into the wound, getting leverage underneath the bullet. My other hand was nearly cracking the cheap counter, as I gripped it tightly from the pain. I felt the bullet catch, and pulled it slowly out, wound probably twice as wide. Blood pulsed out of it, before I stopped it with a burst of will. The bullet fell, and landed with a tink on the counter.
"You okay?" she queried, now looking at me with concern.
"I will be," I let out, through gritted teeth. A quick rinse, and my knife was clean, and I set it on the counter to dry. I wiped off the new blood from my shoulder, and started wrapping it in a bandage.
"Tomorrow we go out, get some money?"
"Tomorrow, we plan. And get supplies."
"Okay. So, would it be possible for me to stay here then?" She asked.
I nodded, motioning towards the living room. "Take the couch. We can talk in the morning, when we aren't falling asleep."
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I woke up, and went straight for the shower. I hadn't taken one last night, and I felt gross. Both from the night, and from the swim. I opened the bathroom door, and immediately turned right around, blushing. A shouted, "Occupied!," accompanied me.
"Sorry!" I squeaked out, slamming the door behind me. Who was- Right, Damsel. Or Daphne. Embarrassed, I sat on my bed, and picked out clothes to pass the time. A few minutes later, I heard the bathroom door open in the hall, and Daphne walk out. I passed by her, carrying my clothes, and keeping my reddened face looking down, and went right into the shower.
I washed my hair, even though it would take time to dry, as I had no idea what all had been in the river. Probably half the sewage in New York. Feeling like a new Taylor, I checked on my newest addition to my wounds. Bronze-tinged, but not covered yet. A new bandage for my forearm, and I made a mental note to get some more, as it was my last one.
Dressed, I left the bathroom and found that Daphne was waiting in the kitchen, leaning against a counter.
"You don't have any food," She greeted me.
"Another thing on the list, then. Let's go eat."
"Uh, about that. Do you have anything I could wear? Going around in the same clothes as the Damsel of Distress..," she trailed off, before I finished her thought.
"I don't know if anything of mine will fit you, but we can look," I offered. She was an easy four inches shorter than me, and more, uh, developed. A quick ruffle through one of my suitcases, and Daphne had one of my final shirts from the Salvation Army, along with a Christmas-themed sweater. She kept her dress, though. Together, we left the apartment.
A/N: And edited.
