Most demigods are born with the ability to make the oceans rise, or the earth tremble, or flaming lasers of sunlight shoot out of their fingertips. Unfortunately for Eriargyra Morgan, freelance witch, the last time anyone worshiped her father was before humans figured out how to make iron, so all she gets is some swanky hair.
She'll work for every scrap of power she has, whether that's battling the Justice League Kiddie Squad, hunting interdimensional demons, picking at the threads of the Loom of Destiny, or tearing the fundamental secrets of reality from the universe's bleeding corpse. They say it's knowledge no MAN is meant to know it, after all, and she hasn't been a man for years.
Throughout it all, she'll be hunted by her former best friend, Artemis Crock, who mirrors her journey as her equal and opposite. Heartbreak has never been so annoyingly persistent.
Watch Eri's journey to become the Silver Sorceress, one of the most feared mages in the entire world, and the love, loss, heartbreak, and eventually love again she'll find along the way. It's the slow burn to end all slow burns, the idiot lesbians to end all idiot lesbians.
Heavily inspired Assimilation, We Are Legion, and dozens of Catradora fics. Setting is Young Justice, but it's a heavy AU, incorporating things from all over DC. No prior knowledge of Young Justice required.
Cover Art is a shoddily modified picture of Pidge, credit for original to cookiecreation on DA
This is technically a re-write of an (extremely bad, don't read it) quest I ran several years ago, but honestly, I've reworked almost everything about it to the point they have virtually nothing in common.
I've been going over it for a week at this point, but I'm still not entirely happy with the first chapter, so please give this fic at least until the next post before you put it down.
Also, just FYI, the first set of chapters is pretty heavily focused on setting up the relationships between the characters, but it'll get more focused on the actual cape-ery in the second.
I was born as a poor, lonely orphan boy.
Which is a bit strange, because I'm female, but that's just how life is sometimes.
Shoddily modified picture of Pidge, credit for original to cookiecreation on DA
I grew up in St. Vitus's Orphanage, right in the heart of of Little Sicily. My mother dropped me off in the front room, gave the nuns a name (which she claimed was my father's), and then took off for parts unknown.
When I was four or five, I distinctly remember the nuns at the orphanage telling me that I nice young boy like me should be out within the year, because with my unique coloring, who wouldn't want to adopt me? With silver hair and purple eyes, I'd have families crawling all over each other.
I've honestly never seen how. Silver hair and purple eyes aren't common, sure, but it's not like they're unheard of. I know of at least three celebrities that have one or the other, just off the top of my head, and one girl at my school.
Unfortunately for me, most of the nuns were pretty old, and didn't understand that at a time when more and more "weird" things are popping up every year, and have been for decades, the last things parents want is a child that's different.
It didn't help that my name, Eriargyra — that's a hard "gi", like the karate robe, not a soft "jy" like the thing I was unfortunately born without — was very obviously Greek in a territory defined by its Sicilian identity, and I refused to have it changed. Part of it was because every name they suggested was both extremely male and extremely religious, but another was that it just didn't feel right, labeling myself as anything else. Like trying to shove a square peg into a hole that's just a tiny bit round: you could probably do it, but you might not like how it pieces get chipped off on its way in.
Luckily, the only good thing my mother ever did for me was giving me one of those last names that's also a first name, so I eventually compromised down to just "Morgan". Sure, it kind of made everyone sound extra formal (or like an evil schoolteacher), but honestly it might have been better that way. Easier to make sure I didn't get attached, since we all got shipped off to foster homes at ten.
I'm comfortable with "Argyra" now, but to this day all the kids from St. Vitus's think I'm a weird, stuffy little freak.
Besides that though, the orphanage was… fine, I guess? I've always been very independent, so having a lot of time to myself wasn't a bad thing. I could go without the bullying, but honestly, it's pretty hard to take kids calling you "stupid and poor" seriously when you're wearing clothes handed down from the same charity bin.
Little Sicily isn't exactly the wealthiest part of Gotham, you see. Or, to put it more bluntly, it's poor as shit, and the only options to not be poor are to join up with the Falcones or get the hell out of dodge.
Now, don't get me wrong! The area still has some jobs, and the Falcone Gang aren't the worst in the city. I shudder to think what would have happened if I'd grown up someplace ruled by the Lucky Hand Triad, or gods forbid Bane. It also has a real sense of community spirit, where everyone knew everyone else, if only through some cousin of a cousin, and people are willing to share what little they had with one another. Well, a lot of that was just simple ethnic solidarity, but even us outsiders got grandfathered in by growing up here.
Also, you could always feel at least somewhat safe going out on the streets at night, that was a big plus. Say what you want about Carmine, but he likes his territory quiet and orderly.
If I'd been born an orphan in Walton Park, on the other hand, I'm pretty sure that I would have been a strung-out venom junkie by age twelve, and dead at fifteen when Bane sent me out to die against one of his numerous enemies.
But that's not to say life was easy. Not in the slightest.
People are generous, but everyone with any money to lend works somewhere connected to the Falcones. Carmine's capes are nice and friendly to everyone, but the Bertinelli capes they keep fighting like to burn down whole city blocks. You can walk down the street to school without worrying, but most of the kids you're walking with will graduate directly into selling drugs or smuggling guns for "the Family", if they graduate at all.
I suspect that if I'd been born into one of those nice, rich families that live near Grant Park, I'd probably be in college by now. I'd have all the nicest tutors and test-preppers, and a media exhibition as I tested into the advanced track at Gotham U, and maybe an international speaking tour where I talked about the pressures of over-achievement on young women that would let me retire to a bungalow in the Hamptons at 35.
But I was born in the ass-end of Gotham, to a school where a fifth of the class doesn't even bother showing up enough to graduate, so I had to work.
Every day and every night, I worked. I finished all my homework the day it was assigned, and then would read ahead in the textbooks. After I was done with that, I'd go to the library, to read more. History, physics, philosophy, chemistry, literature, it didn't matter. Everything I got my hands on, I just got in a way that everyone else around me just seemed unable to. My plan was to work my ass off, try to get into college early and turn that into a career as a respected research scientist.
Yeah, it didn't earn me many (well, any) friends, and the other kids all either thought I was a weirdo or some brown-nosing teacher's pet, but I didn't care. My grades soared, and I would earn A after A, doing well enough that I'd one day in the future manage to get into the prestigious Gotham Academy on an academic scholarship.
Then, on my tenth birthday, I received a dream.
I dreamed of a middle-aged, bearded man, with a blindfold wrapped around his eyes. He told me that he was my father, the god Tiresias, and I was his child.
I was elated: I knew I was special, knew I was different! There was just something about me destined for grander things, superior to all those mortals I was…
…
…
...I'm sorry, this encyclopedia says he was who now?.
Yeah, let me tell you, looking up my father's name in the library was was an abrupt wake-up call. He isn't Zeus, or Poseidon, or even someone mid-tier like Pan or Helios. He isn't even one of the minor gods, like Geras or Phorcys! Nope, my divine father is the theological equivalent of an ant, one of the tens of thousands of minor figures venerated at one particular time, in one particular place, by one particular people, the vast majority of whom have been swept away by the winds of history.
In my case, that ant was Tiresias, son of Chariclo, the blind Theban prophet so renowned for his wisdom and sagacity that he was venerated in his home city as a divine hero, who blessed Kings and generals for centuries until he was cruelly forgotten and cast aside by an ungrateful populace.
Well, that's at least how he likes to tell it. Actually knowing him, I have some pretty serious doubts.
Also, as you might have guessed by the reference to "Thebes", it's that Tiresias. The one from Oedipus Rex.
And boy, is he pissed about that being how he's remembered, by the way.
"Two hundred years, kid, two hundred fuckin' years giving prophecies and wisdom to the line of that ungrateful asshole Polydoros, and giving prophecies as a ghost for just as long, and what do I get? Am I 'the man who saved Thebes from the Seven'? Am I 'the only man to defy King Creon'? Am I even 'the ghost prophet'? Nope! It's 'Oh hey, the incest guy!' 'Look everybody, it's the incest guy!' Hera's tits, you tell one kid he's fuckin' his mother, and bam! That's it forever."
Over his life, Tiresias became so respected as the advisor and oracle of the royal line, that people started to call on him even after death, setting up a heroic shrine and praying to him for knowledge and prophecy.
It was enough to catalyze the divine spark in his soul, letting him ascend into a full-fledged god, capable of sending visions, bestowing minor blessings, and all that other good deity stuff.
For a good century or two, he was a mid-level player in the polis's divine landscape, and it looked like he could have been something bigger, but well… one day Herakles came through. After you meet the dude who can reroute rivers with his hands, the elderly, feeble old prophet was a far less attractive object of veneration. Mr. Manly gets his own hero cult and ends up one of the most prominent gods in the ancient world, leaving my dad "thrown away like a used spooge-rag after a twelve-hour orgy, kid" (his words, obviously).
So, centuries before Alexander the Somewhat-Decent was a twinkle in his great-grandfather's eye, my dad ends up with a tiny divine spark, no worshipers, no gifts, and the only able to sustain himself thanks to his association with several far more famous ascended heroes.
What does he decide to do?
Go on one giant three-millennia-long bender, apparently. Which, a little over eighteen years and nine months ago, led to him stopping over in Gotham, which led to me.
You know, when I hear Christians say "God does everything for a reason", I don't think the "reason" they're talking about is God getting so blind drunk he loops all the way back around to being able to see, snorting a cubic kilogram of cocaine, and then diving into a ball-pit full of European prostitutes.
Yeah, dear old Dad got real detailed when we were trying to figure out who my mother was.
I think it says a lot about my sperm donor (ambrosia donor?) that the only reason he was able to remember the face of the woman he impregnated is because I knew she was Irish, and "she had the sexiest fuckin' accent, you wouldn't believe it kid". Also, because that particular night was the only time he'd ever chosen to use my name as an alias, because he wanted to fuck with Chryses.
I feel like I should take offense to that on my mother's behalf, but honestly… well, all I'll say is that it was probably a good thing I grew up in the orphanage. At least the nuns are sober, and don't work for a dude named "Traxxalicious".
Seriously, the woman was on so many different pills when I met her it took a good three minutes for her to even remember she was ever pregnant.
So yeah, technically a demigod. Unlike those spoiled assholes descended from one of the big boys though, dear old dad couldn't give me the ability to make the oceans rise, or the earth tremble, or flaming lasers of sunlight shoot out of my fingertips. No, all I got from the old perv was some minor second sight, a spark of magic — and I mean a spark, barely even there — and the ability to shift around my sex like I'm fucking with a video game slider thanks to a youthful misadventure he had with some snakes.
Also my hair and eyes, which I've been reliably informed are "striking", but that's not really an advantage in an orphanage where even having red hair got people bullied for being different.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm thankful: I love my hair and eyes, and just the idea of reaching out to see something and only being able to look with my eyes, or being stuck in one body for the rest of my life, let alone a male one... I'm shivering just from the thought of it.
But c'mon. You couldn't give me something I can actually use on other people? Having some sort of blindness bolt would be super fucking handy in some foster homes, let me tell you. Much more than bright "rob me" hair, or shapeshifting I can only use to gain two millimeters of reach in a fight, and which only showed up once I was in middle school.
It wasn't like the situation was hopeless though: just like with everything in life, I just had to put my nose to the grindstone and work. I didn't have any spellbooks, I didn't have any teachers, but I could still feel the magic inside of me, and that was enough to get a start.
I honed and trained my abilities, crafting spells through painstaking experimentation, and then begged, bartered, and sometimes even stole as much complex magic as I could get my hands on.
My meager (initially, at least) prophetic gifts didn't hurt in making sure I was in the right place at the right time, even if I didn't know exactly why I was there, and soon enough, I had actual contacts in the magical world. As it turns out, seers are highly valued among mages, and I was able to trade scryings and prophecies for favors and knowledge, honing my own divinatory abilities and gaining further resources at the same time.
I studied the secrets of magic, just barely glimpse the threads of the great Loom of the Moirai, and began to slowly to comprehend the true nature of the universe.
Tiresias says that I get it from him, but since I haven't gone blind yet from peering into things man was no yet meant to know, I think I'm solidly beating him in that department.
Although knowing myself, there should probably be a "so far" tacked on to the end of that sentence.
After all, being able to perform a spell is all well and good, but really, what use is it if you don't also understand how you're performing it? If you're going to study magic, I say, why not get down to the heart of it?
I don't just want to know how to levitate a car, or how to teleport, or how to shoot out bolts of lightning from my fingers. I don't even just want to how to live forever, or dethrone gods, or blast cities off the face of the earth.
I want to know... Threads weaved into the Loomeverything.
I mean, you know, metaphorically.
Only a crazy person would think they can know literally everything! And I'm totally, definitely not crazy. Not even a little bit.
I even have a professional certificate confirming it!
So that's how I've lived my life: honing my craft, expanding my knowledge, expanding out my network of contacts (both magical and mundane), while doing well enough in school to keep up appearances.
And at some point along that road, I met Artemis Crock.
The first time I heard the name Artemis Crock, I was ten years and eight months old, and I had just been punched in the face.
credit to nananmi and ghostpainters, respectively
The second time I heard the name Artemis Crock was about ten minutes later, when we'd both been dragged to the principal's office, and Mr. Carlucci was yelling at us trying to figure out why she'd punched me.
As it turns out, she'd heard me snap back against some other kid who'd been making fun of my hair, saying that actually, it was his blond hair that was stupid-looking. As a blonde, she'd taken quite a bit of offense, and quickly monopolized the argument with some truly blistering insults.
The argument escalated, one thing led to another, soon enough we'd decided to express our disagreements in a much more immediate and physical manner.
We both got a day's detention, but I still hold to this day that it was absolutely worth it to knock that smug look off her face.
For the first hour of our detention, we both refused to talk to one another, but soon enough boredom took over, and by the end of the day she invited me back to her place to study geography. Her sister Jade didn't have any room on her motorbike, but by that point it was too late, and a friendship to transcend the ages had been born.
Neither of us had had very many friends up until that point — I don't know why, I'm positively charming — and so we quickly became inseparable. We went to class together, ate lunch together, studied together in the library, and only separated at the last possible moment to go our separate ways.
Sometimes we wouldn't even do that: there were six months when I was in-between foster homes that I was basically lived with her in her bedroom.
That was one of the few cases where her mom's neglectfulness and unsuitability to be a parent may have been a plus, because I'm pretty sure there's no way a regular mother would have been ok with one of her daughter's friends sleeping in her bed every night for half a year, let alone a "boy".
The only thing Paula told us was to wear condoms or stick to oral, because she didn't have the money to support a grandchild.
We were eleven.
Also, she said that if I was living there, I'd attend martial arts classes alongside Artemis and Jade. Let me tell you, even with everything I've done since then, I still have never been as exhausted as I was at the end of one of Ms. Talon's daily sessions.
A month into living with Artie, I finally trusted her enough to show her some of the magic I could do. At that point in my studies it was basically just some cantrips — minor levitation, a basic taser, a ball of light, that type of stuff — but she was still absolutely blown away, and demanded that I teach her how to do it.
She never really had the aptitude like I do, she's always been a much more kinesthetic learner, but she can levitate the TV remote into her hand when it's across the room so I still count that as successful teaching.
To this day, she's also the only person I've ever told about my ability to shapeshift. I think that after that, telling her I was really a girl was much less of a big deal.
I did end up having to show Paula when she refused to stop misgendering me until I could "prove it", but I don't really count that.
I've even told her about my dad! Although she still thinks he's just some random bottom-tier sorcerer, because holy shit do I not want to actually discuss all the implications of gods being real, and what being the child of one means for me.
Or that I desperately fear the possibility that I'm fated to end up like him, his lack of self-control and magical weakness ending up breeding true in his daughter.
When I first decided to apply to the academic scholarship to Gotham Academy in the summer before eight grade, I was terrified that we'd drift apart. That she'd feel left behind, while I was preparing for a bright shining future. I'd be at The Academy, the most prestigious high school in the entire city, the incubator for the future rulers of the East Coast, while she'd be at Regalbuto High, where a fifth of students don't even graduate.
Do you know what Artemis did?
She slapped me over the head, said I was being an idiot, and told me, with 100% complete certainty, that she'd be getting one of Gotham Academy's sports scholarships.
Let me tell you, I may be the seer, but I've never been as sure of something as Artie when she sets her mind to a goal.
Thanks to her mother's insistence on training from a young age, Artemis has always been scarily proficient at just about every fighting art I know of (and probably a few that I don't). So when she figured out that Gotham Academy was setting up a professional archery team, and was open to scholarships to recruit talent?
Well, with some help from her sister Jade, we put up a practice range in an abandoned machining shop we found, and we were off to the races.
Eventually Paula caught on, and called in some favors to arrange a year of intense private training with an "old friend" of hers that was suspiciously knowledgeable about what points to hit on a human body to do maximum damage. I'm pretty sure she didn't actually care about the school thing, she was just happy her youngest daughter was finally showing interest in the "family business".
Gag.
In Paula's defense though, it worked. Artemis put her nose to the grindstone — or whatever you use to sharpen arrowheads, a belt sander? — and trained, harder than she'd ever trained before. Her teacher actually said that she was one of the most dedicated students he'd ever had, and given what type of people I suspect he'd been training before, that was a major compliment. It meant we barely saw each other for the entire year, but she finally did it, effortlessly beating out people from across the whole Northeast for that single coveted position. I think she ended up scoring twice as high as the second place winner.
She's just that incredible.
It's actually very fitting that Artemis took Paula's… Paula-ness and turned it into something that let us stay together. That's one of the things I admire most about her, that she's always striven to be so much more than where she came from, who she came from. She takes the pile of shit she was given in life, and tries to use it to grow roses.
It would have been the easiest thing in the world for her to follow in the footsteps of her parents, and start preparing to be killer-for-hire like her mother clearly has been training her for. She'd have a lifetime of training, and access to both her parents' extensive contacts, so she could probably have started taking high-paying jobs the minute she decided she wanted to, and lived the rest of her life in the lap of luxury.
The thing is, I don't think Artemis has ever taken the easy path towards anything in her life. Life has made her tough, incredibly tough, but beneath that, in spite of everything, is someone who cares, truly cares about other people.
Her caring isn't a soft, fragile thing though, not my Artie. She's a crusader, a warrior, with that firm, fiery sense of justice and moral indignation at the status quo that can bring the whole world to its knees.
One time in eighth grade, one of our classmates walked in on our math teacher Mr. Buring getting a bit too handsy with Debby, one of the non-verbal girls in the Special Ed class.
Unfortunately for that poor girl, a single witness, who had been swiftly intimidated into silence with threats of expulsion, wasn't enough to convince the principal to do anything, and so the issue looked like it would just fizzle out. Principal Giuliani wasn't exactly the best administrator in usual circumstances, and "Jerry" just so happened to be the man's best friend and pool buddy: there was no way in hell he'd have moved for anything but a filmed confession signed in triplicate (and even then, he'd probably plead shapeshifter).
From Mr. Buring's perspective, it must have seemed like the perfect crime: a victim that couldn't even understand what was being done to her, a witness intimidated into silence, and authorities that were more likely punish anyone who came to them for "spreading rumors" than actually investigate.
I know that last part it true, because that's actually what Principal Giuliani did to Artemis when she tried to get him to do something. After which, Mr. Buring came to her with the same threats he'd used to silence the boy that walked in on him.
Artie kicked him in the balls, and got suspended for a week
So, realizing nothing could be done through official channels, Artemis spent her suspension putting some of Paula's training to good use, and broke into school after hours to bug Mr. Buring's classroom with some hidden cameras she made out of discarded old cell phones.
With some incredibly graphic films in hand, she didn't bother going to Mr. Giuliani, or even Officer Hooker, the cop who'd been shuffled off to babysit us for a year because of one too many brutality complaints — ol' Willy was a real peach, let me tell you, he made life just lovely for the school's non-white students.
Falcone territory actually has a surprisingly large Persian population, its one of the reasons they're are on such good terms with the Sons of Khosrow.
She ended up sending the evidence as an anonymous tip straight to Gotham PD, and it clearly worked: when we saw that rapist asshole being led off in handcuffs she couldn't stop smiling for a week.
So that's Artie: bold, kind, indefatigable, and my best friend in the entire world. Our friendship is strong, solid, in a way that can only really emerge from a lifetime of facing storm after storm together. Some people would say "codependent", but I think that's just a coward's word for people who are afraid of someone truly knowing them, and everything about them.
Well…
Almost everything.
You see, those cantrips I showed her as a kid? It turns out…I haven't really shown her anything more than that.
She still thinks that's all I can do.
I'm pretty sure she's under the impression that it's kind of… I don't know, a party trick? Well, maybe something a little bit more serious, but you get the idea: just kind of a thing that I can do, but not really a major part of my life. Like how learning how to play the guitar for fun doesn't mean you're suddenly going to drop everything and devote your life to becoming a rock star.
And there is a big difference between "can levitate some cans" and "omni-disciplinary sorcerer/scientist who plans to live forever and unlock the fundamental secrets of the universe."
I'm pretty sure she still thinks I want to be a mathematician.
Which I mean, I suppose in a way, I still kind of do. Magic has a surprisingly large amount of math in it, and half of some types of divination are just crunching probabilities. Bayes Theorem put a lot of people out of work, let me tell you.
She doesn't know about my freelancing as an oracle, or my network of contacts, or the trips I've been on around the world, or that I've fought capes to a standstill.
She doesn't even know about the combination lab and library I built into the old machine shop we used to practice her archery.
Hells, she doesn't even know I'm a demigod.
So yeah, there's actually quite a big part of me she's totally ignorant of.
At first, I didn't want to tell her because I worried about making her feel like she was lesser. I could tell that she took her difficulties learning magic personally, and I didn't want to make her feel even worse by just pulling further and further ahead.
Then, once I started getting involved in, as the kids say, the "real shit", I didn't want to worry her. I know she hates when I put myself in danger, and she'd give herself a heart attack knowing I was going off to meet with people who could kill me with the flick of a finger. Or worse, demand to come with me, given that some of my contacts consider baseline humans to be a delicacy.
So I put it off. And then put it off, and put if off some more, because I didn't want to deal with the trouble. And then, at some point, it'd just been too long for any conversation to ever go well.
I mean seriously, at this point, how the hell am I supposed to tell her that all those times I was "busy at work", I was actually having tea with an elf, or getting chased by zombies raiding a tomb, or trading oracle-bone prophecies to a 150-year-old Indonesian jungle witch in exchange for lessons on her tribe's understanding of thaumodynamic resonances?
I want to tell her, I really want to tell her. Fates, you have no idea how much.
But at my heart I'm a coward. Not like her. I can't bear the thought of what might happen if things go wrong.
My best plan? I've been studying enchanting quite a bit lately, and I'm about halfway done with an enchanted bow for her.
I mean… a gift can't exactly make it worse, can it?
AN: "Eriargyra" is the feminine form of "Eriargyros" or "Eriargyres" meaning very/extremely silver. It's not too weird of a name for an Ancient Greek to pick, because "Eri" compound names like that were fairly common. The reference to fucking with Chryses is because "Chryses" means "golden" in Greek.
Also, it took me forever to actually figure out how the "Eri" prefix works with alpha-initial words. I ended up finding two examples in "Erianthes" and "Eriaspidas" that do something similar. I did find a cool new etymology resource from it though, so I'm counting it as a plus.
Just FYI, Tiresias, as far as I can tell, never had a hero cult irl. Or if he did have one, it wasn't big enough to leave behind an historical record. But hero cults were incredibly common in the Greek world, so it's not at all improbable for him to have developed one, although as a non-warrior it would have likely been rarer. There was probably at least one heroön or two around at some point, they were built for prominent figures from a city.
And I know that "cape" is technically a Worm thing, but I'm importing it in, because it's just too useful to not have. There needs to be a good way to describe costumed powered people in general, without the grand implications of "superhero" or "supervillain".
With a groan, I flop down onto the cool metal bench of the cafeteria table, practically sagging against the metal.
I just grunt at the succession of "Morning!"s that get shot my way by my classmates, not even picking my head up off the table.
Fuck me, I should not have stayed up so late decanting those latest alchemical test batches. I think I almost used up all my aqua regia, too. But c'mon, it's magic! Far, far more interesting than whatever the hell we'll be doing in school today.
I don't even get to suffer in the insanely comfy desk-chairs that they have here! Our homeroom has had to meet in the cafeteria for the past week, thanks to some water leak in our normal classroom.
Seriously though, the chairs are nuts, they literally have padding, I'm pretty sure they actually imported them fro-
"Long night?" I hear from behind me.
I perk up, turning around with a smirk.
"Not long enough, clearly, if I have to see you in the morning."
I scooch to the right, moving my book-bag from the bench to make room for my best friend to sit next to me.
"Please, I'm a blessing." the blonde says, plopping her head down on my shoulder as she sits.
There are, of course, some benefits to having homeroom in the cafeteria.
"Really though Eri" she says, with a worried frown, raising her head, "is everything alright? You do seem worn out."
I sigh, slumping against Artemis with an exaggerated groan. "I am exhaaaauusteeedddd."
She laughs, and I pout. "This isn't a joke, Artie. I am literally dying."
She raises a brow, face inches from mine where I have my head perched on her shoulder. "Wow, sounds serious. So I can expect you to not eat two burgers an entire plate of French Fries at lunch? After all, if you're so sick, you don't want to upset your stomach…
"Eheheh… well, maybe…"
"In fact" she says, a smirk pulling at her lips, "if you really feel that bad, maybe I should take you to the school nurse? I'm sure-"
I pull back with a gasp. "You monster! You'd drag me to Nurse Ratched?"
"I mean" she says, "if you really are almost dying, after all… Also, stop calling her that, it's mean."
I turn my head upwards, giving her my best pleading expression. "B-But Artie…"
She just snorts. "I'll give it a four"
I widen my eyes further, really doing my best to make them shine.
"…Six."
I sit up, scoffing. "You just don't respect my craft."
"Eri, I have never respected you once in my entire life. I mean, c'mon, you once tried to stick a knife in an outlet to try to get electricity powers"
"I was eleven."
"Pretty sure most eleven year olds are still smart enough not to do that."
I laugh, butting my shoulder against hers. "Fuck you, Artie."
The blonde smirks. "You wish, perv."
I laugh, and then give an exaggerated leer. "Absolutely. Have you seen your ass? To climb that mountain..."
She starts sputtering. "T-that…"
She eventually settles on "shut up, idiot" and slaps my shoulder, but I can see the bright red staining her cheeks, and the goofy smile she tries to hide behind her hand.
Heh. Score one for the demigod.
"A-Anyways," she says, "if you're feeling fine, you should drop by my place after school. You can use that calculator brain of yours to help me study for Dr. Brownlow's exam."
"Only if I get to cook!"
She pauses, before slowly manhandling me up by the shoulders so she can stare me directly in the eyes.
"Eri, darling." she says carefully, "I love you to death… but I would rather gouge out my eyes with a rusty poker than eat another one of your home-cooked meals"
I gasp. "I am a great cook!"
She pinches the bridge of her nose. "It's what you cook that's the problem! Seriously, Igbo-Korean Octopus Tex-Mex Fusion? What does that even mean?!"
"It means deliciousness in your mouth, if you'd just give it a chance."
"I did give it a chance. I had diarrhea for a week."
"It's not my fault that your bowels are too weak.", I mumble to myself, pouting.
"What was that?"
"Nothing, dear."
"That's what I thought."
I sit and stew in silence.
"…Screw you, I'm a good cook. I would make a great housewife, you know."
"Eri, last year you almost burned my mom's apartment down by microwaving cereal with the spoon still inside the bowl. Then you almost burned it down again by leaving the stove on when you tried to cook bacon to 'make up' for it."
"Ugh" I say, I falling backwards into her shoulder with my hand against my forehead, "you are somean to me, darling. Why do I even tolerate your presence?"
She nods sagely. "Probably mental illness."
I have to hold back a chuckle.
"Also" she says, "I recall you said something about my 'A-plus ass'?"
I glance down, to where her absolutely divine posterior is sitting against the metal bench. "Hmmmmm…"
I shrug. "Nah. It's a five, max. Also, get better at quoting me, I would never unironically use 'A-plus' as an adjective."
She raises a hand to her chest. "Excuse me, I'll have you know that-"
Her response is interrupted by a cough from across the table, and I look up at the two figures who I only now realize have been sitting there the entire time. "Hello Argyra, hello Artemis, how are you this morning? I'm fine, personally."
I clear my throat awkwardly. "Ah… right. Sorry. Morning Brianna, Nathan. Good to see you guys."
credit Jimmy Jing Xia
Man, for a seer, I really need to pay more attention to what's right in front of my face sometimes.
Artemis brushes a lock of hair behind her ear in the way she only does when she's embarrassed. "Hey guys, sorry I didn't see you there. How've your mornings been?"
Brianna and Nathan are… alright, I guess? We share homeroom together, and they're fun enough to talk to. Honestly, they're more Artie's friends than mine. Brianna's a bit too much of a hall monitor for my taste — comes with being the daughter of "Hardback" Bock, the Deputy Chief of Police, I suppose — but she can be really fun when she lets her hair down. And Nathan is… uh…
Ok full disclosure I don't actually know Nathan all that well, alright? All I know is that he moved to Gotham City from Taiwan when he was in middle school, his dad is the "Senior Vice President of Home Appliances" at Wayne Enterprises, whatever that means, and that he once tried out for the football team as a linebacker but didn't make the cut. Also that he's got a good sense of humor, but that's a prerequisite for anyone that wants to be Artie's friend.
Brianna glances, down at her lap, glaring. "My Dad is being really annoying, but other than that I'm fine, I guess."
Nathan shrugs. "I'm good, nothing much to complain about."
There's a bit of an awkward pause, and he waves his hand. "It's fine, you two can go back to doing your whole codependency thing, or whatever, don't mind us."
Artemis narrows her eyes at him.
I stick my tongue out, and then deliberately turn my head away from them and back to my best friend. "How was your weekend, by the way? I'm sorry I wasn't able to see you, we were swamped at work."
Hey, don't look at me like that, those alchemical samples were really delicate.
She rolls her eyes, but obligingly looks down at me where I'm resting on her shoulder. "Nah, it's cool" she says, nudging me, "work had me super busy too, so I probably couldn't have done anything fun anyways."
"Yes," Brianna says quietly to herself, "because it's tooootally normal for platonic friends to apologize when they don't see one another for two days while practically cuddling each other. Just friend stuff."
Artemis and I turn to glare, letting out mutual groans.
"I'm straight." / "I'm not dating Artemis"
I can practically feel Artemis roll her eyes. "I don't know why this is such a thing with you. I am not a lesbian, Bri. Not even a little."
"Suuuuuure" Nathan says. "Definitely not. In the slightest."
My eyes narrow at his exaggerated wink.
Artemis rolls her eyes. "Fuck off Nate."
He turns to me. "Argyra, help me out. Can't you at least tell me when you will start boning? Papa needs a new Playstation, and the betting pool up to 800 bucks!"
Brianna slaps Nathan on the shoulder, a light blush on her cheeks, "That is so inappropriate!"
I just roll my eyes. "How about this, Nathan. I'll doctor some photos, and we can split the pot 50/50."
He hums. "60/40"
"69/31"
I laugh, even as Brianna huffs.
"So, uh… what is it you do for work, anyways?" the black girl says, in a clear bid to change the subject, "I know Artemis is busy because she works at that sporting goods store, but she's never mentioned you have a job too."
"Oh" I say, sitting up Artemis so she can't feel my tells and ignore how fucking guilty that makes me feel, "it's nothing special. I work at an occult shop."
I shrug, careful to make my town casual. "I man the register, lift boxes in the back, that sort of stuff. It's run by this little old lady, so she can't actually do any of it herself."
That "little old lady" is Madame Szeréna, the owner of an actual magic shop across town who could kick my ass through three different realms if she learned implied that her age has made her in any way feeble.
Seriously, that woman is scary. When I do my monthly divination sessions for her — her price for corroborating my cover story — most of what we do is scrying her various enemies to see if they're dead yet (and if they're not, to figure out why, and how to change that).
"Oh, cool. How's that been treating you?"
"Oh you know" I say, a charming smile on my face, "it has its ins and outs, its ups and downs. Sometimes I'm busy all night, other times I basically have the day free."
She just nods, an inscrutable look in her eye.
A voice sounds from behind me. "Oh, are you talking about Auntie Bi's, Yra?"
Oh hey, I was wondering where Lonnie was!
"No, it's not Auntie Bi's, I'm pretty sure she would literally murder me within three days of working there."
He snorts. "Yeah, I can see that. She's always been… mercurial."
Well, it's less that, and more that Auntie Bi was one of those enemies that Madame Szeréna keeps having my scry for, and I know that the Chinese woman is absolutely a good enough mage to know.
Shame, too, she has some of the best alchemical reagents in town. No, I'm not bitter at all about having to pay a marked-up price for all the dijiang claw I've been using this month, how can you tell?
"Ah, that sucks" he says, "I used to live right near there, I could have dropped by."
I nod, careful to not let anything show on my face. "Well, that's life."
Weirdly enough, Lonnie might actually be my best friend here, aside from Artemis, obviously. We met in my sophomore year, when I got assigned to show him around the school, and we ended up bonding over making fun of all the ridiculously extravagant facilities. Because c'mon, seriously, plush seats?
He's one of the few people here who really gets me, aside from Artemis. First of all, he's incredibly smart, attending on the same academic scholarship that I am. He grew up in the heart of Chinatown, in Ghost Dragon territory, the child of a prostitute who died right after giving birth to him. After that, he was apparently more or less collectively adopted by the girls at the brothel she worked at, and was raised by about two-dozen "aunties", one of only a dozen or so black kids in the whole neighborhood.
One I realized the thematic mirroring between us, the seer in me wouldn't let us not be friends.
Also, he speaks like a dozen languages thanks to how he grew up, and it's nice to have someone to actually speak Greek with besides Artie. Let me tell you, she and I were extremely surprised when someone else could actually understand that weird Greco-Vietnamese pidgin we use for shit talking people in public (and also super embarrassed, because some of the stuff we say is downright mean). Hell, he actually speaks it better than I do, since I only started learning Vietnamese once I met Artie.
We've since mixed in some Sicilian — everyone who grows up in Falcone territory knows at least a little — and Lonnie politely pretends he doesn't understand, even though he's more than smart enough to have picked up on it by now.
Sure, he can be a little… preachy, I guess, and really, really angry, but he's a good dude. His anger comes from a place of deep, genuine empathy, and a care for the people around him. He's like Artie in that way, but with a whole lot more Che mixed in.
Although I get the feeling that if he thought he could get away with it, he'd hold all the students here hostage in some sort of scheme to extort their parents for funds to send to some guerrilla army, or something.
By the time I refocus, the blond has sat down next to Nathan, unwrapping a sandwich for breakfast. Everyone pretends not to notice the way his sandwich has the crusts cut off, or the note in Mandarin in the bag with little hearts on it, and eight signatures.
His family really is adorable.
We descend into a bit of awkward silence, as Lonnie loses interest and gets absorbed into whatever messages he's typing on his phone.
Brianna, strangely enough, joins him, practically slamming her thumbs into her keypad as she glares at her tiny screen.
Artemis loops an arm around my shoulders to pull me back in to lean against her, and frowns at the black girl. "You alright, Bri? You've been looking at that thing like it owes you money this entire morning."
Huh, I missed that.
"Oh, it's nothing." Brianna says, groaning, "my stupid dad is just being weird today."
She frowns. "Did something happen?"
"Yeah, it's the- wait, do you guys know the Golden Archer?"
Artemis leans forward, leaving me to sit up. "Yeah, I've heard of her."
Hmm, I don't… oh, right! That new vigilante that's been active, I think they popped up like a year and a half ago? I don't keep too close track of that stuff, but I think I remember something about Two-Face sending a bunch of goons to kill her last month. Poor idiot.
"Well, two night ago She managed to find one of their stashes, and actually took down Electrocutioner. Everyone who hates them has been trying to take a slice of territory now that they're down their strongest cape, so downtown is a huge crapstorm."
Artemis scoffs. "Electrocutioner isn't their strongest cape, that's Killer Croc. Also, her name isn't 'the Golden Archer', it's 'Chryssa'."
She coughs, brushing a hand back through her hair. "Or uh, so I've heard."
I hum. The girl's got good taste in names, at least, even if she'll likely be dead in six months.
Brianna rolls her eyes. "Well whatever her name is, downtown has been a crapshow, and so Dad has been extra overprotective today. It's annoying."
She leans in to Nathan's half-hug. "No, it's fine, I just wish he didn't baby me so much, you know? I'm not a kid anymore."
I reach across the table to pat her on the shoulder. "…That, uh… that's rough? I'm sorry for you."
Artemis pinches the bridge of her nose.
…What? I'm bad at comforting people, alright!
"Or… That's not rough?"
Artemis sighs.
"Artie, help me out here, I'm really bad at this!"
"Oh!" Nathan says, in a clear bid to change the subject, "Argyra, I meant to say: Mary Kong wanted me to tell you to stop ignoring her messages, and something about you being a stuck-up bitch? I'm not really sure."
I roll my eyes.
"I don't know what is up with that girl. Seriously! We got to second base once, and things look like they're going to be fine. We keep talking, say hi in the hallways, whatever."
Nathan raises his eyebrows, and Artemis just rolls her eyes. "But then, like a week later, out of fucking nowhere, she tracks me down on my way to Chem, gets on one knee, and fucking confesses! In front of everybody!"
Brianna gasps. Artemis begins tapping her fingers on the table, glaring down at it like it owes her money, clearly trying to ignore us.
"What? I told her I wasn't looking for anything serious, when we started and she said she was totally cool with that! I did my best to let her down easy, I really did, but she still ran off crying, probably because for some fucking reasons she chose to do it in public! How the hell is that supposed to be my fault!"
Lonnie rolls his eyes from where he's tapping away at his phone. "Please don't end up like Ramona Flowers, Argyra. It would be so irritating having to deal with a gaggle of idiots trying to fight us."
Artemis's fingers have gone from tapping to clenched into a fist, and she looks like she's on the verge of taking a convenient "bathroom break."
Ugh, she always gets so huffy about this.
I snort. "Please, seven evil exes? I don't…"
Wait… I start counting in my head. Just in the past few months there's Mary, Hussein, Olivia, Rebecca…
And if I go back a little further…
Holy shit I'm definitely over seven.
"…shut up, Lonnie."
The table (minus Artemis) laughs.
As Nathan and Brianna start to discuss the merits of the Scott Pilgrim movie versus the comics, I move my hand under the table.
Slowly, I settle in down on top of Artie's clenched fist. She glances at me, and I shoot her my best "c'mon, don't be like that" look.
Gods, she can be such a prude sometimes. Yeah, yeah, I know, you disapprove — in addition to an incorrigible flirt, I may be, just a tiny, little bit of what the kids call a "fuckboy" (gender neutral) — but it's my life, and my decisions, and she needs to respect that. It's not like I'm getting shitfaced at parties and hooking up with whoever, or something, I'm practically a teetotaler! And she doesn't have a problem with Colton, or Sanjay, or Lisa, or any of the two dozen other people in our grade way worse than I am!
She rolls her eyes at me, but obligingly turns her palm up to interlace her fingers with mine. I start stroking my thumb over the back of her hand, and slowly, I can feel the tension drain out of her grip.
Theeeere we go.
I know it isn't the end of this argument, and I'll be hearing about it later, but for now at least we're ok.
I mean seriously, it's just for fun, letting off some steam. She has to know none of these people actually mean anything to me, right? I'm not even dating them, not even casually, but from what she's saying it's like she thinks I'm drawing up wedding plans with each new partner.
I have to hold back a chuckle. Although, with my luck, one of them is going to try to pull a Graduate at our wedding, and Artie's going to murder me.
My eyes widen. Or, uh, anybody's wedding. Or my wedding to anybody. I mean, uh, not that I'm going to marry- I mean, I'd be lucky to, she's wonderful, but- that's not- it's just- what I mean to say is-
You know what? Let's just change the subject.
I am carefully suppressing the mental image of Artemis in a handsome suit holding a bouquet of flowers out.
After a minute or so of Brianna and Nathan playfully bickering, Artemis's eyes go wide, and her face breaks out into a terrible, evil grin.
Oh no.
"Hey" she says, cutting off her friends while shooting me a wicked smile, "did I ever tell you about the time Eri got caught shoplifting?"
I lay my head down on the table and groan, and I can feel Artemis gripping my hand smugly. I don't know how one manages to grip a hand smugly, but she manages.
This is her revenge for the talk about my hookups, isn't it.
I sigh as Brianna stares at me in shock. Right, daughter of the #2 cop in Gotham.
"That was one time. You're never gonna let me forget that, are you?"
The blonde smirks even wider, "Nope!"
"Shoplifting! Are you serious, Argyra?"
Wait… Lonnie and Brianna at the same table…
Idea!
I let out a loud scoff. "Oh calm your… whatevers, Brianna. It's not like it was some mom and pop shop. The store probably didn't even notice."
"It's not that, it's the principle of the thing! Stealing is wrong."
I have to suppress a devilish grin.
Lonnie gives her a sardonic look. "Oh yes, I'm sure those shareholders are hurting terribly because of Yra's theft. If you are truly that worried about the profits of some cabal of leeches, rest assured, virtually all stores have a certain amount of shoplifting baked into their budgets."
Brianna glares at him. "Oh, can it, Red Army! I know you like to get so high and mighty, but shoplifting hurts ordinary people too! Those 'leeches' are going to be fine when the store closes because of lost profits, ordinary people won't be!"
"You know" Lonnie says, smirking, "it's an incredible magic trick. Your mouth opens, but the voice of the people paying your daddy's paycheck comes out!"
"Alright, that's it! You want to-"
"Alright, alright guys!" I say with a laugh, "how about we agree to drop the subject, okay? You guys clearly aren't going to change each other's opinions."
And there. No story, or else Artie risks making those two erupt again. Damn I'm good.
Suddenly, I feel a hot breath against my hear, and I freeze.
"That was a good trick, Eri."
She's playfully walking her fingers my lower back, emphasizing each of her words with a "step".
I, uh… It's…
Um…
I…
"But… you forgot one thing."
I… ah… what? That's, um…
"Nothing unites people like laughing at an idiot."
She pulls back, a victorious smirk on her face as I try to control my blush.
I groan, some extremely conflicted feelings bubbling inside my chest. I'm just glad I went with girl parts today.
…Score one for the Archer.
"Alright guys, so the first thing you have to understand is, Eri was really, really hungry."
I sigh, cheeks still flaming red. Looks like we're doing this.
"Now normally, in middle school, we'd always get lunch from the Subway across the street, and-"
"Wait" Brianna says, "you guys could just leave your school to go get lunch?"
Wait, what? Is that not normal? Also yes, change the subject, please!
Artemis looks just as confused as I do. "Uh… yeah? Could you guys not? I mean, you technically weren't supposed to, but pretty much everyone did anyways because none of the teachers really cared enough to stop us."
"Anyways" she says, "whether it's normal or not, Eri and I would get Subway for lunch."
I groan as I cradle my head in my hands. Looks like we're doing this.
"Eri just loved this one particular sandwich, one that she had to get the people at this subway to make for her special. What was it again, dear?"
I drop my head to the table, hoping desperately the cool steel will muffle my words. "…Salami and spinach on Rye."
She pauses, looking at me with an arched brow.
I close my eyes in defeat. "…with double mayo, ketchup, and barbecue sauce."
She raises her other eyebrow.
"…and a dusting of cinnamon and chili powder."
I sigh as the table breaks into exclamations of shock and horror.
"I know, right! But little middle-school Eri ate it every single day."
"But one day" she says, "our Subway was closed down. We couldn't go anywhere else either, because where else would make such a weird fucking meal?"
She slaps a hand on my shoulder.
"So you see, Eri here had a brilliant idea. Once school got out, why not make her own sandwich!"
Six years later, and she still won't let me live this one down, god.
[who the fUck ish prayin- oh dash rite, kiddo! Ur doin great buDdy, nail tha bLonde bish! Chip off tha ol' block, girlsh got titsh like a fukin…]
[UhHh…]
Right, have to remember not to think that word.
[Yeah, uh, yOu can dO, wHatever it iS… OhfuCk I'm gonna- *hurk*]
Yeah, good to hear from you too, old man.
[woAw, tHas a new color…]
Glad to see at least one of us is having fun.
[Wat… wait, fUck! Dat fuckin drag quEeN took my fuckin wallet, im gonna-]
Well, for a relative value of "fun", at least
[aH nah she was just usin' my crediT card to cue up a line'a blow! I fergot how much i fUcKin luvVvvv Mykonos!]
Back in the motherland, are we?
Wait, I thought you said you were banned from there for the next decade after you trashed one of Athena's gardens?
[nah uH we're cOol. 'Scool now]
…and what exactly inspired her to do this? I can't say I know Athena to be a particularly forgiving god.
[shE'n my mOm were uh… yeh iz uh.. complicated. y'didn think yoo got thOse pareNtal ishyoos from nowhere, didja?]
A, I don't have parental issues, and B, even if I did, I wouldn't say that, because parental issues actually have a very clear source. It's literally in the name.
[wHa-? oH that bish, she did take my card! i'm gonna tUrn her inna a fuckin STASHUE, tha' lil'- oh fuk thish thing's shtill on, lemme jush]
Ah, dad. Never change.
Shaking my head, I turn back to the conversation, and see Artemis finishing the story of the one and only time (thank you very much) I ever got caught shoplifting.
Key word being "caught", of course.
Nathan is almost insensate with laughter, Lonnie has the widest smile I've ever seen on his face, and even Brianna is giggling despite herself.
"And then, right as she's arguing with the manager while she's got a glass jar of ketchup and a raw log of salami stuffed down the front of her pants…"
The blonde makes a long pause, with her usual perfect dramatic timing
"…the seam of her pants rips, and everything inside falls right out the front."
Is Lonnie actually laughing?Audibly?
"So she has have this giant foot-long log of meat sitting there at her feet, covered in ketchup from the shattered jar… and then she starts yelling 'help, help, I've got a medical emergency! My penis just got ripped off, and it's this man's fault!'"
Fates, I think Nathan might be howling. The other tables are definitely looking at us.
Thankfully for my dignity, the bell rings before they can get too much teasing in, we're dismissed to head to our various first period classes.
As we leave, Artemis and her friends split off, leaving just Lonnie and me to walk to our shared first period, American Literature with Mr. Bruce "No it's with an 's', I'm not related to him so stop asking" Swain.
"…"
"…"
"So Yra…" he eventually says, "I have to ask… salami, ketchup, and barbecue sauce? Really?"
I put my head in my hands and groan. "Ugh, I can't believe she told that story."
"It was very funny."
"Not for me! I ended up getting locked in one of those little store back rooms they have, with the security cameras and everything! They tried to call my foster mom!"
He raises an eyebrow at me.
I smirk. "…and yes, of course I used the time when they were calling her to delete all the security camera footage, who exactly do you take me for?"
He chuckles.
"Honestly," I say, rolling my eyes, "I could barely even code back then, and I could break the security easily. Who the hell designed that thing?."
"What store was it?"
"Uh… Stop-and-Shop, I think? Why?"
"LordTech Infomatics Systems."
"What?"
"LordTech Infomatics Systems. That's who 'designed that thing'. They probably went with Lord because their stuff is cheap, but they really shouldn't have. Lord products are notoriously easy to hack into."
"…you know, I'm not going to ask how you know that, or what crowd exactly LordTech's hackability is 'notorious' among."
And Lonnie is indeed black in this fic, because A) I think his character makes even more sense that way, and B) Rocket isn't going to be in the Team, so I wanted to make sure there was at least one important African-American character in this fic (Kaldur doesn't count, he's Atlantean).
Brianna and Nathan are OCs, although Brianna is the daughter of a canon character.
After saying goodbye to everyone, and making vague promises to "consider' some party that I know I won't follow through on, I finally manage to extricate myself from school.
Instead of going to my dorm, I make my way towards a secluded alley, and teleport away, returning to my true home.
My Sanctum.
As I arrive in the entrance in a flash of purple and silver light (with a little black anti-light, mixed in), I let out a breath of relief. There's always something so relaxing about being around my work.
Once Artemis got the archery scholarship, there wasn't a need for our rinky-dink little practice range anymore, so I decided to repurpose the abandoned machine shop we'd set it up in.
It's basically perfect: it has a spacious floor plan with few walls and extraneous rooms, and plenty of space for a single person, all without being large enough for someone to want to reuse it. It has one giant main room, where the work used to be done, alongside two side rooms, for lockers and a managers office — which I repurposed into a containment room for dangerous experiments and my personal library, respectively. There's also a tiny entrance, where the door used to be, but even since I learned how to teleport I sealed that thing up with an incredibly strong blood lock keyed to me and Artie, so now it just serves at the spot for me to teleport into.
Also, it's really out of the way, which isn't a problem for me with teleportation, but adds an extra layer of security.
Over the past three and a half years, I've — as the kids say — tricked the hell out of this place. Wards against everything from fire damage to mold to dust accumulation, wards to stop sound and light from escaping to the outside, and illusions to make the inside look abandoned even if someone manages to get past the attention-diverting wards.
I actually used a modification of those light-filtering wards, combined with some divinatory elements, to sense the weather outside, and amplify the light coming in when it's cloudy, so my workspace is always well-lighted by sunlight. It's the same base spell as the Moon Laser I use when I want something disintegrated.
Let me tell you, I am very glad I already had my accelerated healing spell when I was working on that one, because I didn't calibrate the divination element to be quick enough to take in lightning It is not fun to have a lightning flash beamed directly into your eyes at ten times magnification.
The interior is pretty plain, because, I haven't yet figured out how to get wood paneling installed here, and it's not like I can put wallpaper over bare concrete. I once tried plastering the drab grey walls with a bunch of posters an acquaintance got me for the cheap from a print shop he worked at, but it was from a canceled order intended for a school, and wall-to-wall "hang in there!" and alphabet posters just made me look like a serial killer. I eventually went with just installing curtain rods at the top of every wall and hanging some nice brown curtains to make it look a bit homier.
But even with the interior, I'm still so happy to have this place. It's been an absolute blessing to have a location to work and study uninterrupted, with enough space and privacy to perform experiments.
I've actually been exploring some of the "slower" magics the past year. I'm already a damn good warder, and a decent alchemist so I've mainly been focusing on expanding my knowledge of the latter and getting into and enchanting. I went in expecting it to be a challenge, a totally different way of looking at the world, like a physicist trying to study psychology, but it proved to be… not that.
Most hermetic texts — and most texts from other traditions I've read — tend to treat magic as if it has some various "types" which is can be clearly and obviously divided into, natural categories of different types of magic: divination, floromancy, demonic summoning, alchemy, et cetera.
But if you really start to study theory in depth, really dig in to the academic side of things in a way most mages don't, you start to realize something: most of those "clear and obvious" that magic can be divided into exist more in the mind of the author than anything else.
There's not really a substantive difference between a "ritual" to make a house fireproof and a "spell" to make you fireproof. It's the same theory, the same math, the same logic, same everything. They're just done with different materials, on a different scale, and lasting for a different amount of time.
It's less a biologist trying to study psychology, and more a physicist trying to study chemistry: at a deep enough level, you just end up studying the same thing.
Now I haven't reached this level, not anywhere close. If I'm sticking with the metaphor, I'm still trying to understand Aldol condensation .
But I can feel myself coming up on something, something big. Some new understanding, the type of thing that I have a sneaking suspicion every "big name" in the magical scene figures out one day, from Doctor Mist, to Felix Faust, to even that bastard Zatara…
But regardless, even with my lack of deep, true understanding, my studies of the slower magics are preceding apiece.
Some more than others, honestly. I've been having a bit of trouble with enchanting. The culmination of my studies in that field sits behind me, and it's…
…ok, not all that impressive. I took a plain metal fighting staff, welded on a staff-head I picked up from a pawn shop in Chinatown, and then added some enchantments. Nothing much, just something to magnify the force of my blows, and something to "glue" other metal to it (like, say, an opponent's sword?)
Yeah, it's no Ruyi Bang, but it's something, and it's useful. Out of all the martial arts classes Artie's taken me to over the years, I've found that Aikido and some of the Tai Chi-based arts have fit me the best. I've always had a very… avoidant approach in combat, preferring to avoid or redirect an enemy's energy rather than confront it head-on, and a staff is a perfect weapon for that. It lets me keep people close, but not too close, letting me control and deflect their attacks from a safe range.
…I'm just going to ignore the very obvious implications about my personality and social life there. That's for my non-existent therapist.
Speaking of things I should really probably do, but haven't because I secretly hate myself, I need to finish up that enchanted bow that's my "please don't be pissed off at me" gift from when I finally break the news about magic to Artie.
It's got twice the shooting power without actually increasing the draw weight, is about three times as hard to break as normal carbon-fiber, reduces the feedback into your arm after launch, and will automatically string itself!
I just need to add on the "return to hand" function if she ever drops it, which I'm building out from the basic matrices of my telekinesis spell. Right now, it only works in a straight line, but hopefully I can work in some divination in a future model to make it actually fly around obstacles to get back to her.
I refuse to contemplate the possibility of the discussion going bad, and losing her forever.
I've honestly had a bit more luck with alchemy than I've had with enchanting. I mean, chemistry and alchemy are already basically the same field, just approached from different directions, and I'm already working at a graduate level in the former…
I look down my alchemy station (which definitely just isn't a bunch of old chemistry equipment I snuck out of school), checking the progress of my current project: unlocking the secrets of Venom.
It's not any of the distilled stuff Bane's underbosses use, let alone whatever the hell Bane himself uses to get that strong, just the plain stuff his suldati constantly try to get everyone hooked on. But it's enough to make his goons three times as strong as they should be, and able to take incredible damage without going down.
Although honestly, I'm pretty sure that last part is less the Venom, and more all the opiates I had to distill out of it, the ones that the dealer I got it from curiously neglected to mention.
Seriously, fuck Bane.
The more I study it, the more I'm shocked the bastard has been able to stay around for as long as he has. I thought I knew how addictive this stuff was, but Fates, it is so much worse. You basically have to be on it 24/7, or all that enhanced muscles mass it builds pretty much instantly starts breaking down. Not to mention the reduced intelligence, shortened lifespan, increased aggression…
The purified stuff has to be safer, otherwise Bane would be replacing underbosses every five years. Honestly, even if it is, I'm kind of shocked Bane's still alive, with how he's constantly coming on and off it. My theory is that he has some meta-gene which makes it safer and hyper-effective for him. That would explain just how much he bulks up when he's on it compared to everybody else…
Whatever, there's no way to confirm that without actually getting access to DNA samples to analyze.
I've been able to get quite a bit from the Venom though, I could probably reproduce it at this point. Hell, if I got enough of it, I could purify it to get the good-quality stuff, that's the easy part. Strength and durability enhancements though… they're almost entirely biological. I think I've got a handle on the mechanism they work through, but I'll need to advance my studies of biomancy to figure out how exactly the effects propagate throughout the body without tearing it apart.
Ugh, I've been procrastinating on that. The only reliable merchant I know with biomancy texts is fucking Shuangfu, and I reaaallly don't want to have to deal with their whole… everything.
Seriously, I know they're half-naga and all, but do they really have to be such a snake? You'd think a fellow shapeshifter would give me a break, but if anything, they're just more annoying.
It'll be worth it though, because once I'm done with Venom, I have something much more potentially profitable on my plate.
Acting on a precognitive hunch, and using a borrowed tuxedo, I was able to get recruited as a replacement waiter for a swanky upscale party three months ago. Imagine my shock when Poison Ivy ended up trying to spike the champagne with pheromones!
I mean, I was actually kind of shocked. I expected for Man-Bat to bust through the wall or something, not to only just barely avoid being dosed with mind-control pheromones as a plot for Gotham's resident eco-warrior to swindle the richest citizens of Gotham out of a few million to fund her… whatever she had planned.
I shiver.
Whatever, doesn't matter. I didn't get mind controlled, and managed to swipe a bottle from before it was dumped out for my trouble.
To actually get at the goods, I had to use partition microextraction to separate the particles out the wine and water, first. Yes, water, because those cheap fucks always water down their wine. Actually, wait there was some fluoride in there too, if I'm remembering right. Holy shit, were they were cheap enough to use tap water? Jesus. Jack D. Ripper was right all along, I guess, the fluoridators are trying to mind control us.
So, after I got rid of the extraneous material, I managed to get an actual vial-full of pure, activated mind-control pheromones.
Hey, don't look at me like that! I have no intention of turning into the next Mad Hatter, that's a line I won't ever even come close to crossing. But, well, there's a reason pharmakon can mean either "poison" or "antidote" in Greek. You can't exactly prevent mind control without actually understanding it works in the first place.
And yes, being mind controlled is one of my greatest fears, thank you very much.
Thankfully, SCIENCE! allows us to conquer all fears.
And eventually, one day, the universe! Mwahahahaha!
I snort. Yeah, as if. Far too much paperwork.
I turn to the other side of my lab, where the other gem of my collection rests.
I keep my eyes (both literal and metaphysical) open for all interesting finds, not just magic, anything. Supertech's a lot more valuable to mages than you'd think.
Sitting on another shelf is the prize jewel of my supertech scavenging, something that I managed to sneak out of police custody with a few well placed glamours: an actual working Freeze Ray from Gotham's resident ice-themed criminal.
I know, I know, I impress myself too.
Now, I'm not engineer — I've obviously chose to focus my talents in another direction — but that doesn't mean I can't get anything out of this. Electrical engineering isn't that far from physics, after all. And like I said before, once you really get into it, most fields are connected at the base level.
I am learning so much stuff about biostasis thanks to this thing, and I've barely even scratched the surface! My ultimate goal is to use it to improve one of the mainstays of my combat repertoire, Medusa's Lightning.
Last year, my dad ended up beating a whole host of other minor gods at poker, and ended up winning a book aetherically breaking down the mechanism behind the Gorgons' petrification.
A few days later I got a package in the mail from him, as he grandly proclaiming he'd decided to make up for 17 years worth of missed birthday gifts. Apparently, he hoped I wouldn't realize that as a non-mortal non-mage, the spell would have been completely useless to him, making his gift substantially less altruistic.
I smile. Despite that, it's been incredibly helpful, and even though the mechanism for the actual petrification has eluded me so far, I've still managed to create a spell using lightning as a carrier wave to propagate the effect, creating a potent addition to my combat arsenal. I can only imagine what I'll be able to accomplish once I actually figure out how the heck the Walking Snowman manages to accomplish basically the exact same thing, just with ice.
I give into the urge, and rub my hands together with a giant grin. I am going to be a busy, busy bee in the future. Dozens of projections of research, each covering multiple fields, their secrets sitting there like boiled lobsters, ready for me to crack open.
I lean back with a happy sigh. Fates, this is the life.
CW: gore
Unfortunately, I can't spend whole days holed up in my lab just researching the mysteries of the universe — well, not yet anyways, but that's the dream — so I eventually have to leave.
Duty calls!
Well, "duty" in the loosest sense of the term. Just a general desire to not have shit where I eat.
For the past two months, there have been these weird flare-ups of magical activity all over Falcone territory, enough to break through the general background static of the local thaumosphere. It took me a bit to figure out what the hell was going on, but eventually, I found the answer in one of my old orphanage-mates who now works for Carmine. He told me about some rumors he'd heard, of weird new things popping up during the Falcones' never-ending clashes with the Bertinellis: suldati going into strange rages, shrugging off stab wounds, taking dozens of bullets to kill. Apparently, he even heard from a friend that some of them have "these weird red voodoo brands", and can lift cars straight off the ground. Carmine's apparently being pushed, and pushed hard, with these new pseudo-capes on top of
The other half of the picture came from rumors coming out of Bertinelli territory, of a strange new cult springing up, attracting all the lowest dregs of society. I wasn't able to find much info on them, other than that they worship some sort of "Scion" of something, and there are rumors that they can grant actual superpowers.
Gods be damned, I fucking hate cultists. They're like a virus, taking advantage of poor and desperate people to infest and propagate more of themselves. And the thing is, it never ever works! Joining a cult for magical power is like snorting heroin to learn about anesthesiology! Even if it's legit, you're only going to be borrowing something you won't ever be able to pay back. And when the bill comes due…
Well, just look at what happened to that cell of Kobraites trying to bring about the Kali Yuga last year: drained dry so their leader could get enough strength to fight Batman, and he still ended up losing.
I managed to snag one of their corpses from the morgue, that thing was basically a magical dead-zone. It really advanced my studies of warding and soul magic, but no one deserves that.
So here I am, out in the cold night, trying to track down one of these super-suldati by wandering around with the other product of my enchanting studies.
Despite the appearance, it's not actually a compass. Well, not anymore, at least. Thanks to that — admittedly, quite cheap, it was just an experiment — gem in the middle, it's gone from pointing North, to pointing at the closest large concentration of magic that's not me. I actually made it before my staff, the way it synchronizes with my divinatory abilities made its creation almost easy. I can even use it as a focus to expand my ability to sensory magic with way less effort than it normally takes!
And right now, the needle is pointing right to this burnt out shop.
Carefully, I step inside, casting my Lesser Shield of Antioch in front of me. It's simpler and more maneuverable, perfect for a first defense while infiltrating. Also, I got some of the basic schematics from a Turkish Christian, hence the name.
Slowly, I pick through the trashed interior, channeling a levitation spell through my staff to move the heavier debris.
I feel a tingle, and from long training, I dodge backwards, right before a falling slab of cement can smash into my side.
Shit, that was closer than I prefer. I rally need to improve my precognition when I'm not in combat. I've mainly focused on its combat uses, given I already have plenty of "long-range" (so to speak) options for foresight, but that does leave a few glaring holes in coverage.
It's worth it thought, with how funny it is to watch people's faces as you effortlessly counter every one of their blows.
I have to suppress a smirk. It's been two years and I still can't get over the fact that I actually managed to delve deep enough into the Loom to develop a freaking sharingan.
As if to punish my self-congratulation, it's at that moment I feel myself step onto something very much not concrete.
Oh, don't tell me…
By all the fucking Olympians.
Yep, those are the former inhabitants' burnt-out corpses.
I raise my staff, latching onto the bodies with my telekinetic spell.
Eugh. Of course the corpses are coming apart in mid-air. Thankfully, it only takes about ten seconds to move them far enough away from me to safely fling to the other end of the store without risking getting gore all over me.
What? Oh don't look at me like that, it's not like they'll be using them.
Finally though, after clearing a path, I make it to the center of the store, right where the compass is pointing. And…
Uh…
Maybe if I scootch a bit over?
Nope. Nope, it's still pointing right to the center of the store…
The center of the store, where nothing is.
I'm looking as hard as I can with my loom-sight, and it really does just seem to be totally mundane.
Shit, this is going to be harder than I-
Wait.
My mind flashes back to one of the innumerable lectures Artemis has given me on all the problems with action movies.
People always forget to look up.
Gods damnit, Artie's never going to let me hear the end of this.
…if I could tell her about any of this. Which I can't. Because I'm a coward.
With a rueful shake of my head. I tilt my head to the ceiling.
…
…
…Nothing.
Shit.
Well, I tried my best, but this place is a bust. Honestly, I wasn't that interested in getting sucked into gang polit-
Wait.
Up isn't the only direction.
I mean obviously up isn't the only direction. I mean it's not the only direction, in, uh… shut up, you know what I mean, like directions other than the-
My point is, does this place have a basement?
Sure enough, as I move debris away from the sides of the store, I find it. It's hidden, tucked in the back behind the ATM, but that's a set of stairs leading downward, with a busted-up door hanging off the hinges.
Cautiously, I make my way down, my Lesser Shield hovering in front of me, and a Moon Laser, my oldest and most potent attack spell, prepared at the tip of my staff in my other hand.
At the bottom, there's a door, still locked and seemingly untouched by the destruction. I stop, pausing to heave in a great breath.
Shit, I'm nervous. I've been in worse situations, absolutely, but I hate hate hate this type of uncertain exploration, especially since there are even odds it leads to a fight. I'm a learner, not a fighter, gods damn it!
I mentally shake my fist at the sky. Curse my infernal curiosity!
I let out a tight chuckle. Alright, enough stalling, time to go in. I rear back, kicking the door, my foot ripping the flimsy knob straight out of its socket and sending the door slamming inwards.
The sight I find inside makes me wish there'd been some enemy crouching in the shadows. I've seen a lot of messed-up shit as a mage, but this… this is something that unsettles even my stomach.
It's a ritual circle, the type you can find anywhere hermetic magic is practiced.
Except that this circle is entirely made out of an extracted human intestine, dried out like it's been left to fester. The inner lines of the circle seem to be made out of sinew, and… oh Fates, are those individually separated muscle fibers?
Oh gods, I think…
hurk
…
…
I wave a hand, cleaning my shoes of vomit with a simple cantrip.
I stare at the horrible tableau before me, my fist clenching and unclenching.
What the absolute fuck is going on.
AN: I need suggestions for Eri's cape name. You'll get to name a background character if yours gets chosen.
Also, I need photos for Eri's costume, and I'm not entirely happy with the picture I'm using for Lonnie. If anyone has costume photos, or any good art of an evil-looking blonde twink with the haircut of Leo DiCaprio has in Titanic, please send it to me.
After that… intense night out, I only end up getting about four hours of sleep. I seriously contemplate skipping school, but then I'd have to explain what was wrong to Artie, and so I obligingly drag myself out of bed even though I want nothing more than to crawl back in.
Luckily, living in the dorms on-campus means that I don't have to waste time commuting, and about forty minutes later I'm sitting in my first period, European History, with Mr. Wenzel Dashington.
Here's where I'd normally give some snarky comment about him, but honestly, a cardboard cutout of a piece of wonderbread has more personality than he does.
Seriously, it's such a waste! Like, your name is "Wenzel Dashington" dude, that's the most "kung-fu movie protagonist" name this side of the Mississippi. How the fuck do you end up more bland than an English breakfast?
And it sucks too, because I love the subject!
"Morning, Argyra."
I turn around. "Oh, hey Dick. Morning."
"Sorry I skipped Chem yesterday, I had something I needed to do."
I shrug. "Honestly, you're fine. It wasn't a lab day, so I didn't need you for anything."
I first met him last year when, despite being a sophomore, he managed to test into the advanced Psychology elective Artie made me take with her. I'm pretty sure normally no one younger than a junior is allowed to take it, but, well, there are benefits to being the adopted son of one of the richest men in America.
He's kind of a celebrity around here, and not just because of his wealth. Like his father, he's a compulsive flirt, and extremely funny, the type of guy that's the life of any social event you bring him to. Apparently, people find that charming?
I wouldn't know, of course. I'm a quiet, stoic churchmouse that's never even thought about genitals.
I've always found it corny and a bit too desperate, especially with how he drinks less than I do, and I've never actually heard of anyone who he's legitimately slept with. I'd say he's gay and trying to hide it, but I swear I've seen him ogle girls before. Well, as much as a sixteen-year-old can ogle anything.
Honestly, who knows? Artie's always been the one that actually understands people, and she told me that from what she's seen, he's the type of guy with a lot of "friends", and almost no actual friends. A loner that's not a loner.
Guess that makes two of us, buddy.
Unfortunately, many of the other girls here seem unreasonably attracted to the smooth-talker, and so he's practically got a fanclub. Being a longtime bachelor apparently doesn't raise any red flags, they just see it as him not having found the right girl yet.
Straight people, I swear to go- the gods.
Heh, caught myself.
Luckily for my lack-of-getting-detentions, he's never turned those attentions onto Artemis, given that they've only ever had one class together, so we get along just fine. Hence the partnering in Chemistry: he seems to appreciate that I'm not trying to get into his pants, and I appreciate that behind his playboy veneer he's actually intelligent enough to not make me do everything like all the other idiots I have to work with.
"You coming to Brent's party this Saturday?"
"Yeah, I heard that's going to be crazy" Ted Carson says from next to him, "Brent said his parents are going to be in Europe at a conference or something, so we have the mansion to ourselves."
Rich people.
I shrug. "Eh, maybe? You know me, I'm not really a partier."
He nods. "Yeah, I feel that. You've never really felt all that turbed at them."
"…What?"
"You know, the opposite of 'disturbed'?"
"I…"
You know what? I'm just going to ignore him.
Dick seems content to let me, leaning back in his chair to talk to Ted. He's always been like that, willing to just let people be, and do his own thing.
The only exception to that rule is-
Huh. Is standing right outside the door, apparently.
"Lonnie? What are you doing here?"
The boy in question walks over to my desk, holding out a plastic bag to me, his eyes drilling into the boy sitting to my right as he sweeps his dreadlocks out of his eyes with his other hand.
"I'm going to be busy tonight, so I wanted to give you back your headphones before I forgot."
Oh, right, forgot about that.
I grab the bag. "No problem. Honestly, you could have kept them, I barely use the things."
I look at the logo on the front of the bag. "Oh hey, is this from New Ho King? I've heard their stuff is good."
Dick inclines his head to the new arrival, eyes piecing, abandoning his casual conversation with Ted near-instantly. "Machin."
Lonnie glares back. "Grayson."
I sigh. They're going to be at this for a while, aren't they?
"No really, thank you, Argyra" Lonnie says, "I appreciate you lending them to me. After all, some of us can't use daddy's money to replace things the minute they break."
Dick's eyes narrow. "I offered to pay for those, Machin. Even though it's not my fault you're apparently too dumb to look up from your phone when you're walking."
Lonnie sneers. "I don't want your blood money, Grayson."
"Turn that glare of yours somewhere else, Che. Wayne Enterprises has the best benefits of any business in this city, and pays more than any of them too. And the Wayne Foundation is one of the largest charities in America, it helps millions of people each year around the world."
I mean… Look, I'm not going to side with the billionaire's (adopted) son, but he's actually right on that one. I know a dude who once literally killed to get a position at a WayneTech factory.
Lonnie snorts. "Dà gōng wú sī, but he's still a duke. Dé bù cháng shī."
Damnit Lonnie, you know my Mandarin is rusty. I think he's saying that even if Wayne's intentions are good, it doesn't make up for the harm he causes?
Weirdly enough, that's the most positively I've ever heard Lonnie speak about a rich person.
Dick sneers back. "I have some Mandarin for you Machin: máng rén mō xiàng."
Yeah, I don't know that one. Something about an elephant?
I'd say they can't stand each other, but they're also one of the only people the other actually talks to, so I don't know. It might just be me reading into things, but I kind of get the sense they actually like one another way more than either is willing to admit, in spite of themselves.
Lonnie's certainly the only person here Dick actually seems emotionally affected by.
While the boys strut their plumage in front of one another, I turn to the girl sitting directly behind me. "How've you been, Sofia?"
"I've been fine. Daddy's been trying to bring me into the family business, so I got to tour some job sites last night. It was actually pretty interesting. The boys at it again?"
I nod. "Job sites" is of course code for weapons depots, or drug labs, or something like that. She knows it, I know it, she knows I know it, and we just politely pretend that her father is an entirely legitimate businessman.
Yeah, let me tell you, I practically shit my pants when I got assigned to tutor Carmine fucking Falcone's daughter in History.
Thankfully for me, she's actually a fairly ok person — if one who has a bit of a rose-tinted view of what her father actually does — and we're at least somewhat decent acquaintances now. I mean, we talk on the phone once or twice a month, which is practically friendship in my book.
Artemis hates her for some reason, and is convinced that we're hooking up, but that might just be spillover hatred for her Dad.
I have to admit, I do play into it sometimes, and turn up the flirting whenever they're in the same room, but it's not my fault! Artie just makes the most adorable scrunched-up face when she's irritated.
"How've you been?"
I shrug. "Eh, I had a late night, but… I'm here? So that's nice."
Sofia just nods "Mh, that's how it is sometimes."
I wave goodbye to Lonnie as he finally ends his… whatever session with Dick, and then turn back around. "So you really think you'll be taking it over after Don Carmine kicks the bucket?"
"Yeah, I think so. My brother is…" she grimaces, "not a good candidate, and so Daddy's really been trying to prepare me for things. I have had to learn so much accounting, you have no idea."
I snort. "Yeah, after Joey Liguori, I'm pretty sure he's hyper-paranoid about embezzlement."
"Don't even. He missed my thirteenth birthday party because of that whole fiasco."
She leans in, whispering. "Daddy may or may not have made the piñata for my fourteenth using his skill to make up for it."
I have to hold back a giggle. Ohhh I am so going to hell.
I mean, I plan to figure out how to turn myself and Artie immortal, but if I did ever die, that's probably where I'd end up.
She frowns. "Although, now that I think of it, that might have been because he invited Joey's niece to the party. So that's why he insisted she take the first swing after me…"
She sighs, pinching her brow. "God damnit Daddy, why do you have to be so… extra."
I send her a mildly disturbed glance.
"What?" she says, pulling back with a smirk. "C'mon, it wasn't that bad. She didn't even know, she just thought it was plastic."
Ok, maybe she's not the best person.
But I mean, at least she's not as bad as her father? So that's a plus.
Before I can respond, Mr. Dashington enters the room.
"Settle, down, children."
He turns on the projector, a map of Eastern Europe projected on the wall. "At the end of the previous class's lecture, the Serbian armies had just been defeated during the Battle of Kosovo. This class, we will discuss the-…"
He reaches into his breast pocket, only to pause, and begin patting himself down.
"My apologies, students. I have forgotten my class notes in my car. I will retrieve them at once, please remain in your seats while I do so."
Seriously, what the fuck dude. How are you like this.
I'm about to pick up the conversation with Sofia, but she's already making conversation with her permanent hanger-on Kitty Walker.
I settle in for a boring five minutes, but unfortunately for me, my other seatmate chooses that moment to stroll in the door.
"Huh, he's not here. Lucky me, I guess."
I mentally groan.
Damnit, and here I was hoping that some horrible accident had rendered her permanently unable to attend classes.
A girl can dream, I guess.
She smirks at me as she sits down, even as I purposefully don't make eye contact. "Good morning!"
I don't bother suppressing the urge to sigh, turning to my left.
She gives me a wide smile. "Why lovergirl, you seem awfully down in the dumps this morning!"
I glower. I'd tell her to stop calling me that, but the last time I did, she made sure to work it into every sentence for a week straight.
She gives me a mock pout. "Did someone forget to hydrate?"
I send her a flat look. "No, it's just the natural reaction ensouled creatures have to your presence."
She coos.
"But thank you, Rose. Your concern is greatly appreciated."
"Oh you!" she says, patting my shoulder, "of course I'm worried about you! Why, when I heard what had happened between you and poor Mary Kong, I was just besides myself!"
"Who knew you had it in you, you Casanova!" She moves to slap my shoulder, but my hand shoots up to bat hers aside before she can. Battle precognition for the win.
Although should I be worried that my subconscious sees something during school hours as close enough to a fight to lean into that aspect of my loom-sight?
I look at the manipulative succubus preening next to me like she's just won the lottery, the daughter and protégé of one of the world's greatest living assassins.
…You know what? In this case, my subconscious is probably right on the money.
And yeah, I know who her dad is. It's not like they go to great lengths to hide it: too many governments use the services of "security consultant Slade Wilson" for him to ever be prosecuted. I could have probably have figured it out even without the aura of death and destruction that hovered around him on Parents' Night.
Yeesh, and I thought Artie's Dad was bad.
"I knew that you had some substantial…"
She leans over, giving my an exaggerated wink, "charms, so to speak, but I was positively shocked when I'd heard that you ensnared that poor girl with them!"
"You'd just fascinated her, apparently. She knew you'd said you didn't want anything serious, but there was just something about such a dark and tortured genius that called to her like a siren song…"
"So you see, I, being the generous soul that I am, decided to take pity on the poor heartsick sod and offer her some advice."
Oh that bitch, of course it was her.
She gestures grandly. "'Open your heart to her!' I said. 'Argyra is a delicate, sensitive soul, and terribly afraid of letting people in. She desperately yearns to be loved, and all that talk of no attachments, of no feelings, it's so she can protect her innocent, pure heart from the agony of rejection!'"
If looks could kill, I'd be facing down her father's retaliatory hit-squads by now.
Her smug smile only widens at that. "And so, I told her, 'you must open yourself first! She confessed to me that she finds you alluring as well, and so my friend, that delicate maidenly flower, will leap to your arms, but only if you proffer your heart before her! Preferably in public, so she knows you are not ashamed!'"
She shakes her head, miming sadness. "It was so horrible when you stomped all over it, right in front of everyone. For shame, Argyra."
I growl, keeping my voice low to not attract attention in the noisy room. "You're a real piece of shit, you know that Wilson?"
"I was merely trying to help, Yra dear."
I let out a frustrated breath. "Mary was fucking devastated. She hates me, and apparently cried for a week afterwards."
Rose rolls her eyes, dropping the act.
"Oh, please. Don't act like you actually care about that fucking bimbo" she says with a laugh, "you've only got one girl on your mind, after all."
I have to restrain myself from slamming my fist into her face. "You're fucking lucky we're in a class right now, or I'd show you exactly what I think of your insinuations."
"Oh?" she purrs, "And just how exactly would you 'show me'?"
She leans forward, and I hate myself for how my eyes momentarily flick down the front of her shirt. God damnit why does she have to evil and hot.
Unfortunately for me, she clearly caught it, and gives me a victorious smirk as she leans back. "Don't lie, Eriargyra. The only reason you're upset about Mary Kong, of all people, is because you think your little girlfriend would be angry at you if you weren't."
She snorts. "Also, I imagine that the little twit was incredibly annoying. I completely understand why you'd hate me for siccing that on you."
"Oh Argie-poo!" she says, putting on what I hate to admit is a shockingly good impression of Mary's nasally voice, "I just lovvvvvve you! I want to marry you, and adopt six kids to live in a house with a white picket fence! You can become an investment banker, and I can be your loving Stepford Housewife!"
Rose puts her hand to her forehead. "You always blow me away with your brilliance, like when you taught me what all those weird letters in those math equations mean!"
…Damnit that impression is really good. I have to purposefully stop the corner of my lip from twitching upwards, but based on her pleased expression, Rose catches it anyways.
She elbows me. "C'mon, you can admit it. The girl's dumber than a box of blunt rocks, and you're glad she isn't going to talk to you again."
I sigh. "Just… Fuck you, Wilson."
She smirks. "Don't make offers you don't intend to fulfill, Eri."
Any good humor I had evaporates, as a whirl back around, my hand clenched against the underside of my desk. "Don't you ever fucking call me-"
Unfortunately for me (or perhaps fortunately, for my not-being-expelled-for-punching-another-student-ness) Mr. Dashington chooses that second to walk back into the door.
Rose grins widely. "Teacher's here, Argyra, time to focus up."
"My apologies, students. I now have returned to class, and have my notes. Let us begin. On August 1st of 1398, the first reports of the aftermath of the battle were…"
I sit there, the droning of Eugene Levy's character from Ferris Bueller washing over me, and slowly, slowly manage to pry my fingers from the death-grip they have on my desk.
I ignore the silver-haired girl sitting next to me and the smug look she sends me throughout the class
I fucking hate Rose Wilson.
I'm walking to Chemistry when I hear it.
"No, you know what, Brianna? I'm done with this. We are having this talk, right now!"
Artemis has Brianna cornered in a side hallway,
How many times do I have to say it! It was funny at first, but it's seriously becoming annoying! Is it because I play sports or something? Because I don't wear makeup?"
"Artemis-"
"No!" Artemis says, angrily, "I'm fed up with this! It was a little funny at first, but it's not anymore! You keep… you keep insinuating these things about me, that- that I'm like that, and that-"
"Look, I said I was sorry, alright! It's just a joke, why are you so weird about this!"
"Because I'm not a fucking lesbian, Brianna! And Eri isn't into me like that! We are not like that, what we have isn't… isn't…"
"I mean…"
"No, fucking save it! I have heard literally anything you can say. I have had years of people… making insinuations about me, about the things I do, all because of what? I play sports, I hate makeup, I never wear dresses? It's fucking ridiculous."
Artemis leans over the black girl, exploiting every inch of extra height she has on her. "Do you think I'm a liar, Brianna?"
"Um… no?"
"So what, you think I'm… manipulating people?"
"What? No! Artemis, what are you-"
Artemis clenches her fist, visibly holding herself back from punching something. "Because that's what's you're saying. That I'm lying about liking guys, for… for what? To perv on people? That I'm some predator, on the prowl, tricking girls into being friends so I can… do things to them?"
"Jesus no! And you can be bi, you know! Argyra is!"
Artemis takes in a deep breath, and lets it out in staggered increments. It's a calming technique we both learned from Ms. Talon.
"First of all, Eri barely sleeps with guys, so she doesn't really count. And secondly… I'm not… I love Eri like my own- more than my own sister, she's the most important thing in the whole world to me, but I just can't be like her. I can't do what she does."
Artemis sighs. "I can't live jumping from one person to the other like a… like a fucking frog on a bunch of lilypads."
Artemis chuckles. "It makes her miserable, you know. Her 'hookups'. She comes back from each of them looking more and more hollow."
She sighs. "She thinks I can't tell, but I know her better than she knows herself. We don't hide anything fr-… she doesn't hide anything from me."
Artemis looks guilty at that. "I'm… I need to be better about that. But it doesn't matter."
She grips Brianna's shoulder. "I don't want to have that- I won't have that. When I eventually find the right guy, I want it to be something… something true, and pure, and real. Something that lasts. Like what I have with Eri. I don't-"
She shakes her head. "I'm getting off topic. It's just… you don't know what you're saying, when you insinuate things like that about her."
She sighs. "Eri… Eri is…"
"She's… she's so smart. She is so, so smart. She has this incredible curiosity and wonder, like every single thing is the most incredible thing she's seen in her entire life. She has this wonder about the world, about the universe, like she wants to take it apart gear by gear and figure out how every single little thing works. And hells, she might even be able to do it."
Artemis is smiling now, something soft and gentle. "And… And she's… she hates showing it, because life has fucked her over so much, but she is such a good person. She is kind, and loving, and loyal."
"She guards her heart, but when she does open it up, when you actually it's… Fates, it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. She'll look at you, and it's like you've hung the moon, the stars, and the entire night sky. Like all that need to know and understand, that's normally pointed at the entire universe… it's all pointed entirely at you, and she wants to know you completely. To have you know her, completely."
She gives a soft chuckle. "Sometimes I think that the reason she keeps herself so closed off is that if she cared about more people, she'd just end up drowned by everything she doesn't think she's capable of feeling."
Artemis's gaze hardens. "And she can't see it, that's what kills me inside. She is this incredible, beautiful soul, but for some fucking reason she is absolutely convinced that she's nothing but trash, that it's some sort of miracle anyone even wants to associate with her. So she throws herself into these… empty, hookups, these girls, that are no good for her and make her miserable, but then tells herself that that's all she deserves, because they're the only ones that'll have her."
She glares at Brianna. "So when you make 'jokes' about Eri being into me, you're saying exactly that. That she can't have something good and pure, that all she deserves is… is lust. That every time we hug, or touch, or hang out, or whatever, it's wrong. Tainted. That's it's all just some… some sex thing, and that Eri is only friends with me because she wants to fuck me. The only reason I could be with her is because I want to fuck her."
"And Eri… Eri deserves so much more than that. She is so much more than that. She's the beautiful, shining star in the heap of shit that is this city, and she deserves the entire fucking world."
She stands up, glaring at Brianna. "So fuck you, Brianna. Fuck you for thinking she's anything else. That we're anything else. Because what we have is so much more than some cheap fucking hookup."
As Artemis storms off, stomping down the hallway.
I just stare at the wall.
…
…
A while later, I don't know how long, I pull out my phone. I scroll down to the contact "Unt, Huge C."
At ten sharp, I walk up a floor in the girl's wing of the dormitories, arriving outside a room at the end of the hallway.
I give three staccato knocks.
Rose Wilson opens the door wearing a gigantic t-shirt, and an even bigger smirk. "Knew you couldn't resist me, lovergirl."
"Shut the fuck up" I growl, and attack her mouth with wild passion.
The lovemaking is frantic, wild, and unfairly good, as it always is. If the walls here weren't soundproofed — rich people, seriously — Rose's floormates likely would have started conspiring to murder us by now after having their sleep interrupted several times a month for an entire year.
Although who knows, Rose would probably be into that.
I know, I know. Trust me, I know.
She's a gigantic bitch, literally one of the worst people I've ever met — a mean feat considering I know multiple people with bodycounts higher than their ages — and a probable sociopath who receives immense pleasure from other people's emotional and physical suffering.
But right now, I just can't fucking care about any of that.
Also, not for nothing is the hair thing: there is some novelty in sleeping with someone who reminds you of you.
I do my best not to think about just who else the athletic light-haired half-Asian with an assassin for a father reminds me of.
The lovemaking is rough, angry, and stormy, just like it always is. The type of desperate, animalistic struggle that's impossible to dress up with fancy words.
At the end of it, two hours later, I'm lying in Rose's twin bed next to her, panting with exhaustion.
After a minute or two, I stand up, and begin slowly moving to pick up my clothes from where they've been discarded throughout the room.
I look down at where my top is pinned to the wall with a throwing knife. Damnit, I just bought that.
Rose stretches out on the bed, idly watching me gather my clothes. "You were extra vicious today"
"Hm?"
She turns around, showing the thick red scratches on her back.
I frown. "I'm-"
She rolls her eyes. "Don't be a fucking pussy, Argyra. If I didn't like it I would have stopped you. I was just commenting."
I do me best to look backwards while putting on my pants.
"So" she says, smirking, "what was it this time?"
I scowl.
"Did archery girl ogle some big hunky and talk about how she wants a bajillion of his babies? Did she go on another rant about how she hates those stupid dykes trying to turn her into one of them? Was there a moment where you two were face to face, gazing into one another's eyes, only for her to tell you how you're such a good friend?"
I breathe in, deeply. Ignore her, Eri, she always does this…
"Ooh, or maybe she's actually started dating! That would be hilarious. I think you might actually have an aneury-"
"Enough, Rose."
She holds her hands up, chuckling. "Alright, alright. But for the record, it would be funny."
She shrugs. "I mean, to me at least."
I ignore her, just moving to collect my things and end this lapse in judgement as quickly as possible.
"You have to know it isn't working though, right?"
I pause, taking in a deep breath. "…What?"
She has an amused expression on her face, like a cat batting a trapped mouse in between its paws. "This… whatever you're doing. Fucking your way through the yearbook, trying to run away from your problems with archery girl."
This…
"I know you're more than smart enough to realize it's only making you miserable."
Her smile widens, vicious, like a shark's. "That you're only driving yourself further and further into an emotional pit, and one day, you'll-"
I can feel the unformed electrocution spell dancing just beneath my fingertips.
"Don't fucking test me, Rose. I mean it." I will end you.
The silver-haired girl's smile only grows wider at that, and I can practically see her getting ready to go another round.
Zeus above she's fucked up.
…
…
I look down at her nude body.
No. Bad brain. She is pure evil.
Also, if you don't leave now, you know you'll sleep in and miss Artemis's practice tomorrow morning.
I just grunt, jerkily moving to zip up my hoodie.
Rose rolls her eyes. "Fine, fine, be like that. And here I was, trying to help you out…"
She flaps a hand towards the door. "Go on then, have fun doing your weird mutual pining thing. I'll see you again when the longing gets too difficult to bear."
Before my hand reaches the doorknob though, my sleeve is pinned by a knife I carefully choose not to react to.
"And remember…"
I roll my eyes. "Yes, if I take anything of yours, you'll drug me and send my body to Thailand to be sliced up for organs. You've mentioned."
"No" she says, a cruel, amused glint in her eye, "if you take anything, I'll tell Artemis you said that you loved me."
In an instant she almost transforms, eyes going big and round and watery as a tentative, hesitant expression forms on her face. "A-Artemis… I k-know I can be rude and mean, b-but it's just an emotional front to keep myself safe! B-But now t-that Argyra is l-letting down her emotional walls, I finally f-feel like-"
She pauses, eyes wavering, and for just a second I can almost genuinely believe that she's a scared, hurt girl trying her best to confess her love.
My face is stony. It's not the first time she's done something like this.
After a moment, she morphs right back to a mocking smirk. "Oh c'mon, sourpuss, it was funny. Lighten up a little, geez."
I don't think I've ever been more tempted to send a Moon Laser to wipe that stupid fucking smug look off her face.
"You're a fucking bitch, Rose."
"And yet you keep coming back to me." She smirks, arching her back like a cat, and unintentionally drawing my eyes to her… ahem, assets.
She smirks at my attention. "I do love being some poor sop's own personal heroin."
I snort derisively. "You are vastly overestimating your sexual appeal. I do this because unlike most of the idiots at this school, you understand how to keep things casual. It has nothing to do with anything else."
She just smirks. "Of course. Whatever you say, dear."
"Anyways," she says, flapping a hand towards the entrance, "there's the door, don't let it hit you on your way out, don't steal anything or I'll kill you, blah blah blah, you know the drill."
I storm out, slamming the door behind me. I can hear her mocking laughter ringing in my head all the way out of the building.
AN: How'd y'all all like Rose? I have a lot of fun writing her.
Also, turns out that when you're a self-hating bi-girl-in-denial raised by a homophobic parent, and the only queer person you know is your best friend who you are head-over-heels for and more-than-slightly codependent with, who is a chronic fuckboy (gender neutral) whose partners you are intensely jealous of for reasons you don't understand, and who only seems to get more and more angry and unfulfilled the more women they casually sleep with, you end up developing some really weird and fucked-up ideas about sexuality! Who knew!
And Eri's inborn attraction to areas of narrative significance can be a curse just as much as a blessing. Not everything the universe thinks is important for your story is something that's good for you. There's a reason so many Greek heroes died young, after all.
I watch Eri as she pulls her arm back slowly, breathing in slow and steady. With a rush of air, she flicks her wrist out, letting the discus fly…
thunk!
Directly into the ground in front of her.
I can't help but let out a giggle, and she groans.
"Oh screw you Artie, this is hard."
I do my best to keep a solemn face. "Yes, of course. Tremendously difficult. That's why children like to play this game. Because of how hard it is."
"Discus-throwing is not the same thing as frisbee!"
I pat her on the head. "Suuure it isn't"
She rolls her eyes, pouting. "Stupid dumb… uh… good-at-sportsness…"
I smiles sweetly "What was that?"
"Nothing, Artie!"
"Good, that's what I thought."
Eventually, she gets tired of failing to throw a metal disc straight, and flops down to the ground to lean back on her hands.
"How'd you even get permission use the field after-hours?"
I just shrugs. "Coach Arnold likes me. I am the star of the archery team, after all."
Eri snorts. "I don't think it counts as a 'team' if it's not a team sport."
I shrugs. "Potato, potahto. Don't get bogged down in semantics."
"I hate that phrase. You know I hate that phrase. Those to things aren't equivalent, one is very clearly the correct pronunciation in American English!"
"I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be about British people."
"I'm Irish, so I reject that premise on principle, thank you very much."
"You're half-Greek, and were raised in a Sicilian orphanage. The only reason you even know Greek is because of that tiny Greek neighborhood nearby you always hung out in. You're about as Irish as one of those singing leprechaun statues Mr. Abbiati used to put out for St. Patrick's Day."
"So very Irish, then."
I giggle, and we settle into a comfortable silence. I look over at her: her soft jawline, her delicate facial features, the way her hair feathers out and looks like a halo in the sunlight.
I have to admit, I was a bit… uncomfortable when Eri first came out to me, and told me that "he" was actually a "she". Well, less "came out" and more "broke down crying in my bed as we cuddled", but still.
I knew "he'd" always been uncomfortable in the gym locker room at middle school, and was never really "one of the guys", but Eri was never really one of the anythings, so I didn't think much of it.
But from the moment she tried on her first dress with me by her side, and I saw the incredible, beautiful, truly joyful expression that bloomed on her face? I knew that it didn't matter what I thought, because for the first time, I'd seen her truly happy. And from that day on, I've never doubted for a single second.
In the years since, she's absolutely blossomed, becoming the vibrant, intelligent, hilarious, and devastatingly beautiful young woman sitting before me. The shapeshifting meta power — or is it another type of magic? I'm not really sure what the dividing line is for something like that — she got from her father didn't hurt, of course, but it's not like she needed it. There were plenty of trans people who did without it at those meetings I took her to. Honestly, even if she didn't have the power, I have zero doubt she'd have found a way no matter what. She's just that incredible.
I'm just a bit surprised no one at Gotham Academy's actually figured it out, yet. Or if they are, they haven't said anything.
"Artemis? Is there something on my face?"
I realize I've been staring at her with a goofy smile. "Ah, sorry. It wasn't anything, I was just thinking."
She hums, blushing, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
The quiet between us is long and comfortable, borne out of years of friendship.
Eventually though, Eri breaks it. "…I would have been fine, you know."
I turn. "Hm?"
"Earlier today. When you tried to punch out Brent North because he was being a creep. You didn't have to get detention, I would have been fine."
I roll my eyes. "He was harassing you in the halls, Eri."
Seriously, fuck that asshole. He thinks just because his parents help run the place that he can do whatever he want.
She shrug. "It's not like he was actually hurting me. I don't care what he thinks.."
God, I hate how she always does this, shoves down her complaints and problems and suffers in silence.
She mimes punching with my fists. "Besides, thanks to you, I know Kung Fu, remember? So he couldn't have even touched me."
I crack a smile, despite myself. "That's not the point, Eri. You shouldn't have to just tolerate it, he shouldn't be doing it in the first place."
"Yeah, sure" she says, looking at me questioningly, "but there are a lot of things that people shouldn't do. But mean, he says shit like that all the time. he's a teenage boy. This time wasn't even that bad."
"But Brent's Dad knows the principal, and now you have detention for a week, even when you didn't actually hit him."
I want to find whoever in her life convinced her that she doesn't matter, and fucking throttle them.
I lean back, sighing. "I know… I know. Pick my battles, whatever. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ruin our plans."
I grimace. "I just… when he started that whole 'you don't know what you're missing babe' thing and manhandling your arm, I just saw red.."
She lays a hand on her shoulder. "I'm not worried about not getting to go to the Aquarium, Artie, I'm worried about you."
I tense up. Fuck, I thought she hadn't noticed.
"…What's wrong? You've been on edge all week."
I breathe in, reaching down to grab her hand.
"…It's my dad" I eventually say, after thirty seconds of silence. "He's back in town."
"…Fuck."
I let out a dark chuckle. "Yeah. Fuck."
"Do you and Paula need some place to stay? I know a guy who-
She moves to stand up, but I grab her hand, pulling her back down. "Calm down Eri, it's not like that. We're not going to run into him, or anything. Dad and Mom hate each other, and I'm pretty sure half the time he likes to forget me and Jad-… likes to forget that I exist."
I have to suppress a grimace, but based on Eri's look, I don't manage to. Sometimes I hate how she can read me like one of those Physics books she loves so much.
Today is the three-month anniversary of Jade leaving. She just…
Walked out.
Without a word, without saying goodbye, without even leaving a fucking note. The only reason I knew she wasn't kidnapped is because I actually saw her drive off on that fucking motorcycle of hers.
I just… how could she do that? Just take off, like some absent fucking father going out for cigarettes?
Like our father.
Do you even care about us, about me at all? I know we weren't the closest, but I fucking loved you! We were sisters!
Sometimes, I wish Eri actually studied magic more, so she could find a way to track you down, just so I could grab your shoulders and get some fucking answers. So I could say all the things that have been bubbling at the back of my head since the day you took off.
How am I supposed to deal with Mom? She's been twice as bad ever since you left, and now I have no one but Eri to lean on. And as much as I love Eri, she can't understand what it's like to grow up with Mom, not like you could.
I always thought that even if you weren't great at showing it, you still cared about me, would always be on my side. I thought…
Well, it doesn't matter now. You're gone.
Didn't even leave a phone number to call you at.
Absolutely nothing.
Because that's apparently all I am to you.
I shake my head. No, I am not going down this road. It's been months, Jade clearly isn't coming back, and I can not let her rule me.
I need to move forward, always forward. That's what's kept me going all these years.
The issue right now isn't… her, it's my serial-killing piece of shit of a father coming back in town.
Eri runs her thumb over the back of my hand. "Hey, you there?"
I swallow. "Sorry, sorry, I was just… thinking."
When she sees I'm not going to follow up, she frowns, but doesn't ask any further questions. "I still think you guys should stay in a hotel or something, at least until he's out of town. I know a good place that can book us under fake name."
I can't help but chuckle. "You're so protective, it's adorable."
"Shut up" she says, and I internally crow at how she tries to hide her red cheeks in her hands, "I'm being serious."
"I know", I says, smiling, "and thank you. But for real, it's not a problem."
I grimace. "If he wanted something to happen to us, something already would have. The people he works for…"
I still haven't told Eri what exactly the League of Shadows is, but she's smart enough to have gotten the general gist of it.
"I'm not worried about my safety, or anything" I say, "it's just… how can I just sit here?"
"What do you mean?
"I mean" I say, glaring at the ground in front of me, "he's here to kill someone, Eri. Probably someone innocent. Someone is going to die, and I can't do anything to stop it."
How can I possibly sleep at night, knowing that? Knowing that as I sit here, some poor guy is probably having his head blown up in front of his kids, all because he annoyed some guy with enough money to take out a hit?
Eri reaches over, grabbing me shoulders to cradle me against her side. I close my eyes, leaning in to her familiar warmth. "No. Artie, no, you can't think like that. He is not your responsibility, whatever he does isn't on your, it's on him, and no one but him."
I frown. She's not getting it. "I know it's not on me! That's not the point, the point is that someone is going to die! It wouldn't matter if I was related to him or not."
"I mean… Artemis, people die every day. You can't save the the whole world."
"I know" I say, "but one person isn't the whole world."
My mind moves to the box in the back of my closet, and a bow I stole from the Academy supplies. To the plans I've been making the past few months, ever since Commissioner Gordon took office and promised to clean up GCPD.
Eventually, I'm going to make sure my father doesn't hurt anyone else, ever again.
One way or another.
Eventually, I sigh, falling back. "It doesn't even matter. I have no idea who the hell he's after, and no way to find out. I'm just going to have to read it in the paper, like always."
She grimaces. "…you actually try to figure out who your dad kills?"
I scowl. "Yeah"
It's not like it's hard. He and Mom were pros, after all, it's not like they went after small targets.
She moves her hand, laying it on top of my fist, which I realize is clenched into the turf of the athletics' field. "…How many people do you know of?"
I sigh. "Fourteen, for sure. But there are hundreds."
"Politicians, businessmen, scientists… just about anyone. Most had families, some had kids. One was a researcher working on a new treatment for kidney failure, it would have completely replaced the need for dialysis machines."
"Well," she says, giving me a wan smile that's more of a grimace, "at least we don't have to guess who paid for that job."
I lets out a humorless chuckle. If anyone but her asks, my eyes aren't wet, they're just tired. "Yeah, the boost in stock prices afterwards wasn't exactly subtle."
We trail off into silence.
"So, uh…"
She has that forced smile on her face she wears whenever she's trying to cheer me up. "Did you see that new satellite picture of Vega?"
I give her a flat look.
"What?"
"C'mon, work with me here."
"I don't… fine, Eri. No, I haven't seen the new satellite picture of Vega."
"Yeah… they say it's out of this world!"
"…"
"…"
I break down into chuckles. "I hate you so much."
She doesn't bother to hide her victorious smile. "Suuuuure you do."
You win this round, Eri.
This time, the silence is much more comfortable.
"…Are there really new satellite pictures of Vega? Or did you just make that up for the joke."
She nods. "Yeah, one of the Green Lanterns helped take them."
"Oh, that's actually really cool. Do you know how?"
She shrugs. "Not sure. Held the satellite, maybe?"
"…Why would they need someone to hold the satellite? Eri, you do know that things float in space, don't you?"
"Obviously." She drawls. "Which one of us tested out of every physics class here?"
I have to suppress my flinch at that. Eri's smart, and she has every right to be proud of that… but sometimes I hate how she flaunts it. She's a genius, a real genius, not the way people use that to describe everyone, I've literally never met anyone smarter in my entire life. And that's not even bringing in how she can do magic? Magic she apparently got effortlessly, but took me an entire year to learn?
And I know, I know it's petty, and dumb, and I should just be happy for her, but I'm only human, okay? I'm allowed to not be perfect.
Sometimes I wonder why she's even hanging around with ordinary, unexceptional me.
Thankfully, she isn't glancing my way, and so I just nudge her shoulder, smiling. "The same one of us that was throwing a discus directly into the ground, I think."
She snorts. "Shut up, jerk."
"Make me, idiot."
I snort, wiping away the definitely-not-tears at the edges of my eyes, and we sit there in a comfortable silence.
"Which Green Lantern was it, anyways?"
"The black one, I think."
I raise an eyebrow. "The 'Black One'?"
She raises her hands. "Hey, I don't know any of their names! I know there was the old one during World War Two who's retired, the white one who's around now, the black one who showed up after him, and then Guy whatever from Boston, the one that just popped up two years ago."
"See" she says, sticking her tongue out, "I covered all the races."
"Yes" I say drolly, "Retired and Bostonian, the famous races."
She smiles. "I mean, if you ask people from Boston…"
I snort.
"Actually," she says, "people in Boston believe in three races. White, Black and Irish. And the only Irish people are in Boston, not in Ireland."
"I'm pretty sure no one in Boston even speaks Irish."
"I mean, you've heard Boston football guys when they're drunk, it might as well be Gaelic. Or maybe Welsh, with all the consonants."
"So…" I say, "you know both Guy Gardner's first name, and his home city… but John Stewart is just 'the black one'."
She raises her eyebrows. "Seriously? The TV guy is a Green Lantern now?"
"Wha- No, obviously not the TV guy! John with an "h"! The TV one's like a sixty year old white Jew."
"Now who's racist."
We stay like that for a few seconds, staring at one another, until we both break down into giggles.
"…Thanks, Eri" I eventually say. "I needed that."
She just leans my head on her shoulder, and I have to repress a coo.
After a few minutes of just sitting there, she bump my arm. "You know…" she says, eyes wide with an almost painfully exaggerated fake innocence, "the story of how the Vega system got its name is actually really interesting…"
I hum, raising an eyebrow.
She shoots me me that roguish smile she knows always makes me weak in the knees, gods damn her.
Score two for Eri.
I ignore the way my cheeks pink, shooting her a flat look. "Are you gonna explain or not?"
"Well" she says, putting on an overly theatrical tone of voice, "it all starts with games."
"If this turns into another 'gamers are the most oppressed minority' joke..."
She holds her hands up, smirking. "Well, it does involve gamers, but the ones that are an ethnicity being discriminated against."
"Ethnicity.Gamers."
"I mean, they're all the same skin color, so…"
"Are you saying only white people should play video games? And here you'd just convinced me you aren't racist."
"No, just that even if they started out black, they end up whiter than a ghost by all the time they spend inside their mom's windowless basement."
I snort.
"Anyways," she says, gesturing theatrically, "irrespective of gamers needing their own ethnostate, which they do by the way, I'm talking about games of chance. Roulette, Poker, et cetera et cetera."
"Why not just say 'gambling' then?"
"Well, what if you don't gamble on them?"
"How do you not gamble on roulette? What, do you just spin the ball around for fun like-"
"So!" she says, cutting me off, "Where are all the riskiest games of chance in the United States?"
"The Gotham Stock Exchange."
I can tell she's trying not to laugh.
Heh, score one for Artemis.
"Close, but no! It's where else but fabulous Las Vegas, the city of sin! Or, if you don't like Spanish, 'the vegas'"
"Wait, 'the Vegas"? You're saying the city's name is it's own name?"
"No no" she says, shaking her head like a professor correcting a student, "Vegas. As in multiple things which in singular would be called a vega, the 's' is a pluralizer."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"I'm getting to that!"
"Uh-huh."
"So, the city!" she says, sweeping her hands while she clearly scrambles for an explanation that will fit, "Uh, right! The city got its name when a vegetable truck crashed! And this was way back, during the old west, so everything was made of wood. Well, wood an genocide."
"How can be something 'made of genocide'."
"…You know, there are about a dozen jokes I could make there, but none of them are really appropriate, so I'm not going to."
"Anyways, so this vegetable truck was made of wood, so part of it burned away. In particular, it burned away the bottom portion of the 'Vegetables' sign, leaving just 'Vega'."
"Wait, 'vegetables' is spelled with an e."
"Well duh, it's the last-"
"No, I mean after the g"
"…"
I have to hold back a giggle.
Score two for Artemis.
"Well, people couldn't really spell back then, you know? So it was a typo."
"How could it be a typo if they didn't have keyboa-"
She reaches up, placing a finger on my lips. "Just let me-…"
Her, my, lips.
Which I'm suddenly realizing she is very close to.
And touching.
I…
Um…
I cough at the same time she jerks her hand back, and we just sit there awkwardly for a minute, ignoring the red on each other's cheeks.
"Um, uh… right! Las Vegas! So that's how it got its name.:
I pat down my face. I… That…
I need to focus on her story.
"So, the International Astronomical Union! They're the ones in charge of star names, so when they first discovered Vega, they-"
"W-Wait, 'discovered' Vega? It's one of the most visible stars in the sky, you can 'discover' it by looking up."
"Well, the Americans obviously didn't know how to look up. Probably because they were too busy doing all that genocide."
"Anyways" she say, before I can interrupt, "they were trying to name this crazy new star system, right?"
"Literally everyone knew about it, but sure, why not."
"So, they decide, why not name it after the city the Union is based in?"
"I can guarantee that the IAU isn't located in Las Vegas."
"So, they were going to name it 'Vegas'... Until they though, 'well, that's a little tacky, isn't it?' So they just named it 'Vega'."
"How is that less tacky?"
"Well, one vega is fine, sure but three or four? It's a little excessive. Like nose piercings!"
"What doe-... y'know what nevermind. That's how the star got its name then?."
"Nope!" she says, smile almost obnoxiously bright, "that name didn't pass muster! They totally trashed that, and decided to call it 'Polerium' instead!"
"'Polerium'? What the heck is… Also wait, if they didn't name it after the city, why did you just spend five minutes talking about it."
"Don't interrupt! Now, the head of the International Astronomical Union only got the final name submissions, so 'Vega' didn't make the cut. But the thing is, the Head of the IAU was also a freelance video editor!"
"Why. Would one of the most well-respected scientists in the world. Work as a temp."
"For the love of the job, of course! And you know how hard the job market can be for astronomers."
"Why would I possibly know that? Also, there's no way that's true."
"So it was out of that love that he scrapped the council's previous name, and decided to name it after his favorite video editing software: Sony Vega!"
"So…"
"So… that's the story!"
"…"
"…"
"…Why the heck am I friends with you, you degenerate little goblin."
We both break down laughing, until eventually, we end up laying on our backs on the field.
"Oh" she says, after a few minutes of lying in silence, "I almost forgot."
She reaches into her pocket, rooting around while still on the ground. "I, um… I have something for you?"
I sit up, leaning on my elbow. "Eri, it isn't my birthday for months."
"Yeah. But this is really important, I didn't want to wait. And uh…"
She grins sheepishly. "I kinda didn't feel like waiting all that time to see your reaction?"
I laugh. "You really have to work on your impatience, you know. You get antsy and don't think things through when you really want something, and one day, it's going to bite you in the ass."
"Yeah, yeah" she says, "tell it to the judge."
"I will, at your trial. You're going to get fed up with traffic and try to drive your car down a freeway median or something, just watch."
"Anyways" she says, "I have a gift for you."
She hands me a box, covered in hearts, with a pink bow around it. "For you, psikhi mu."
Right. Valentines day was yesterday, so this stuff must be super cheap in the stores.
I open it, reverently, and see a necklace sitting inside
"Oh, cục bạc, it's beautiful" I say, looking up at her with what I can only imagine is the world's dopiest grin. "I don't even know how to thank you."
"It, um… it's not just an ordinary necklace."
I tilt my head.
"I… You know how I just got a job at that occult shop, working in the back rooms?"
I nod. "Yeah, the one uptown."
I'd come and visit her, but apparently her boss has very strict policies about 'fraternization' during work hours and letting non-employees into the back.
"Well, one of the customers has a good hookup on actual magical amulets. I could tell, because…" She gestures vaguely at herself.
I nod. "Right"
"So" she says, "I, um… got us two of these. They're anti-psychic protections."
I raise an eyebrow. I know she's always been afraid of mind-control, but…
"They apparently won't stand up to a sustained assault, or someone powerful enough, but they should definitely be enough to stop surface scans, and if someone tries to actually mess with your head, you should know about it, and-"
I cut off her rambling, eyes wet for a reason that has nothing to do with my shitty dad. "Thank you, Eri. This is… this is so incredibly sweet."
I lean over, kissing her cheek. If my lips linger a bit before drawing away, neither of us comment on it.
She scratches the back of her head, face flushed. "I just… I know it's not likely, but I don't know what I'd do if some creep messed with your head. Took you away from me."
I squeeze her arm, trying to convey through a gesture the swelling wave of affection that wants to explode out of me to wash her away.
I move to put it on, but she reaches up a hand, stopping me.
"L-Let me."
She scoots across the grass to sit behind me, delicately taking both ends of the necklace in her fingers.
I hold my breath, biting my lip.
I shiver as I feel her hot breath on my neck, goosebumps springing up on my arms.
She hovers with her hands right above my neck, as if awaiting permission.
She must see something in my body language, because slowly, gently, she moves to clasp the necklace, her fingers hot as they brush my skin.
I realize I've closed my eyes.
"There" she says, and my whole body shivers at the sound of her voice, deep and husky.
She pauses, hesitating.
I swallow. Is she…
Slowly, ever so slowly, she bends down.
Her lips brush the nape of my neck, laying a feathery kiss right above where the chain meets my skin.
I breath in sharply, shakily, and feel the ground start to swerve under me.
Her lips linger, and I tilt my head back.
Eri…
I can hear her swallow, breath heavy. "Artemis… I-" I love you.
She just sits there, letting the words hang in the air.
Eventually, she moves back, scooting around to lie next to me.
I let out a shaky huff, my face blazing. That was… that was…
"I love it" I eventually say, gazing into her eyes and trying to convey the rolling storm of emotions inside me.
We both lay back down on the grass. I wrap my arm around hers, and I know she can tell it means "thank you". For the gift, for the jokes, for the comfort, for just being Eri.
We just sit there, arm in arm, laying on the ground as we watch the sun set. I can hear her soft breathing next to me, as I fiddle with the charm on the end of the necklace.
At this moment there's no archery contests, no evil assassin dads, no missing sisters leaving a gaping hole in our lives.. Just her and me, and a sky which looks like it goes on up forever.
AN: Just gals being pals!
Btw, big bad of the second arc gets revealed next chapter, and if you guess it, you can name a background character. Don't limit yourself to YJ canon!
Discussion keeps me motivated, so please let me know what you think.
Ever since I found that stomach-turning ritual site in the basement of that convenience store, I've been looking out for anything odd.
Mainly, that consists of keeping close eye on the fluctuations in the local thaumosphere, making sure to track potential spikes using every divinatory method I have available. I don't know what the fuck the Bertinellis have been dealing with, but it's not anything I want within the same damn city as me.
But, as Artie always says, the first step to any investigation is information, information, information, and so I've spent the past three days trying to figure out just what's is going on.
I really need to have that conversation with her, because she'd be absolutely perfect for something like this. She's always had a bloodhound's ability to ferret things out (the one obvious exception notwithstanding), and I could really use that right now to figure out what in the infinite hells I'm dealing with here.
Or more likely, who in the hells I'm dealing with, because there's like maybe four things that a ritual circle made out of organs could be used for, and two of them are types of demon-summoning.
For the past two hours, I've been stalking-
Wait, I need a less sinister-sounding verb. Uh… "tailing"? Sure.
No, "tracking"! That works.
For the past two hours, I've been tracking a group of six idiots as they fool around on the border of Bertinelli territory, loudly laughing and joking as they just barely avoid dropping into the outlying edges of Falcone neighborhoods.
Normally, this type of thing would be completely unremarkable, the typical grandstanding and border-prodding that characterizes life in gang-contested areas. But this particular group stood out in my divinations, in a way that suggests they'll be up to something I should see today.
I fiddle with the sleeves of my robe, wishing these idiots would actually fucking do something. I'm wearing my "costume", or as close to one as I have, an outer layer made of some silver moon-cloth I won in a poker match off of a Fae, with more practical shirt and breeches underneath. My staff is currently strapped to my back for ease of transport, but I made sure to sew the harness so that it's easily removable.
I chose to wear a silver half-mask today to protect my anonymity, enchanted for comfort, something I'm not really used to. Mages tend to not bother which such things, as it's only extraordinarily talented mages who can truly keep their identities hidden from a determined seer. But, as I'm venturing firmly across the murky border between that and cape-ery, I've decided that discretion is the better part of valor. Unlike in magical circles, which have a bit of a gentlemen's agreement on not involving those outside "the game" for fear of escalating retaliation, capes are known to be very stringent about such things.
I don't know what I'd do if some psycho targeted Artemis to get to me.
That's not to say mages all stick with their birth names. Many of the most talented have chosen to reinvent themselves, to re-fashion themselves into purely magical entities. Also, as you might expect in a field where power correlates to intelligence and academic study, a lot of the most talented mages are actually huge fucking dorks. I mean c'mon, do you seriously think "Felix Faust" or "Anton Arcane" or "Dr. Mist" are their real names?
I don't think that works here, though, when I'm technically as a cape. Zatara can get away with just doing his own name because he's a scary motherfucker — even with the goofy-ass Abe Lincoln costume that only he and Mr. Zard can actually look good in — but for me? It'd basically be a giant "please kidnap my loved ones" sign to most non-magical capes.
Let's see… "Argent"?
No, too plain.
Argent… Arcanist?
I like the vibe, but it's a bit of a mouthful.
White Witch, then? That's punchy.
Wait no, that's a character from a children's book
Hmm…
How about "Silver Sorceress"?
Something deep inside me thrums with a feeling of rightness, and I smile. Now there's a name.
I turn my attention back down to the men I'm trailing. The targets are five young guys in Bertinelli colors, all dressed in that unique "trying-to-look-cool-and-tough" way that only young men trying to impress their peers can. I can practically smell the desperate insecurity and desire to appear macho coming off of them…
Wait no, that's just cheap cologne and Axe.
But I repeat myself, heh.
"-and, who was that broad you were chatting up last night, eh?" The guy on the leftmost side — "Stained Shirt", as I've mentally dubbed him — nudges the ribs of one in the middle.
"You mean, uh… Fuck…"
I look at the man searching through his contacts on his phone, and have to stop myself from gaping. You use your middle finger to punch the keys? Who does that?
Right, changing his name to "Weird Texter" then.
"-uh shit Lisa! Yeah, Lisa! What about her, man?"
Stained Shirt pauses, a bit confused. "Uh……"
The one to his right, who I've dub "mullet" — seriously, as an Italian guy? — pipes in "She's got those cans, amiright!"
Oh god, I think I'm gonna throw up.
[nAhhhhh man don't throwup, chchicks haaaaaaaate that it ruins the vibee… hEeyyyyy, what're'yagettin up'ta, kidddddddd?]
Oh, hey dad. Just trailing some idiots with more confidence than sense.
[Howzzat? Totally cool, chill, chillaxin, maxin, relaxin, all coool…. hey, didjaknow that Willsmith's one'a us? Heezgottat charisma, y'know. Notgreek iii thiiiiiiiiiink uhhhhhhh…]
Fates, what are you even on, dude?
[mannnnnn i'unno, but uh… Ifeanyi? Yeah, Ifeanyi here sayzzey're supposed to makeya gota spaaaaaaaace]
Well, at least he remembers their names. Better than Weird Texter.
[Marai! Uh, Mouse- Maasai! Thazz who has Willsmith! His greatgramma or sumn. Cow woman, love goddess…]
Nice talking to you too, Dad.
After a few more minutes of idiotic banter, Stained Shirt straightens. "Alright, alright boys. Fun's over, time to look serious. He's coming in soon."
Finally, something interesting.
Mullet frowns. "I don't know about this, boss. Ever since he got into that voodoo shit, Marco's been…"
Stained-Shirt frowns. "I know. I don't like it any more than you, but this 'voodoo shit' is finally letting us punch back against those fucking Siciliani. And Marco's one of the head honchos of it, so just fuckin'…"
He waves his hand around vaguely. "…Freedom of religion it, or whatever."
A "head honcho", huh? Looks like I nabbed myself somebody important.
Sometimes, I love my powers.
A minute later, a new figure walks up. To my regular senses, he's incredibly average. About 5'10", brown hair slicked back, wearing something you could see inside any bar or pool hall.
But to my loom-sight? He burns. He looks like fire, blood, and shadow, like flesh and organs and burning meat.
I feel my hand clench at my side. Yeah, pretty sure this is who I'm supposed to be looking for.
"Right" he says, voice flat in a way that leaves goosebumps running down my spine, "we have reports of a Falcone meth lab in the basement of a shop a few blocks south of here. Our job is to find it, steal the equipment, and then destroy the building. Any questions?"
"N-No, Marco" Stained-Shirt says, "we read you, loud and clear. B-But you aren't worried about-?"
The cultist cuts his colleague off. "The Scion is with me, I have no fear."
The truly eerie part is how flat his voice is when he says it. Like he's not even hearing the other man, even though he's responding to him.
"Uh, yeah. Hail the Scion, or whatever."
Despite the obvious lack of conviction, the cultist just nods, moving off down the street in total silence.
Alright yeah, looks like I'm not going to learn anything more from listening. Time to act.
I raise a hand holding out three fingers, a runic circle forming in a flash of silver before them. The cultist seems to detect something, but he can't turn around before I fire it off, the silver beam of my Moon Laser slamming the back two suldati into the ground.
Marco the Cultist snarls, aura deepening as he beings to grow. By the end of his transformation, he's three inches taller, and with wickedly sharp teeth and claws, flames escaping from his mouth. The suldati back away even as they pull out their guns. I am made anew, for the Scion..
"For the Scion!" he screams, voice finally sounding alive, "The Scion of Flame and Blood!"
He leaps up at my perch, far faster than I was expecting. I only manage to blink away thanks to my precognition warning me, and even then, it was a quick thing.
I lean into the Loom, trying to see further into the weave of the world before it's woven.
I launch off another Moon Laser, slamming another one of them into the alley wall before they can even draw their guns.
The remaining two, perhaps sensing that standing out in the open isn't going to go very well for them, move to crouch behind various objects as they take aim at me.
So they can learn.
Marco rushes forward, claws reaching out to rend me apart, and I blink to a position hidden by a dumpster. I twirl my staff, preparing a spell, and blink a few feet behind the cultist, launching an arcing blade of crackling purple light at him, in what I've dubbed the "Scythe of Fate" (again, we're all huge pretentious nerds).
Unfortunately for me, the blade, which can normally slice through a pig like a knife through butter, only slices a gash a few inches deep into the cultist's arm.
But even that seems to absolutely enrage the man, and he shrieks, flames shooting from mouth as he grows another inch.
"Stop fucking hiding, you little bitch!" he screams. "Who the fuck do you think you are?!" Who defies the Master?!
I blink in front of him, eyes burning purple under the silver mask. "Your end." I will know you and destroy you.
I shoot off another scintillating purple blade at him, digging another gouge into him. Before I can react to my precognition, he shoots a jet of flame in response, sending me cursing as I only barely manage to dodge.
Unfortunately, the flames disorient me enough that I can't blink out of the way when he jumps forward, talons out, and it's only a desperate raising of my staff which stops me from being gored on the spot.
I spin out of the way, putting my Aikido training to good use. The other end of my reinforced staff swings around in a hammer blow, sending the cultist reeling under the magically amplified strike.
Behind us, the suldati have finally gotten a good bead on me, and curse as I have to blink to a nearby rooftop before the bullets hit. I almost forgot about them, if it wasn't for my precognition I'd be toast.
Why did it have to be the only fucking one that can shoot fire? Sometimes, I fucking hate my powers.
With a moment to breath out of sight, I focus in on my loom-sight, trying to read the weave of Fate and figure out just where this asshole is going to go…
There.
I aim carefully, call up a burst of my paralyzing Medusa's Lightning, aiming for where I can sense through the weave it will hit his legs. He screams, spasming for long enough under the pain that the spell can petrify a good chunk of his thighs.
There we go, now try to jump when your jumping muscles are half-stone. I blink back into sight of the bellowing cultist, charging up an extra powerful scythe. Hobbled by his legs, Marco can't properly dodge, and the blade carves a deep gash through his side. The blood leaking out is laced with fire.
Damnit, I was aiming for his head.
I have to duck back to avoid being shot at by the other Bertinelli men before I can capitalize, and I snarl.
Right, those two are finally becoming an annoyance. Unfortunately for them, I'm a seer, which means I don't have to see them to see them. I cast a Lesser Shield just in case, and gaze into the local weave, and understand.
I blink behind one of them, slamming my staff into his temple and making him drop like a sack of potatoes. In a silver-and-purple flash I'm behind the other, appearing behind him with my staff already mid-swing, and break his arm as I blow him clean across the alley.
In the two seconds that takes — damn I'm good — Marco has hobbled back to his feet, literally spitting fire. "You think I'm afraid, you fucking pussy? You think I'm not willing to die for the Scion? I'll fucking take you down with me, bitch!" My life for the Master
I blink a few feet in front of him, a scythe perfectly aimed to slice down to the bone of his left leg and arm at the same time.
"No" I say, voice hard. "No you will not." Your life is mine.
Leaning on the weave to aim, I blast a full-strength Moon Laser directly into his eye socket, bypassing his enhanced durability by liquefying his still extremely-human brain.
It's a shame I had to resort to destroying a valuable piece of research material, but the enhancements on his body are what I'm really interested anyways.
I mentally cringe. Okay, imagine that thing I just said, but 50% less serial-killer-y.
Finally, after using my loom-sight to make extra sure that he's dead, I move over to Marco's limp body.
I need to know what the fuck this guy was smoking, and I need to know now. This has just gone from an intriguing problem to a big fucking deal. I ruffle through his corpse, and make sure to cast my accelerated healing spell on myself, to fix up the minor bruises and burns from the fight.
Where is it…
[Wait, kid, I'm getting something…]
Dad, you're still here? Nevermind, I think I found it.
I rip open his shirt, to stare at a circle of runes branded over his heart. The work is surprisingly intricate for such a brutish, gruesome method.
What the…
I know runes. I've spent a good deal of the not-inconsiderable favors I've racked up on ritual and runelore, trying to expand my knowledge of the fundamental mechanics of magic. I've encountered just about every damn runic language under the sun (and several from beyond it).
But I've never seen anything like this before. It has to be a language good for blood or pain magic, because there's virtually no other reason you'd go with branding over tattoos, but…
Something is itching at the back of my head.
Wait… No, I have seen this before. In Toronto, when I was dealing with that renegade vampire for Bajwa.
Zinori? Zinosi? No, Zinthosi!
I stop.
But wait… Oh by the Fates no.
It can't be. There's only one group of people who use Zinthosi runes.
This means…
I feel a chill come through my connection with my father, the neverending club music that's the subtle background noise to our connecting coming to an abrupt halt.
He growls, voice dark and serious in a way I've never heard. [Skathites] HAIL TRIGON, HE COMES.
AN: And the bad guys for Arc 2 of the story gets revealed! Before you guys freak out, no Trigon himself is not going to show up directly anytime soon. These are his cultists, a chapter of the Church of Blood, who channel his power.
Congrats to @Sesparra on SV for getting it partially correct! As a reward she got to name an upcoming background character in 1.9, a guy who got kidnapped by the main villain of this arc (y'know, the ones besides from Eri and Artie's own internal dumb-gay-ness).
Also, I've been considering changing Argyra's nickname prefered nickname (for everyone except Artemis) from "Argie" to "Yra". Thoughts?
And remember, discussion keeps me motivated, so please let me know what you think. I also talk about story stuff and get writing feedback on my channel in the Gaylor Convention Center.
"Look, all I'm saying is that there's no way Hussein's gay, I don't care what you think you saw."
"I'm telling you" Lonnie says, voice tinny from the speaker, "he was making eyes at me, Yra. Eyes!"
In some sort of miracle, Gotham Academy canceled classes for the day thanks to a gas leak, so I've decided to have a lazy Friday. I've spent the afternoon just wandering through my old neighborhood, taking in the sights, chatting with the loser who's somehow my best friend at school.
Sometimes, I like to think the Moirai have my back.
"Lots of people make eyes at you. It's not because they want to fuck you, it's because they think you're a communist freak that should be thrown in front of a re-constituted HUAC."
Lonnie laughs. "If you knew what the CIA does about Joe McCarthy's personal habits, you wouldn't think those two things are mutually exclusive."
"What! No, no way. I refuse to believe that fucking McCarthy was gay."
"Hey, believe me or not, but he was."
"'Not', I'm very much the 'not' in that equation. You're the… I don't know, what's the gaydar version of paranoid."
"It's 'paranoid'. Have you met us gay people?"
"True, true. But that just proves my point, Hussein's the most chill guy I know. Not paranoid in the slightest."
"And wouldn't such a guy be 'chill' about his own sexual identity, possibly leading to him wishing to explore it?"
"Lonnie, I've literally had sex with him."
"And? He could be bi. You are. I might have a chance here, Yra!"
"You're dreaming, Lonster. And I'm a Kinsey 4, maximum."
I frown. "Well, minimum, since it goes downwa- You know what I mean! I'm like 80% of a lesbian. I honestly only slept with him because he was having a really bad day, and I kind of felt bad."
"I'm pretty sure that's not how it works. And also, pity sex? That's beneath you."
"It is too how it works, and don't slut-shame me!"
"I'm not slut-shaming you, I'm… I don't know, slut-accepting you. Telling you that you could be a better slut."
"Well that's just misogynist."
"What, telling a woman she should be in control of her own sexuality is misogynist."
"Yeah, the sixth one this month" I hear from besides me, "a kid too, couldn't have been more than five years old."
The man speaking is short, thin, and balding. A barber, maybe his mid-60s.
It takes me a few seconds to recognize him — he shaved off that mustache of his — but when I did I can't help but smile. It's Vincenzo, who refuses to go by anything but "Jimmy", the owner of the barbershop down the street from St. Vitus's Home for Orphaned Children, a staple of the neighborhood for longer than I've been alive. Most of us kids knew him because he'd give us free water when the days got too hot, and would sometimes look the other way when we snatched from the tip jar.
"Hey, Lonnie" I say, "I actually just saw someone I knew from way back when. I'm gonna go say hi."
"Huh. Does he know about the whole… transition, thing?"
I almost choke. "W-Wha-"
"What?"
"If he kno- You know about that?"
"…Have we not established this?"
"No, we have not!"
"Huh, weird. But yeah, of course I know."
"What do you mean, "of course!?"
I can practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Yra, it's me, I've had a backdoor into the school's servers since before I even went here. I noted some irregularities in your file, and looked up your birth certificate."
That… that actually makes a surprising amount of sense.
"When?"
"I don't know, the day after we met?"
"That seems excessively paranoid."
"I thought we already established the reasons for that."
I laugh. "So… you don't have any problems with it?"
"Yra I have been your friend for multiple years. I'm pretty sure I would have said something by now if I did."
I smile, unable to stop the warm glow of affection in my chest.
"Aren't birth certificates supposed to be confidential?"
"Yra, it's me."
I laugh. "Fair."
I look over at Jimmy, who's just finishing up. "Okay, I really do have to go. I won't get another opportunity to say hi to this guy for like twenty minutes."
"No problem. See ya, Yra."
"You're a good friend, Lonnie."
I hang up, still smiling from the interaction, and walk over to Jimmy, who's chatting with the mother of the young child he's just finished cutting the hair of.
"Yeah, be safe Franny, alright? I know little Tony likes to go out 'adventuring', but make sure to keep him inside until they find this creep. The Demon only hits lone targets, so the two of you should have nothing to worry about, but still, be on the lookout."
Demon? Alright, color me interested.
Shakily, the tall brunette clutches her son's close as he gets off the seat, knuckles almost going white as she grips the preschooler's shoulders. "Thank you, Jimmy. I just… fifteen is too young for someone to get caught up in this… this magical nonsense! And the poor boy lost his life for it."
Hello!
"Yeah" the short man grunts as he parcels out the woman's change, "you hear about this kinda shi-... er, scusa Fran, this kinda stuff in the newspapers, but you never think it could happen here, y'know? I'm actually glad my Giuseppina's doin' that study abroad thing over in Latver-wherever now, or I'd be worried sick."
The mother nods, "It's just so awful, Jimmy. I can't even imagine who would do something like this…"
A minute or so later, their conversation has wrapped up. She pays, taking off down the street, gripping her child's arm in a vice while her head swivels back and forth.
"Hey, Jimmy" I say, sliding into his barber's chair once she leaves, "long time no see."
The barber's face lights up. "Ay, is that who I think it is?! Mr. Geeky Greeky himself! I haven't seen ya in years, Morgan, how are things?"
I hide a grimace at the reminder of my unfortunately masculine youth. Guess he hasn't heard the news yet.
Or maybe he has, and is being really shitty about that, but I'd like to think better of Jimmy. Besides, he probably wouldn't be so friendly if he really was being bigoted.
"It's Miss Geeky Greeky now, actually."
He looks me over. "…Huh, really?"
I raise an eyebrow.
He shrugs. "Eh, whatever. Kids these days…"
I smile. Same old Jimmy
The man eyes me up and down. "But shit, look atcha kid, ya all grown up! You gotta be what, six feet?"
"Yeah" I say, "five elven, actually. And just trim the back, please."
What? I can grow it back any time I want.
Probably.
He moves to start cutting. "You still living with Mrs. V? How's she doing?"
Anastasia Vasilopolous, one of my foster parents, an older woman from the small Greek neighborhood in Falcone territory I liked to hang around in as a kid. She's the woman that instilled in me my love for lamb souvlaki, and the half-ironic chauvinism for Greek culture I mainly use to mess with Artie.
She… she was a good woman. I probably would have grown closer to her, but, well…
"She passed a few months after I got there, actually. Bane's suldati got at her."
I grimace. First Jade, then her… The Fates apparently decreed that I wouldn't get any half-decent role models in my childhood.
"Ah, that's a shame. Always liked that one. Fuck Bane."
I nod. "Fuck Bane."
I fucking despise that evil, mass-murdering, rapist parasite on the city. The sooner I can figure out the secrets of Venom and not even have to even think about him, the better.
"So, what home are ya at now?"
"I actually got out four years ago."
He raises his eyebrows. "No shittin'?"
"Hey, would I lie to you?"
Jimmy just shoots me an unimpressed look.
I roll my eyes. "Damnit Jimmy, the thing with the ants only happened one time. My fucking god, it's like I-"
[yEaH shlut, fuckin take it! Who's your fuckin' daddy! I'm gonna-]
I block out the ethereal communication while repressing a wince. I have to learn to stop doing that.
Jimmy gives me a strange look, but eventually shakes it off and leans forward.
"Wait, you're what, eighteen, right? How tha fuck did ya manage that?"
I raise an eyebrow. "I mean… Waiting? That is how time works."
He slaps my shoulder. "Y'know what I mean."
"Well" I say, leaning forward with a grin, "you know how I used to come here every day after school, lugging those massive college-level textbooks behind me."
"Wait, are you sayin'..."
"Yep!" I say, still unable to completely suppress the joy in my voice even after five years, "I got a scholarship! You're looking at a proud student of Gotham Academy, educated next to the kids of the rich and famous!"
Jimmy lets out a slow whistle. "Shit kid, I knew ya were smart, but that smart? Gotham Academy can get ya just about anywhere, you got it made!"
His smile seems legitimately happy. "Good to know at least one of you kids is gonna make it outta here."
We just sit in silence for the next minute or so, before I bring up the very interesting tidbit I heard him mention earlier.
"Wait, Jimmy, you were saying something about some 'Demon'?"
The snipping momentarily stops, and I see the usually-jovial man grimace in the mirror. "Yeah… you know how two of our guys went missing last month?"
I nod. 'Our', here, of course, means 'Falcone'.
"Yeah, it's a real shit-show. For the past two months bodies have been showing up all over the place, stuffed into trash cans, or hidden in corners, or whatever. One of those new Bertinelli freaks has been killing them and tryin' to hide the evidence."
"I mean… I hate to break it to you, but that's not exactly unusual for this area."
He shakes his head. "Not like this. These ones are… weird. You ever seen Indiana Jones?"
I nod.
"It's like that scene at the end, where they open up the… the whatever the thing was in the movie. They look dried out, like all the life's been sucked out of 'em."
I frown. That… yeah, that tracks with what I know of Skathites. Their magic is easy to use, and powerful, but in exchange it eats away at your soul. You offer it up to Trigon in bits and pieces, until you're nothing left but a mindless automaton totally devoted to his will, unable to feel anything but sadistic pleasure and slavish devotion.
There's a reason every magical community in the civilized universe hunts down Skathites like dogs whenever they pop up, and it's not because of some principled opposition to magic that drains the life of others.
Unfortunately, the quick, easy power of the Lord of Zinthos is too tempting a lure for many to ignore, and so hunting down Skath cults ends up being a game of Whack-a-Mole.
"Yeah, it's real fucked up" Jimmy says. "Like half of 'em have been kids, guy's a fuckin' monster."
He spits on the ground. "Fuckin'Pulentuni."
"I've had my nephew Vinny and a few a' his friends hang around here, just to make sure I ain't out here all alone, y'know?"
I raise my eyebrows. "I'm shocked the puffi haven't gotten all over this, yet."
At that, Jimmy's face somehow grows even tighter. "Carmine's-"
Huh, brave of him. Carmine doesn't take too well to people leaving off his honorific, so Jimmy either has some serious balls to do that in public, or knows him personally.
My money's on the latter.
"-tried to bring in Jim Gordon, because this is some cape shit if I've ever seen it, but Bane decided this is the exact right time to go on one of his rampages, so lu granni puffu didn't have anyone to spare. Also, all done with the hair."
As I stand up from the chair, and absently hand Jimmy an amount of money that six-year-old me would have literally murdered for, my forehead creased in thought.
Supernaturally decomposed corpses, drained of all life, possibly collected to a gang newly starting to use blood magic?
My money's on the Bertinellis having been contacted by a concubus (I'd put money on a female member of the species, a succubus, just because they're more common) who's giving them access to some serious blood magic. They've clearly been feasting on people in Falcone territory discreetly, it's the only thing that makes sense.
…
…
I might have done something nice for Zeus, because it is my lucky fucking day!
Do you know the type of shit I could do with a fresh concubus corpse? Those are some of the most potent ingredients for blood alchemy out there! Oh man, I'm going to have to buy some new texts to take advantage of this, maybe I can trade some of the parts?
Hmm… Not getting anything from my loom-senses on that one. Maybe something's missing?
Whatever, this corpse is going to make my month!
…ok maybe dial down the excitement about 30% there, Dr. Lecter. People are still dead, in pretty horrible ways. I can practically hear my inner Artie lecturing me.
But still… Jinx may be a powerful luck mage, but I know she's shit at tracking magic: she's never detected where my lab is, after all, even though I know she has some suspicions that I'm camped out in Falcone territory. There's actually a good chance I might be able to find whoever this is before she does! Carmine won't care as long as the killer's stopped, which leaves me with one dead succubus to do whatever I want with.
The smart thing, the Artemis thing to do, would be to hold back, wait, make a plan. Investigate the intelligence I have, make sure I don't run into either of the capes out searching.
But gods above I think I might literally explode if I actually have to wait to follow up on this. It's basically a free succubus corpse, I am not patient enough to wait around while it's just sitting out there, with every moment becoming more likely to be found by someone else!
After the barbershop, it only takes an hour or so to get to the most recent crime scene, and another hour to make my way to where they're storing the most recent victim and use some minor glamours to talk my way in to see the body, and…
…
Gods fucking DAMNIT!
Are you serious?
Are you fucking serious!
I have to muffle my scream of frustration in the arm of the coroner's robes I'm "borrowing".
This killer definitely isn't a concubus. I've seen their victims, and this is nothing like them. The aetheric patterns show it's definitely something magic, but more of the deliberate, ritual variety than a demonic feasting.
Even worse, something's blocking my scrying, I can't trace the bodies back to their killer, they're — or let's be honest, probably "he", statistically — is under some sort of ward. Even when I spend the next two hours divining out all the locations of the previous bodies, the actual perpetrator manages to elude my searches.
Ugh.
Of course I'm going to have to do this the hard way.
AN: "Jimmy the Barber" is actually my irl great-grandfather, who gave me my first haircut. He was Sicilian, and cut the hair of multiple members of the mob in New York City.
Also, the killer (the villain for Arc 1) has already introduced within this fic, at some point before this chapter! They're a canonical DC character too, albeit my own spin on them. Anyone who can correctly guess it gets to name a background character.
Btw, updated: I changed Lonnie and Rose's nickname for Argyra from "Argie" to "Yra".
As always, discussion keeps me motivated, so please let me know what you think. I also talk about story stuff and get writing feedback on my channel in the Gaylor Convention Center.
Hmm… succubus running free in Falcone territory, embarrassing Carmine? If only I had the number of someone with an inside scoop to the runnings of the Falcone family…
Smirking, I pull out my phone and call Sofia Falcone.
I knew being her tutor was going to eventually pay off!
After a few minutes, I the mafia heiress picks up.
"Argyra? What are you doing calling at eight at night?"
"Just bored" I say, "Artemis is busy, and everyone else is off doing shit, so I'm calling you."
"…You know what? Sure, whatever. What are you up to?"
"Not much, that's what being bored is. Basic English, c'mon. As you tutor, I feel it's my duty to-"
"You tutored me in American History, Argyra."
"I seem to remember you having a great deal of trouble with some of those names of battles in the Civil War. I have twenty bucks right here, and I will give it to you if you can spell 'Chustenahlah'."
Sofia chuckles, and we trail off into an amicable silence.
"So!" I say, jumping up from where I've sat down on the curb, "the reason I called. I'm staying in some old haunts this weekend, and I just heard about this 'Demon' serial killer dude. I wanted to know how worried I should be."
"Ah" she says, grimacing, "yeah, that freak. I'd come back next weekend, if you could. Daddy's practically spitting nails."
"Damn" I say, eyes roving the street, "this guy's actually managing to outplay your dad? That's fuckin' scary, man."
"Tell me about it" she says. "Also, 'he'? Who says this mysterious killer isn't a woman, huh? That's called misogyny."
I chuckle. "How fast should I get out? I'm right near Sal's Diner right now, and I'm not with anyone."
"Hmm" Sofia says, "I'd head out tonight, but it should be ok tomorrow, hopefully."
"Why?"
"Well," she says, almost absentmindedly, "Jinx thinks she figured out where he might be, so she and Tally Man are leading an ambush. Hopefully, they'll manage to get him by the end of the night."
Something about that name is sending up alarm bells in my head, but I can't quite figure out what. I mean, more than the normal amount of alarm bells for a sociopathic hit man.
That's not going to stop bothering me, I can just tell.
"Argyra?"
"Sorry, lost in thought. Shit, your dad bought a contract with Tally Man? He must really be pissed."
"Yeah" Sofia says, and I can only detect the note of genuine discomfort in her voice from knowing her for three years, "I have no idea how Daddy can let someone like him operate under his name. I swear, one time I actually saw him etching those marks into his gun, and naming off each kill… luckily, they're on the other side of the territory, so I don't have to interact with that nutcase."
He is nuts, but that isn't it…
"Really?" I say, eyebrows raising as I mentally rub my hands together. That means... "I guess it makes sense he'd be hiding out in the slums, but you'd think that'd be the first place they checked."
"I know, right!" the heiress says, "I told them he'd probably be hiding out in some abandoned warehouse or something, but did Daddy listen? No! He's spent all damn month combing the border! Jinx says she thinks the killer is a succubus or something, apparently super valuable on the magical black market. Daddy doesn't really care about that, though he just wants them gone."
Seriously, it's on the tip of my tongue. I know him from somewhere.
Also, apparently Jinx has never seen an actual concubus victim, good to know.
…
Damnit, I've got a strange feeling that something is seriously wrong here. And as a seer, I've learned to never ignore strange feelings.
You know what? Fuck it.
I give a forced chuckle. "I guess Carmine should listen to you more, then. Listen, Sofia, I just got a text from Lonnie and he needs some help with something, so I gotta go. See you later?"
"Wait, what? Argyra, what the hell are you-"
I flip my phone closed, hanging up.
…That'll probably come back to bite me in the ass later, won't it?
Whatever, future me's problem.
Now, Tally-Man. Why is that ringing so many bells in my head?
…
…
Suddenly, it hits me. Tally-Man is rumored to contract for the League of Shadows.
Fuck, Paula.
Artie's in danger.
She lives decently close to where Jinx and Tally-Man are going to be, I can't risk-
I turn to pull out my phone, but realize it's already in my hand, dialing.
"What's up Eri?"
"Artie, where are you?"
Artie's in danger.
"My mom's place, why?"
Paula won't listen to me if I'm not there in person, that's just the way she is. Also, if she's being… especially Paula, I might need to do something drastic, like sedate her. Shit, should I stop by my lab to pick up some tranquilizers? I knew I should have refilled my stock!
"Shit. Alright, I'll be over there. We need to talk, ASAP. I'll see you in a minute. I'm, uh… right near there."
Artie's in danger.
"Eri, what's wr-"
I hang up. Alright, just need to wait fifteen or so minutes before teleporting, so it feels reasonable that I could have walked there.
I'm especially proud of my teleportation spell, actually. I got it from a theory book I bought from a Yoruba Babaaláwo.
Artie's in danger.
Seriously, it's a crying shame that more Western wizards just stick to Hermetica and other Western theoretical systems, there's some fascinating stuff in the world if you know where to look for it.
I mean, it could be the formatting, in the case of Africa. The "book" I bought from him was less a book and more "memory crystal of oral instruction". Most Africans outside some of the major empires did a whole master-apprentice thing for teaching magic up until like the 1800s.
Artie's in danger.
Y'know, I'm pretty sure he actually charged me double because I'm a white English-speaker. On the one hand, I mean… fair? I'd probably be pissed too if my people had been Britain-ed for centuries. In living memory too, that dude had to be like 200.
Artie's in danger.
But on the other hand, my people have been Britain-ed! I'm Irish and Greek, neither of me likes the British! Artie's in danger. And yeah, I know, unequal patterns of development, neocolonialism, all that stuff Lonnie likes to rant about, but c'mon! I had to eat ramen for like a month!Artie's in danger. He could have at least reduced the cost for healing that cut on his great-grandson's head. Artie's in danger. Ok admittedly, the cut was from my bumping Artie's in danger into him because I wasn't paying att-
Ok you know what fuck this, I can't wait any longer. I'll just say I was a block over, or something. I release the teleportation spell, and feel myself fade into the local weave, stepping sideways through time to arrive at a place that, in some ways, I was standing at all along.
I run up the building's stairs, and knock on Paula's door.
The door swings open, and I let out a sigh of relief.
"Eri?"
"Thank the fucking Fates. I came as soon as I could, is Paula here?"
"…yes? Eri, what the hell is up with you?"
"Fuck, there's no time, I have to-"
"Eri, what is going on!"
I grab her shoulders, staring directly into her eyes. "Artie. Artemis. Don Carmine just called in Tally-Man to hunt down someone in this area."
She just looks confused.
"Tally-Man, the associate of the League of Shadows."
All at once, I can see the color drain from her face. "Fuck. Mom."
I grimace. "I know. We need to figure out if they knew each other, and if they did, what exactly-"
"Fuck, fuck, do you think he'll kill her?"
I grimace. "I don't know, but I think I have a place where you and Paula can hide if he comes for you. It should be-"
I'm interrupted by a polite cough. Artemis and I both jump, turning around to see Paula in the kitchen, looking at us with an inscrutable expression.
"If I did know something about that-"
She wheels herself forward.
"-I would have to say that Tally-Man and Tigress never knew one another. I doubt he even knew her name, before or after her retirement."
I feel a great whoosh of air leave me. Oh thank the Fates.
I lean on the doorway, feeling like I truly did run a mile to get here. "That's… that's good. Fuck. I was so worried…"
I turn to Artemis, only to realize that she's still rigid, hands digging gouges into her palms. Ah, shit. I should have expected this.
"Uh, hey, P- Ms. Nguyen? Do you mind if Arti- Artemis and I go to her room?"
She stares for a long second, and then nods, wheeling herself back into her bedroom.
I walk Artemis to her own room, wincing as she digs her fingernails into the meat of my hand.
When we close the door, she turns to me, and collapses in my arms.
"…Fuck, Eri."
I sigh.
"Why does it always come back? Why can I never escape this shit?"
I pull her into a hug, and she lets her head drop into the crook of my neck, burying her face in my collarbone.
I can feel the beginnings of wetness on my skin.
"Will I ever be able to get free of them, of their past? Or will they always be fucking hanging over my shoulders like… like some fucked-up angel and devil from a cartoon."
I give a wan smile. "More like devil and a slightly-less-shitty devil."
Her chuckle is wet. "Y-Yeah."
"I try… I try so hard, so fucking hard, to be different… but what if I'll always just be Tigress and Sportsmaster's daughter?"
I stroke her hair, murmuring soothing nothings into her ear as she lets her feelings out.
We stay like that for around fifteen minutes, just sitting there cuddled together as she clutches me.
Eventually, we end up positioned with my head lying in her lap, her fingers carding through the silver strands of my hair in soothing motions.
Eventually, Artemis sighs. "So… Carmine is really sending Tally-Man out looking for some sort of… blood wizard?"
"Blood mage, and yes. Apparently the guy's been killing people for the past month, but no one can actually figure out who he is."
She hums lazily. "How do you know it's a guy, then?"
I roll my eyes. "Please. A woman would be far too competent to leave the bodies lying around in back-allies."
She whacks me on the shoulder, trying to suppress a giggle. "People are dead, Eri!"
I smile. There we go.
We stay like that for a little while more, my head in her laps, her idly stroking my hair.
"So…" she eventually says, "why does Carmine think that the P- the Bertinellis are sending this guy?"
I frown, sitting up. Oh, right.
"The Pulentuni have been getting into some seriously messed-up magic recently."
I have to hold back a shiver at the memory of a fire-breathing cultist charging directly at me, claws raised. "Dark shit, seriously dark shit, the type of stuff that rots your soul from the inside."
My eyes flick to the side. "Or, uh… so says the word on the street. Apparently they have suldati that can punch through walls, stuff like that."
Artemis frowns, not seeming to catch my slip. "That doesn't answer my question. Is there any actual evidence the two are connected?"
I shrug. "I mean, how can they not be? They show up with evil blood magic, then some corpses start showing up, clearly killed by evil magic? I mean, there's only a few ways that you can suck the life force out of a corpse like that, and specific types of blood magic are the most common."
Artemis shoots me a strange look. "And how do you know that?"
Shit, apparently she did catch it. "I mean, word on the street is that's what Jinx told Carmine, apparently."
I'm such a fucking coward.
Eventually, she decides to let it go. "Mhm. Well, regardless, you shouldn't jump to assumptions like that when investigating. It's fully possible that these two groups have nothing to do with one another, or are receiving similar abilities from a single source."
"…Sorry, but I just can't see it. It doesn't make sense."
"Think about it, Eri. What would the Pul- the Bertinellis have to gain from leaving random shriveled corpses in back-alleys in Falcone territory?"
"…intimidation? To try to scare us, make Carmine blink."
She shoots me a mild glare at my partisan phrasing, but nods. "Maybe. But in that case, why try to hide the corpses? Why not string them up outside stash-houses, or something? If the magic they're using really is as… soul-rotting as you say, or whatever, I can't imagine they'd be averse to it for moral reasons."
That… that's a really good point.
My eyes widen. "Holy shit, Artie, you don't think-"
The smile the blonde gives me is practically radiating smugness. "That our wonderful, strong, intelligent Don Carmine is chasing down a false lead because his own arrogance has blinded him to the possibility that the entire world doesn't revolve around his petty gang feuds? Yes, yes I do."
I can't stop myself from giggling. "Oh Fates, he's going to be so pissed when he finds out."
I frown. "But wait, in that case, who the hell is killing these people, then?"
"Hm… Well, my first instinct is to say someone using the same sort of magic, but let's rule out the other options first. Do you think it could be some sort of magical creature, or something?"
"What do you mean?"
She gestures vaguely to the air. "I mean, you know, like a succubus or something. Aren't they supposed to drain men of their life force? That sounds a lot like what's going on here."
I shake my head. "No, it doesn't make sense. I mean first of all, concubi — that's the species name — can feed on anyone of any gender, and second of all, I took a little look at one of the corpses, and they don't look like concubi victims at all. It's clearly some sort of intentional magic."
Yeah, the aether patterns in the corpses are all wrong for some sort of inborn soul drain ability, whether from a non-human or a magical creature. It's a spell.
Artemis seems to be restraining a smirk. "You just 'took a little look'?"
I roll my eyes. "Ok fine, I may or may not have used a minor illusion to sneak into the coroner's office to look at the corpse. I was curious, sue me."
I pout. "It's not like I was hurting anyone…"
She lets out a laugh, loud and deep and rich and beautiful, fondness shining in her eyes. "Never change, Eri. Never change."
Shut up, I'm not blushing, you're blushing.
"A-anyways" I say, desperately trying to change the subject, "so it's definitely not a concubus."
"Is that seriously the gender-neutral version of 'succubus' and uh… what's the male one?"
"'Incubus', and yes."
Artemis nods, absorbed in thought. "Maybe a meta with some sort of absorption power?"
I frown. "Maybe? Is there anyone like that in Gotham?"
Artemis shakes her head. "No, but they could be new. If they-"
"No" she says, frowning, "then why would they try to keep things secret? Maybe they gain power from stealing life force, and are trying to be discreet?"
I hum. "It's a good thought, but there w- Jinx said there was magic on the corpses, according to a guy I know."
She shoots an annoyed look at my "admission" of gang contacts, but quickly goes back to staring at the middle distance.
After a minute, she pops up. "Right, I can't think of anything else, so that means it likely is someone using the same sort of magic, just independently. Where did you say Jinx and the Tally-Man are looking."
"Around here, near the border with Bertinelli territory. They're trying to find where the guy is operating from."
Artemis stands up, moving over to her closet. "Let me…"
She bends over, digging around for something in the back.
Don't look at her ass don't look at her ass don't look at
Thankfully, she stands up after only a few seconds, triumphantly holding up five tightly-folded sheets of paper. When she spreads one of them out on the floor next to the bed, I can see it's a map of the border neighborhoods of Falcone and Bertinelli territory. It has an absurd level of detail, with individual shops and alleys, with gang territory drawn in with marker.
I narrow my eyes. "…Artie?"
"Hm?"
"Why exactly do you have this?"
She blushes, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Uh… I have them for everywhere in the city?"
I raise an eyebrow.
She bites her lip, clearly struggling with something. "I… there's… there's actually something I've been meaning to talk with you about. It's related to the map. Are you free tomorrow, after… after all this is over?"
"For you? Always. If I'm not, I'll rearrange things, make room."
She shoots me a relieved smile. "Good… good. But uh, can we get back to this serial killer?"
I nod. Whatever this is, it's clearly making her uncomfortable. "Alright. So this is a map of where they'll be looking, right?"
"Right. But this" she switches the paper, spreading out the four other sheets on the ground, "this is where they're probably hiding. Because-"
I grin. "Because if I was a blood mage operating in the same territory as another group of blood mages, I'd want to be as far away from them as possible!"
"Exactly" she says. "So now, we just have to figure out where the hell he's actually operating from."
She stands up, moving to tape the maps to a cork-board. "Do you know where the previous bodies were found?"
I smirk. "Absolutely I do."
Over the next four minutes, after I give her the murder locations that I found earlier using divination, we stick one of those red-balled push-pins you see in detective shows into the sites of each previous murder.
"Alright" Artemis says, stepping back, "now, let's look at this, big picture. Forget the magic, pretend they're not a gang enforcer, or some sort of cape, just an average everyday serial killer."
It should say a lot about what type of city Gotham is that we have "average, everyday" serial killers.
She stares at the map intently, eyes darting back and forth over the pins, trying to discern a pattern. I'd help but honestly, I'm lost. I guess it kind of looks like a weird smiley face, if you squint.
Yeah, in retrospect, leaning so heavily on seership at the expense of my baseline investigative abilities is really coming to bite me in the ass about right now. But in my defense, Artie was always a fucking master at this sort of thing!
So I just sit back, and watch the master work.
Over the next twenty minutes, she slowly draws several increasingly-smaller circles on her map, occasionally getting up to consult with various books from her shelf.
"Alright" she eventually says, stepping back from the wall, "I've narrowed it down to this four-block radius. They should be based somewhere here, the killing patterns don't make sense otherwise."
"…"
"…"
"…Eri? What is it?"
I realize there's a giant, goofy smile on my face. "Sorry, sorry. I just love seeing you in your element. You'd make an amazing detective, you know."
She bites her lip, brushing her hair behind her ears as she tries to hide a smile. "You think so?"
I lay a hand on top of hers. "I know so. Seriously, you have an incredible mind."
After a minute of us just sitting there, staring at one another and growing slowly redder, Artemis eventually coughs.
"R-Right" I say, "Any ideas on how to narrow it down?"
Any levity leaves Artemis, as she growls, looking ready to punch the cork-board. "No, which is what's so fucking annoying! I'd have- someone would have to comb this entire neighborhood just to find this asshole, which would give them more than enough time to get away!"
I tilt my head. "…Wait. If he" — I shoot a teasing look at Artemis — "really is a mage, he'd need wards of some kind to keep him from being detected."
"So…" I walk up to the map and begin crossing off locations.
"He can't be based from anywhere with too many people, or somewhere with a lot of foot traffic, otherwise, someone would notice something's up. Jinx goes on patrols, and she'd be able to sense it."
Also I'd sure as shit have noticed if a new anti-precognitive ward went up somewhere I could see it.
By the time I'm done, I've ended up crossing off around 60% of the territory.
"And" I say, "if he's put up anti-divina- the type of wards you'd need to not be detected, the best place to do that would be near a body of still water."
"Why"
"Well, this guy can't be too talented, or else he'd have just vaporized the bodies, or something. He clearly doesn't want them to be found. And with a few exceptions I don't think apply here, the easiest way for someone like that to block scrying would be basing his wards on a large, still body of water. Still water's excellent for scrying, so if you invert the aetheric poles of the-"
I cut myself off before I go far into theoretical jargon. "The point is, I think he needs access to something like a pool to anchor the wards."
Artemis steps up, crossing off more locations. "Right, that narrows it down to… these four spots."
I frown. Four locations within a four-block radius, marked on a map made of four sheets of paper? Not a good sign…
Although, come to think of it, I suppose omens of death are what I should be expecting when dealing with a life-draining serial killer. And the fact that there are three omens suggests that rather than being an omen of the death of something itself, it's an omen of us overcoming it.
I mean, me overcoming it. Artie isn't… Although…
"So" I say, doing my best to not let my thoughts show, "how do we actually figure out where the hell he's going to be. Because some of these are close enough to the others…"
Artemis nods. "There's a chance he'll notice, and get spooked."
We both step back, looking at the map.
"Wait" Artemis says, pointing to two of the locations on the first map, on the top left. "Look at these two, they're all right next to at least one murder sites. If I were a serial killer-"
"Which" I say with a grin, "we technically have no way of knowing you're not. Ooh, maybe that's why you're so insistent the killer isn't male!"
She slaps me on the shoulder, grinning. "Shut up, idiot. If I were a serial killer, I don't think I'd kill someone right outside my own doorstep. Too much of a risk of an investigation turning something up."
My brows raise. "That makes sense. This guy clearly isn't stupid, or he would have been caught by now."
"And here!" she says, pointing to the site on the third map on the bottom left. "This one is a bit further away from the closest site, but it's connected to it by a blind alley!"
"I'm sorry, I don't follow. Why is that important?"
"Because, if he was operating from here, why not just take the body back with him to erase the evidence? It's not like anyone would have been able to see him, there are no windows facing the path he'd be taking. It's not like anyone would actually be out in the alleys at night."
I grin. "So that means…"
Artemis jabs a single push-pin right into the center of the map on the lower right, smile wide. "We got him."
"It fits perfectly" she says, "the area around it is almost suspiciously free of murder sites, and the only easy access is visible from at least two other buildings, even if they're out of the way."
I turn to face my best friend, watching her proudly beam at the corkboard, the late-afternoon sunlight turning her hair into a golden halo as it shines through it.
Fates, she's incredible.
…
…
Abruptly, I realize something, and groan. "Ah, fuck."
"What?"
"This means Sofia was right. I am never going to hear the end of this."
Artemis pauses mid-movement, pin in hand.
"…I'm sorry, what was that?"
"Um… I said that Sofia was right, and she's never going to let me hear the end of it?"
Artemis turns to me, a forced smile on her face. "You talked about this with Sofia Falcone before me?"
Oh shit.
"Look, Artie-"
She drops the smile, glaring. "Don't you 'Artie' me! Did you seriously call that- your little fuck-buddy before you called me about this? I thought you were so worried, rushing over here! You said you dropped everything to run over here, not… not strolled along, laughing about the serial killer with your little friend!"
I glare. "I did drop everything. You have no idea how worried I wa- No, you know what? First of all, she's my friend. Nothing. Else. I don't know how many times I have to tell you. Not that it would be your business if she was."
"Maybe it's because you've clearly been sleeping with somebody these past few months, and you don't want me to know about it!"
Shit. She's talking about Rose.
"Look" I say, "I don't know what you think-"
"There were panties in your fucking backpack, Eri!"
…
…I'm going to kill that fucking bitch the next time I see her.
I have to control a snarl. "Look, no matter what you may or may not think I've been doing with Sofia Falcone, the point is, I called her for information. How do you think I figured out Tally-Man was even here?"
She scoffs. "What, that's supposed to prove me wrong?"
She puts on an (admittedly eerily good) impression of my voice. "Noooo Artie, chill out, man! She's just a friend! My bro! My best tooootally platonic buddy, who is the fucking HEIRESS TO a MURDERER, who APPARENTLY trusts me enough to reveal CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION about the SERIAL KILLERS her dad hired!"
"Okay that… that…"
Huh. Come to think of it, why was Sofia so free with her information? She's normally more-
No brain, not the time.
"That's completely ridiculous. I wouldn't have fucking known about any of this if it wasn't for her."
"Oh, so what? Am I supposed to call her up and say thank you? 'Oh Little Miss Mobster, thank you so much for being such a trusting, loving soul towards Eri! I'm so happy that you two are close enough that she chooses to ignore all the horrible crimes you're complicit in. You're such a good influence."
I growl. "I am not having this discussion again. What is it with you and her, why do you hate her so much? She's not involved in that shit, I know you know-"
"Oh bullshit Eri" she says, practically spitting her words. "Bullshit. I know you're not smart enough to buy that. But apparently, you're so fucking hypnotized by that ass of hers that you can't help but defend her honor like a knight in shining armor."
"I'm not defending her! I'm saying you're being paranoid and ridiculous!"
She rolls her eyes. "Right, that's how it always is. Paranoid, crazy Artemis… up until Jenna Haines actually does start stalking you and try to light your dorm on fire. Then it's all 'oh you were right, Artie!' and 'I should have listened to you, Artie!'… Up until the next girl comes along."
"Don't you put words in my mouth, I would never call you crazy. And you hating Jenna wasn't about her being evil and crazy, you think everyone I hook up with is evil and crazy, because-"
She throws up her arms. "No, you know what? I thought we were actually- I can't do this. I can't have this argument, again. There's the fucking door, Eri, don't let it hit you on your way out."
I turn, growling. "Fine! If that's how it's going to be."
I storm out of the apartment, teeth grinding, ignoring the wetness in my eyes.
I pause on the doorstep.
I…
She…
Should I… A moment builds
No. This is fucking ridiculous. She'll come to her senses.
I walk out. And everything changes
I prepare a teleportation spell to go back to my Sanctum. Whelp, looks like this is going to be a long night alone. Carmine will eventually find this guy, so it's not even my problem.
I pause.
Although, in the time it will take, this guy will probably kill at least one more person…
…Gods damnit brain, you're gonna make me do this, aren't you.
You know what? Fine, fine! I may be a selfish bitch, but I'm not enough of one to just let some maniac kill an innocent civilian.
I roll my eyes, sighing. Well, let's at least hope that whoever this is has some interesting loot.
I purposefully ignore how much the voice of my conscience sounds like the girl I just left behind.
AN: Sorry for the long wait, I had a weird week. No one's figured out which of the named characters (not Lonnie) in the fic is the killer btw, he's a canonical DC villain. The title of the chapter refers to Emperor Anthemius's final loss in the Vandalic War, when the Vandal armies used flaming ships to burn a large potion of the Roman fleet in 468 CE. This lost Rome the province of Africa and its massive grain exports permanently, making the fall of the Western Roman empire inevitable.
Also, just saw that one of my all-time favorite YJ fics, "The Fate of All Fools" by the fantastic @Chairtastic is updating again. Everyone go check it out!
Yes, I'm aware that in YJ canon Paula's cape name was "Huntress", but since I'm considering putting actual Huntress in my fic, I'm changing it. It's not like Artemis is going to be using "Tigress" in this timeline.
As always, discussion keeps me motivated, so please let me know what you think. I also talk about story stuff and get writing feedback on my channel in the Gaylor Convention Center.
For example, I'm currently trying to figure out some good obscure Gotham heroes to include that would work in a world where Dick Grayson is still Robin.
And if you want a fun easter egg (and minor spoiler), look at the way the four map pieces are labeled, and which one they find the killer on.
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1.9 / Ave Imperator, Morituri te Salutant (Artemis)
As always, discussion keeps me motivated, so please let me know what you think.
PoV: Artemis
I… That was…
That's the worst fight we've had in a while. In years.
I resist the urge to run out of the door to apologize.
No, no. She can't just…
Fuck, fuck, this is such bad timing, with the serial killer.
I rush to my closet, pulling out my costume.
As must as I want to sit on my bed and cry for a while, someone needs to stop this motherfucker before he hurts anyone else. He's been killing every few nights at this point, so if the pattern holds, there's every chance he'll go on to do something tomorrow if no one stops him.
I pull out my phone, pulling up the pants on my costume.
C'mon, pick up… I can't face this guy on my own, I need backup.
Fuck, voicemail.
Over the year and a half I've been working, I've collected the numbers of both Tomcat and Robin. I've teamed up with them a few times since then — once all three of us together, even! — and we've worked pretty well together. Tomcat's weirdly serious, Robin's a bit too jokey for my taste, but they're both good guys.
They're good people, and I get along fine with them, but right now I want to strangle them with my bare hands because why are neither of them picking up!
Fuck, that's right. Wildcat said he'd be out of the city for the next week, and Robin's phone broke the last time we teamed up, a few nights ago. He probably hasn't replaced it yet.
…Looks like it's just going to be me then. Against a magical serial killer than can suck the life out of people.
I let out a shaky breath. I really, really don't want to die with the last thing I ever said to Eri being an insult.
I grimace, taking in a deep breath, staggering how I let it out. Don't catastrophize, focus. I can deal with… all of that once I've caught this motherfucker.
I sneak out the back of my mom's apartment using the fire escape, and make my way down to the motorcycle I bought for a hundred bucks from a scrapyard.
Honestly, it probably wouldn't even make a difference even if I'd told Eri. She has those tricks she inherited from her dad, but honestly, those are barely anything. I don't think a ball of light is going to help me fight some dude sucking the life out of people to power a bunch of evil rituals.
Before I know it, I've arrived. I park my bike two blocks away behind a dumpster, and jump up to the rooftops.
Right, let's scope this place…
Out?
Standing a block away, tucked in a side alley, is a figure in a silver coat, with a purple… something under it. They have a silver hat on — one of those traditional witch's hats — with long hair of the same color flowing out underneath.
I perch on the fire escape above them, eyes intent.
They're kneeling on the ground, clutching something in their hands, faint purple wisps swirling around their fist.
With a flick of their wrists, they open their hand, letting strange-looking shells clatter to the ground. They spend a minute or so staring at them, their head tilted in a strangely-familiar manner.
Eventually, they seem to realize something, and wave a hand, floating the shells back into their cloak. "The sign of the unexpected guest…"
Wait.
It can't be.
That voice…
I stare closer, trying to peer into the shadows of their hood.
Are those purple-?
My jaw drops. I'd recognize those beautiful eyes anywhere, even through a mask.
"…Eri?"
"Actually, it's Silver Sorceress, but-"
The figure- Eri shoots up, whirling around. "Wait, Artemis?"
I leap off the fire escape, landing with a roll and popping up in front of her.
"I… what? Eri, what the hell's going on?"
I point. "What are you doing here, weird that outfit? And what's with the book, and those shells?"
She gestures at me, face bewildered. "I could ask the same thing! Artemis, what the hell are you doing here, wearing that… that Halloween costume!"
I scowl. It's not my fault that it's hard to make a superhero costume on a budget.
She takes off her mask, staring me in the eyes with a desperate look on her face. "You know what, doesn't matter. You need to leave, now. We were right, the killer is inside, and he's planning something big."
"That's why I'm here! Someone needs to take this guy down."
"This isn't the time for games, Artie!" she says, her voice rising an octave and taking on an air of hysteria, "this guy is seriously fucking bad! I've been casting divinations, and he is bad fucking news! He's planning something, I'm not sure what, but when he does it I won't be able to stop him!"
"Eri… what the fuck are you talking about? Stronger than who? And what do you mean 'divinations'?"
"I'm serious Artemis" she yells, voice desperate and hysterical, "I can't fucking protect you if he attacks after whatever it is, my shields won't be able to hold up, I've seen it! I don't know if Captain Atom or Wonder Woman could hold up, I don't know if Superman could hold up!"
I grab her by the shoulders, stopping her rant about the three most powerful heroes in the Justice League. "Eri! What the fuck do you mean, your shields? What are you talking about?"
She blanches, eyes going wide as the color drains from her face. "I… um…"
"Eri." I say, swallowing, a feeling of rising dread settling in my chest "…why do you think you'd be able to protect me against a magical threat? Why do you have that book, and that staff, and those robes? What do you mean 'anyone you've fought'?"
Her eyes are wide, staring in the middle distance.
Eventually, she croaks out an answer. "I… may have been…"
I gesture for her to continue.
Her face looks like ash. "…declining to mention some things. About myself."
I swallow, feeling the ground invert under my feet. I reach out, grasping for something.
She stares off into the distance, unable to even look me in the face. "You know how I learned those spells I taught you? And how I sometimes get, uh… hunches about the future?"
I nod.
"I… may have never stopped studying magic."
"How?! You told me you'd need… you'd need…"
She grimaces. "I mean, a lot of was just experimentation. But, for the rest… as it turns out, those hunches are in high demand in the magical economy?"
"T-The occult shop, Madame whatever-her-name-is, are you telling me that-"
She sighs, closing her eyes. "…She's a witch. I trade divination against her enemies for access to her alchemy trading contacts, and her keeping my, uh…"
Her eyes flick towards me. "…cover story."
She swallows. "And uh, in the interest of full disclosure, the things she deals with aren't strictly, um, well… legal.
"It's a funny story" she says, voice the least humorous I've ever heard it in my entire life, "that's actually how we met. We both tried to break into the same tomb in Prague. It was, uh…"
"…itwasfullofzombies."
I fall back against the nearby wall, eyes wide. "Are… Eri, are you fucking joking right now? Please tell me this is… this is some sick fucking prank. That Brianna is going to jump out and yell 'surprise!' or something."
She just stands there, refusing to look at me.
"You- I can't even- How could you lie to me about this! I don't even know where to start, the magic, the criminals, the fucking zombies?"
I stare at her. "I… why didn't you trust me?"
She turns to look at me. "Artie, it's not that, I… It's just…"
She freezes, staring at my costume.
"Gold."
I scowl. "What? Is that what you get paid in, or som-"
"You're an archer. Who wears gold."
This time, it's my turn to blanch.
"…You're Chryssa."
"Eri-"
"Is this what you said you wanted to talk about back at Paula's apartment?!"
"…Yes, yes it is."
I step forward to grip her shoulders, but she swats my hands off. "A-Are you serious? You sit there and fucking criticize me, while you've been hiding this?!"
I close my eyes. "Eri, I wanted to tell you. I did. And I'm sorry I hid this from you.
I lock my eyes with hers. "Please, you have to believe me, you have no idea how sorry I am. But-"
"But what!"
I throw my hands up. "But I knew you'd fucking freak out, just like you are now!"
"Oh?" she says, voice deceptively calm. "I'd… 'freak out'?"
"Why would I!" she says, putting on a patently fake smile. "Why would I have any cause to be worried? Just because you're throwing yourself off rooftops, running directly into gunfire, gallivanting off to fight metahuman serial killers like a fucking Batman cosplayer? Because you're facing down hordes of professional gunmen in a fucking jacket?"
She's yelling now, eyes furious. "Because you're going off to face against fucking Bane with only a bow and a knife!? Why possible fucking cause would I have to be worried about that!"
I growl. "Oh don't you fucking pull that shit on me, Eri.You're the one experimenting with who knows what, and pimping yourself out to magical fucking crack dealers for illegal books, and fighting fucking zombies in a tomb like Indiana fucking Jones!"
She scowls, eyes hard. "Yes, Artemis, it is different."
"Because I can do this" I have to hold back my scream as she shoots a fucking laser out of her hand at a nearby building, punching a dent into the concrete in front "and you having a fucking bow and arrow! You're-"
Before she can finish, we're cut off, a man's tortured scream sounding from inside the warehouse.
We freeze, tension still blazing in the air.
It takes every ounce of willpower in my body to force down the words I want to say, and growl out "We need to go. Now."
She nods stiffly. "My divinations show that entering through the top floor will be best. There's a railing we can climb down to survey the scene before we do anything.
She reaches out, and I flinch back.
I ignore the flash of hurt in her eyes.
"Stealth spells" she says, flatly. "And night vision. To help us with infiltration."
Oh that fucking-
She had those the entire time?! Does she even know how helpful those would be on… on literally any of my jobs.
I growl, nodding jerkily. "Fine."
A minute later, we're moving to enter the building. The location is a small warehouse, two stories tall, with catwalks surrounding a large open space in the middle. Sure enough, there's a pool out back, filled with unnaturally-still water, a single island floating in the center with a blood-red ritual circle inscribed into it.
As Eri and I slowly move in through one of the empty windowpanes, I take in the scene below.
The second "story" we're on is mostly just catwalks, surrounding a large open area in the center. A man in a full-body red outfit is standing there, a giant "E" on his chest, with the hood pulled off his head.
Is that… oh by the Fates. His outfit is made of human skin. Jesus fucking Christ.
He's standing in front of a red — looks like blood — circle with strange glyphs painted on it. There's a sobbing man tied up in the corner.
Eri raises her hand, a circle of magical glyphs shining around her outstretched fingers, and I abruptly feel the air around me go dead.
"Silencing barrier" she says. "It shouldn't last more than five minutes, but it gives us enough time to plan."
"Fuck!" she curses before I can say anything, "how does he even have a hostage? The whole reason we found this place is because it's too visible for him to have dragged people back to kill!"
I frown. "No, I can see it. If he was careful, he could have done it, once or twice. The reason I ruled it out was because it would take a miracle for it to happen two dozen times in a row without him getting caught, not because it's flat-out impossible."
"Well, fuck, that makes things… Oh no fucking way."
"What?"
"Look at his face. Doesn't that guy seem familiar to you?"
I peer closer.
"Holy shit, is that-"
Eri lets out an incredulous laugh. "Officer Willy fucking Hooker, our middle school's cop."
"The asshole who always liked to do 'random spot checks' of the girl's locker room? I thought he left the year we did, after he got in trouble for calling in a bomb threat when one of the Persian kids brought an alarm clock to school."
"He did. I just want to know what the hell happened to turn him into this."
"You know, I think- No." I shake my head. "We need to focus."
I point to the circle. "What are we looking at? Since you're the magic expert, apparently."
Eri visibly bites her tongue, taking in a deep breath, and releasing it out in steps.
"Those are Norse runes, with some Zinthosi mixed in. That's-"
She pauses. "I… You need to know. The Bertinellis, they've been dealing with the Skathites."
Seeing my bewildered look, she clarifies. "The Church of Blood? A group of nutcases worshiping an interdimensional demon god."
I grimace. The only thing I know about the "Church of Blood" is that it's an international cult led by some enigmatic hidden "Brother", and that Dad told me never to tangle with them if I could help it.
"It's fucked up magic," she continues, "the worst type of blood rituals, the ones that make you go nuts, if you aren't already. That's what those runes are. A bunch of their suldati have super strength, speed, the works."
She lets out a humorless chuckle. " Looks like you were right after all."
"What do you mean?"
"This guy's obviously cribbing some of their notes, without calling on their patron. I can see it in the rune circle, there's no element actually binding him to Tri- to the Skathites' master."
"Point is" she says, shaking her head, "he's mixing them, really inexpertly. Guy clearly isn't the shiniest trophy in the display case."
I can hear her muttering something about this being why you need to read theory, and I have to suppress the desire to smile. Even in the getup, with the magic, she really is the same old Eri.
Then I remember five minutes ago, and any amusement is wiped away by a tide of anger.
"What type of capabilities should we be looking at?" I say, voice tight and controlled.
Eri frowns. "Definitely physical enhancement, extreme physical enhancement, based on how powerful I can feel he is. I don't know beyond that. The Skathites have fire magic too, but he might not be able to use it without calling on their patron."
"Will he have the coordination to turn his strength into a range advantage? Or the durability to be more than a glass canon?"
Eri hums. "…Maybe not, actually. If he's really as much of a hack as his shoddy workmanship suggestions, he may have had to focus on one area over the others."
"How sure are you of all of this?"
She rolls her eyes. "Please. Who do you think you're talking to?"
"I don't know Eri, I thought I knew the answer to that question, but…"
Damnit, not the time.
"Oh you-"
She cuts herself off, taking in a deep breath. I twitch my lips in a silent apology, and she nods, accepting it.
"Besides my normal arrows, I have some home-made explosive and grappling arrows, but they're not the best. What about you, what am I working with? You mentioned a shield?"
She nods. "Yeah. I have a big one that isn't very mobile, and a small one that is. The small one can only take a few handgun shots before it gives out though. Those are my two best. Attack-wise, I have a lot of things."
I shake my head. "Anything you think you can cast quickly enough in a fight with someone with enhanced speed and reflexes."
She hums. "…In that case, probably those lasers you saw earlier, and blades that work best when I shoot them from my staff. Utility-wise, I can teleport around a battlefield, have battle precognition."
"Didn't I see you using telekinesis with those weird shells earlier?"
"Oh, right. Yeah, I have a telekinesis spell, but I can't lift more than a few hundred pounds at a time. I can't fling things with enough force to attack, either."
Hmm… What if…
"Do you think you could sabotage the ritual?"
"What?"
"If it's done so poorly, could you, I don't know, fuck with something, and have it blow up?"
She smiles. "Hmm… Yeah, I think I could. If I break the return energy matrix, it could cause a feedback loop…"
She trails off into mumbling.
Despite myself, I feel my lip twitch upwards. That is so her.
"Alright. In that case, first move, you use telekinesis to move something over near the front of the warehouse, distract him. Then, you teleport over to the opposite side of the warehouse while he isn't looking, and interrupt the ritual. Do something flashy but that won't get you hurt. If you can hurt him, that'd be ideal, especially if you can talk and piss him off. While you do that, I'll sneak down and untie the hostage, and get him out of here."
"That's…" she shoots me a strange look, "You really are brilliant, you know."
I have to resist the urge to blush like a- No! Angry!
"We meet back up on the catwalk, and use our range advantage of keep him pinned in the center."
Eri smiles. "Combined range fighting. Man, Miss Talon would be so smug if she ever heard about this."
I can't stop the smile from coming to my face. "Three, two, one…"
She holds a hand out, runes flashing between her fingers, and something clatters to our left.
Hooker grunts, looking up. The moment he's looked away from his circle, Eri smirks. Suddenly it looks like a tear has opened up in the fabric of the universe where Eri once stood, hatched in with glowing purple and silver threads. At the same moment, she appears over on the catwalk on the opposite side of the warehouse.
"Hey asshole!" she yells.
GODS FUCKING DAMNIT ERI YOU TALK AFTER YOU MESS UP THE RITUAL.
I grit my teeth, but shimmy my way down the ground floor. I am just going to have to be exceptionally clear with her in the future.
Hooker looks up at her. "What? Who the hell are y-"
Before he can respond, a bloody rag lying next to the circle moves onto the runes, wiping blood onto a specific set of runes on outer section.
The serial killer turns around, his eyes widening. "Oh f-"
The warehouse erupts with a shrieking sound, and a flash of red light, as the middle-aged man begins screaming.
I run over to the captive. "Sir, sir?"
He turns away from his kidnapper, who's currently shrieking, his outfit torn to rags, every vein in his body glowing bright red. "W-Who the fuck are you?"
"Sir, I need you to listen to me. My name is Chryssa, I'm a superhero."
And doesn't it always give me a thrill to say that?
"I'm going to pull out my knife to cut your ropes, alright? I need you to not freak out."
Yeah, I learned the hard way to always ask first. I had a bruise for a week after that old lady punched me, most humiliating injury of my life.
He nods, shakily. "O-Okay. But please… w-what the hell is going on? The last thing I remember was walking home from my little brother's basketball game, and this guy coming up and asking to buy some V. I told him I didn't have anything on me, and then… I w-woke up here."
I finish cutting through his bonds. "He's the Demon, that serial killer that's been targeting people here. You need to leave."
"H-Holy shit."
"Can you walk?"
He stands up, shakily. "I-I think so."
He sobs. "F-Fuck, if I get out of this, I'm gonna stop dealing. I should have listened to Arturo, man. 'Junio, you can pay for her medicine some other way! Don't fall in with that fucking cape sh-"
I growl. "Sir, you need to leave, now!"
She nods. "R-Right. Thanks, I… I won't forget this. Seriously, I'm gonna pay you back."
He runs out of the warehouse, and not a moment too soon, as the light from the ritual backlash finally seems to be fading.
Hooker is an awful sight. It seems like every vein in his body has tried to burrow his way out of his body, and his skin seems to have entirely been sloughed off, leaving red, weeping muscle behind.
Holy fuck, holy fuck. Is he dead? Please don't be dead…
His body starts to glow with a red light, his wounds slowly starting to heal up.
Eri teleports back next to me, raising a hand. "Good, at least he's sitting still. I've got a sh-"
I grab her arm. "Are you fucking crazy?"
She tries to shake off my grip. "Let go of me, what's wrong with you! He's vulnerable!"
"He's almost dead! If you hit him now, you'll fucking kill him!"
She whirls, pointing a hand towards the kneeling villain. "He's healing. If anything, I should be using more-"
Before she can finish, the man on the floor chuckles.
"That… that…" he chuckles. "You kids really don't know what you just did, did you?"
He hobbles to his feet, muscles mending faster and faster, glowing with an inner blood-red light. "It took me weeks of collecting to get enough life-blood."
"Well fuck" Eri curses under her breath, lowering her arm. "It's too late now, anyways."
His eyes go wide. "It was going to work, finally give me enough power to destroy the gangs for good. I could have fought anyone in this city, I could have fought anyone in this COUNTRY, I WAS GOING TO BE A FUCKING GOD!"
A moment later, his expression smooths back to something almost charming. "But I'm fine! You kids seem alright, so I'm not all that angry. "
He turns to me. "You must be Chryssa! The Golden Archer. I've seen what you've been doing kid, and I'm impressed! I actually thought about approaching you myself, before this little… misunderstanding."
He turns to Eri.
"And you, I don't know… huh?"
He tilts his head, listening to something only he can hear. "A demigod? They exist?!"
I freeze.
What.
Eri snarls, but turns to me. "Not the time, focus on the mission."
This… I…
Fine.
I let out a deep breath. "Fine, but you are going to explain later."
She just nods, face tight. "You already know most of it, anyways. He's still a deadbeat piece of shit with no power, just instead of a gutter mage he's a tiny god that never got worshiped outside a single city."
Huh, that's… not as bad as I thought, actually.
Whatever, not the time.
"So…" the man says, "what exactly are you two doing in my humble abode? Have you heard of my crusade? Especially after you so rudely-"
His face abruptly morphs into a hideous, rage-filled mask, as he slams a fist into the wall behind him. "-interrupted my fucking ritual!"
A moment later, he's back to perfect congeniality. I have to suppress a shiver.
"We're here to stop you." I say, channeling my best Superman impression. "Your reign of terror ends today, monster."
He chuckles. "Yeah, that's what the media's told you, isn't it. I'm some sort of criminal, just like a common thug on the street. Hurting innocent people."
Eri rolls her eyes. "I mean you have murdered several dozen people."
He growls, his eyes going hard. "Don't believe everything you read, girl. I'm the good guy, here, those were no innocent angels."
He points to the spot where his former hostage was. "That man you just so nobly freed? A drugged-up little thug. I caught him trying to push Venom onto me."
He glares. "Now, thanks to you, he's free to go back to peddling that disgusting stuff to children on the streets. He's going to ruin dozens of lives, all because you didn't fucking UNDERSTAND!"
"Shit," Eri whispers, "I knew I recognized that guy from somewhere."
I hold back a scream of frustration. Are you fucking serious, Eri?
She seems to sense my irritation, and rolls her eyes. "What? I'm studying it, not using it."
With an immense amount of willpower, I focus back on the serial killer in front of us, who's seemed to have gotten over his brief attack of rage.
"If he was a Venom dealer, then he deserves to rot in prison. But the law exists for a reason, the system exists for a reason. You can't just decide to play judge, jury, and executioner, all at once. And I don't care what he's dealt, no one deserves what you've been doing to all those people in this neighborhood."
He sneers. "Oh can it, girlie. That's the attitude that's ruined this world. Allowed evil to go unpunished, because of context and feelings."
He puts on a falsetto voice. "Oh, why don't we just give the monsters a lollypop and send them off to be rehabilitated! Don't you know the Joker had such a traumatic childhood?"
"On the force, stupid fucking bleeding-hearts just like you kept holding us back, stopping us from going in and doing what needed to be done. Whining about the rights and the feelings of the psychos we were trying to put behind bars."
"But I could deal with it" he says, "I dealt with it, and dealt with it, and dealt with it… up until the riots."
I frown. What-
Oh.
He means the protests against Mayor Dickerson and Police Commissioner Loeb. The ones that erupted after they got caught colluding with the warden of the state's largest private prison to double the number of prisoners being sent there in exchange for kickbacks. And also were making millions having a clique of the GCPD sell the drugs they confiscated from dealers, most of whom were sent to that very prison.
Last I heard, they'd found a thousand people in that prison who'd been charged with crimes they didn't commit, and two thousand more that had their sentences extended for double, or even triple what they should be.
I bet you can guess just what race most of them were, too. Or rather, which race most of them weren't.
Eri laughs, shaking her head. "Man, fuck this dude."
That's actually what made me decide to go out as Chryssa. Batman, Robin, and just about every other major vigilante operating refused Commissioner Loeb's call for "suppressing the insurrection", and after he and the mayor were both thrown out on their asses, Mayor Grange and Commissioner Gordon were installed on a reform agenda.
Call me naïve — gods know that asshole Lonnie does, constantly — but I finally felt that I had a GCPD I could trust, one that I felt would actually fight back against the gangs, instead of just being another gang. I saw that I could do good out there, actual good, and not just change which parasite was sucking the city dry.
And I know Batman feels the same way! He's been working closely with Commissioner Gordon, in a way he never did with Loeb.
I turn my attention back to Hooker, who hasn't stopped ranting.
"-and we knew this little punk was with Two-Face too! We all knew, we all could tell! But even though we had an eyewitness who could put him throwing that molotov, he got off a year later because of 'evidence mishandling'!"
"So" he says, "I looked through evidence lockup, and found some books, a way for me to fight back. A way to get me power. The type of power to do what needs to be done. Power to become the Executioner."
He smiles, looking at something in the middle distance. "Power… Pure, incredible power… the type of thing that I could only have dreamed of on the force."
Eri snorts. "That 'power' is rotting your soul from the inside out, you moron."
He turns to her, and she scoffs. Her voice is mocking, amused, and utterly devastating in the way I've only heard her pull off. The 'why are you even looking at me, you stupid little insect' voice I've heard her use on dozens of assholes at school.
"Have you been feeling headaches lately? Missing stretches of time? More irritable than usual, less in control of your emotions? Although, I have to say, that clearly wasn't a strong suit of yours even before all this."
He growls.
"I hate to break it to you, but it isn't those brain enhancing pills you bought from a guy at a Libertarian Convention, it's the fact that you're dealing with things you clearly aren't smart enough to understand."
"Who the fuck are you, anyways?" he says with a snarl.
"Silver Sorceress, someone not stupid enough to mix Norse and Zinthosi, of all languages. Seriously, you shouldn't be allowed anywhere near safety scissors, let alone magic."
She rolls her eyes. "You should be thanking us for interrupting that ritual of yours before you ended up accidentally summoning a demon when you tried to make a ritual to fix your erectile dysfunction so your wife will finally stop fucking the neighbor."
She shoots me a smirk, and I have to suppress a giggle. No! Gods fucking damnit Eri, I'm supposed to be mad at you!
He turns to me, voice half-crazed, eyes beginning to glow red. "Why can't you two understand why I'm doing this?! You're new, you can be like me, see the truth, fight back against the thugs and gangbangers without the chains of this broken system! Can't you see this is the only path, Michael! If we had this power, we never would have had to bury Cindy, never would have had to-"
I cut off the man, who's not even looking in my direction anymore. "Stop this. Whatever magic you're using is clearly not good for you, you need help. Surrender, and we can make sure you get it."
He sighs. "…I can't say I'm surprised. But don't worry girls, you'll learn, eventually."
His voice is hard. "You cannot compromise in the face of evil. You cannot back down, cannot surrender to the thugs. You have to do whatever it takes to fight them. Unlike yours, my methods are simple, pure. I'm the Executioner: I see evil-"
He slams a fist against the concrete next to him, crushing it to powder. "-and I execute it."
He turns his head up to look at us. "And if you're trying to stop me, in the name of coddling and babying the wicked…"
His smirk is manic, half-crazed. "Well, that sounds like evil to me." Crush those who stand against my righteous path.
He lets out a roar, grabbing one of the metal tables next to him and flinging it up at us. Eri sweeps her staff, slicing it in half.
I let off a series of arrows, trying to hobble his legs, but he swats them out of the air with supernatural grace.
"What was that about him being clumsy?"
Eri rolls her eyes. "I said it was a guess!"
I reach into my quiver, pulling out one of my home-made explosive arrows.
What? No daughter of Paula Nguyen doesn't know how to make home-made C4. The hardest part was designing the trigger, and I just got Eri to do it by pretending it was a problem on Brianna's engineering homework.
I love Eri, but man can she be dense sometimes.
Seeing the projectile fail, Executioner roars, hurling his body at us like a cannonball. He crashes through the catwalk, sending us diving to the sides. As he pulls himself out of the concrete wall, trying to get his bearings, I take the opportunity to sink two arrows directly into his Achilles tendons. From the other side, Eri lets off one of those silver lasers, sending him flying toward me. I have to swing from the catwalk to dodge.
"I'm right here, asshole!" I yell in a hybrid of Greek and Vietnamese.
What? There's an off-chance he speaks on of them, but there's maybe ten people in the city who actually speak both. We've done this for ages when we don't want to be overheard.
"Sorry!" she yells back in the same pidgin, teleporting over to stand next to me "what should we do?"
Executioner growls, wounds visibly healing, glowing with red light. "Speak English, you fuckers!"
I respond with a gesture that needs no translation.
A silver rune-circle forming around her outstretched fingers, Eri shoots one of those silver lasers directly at his chest. Executioner grunts, skidding several feet backwards. I can see through his burned-off shirt that his ribcage has been shattered, but the damage is already healing with a red glow. I launch an arrow at his eye, aiming for something more vulnerable, but he swats it away.
"You kids are real fucking annoying, you know that?"
Eri shoots one of those purple blades from her staff at him, and I follow it up with two arrows. The arrows take manage to slice through one of the tendons in his armpit, and the blade gouges a deep, bloody groove in his chest, which immediately begins knitting back together with an uncanny blood-red light.
He leaps forward, swinging a fist blazingly fast. Eri whirls in front of me, throwing up a silver shield which rings like a bell when Executioner slams against it.
"Come on, you little SHITS! Get out here and die!"
Eri grimaces as he hammers on it, sinking to one knee. "I can't hold this for much longer. Even without the ritual, he's too strong…"
My eyes dart around the room. There, above us!
"Hey!" I yell in our pidgin, "Get ready to teleport yourself across the room!"
I shoot an arrow at the steel cables holding the catwalk, severing them and sending the platform we're standing on crumbling down. Just in time too, as Eri's shield finally cracks with a final 'bong!'
Executioner tumbles backwards, losing his footing, but I've already leapt into the air, shooting my last home-made grappling arrow across the room. I use the momentum of the drop to swing to the other catwalk.
Shit, I'm not going to make-
I feel a sheet of metal slam into my back, the loose top of one of the crates pushing me the final few feet to the other catwalk.
"Sorry" Eri says sheepishly, "I couldn't think of any other way to do it."
Before I can respond, Executioner howls, ripping up a crate to send it hurling at us. Eri slices it in two with a purple blade, and I shoot through the separating halves to hit him right in the eye.
Eri raises a hand, concentrating, as Executioner bends over, bellowing in pain.
"I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU LITTLE THUGS! I'M GOING TO RIP OUT YOUR SPINES AND SHOVE THEM-"
After about five seconds, Eri slashes her hand down, and the pile of crates next to him collapses with a crash, pinning him under them before he can give us any of the gory details.
I turn to Eri, and she smirks, wiggling her fingers. "Telekinesis."
I laugh. Holy shit, we can actually do this.
I send a smirk at Eri, to find her mirroring my expression.
"You know…" I say, "we actually make a pretty good team."
She hums, smiling, turning to focus back on the fight.
Right, shit, the serial killer.
"Alright" I say in our pidgin, "we're not getting anywhere like this, he just keeps healing away whatever damage we throw at him. Do you know anything that could work."
Eri hums. "My Medusa's Lightning might. I don't entirely understand how the petrification works, but it's the same mechanism that the Gorgons used, and they could petrify demigods."
I raise an eyebrow. "You, admitting you don't understand something?" I say in English. "Also, are all your spells named so pretentiously?"
"Even perfection has its limits. And I think you mean cool-ly, thank you very much."
"I'm facing down an insane serial killer that stole magical knowledge from a bunch of demon cultists, and somehow, you being humble is still the most unbelievable part of my night."
She laughs.
"Alright," I say in our pidgin, "here's the plan. I have some explosive arrows, I think I can use them to pin him in, while that lightning of yours takes its time to activate. Can you use those lasers to distract him while I set things up?"
She nods. "I can. It should take about twenty seconds to petrify him totally."
I take out my last four explosive arrows, fiddling with the timers. Let's see, based off his healing rate, and the fact that he can still be disoriented by light and sound…
"Can you undo it later?"
"Of course, who do you think I am?"
"An arrogant asshole who thinks she's better than she actually is?"
"Hurtful."
I roll my eyes, lip twitching upwards. "Make sure to start with his legs to cripple his mobility."
"Got it. But I still want an apology for those devastating comments about-"
Before she can finish, a great bang sounds from the pile of metal crates, as Executioner finally manages to tear his way free.
His healing seems to be working overtime, his entire body glowing red as his legs straighten with a sickening crack. He stands up, ribcage un-denting, and cracks his knuckles.
"Oh, you're gonna regret that. You two whores are SO fucking dead."
Eri rolls her eyes. "You know, this is why you never start with the gruesome threats of torture. After that, there's not really anything you can escalate to."
He moves to jump, but she raises a hand, blasting a laser into him, nailing him into the concrete. "Now!"
While he's disoriented, she shoots off a purple blade to dig a deep gouge in his leg — ooh, good improvisation — while I shoot the four explosive arrows into a square around him.
"Lightning, now!" I yell.
She raises her staff, runes glowing around the tip, a strange humming, crackling sound emerging, like radio static distorted through a voice changer. A stream of lightning shoots from the tip, its color I can only describe as "the color of yellowish-green on an old staticky grayscale television."
The energy slams into Executioner's legs, and a stone-grey begins to creep out from the spot it lands. The killer moves to jump away, but that's when the first of my arrows goes off, blowing him back. Over the next ten seconds, each goes off in succession, dazing him and keeping him in range of Eri's lightning.
But that's just it: ten seconds.
I don't know if his healing factor is getting stronger, or he's just more inured to conventional rather than magical attacks, but he recovers from my arrows more quickly than I expected.
Desperately, I launch arrows at him, aiming for joints and tendons, but before they can hit, he bends his non-petrified leg, using it to send him careening to the side, behind one of the remaining crates.
"Fuck!" Eri yells, cutting off the lightning. "Fuck fuck fuck. What do we do?!"
"We've almost got him" I say. "We need to get down there and finish this."
Once we're both on the ground, we stalk over to the crate we last saw him behind. Eri holds up a hand, and about five seconds later, sends the crate sailing to the side with telekinesis.
…Nothing.
Where the fuck did he-
"Artemis!"
I turn at Eri's scream, seeing bright red fist a foot away from my head. I leap back, but I can already tell it's too- NO!
There's a blinding flash of silver, and Executioner slams into a wall, shattering his bones.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My eyes are wide, and I'm breathing heavily.
I… I almost died.
With a flash of purple and silver, Eri teleports in front of me. "Holy fuck are you alright? He… He almost-"
I shake my head. "Not the time. Focus on the enemy."
She stares at me for a long second, but nods sharply, turning towards where Executioner was blasted to.
If my hands are shaking a bit, I tell myself it's just the adrenaline.
The serial killer is a sorry sight: his eyes are wild, mouth practically frothing, face twisted into an expression of pure hatred. His left leg, left arm, and a good chunk of his torso are all stone. What isn't stone is glowing red, his healing clearly trying and failing to push back the Curse of Medusa.
Oh gods, now she's got me going along with the silly names.
"Give up" Eri says, voice flat and entirely unlike the joking tone from a minute earlier, "this is your last chance. Don't make me do something I don't want to do."
If looks could kill, this fight would have been over a hundred times based on the glare Eri's sending him. I am your end, insect.
He spits. "Y-You, you LITTLE PIECES OF HUMAN FUCKING GARBAGE, I'M GOING TO EAT YOUR FUCKING BONES FOR DINNER!" I WILL NOT DIE
He tries to move, but can only pathetically wiggle in place.
I knock and draw a blunt arrow, aiming for his temple to knock him out, but before I can, Eri swings her staff. A purple blade shoots out directly at his head. Perish.
I…
The arrow falls from my hand, hitting the floor at the same time as Executioner's decapitated head, a thud echoing throughout the warehouse.
Then it's silent, the only sound the gentle pitter-patter of rain on the roof of the warehouse.
In a second that feels like a million years, I turn to look at my best friend.
"…You killed him."
She… she fucking shrugs. "I mean… yeah? That's how this whole-"
I grab that stupid fucking outfit of hers, slamming that lying, murderous bitch against a wall. "You fucking killed him?!"
"I… yes? Did you get hit with some memory spell, or something? Were you not there for that giant fight?"
I… is she surprised?! Does she genuinely understand what she did wrong?
Who the hell are you, Eri?
I slam my fist next to her head. "Don't fucking play that shit with me, Eri. He wasn't healing, he was defeated. You were the one that taught me the electric hand spell, I know you could have just as easily knocked him out to bring him to justice."
She stares at me incredulously, wrenching herself out of my grip. "He was a literal serial killer, he almost killed you! I don't need the fucking courts to figure out what to do with him!"
"That isn't- Yes, you do! There are laws for a reason, people can't just go off doing vigilante justice on the streets!"
She scoffs. "What, you think he deserves mercy? You heard him, the dude was a fascist nutcase that was literally eating people's souls!"
I growl. "It's not about him, or what he deserves! If he got the death penalty, I'd be the first to cheer as the fry the fucker!"
"But he needs to get that the right way. It's about giving his victims closure, letting them face him, see what he's done. Letting the police investigate to find out if there are any other victims. Not taking the law into your own hands, not killing whoever you want just because you feel like it, because you think they deserve it! Making sure justice is done properly, by a jury of his peers, not… not some magical bitch in a robe!"
I point to the corpse.
"That's the type of shit he did. Or did you not hear his fucking monologue?"
She scowls. "I can't believe- you know, for a smart person, you can be really fucking stupid sometimes. I am not the one that went around murdering minorities on the street like a fucking psycho! I am not the one doing evil fucking blood rituals! Hell, I don't even know how to do evil fucking blood rituals!"
I scoff. "Oh really? Because for all I know, you could be! Since you apparently have a fucking library of magic you've been hiding from me!"
"Oh there it is, there it is. I knew you hadn't let that go!"
I gape. "L-Let that go! Are you fucking serious! You've been hiding half your fucking life from me since we were children! Hiding that you're… that you're some sort of shady black-market wizard grave-robber! How am I supposed to just 'let that go'! You haven't even said 'sorry'!"
I point to her. "You can't even say it now, can you!"
She glares. "Oh don't you dare act all kind and generous and holier-than-thou, like you're some fucking saint just for saying a word."
"What, did you not think I'd want to know that the girl I fucking lo- am best friends with had spent the past year and a half throwing herself at guys who can punch through concrete with a bow and a fucking knife!"
She gestures at the corpse of the man she killed. "You almost died against this schmuck, what the fuck do you think is going to happen when your luck runs out and you face someone like fucking Bane?! Did you ever think that that was one of the reasons I was hiding things from you?"
I growl. "Oh you little- I can handle myself just, don't you worry. I wasn't the one who lost my fucking head in there, and stood up in front of Executioner shouting like a fucking idiot. I wasn't the one who was running around like a headless chicken the minute we got inside there, and needed me to tell her what to do. I've fought two of Bane's lieutenants at once, and guess what? I might just be 'ordinary' but I fucking won."
I ignore her shriek of "you what!"
"And speaking of Bane, at least I'm not buying fucking Venom from him! Don't think I forgot you turning magical tricks for books, or raiding zombie tombs! You don't think I'd be worried about that?"
"Don't be stupid, that is so not the same thing! I kept things from you for a good reason, you kept things from me because you were afraid I'd rightfully try to stop you from doing these… idiotic little stunts!"
I rear back. "Idiotic stunts?!"
She growls. "Yes! I hate to break it to you, because you're apparently fucking blind as well as being a liar, but you would have died tonight if I hadn't been here! You can't just go running off to deal with fucking blood magic like I can, because you do not have powers! You're normal, you're an ordinary fucking person, you're not like me! You can't-!"
She pauses. "Not like that- I mean, you know what I mean! You can't actually-"
I sneer. "Of course. And there it is. Brilliant, incredible Eri, always weighed down by dull, boring, ordinary Artemis."
"I'm so sorry your highness," I say, my voice gravely, "I'm just too average for you. I suppose I'll just go stay locked up in my room like a good little lamb? Play with my dollies while the real strong talented people do all the real work?"
My voice turns sickly sweet. "I guess not all of us are lucky enough to have daddy jizz some mediocre magic into me that lets us whore ourselves out to criminals just like our mothers."
I blanch. Ok no, that was too far. "Eri I'm-"
"Oh fuck you" she says, voice practically a snarl, "you self-righteous fucking cunt. You want to fucking talk about parents? Who's the one dressing up like Nathan fucking Lane and going to beat the shit out of people with sports equipment?"
She smirks, something dark and vicious. "I know you have daddy issues and anger issues, but this is a novel fucking way of-"
I slap her.
Eri just stands there, hand on her cheek, eyes wide. I have to suppress the dark, guilty thrill in my belly. "Don't you fucking dare" I say, eyes wild. "Don't you fucking dare go there, that's some horrible, evil shit to s-"
She gives a dark laugh. "And there it is! Evil, awful, twisted, tainted" — she practically hisses that last word — "Eri, living her debauched life of villainy!"
"You know what?" she says throwing her arms up, "sure! You know what, fuck it! Sure, I'm evil, I'm the fucking worst! I'm an evil, lying, scheming bitch, who only wants to hurt you, and loves killing people! I'm your Dad and Jade combined, you happy? Is that what you want to hear?"
I growl. "You conceited little bitch. You always do this, always act like I'm the psycho jealous one, like I'm some judgmental, hysterical, irrational monster."
"I hate to break it to you, Eri", I practically snarl her name, "But you're not some put-upon victim, and I'm not the evil ball-and-chain whose only goal in life is to make you miserable! Sometimes you just make stupid decisions, make yourself miserable, and then lash out like a toddler at anyone who tries to call you out on it and try to help you!"
"Miserable?" she says, "You're the thing that makes me fucking miserable, you hateful, judgemental, self-righteous-"
She cuts herself off with a snarl. "No, no. I'm done. You think I wanted to be here tonight? You think I wanted to run all over town like a moron chasing down some lunatic? No! I came here looking for a succubus corpse, and got dragged into this whole… chicanery because of you!"
Wait, but I thought she said earlier that she already knew it wasn't a succub-
She turns to the body of the man she killed. "I'll probably be able to get something for my research out of him, but no one's willing to buy 'crazy fucking nutcase' parts. You always do this, always make me bend myself to suit you and your-"
I feel my heart stop in my chest.
"YOU'RE GOING TO WHAT?!"
She pauses. "…Oh, so that's your line."
She kicks the body of the man she killed. "This motherfucker can kill dozens of people, and you call me a monster for not taking him out for a steak dinner and sucking his dick, but dissection, oh, that's a bridge too far! That's unforgivable! Evil fucking Eri is at is again!"
"Well, newsflash!" she says, letting out a manic laugh, "this will not be the first corpse I've taken apart!"
I…
I at least thought…
"…Is that really all this is to you?"
"Is what? I thought you were fucking stupid, not literally dumb, Chryssa."
She practically sneers my name. The one that I chose for her.
"I thought… Is the only reason you're here really because you wanted to get a fucking… a fucking body to experiment with?"
She hesitates, just for a second, but her eyes harden.
"You know what? Yes it is! How about that, huh? What are you going to do about it, cry to your new daddy? Tell Batman about the scary, evil mage that goes around killing people to dissect them? Or would you just lock me up in fucking Arkham yourself?"
My mind stutters. If Eri was…
"Y-Yes" I say, forcing the words out. "I-If you became a danger, a threat to the citizens of Gotham? I-I'd have to, I wouldn't hesitate. That's what a hero does."
I ignore just how much of a fucking lie that is
Something in her expression breaks, and her eyes go hard.
She ignored me. "…You really would, wouldn't you?"
"Eri please! Please tell me you haven't been killing people for… for experiments!"
She points to my costume. "You care more about… about that than you do about me. About anything else. You thought that I'm evil, and untrustworthy, so if I knew, I'd just taint it for you. Get my stink all over it. Because you're a hero, and I'm a villain."
I stare at her, eyes desperate. I need to know this, need to know she isn't- "Eri! Shut the fuck up! Have. You. Done it!? Have you taken people and butchered them for parts?"
She grins at me.
"What, you want to know? Do you think every Sunday, I go out on a stroll around town lopping off the heads of random people to take back to my evil lair? Because that's what I fuck am, aren't I? Evil."
Her smile is vicious, manic, and more than a little terrifying. The smile of a woman on the edge of a total mental breakdown, barely hanging on to sanity, and who just wants to hurt as many people as possible on her way down.
"Don't you worry yourself, Chryssa, I'm not going around cutting up people for their organs."
Oh thank the go- thank God.
"I've only killed seven people in my entire life, after all, six outside of Gotham. That doesn't quite qualify me as a serial killer, I don't think."
I rear back, watching as she takes a perverse pleasure in my shock. "Oh, what, is that too many? I wouldn't know. Amongst us higher beings, mortal lives really aren't all that valuable."
"You were talking about what you heroes do, earlier. Well here's the truth you're going to hate me for telling you, just like you always hate me for telling you the truth, because you're an irrational, stupid mortal. You want to know what you, and Batman, and all your friends do? Absolutely fucking nothing."
"You catch some nutbag, brutalize some poor kid with a gun who got sucked into crime, and the next day there's another nutbag and another poor kid with a gun to replace them."
She smiles, dark, cruel, and anticipatory. It reminds me of Mister Toxic, when he realized one of the civilians he held hostage had an open wound that he could squeeze lemon juice into.
"It's an endless, pointless cycle, like an ant rolling a ball of shit up an anthill only to see it fall right back down. So, tragically mortal."
She scoffs, voice wavering. "I'm a mage and a demigod: my life expectancy is in the centuries, and that's before I figure out how to extend it. Compared to me, you're basically a mayfly. A stupid little child who doesn't know shit, and quite honestly, it's high time I left you in the dirt like the radiant being I am."
I…
She…
"This whole… situation is a good thing, actually, now that I think about it. You were right, after all, you are ordinary. The boring, bland little mortal holding me back, the only thing stopping me from achieving my true potential."
Her eyes are wild, tears running down her cheeks, her smile desperate and sharp like a rusty knife. "So go on, little ant. I cast you off. Tend to your anthill, keep your mortals in line, have your little hero fantasy. Just know that people like me?"
"We'll stomp on you and your little friends without blinking."
This…
Eri, who…
I take in a shuddering breath, my eyes wet. This… this isn't the girl who I grew up with. This isn't the girl who cried when I beat up Brent North, and tried to beat him up too so she could join me in detention. It isn't the girl who held me and stroked my hair when I cried after Jade left. It isn't the girl who smiles at me like I hung the moon and stars.
Apparently, that girl was never real. It was just a front, a disguise. For…
I look up. The figure across from me is covered in blood, smile cruel, now talking about how demons treat "mortals" like me as a delicacy, so I might as well hang up my bow.
…for Silver Sorceress.
My gaze hardens. "You're right. Apparently, I don't even know a single thing about the real you."
"You know" I say. "I always thought you could make more friends. You just never let anybody but me inside, to see the real you."
…for an enemy.
"Thank you for letting me finally realize that I'm not actually the exception."
I turn on a dime, moving to walk out the door. "Take the body, do what you want with it. And don't ever speak to me again, Silver Sorceress."
"Good, walk away! I never needed you! Go have fun with Batman!"
I tune out Er- her yelling as I walk out of Executioner's lair, my steps mechanical.
The rain begins to soak into my costume as I walk along the street. All of a sudden, my vision goes dark, the night-vision spell wearing off.
I feel the wetness on my face, and tell myself it must be rain.
