Breath 1.3
Paperwork.
I didn't believe how many forms, contracts, and other minutia were necessary for this. I was back in the 'waiting room' and busy signing away what seemed like my soul and firstborn child. After finishing yet another non-disclosure agreement, this one about Protectorate members schedules, I threw down my pen and took a break.
I stood up, stretched, and went to the supercoffee machine. Picking another ever-less-likely coffee flavor, I refilled my cup and let my mind wander for a while. Dad had gone back to work with his own bundle of papers. He only left me with one piece of advice: 'Don't sign anything without reading it top to bottom.' Mom had said something similar a few years back, after an unfortunate incident regarding her pay for one year at the university. So, I had been taking it to heart, actually reading each form beginning to end, making my eyes hurt in the process. The temptation to just start signing to get it over with was great, but I refused to give in.
After all, if I couldn't handle this level of torture, how fast would I fold to some supervillian when strapped to a doomsday device or torture rack?
I blinked at the mental image and shuddered. Right. Back to forms. Steaming cup in hand, I went back to the table and sat down, inhaling deep. I liked smelling coffee more than drinking it, usually. I set it down and picked up the next paper in the pile. This one had more legalese than the previous ones by far. I felt my attention wavering as the words blurred together, then shook my head and kept going.
" . . . to not hold the Protectorate accountable for the words and actions of the offender and the consequences thereof . . . "
What?
I close my eyes and grunted in frustration. I needed to know what this meant, what they were actually getting out of it- not the code language! I opened my eyes and my gaze danced down the sheet.
Oh.
This one was to keep me from suing them for the shit Sophia pulled. No more, no less.
Signed.
Next. Skimmed it, focused on it, thought about it - this one was to keep me from signing up with any other groups or licensing my name and image to parties not approved by the PRT. It's not that they wanted to profit off me themselves, it's that they wanted to control how their image was reflected in mine. Understandable, as the public's goodwill towards them was so key to their funding and operations.
Signed.
***
The rest of the time passed relatively quickly, and I even went back over the first sheets I signed and gleaned some additional insight. Much more confident in where I stood legally, I headed out and to the receptionist desk and handed over the folder. She blinked and gave me a startled look, then thanked me and told me that if I'd head back to the waiting room someone would be back over to pick me up shortly. I noticed a couple odd looks from the guards in the hall, but I just smiled and waved and went back to wait; I was not going to lose my good mood today.
I was almost to the door when I saw my own reflection in one of the big corridor windows.
What.
What.
I dashed to the neared ladies' room for the second time that day and stared myself down in the mirror.
I was glowing again.
Like, not greenish glowing in the dark. A sphere of gentle light, purples and reds and pinks and oranges, like I was being followed by my own personal dramatic sunset backdrop. It was . . .
. . . pretty damned awesome looking, if I was any judge.
There was also the brand.
Or, well, that's the first word that popped into my head for it. A golden circle on my forehead, top half filled in solid, bottom half hollow. I covered it with my hand, and it just shined on my hand instead, like a giant oversized laser pointer projection. I batted at it a bit, feeling like a befuddled cat.
Ah, so that's what they were talking about with the tarp. I suddenly imagined myself standing here with this color display and forehead brand impertinently persisting, despite a tarp thrown over me, and confused Wards commenting all around.
Okay, that was actually pretty damned funny in hindsight. Score one for the Wards.
I walked out and back to the waiting room, now actually conscious of the display I was giving off. Yeah, no wonder about the odd looks.
I did note that nothing was bleaching or chipping around me this time. Small favors, I guess.
My coffee was now chuggably warm, so I obliged it. A little bit later Clockblocker reappeared, and I pretended not to notice the dimmer-yet-still-obvious show i was putting on as he stuttered out a greeting.
"Hey, Taylor, glad to hear you signed u- er whoa, uh, right, happy to have you join us. Uh, you're not damaging the furniture right?"
I blinked at him innocently and sipped my almost-empty coffee once before responding. Confidence meter: full. Mischief reserves: adequate.
"Why, whatever do you mean?" I said with a slight head tilt. He could take a joke.
"Ah, well-" he gave a passing glance to the room, ostensibly to verify I was not wrecking anything, then regained his composure. "-ahem. Right. If you would be so kind as to accompany me this way, my lady, I shall introduce you to the rest of the riffraff."
I smiled, took his proffered arm, and accompanied him deeper into the building.
***
Vista frowned at the paper in fornt of her, a doodled symbol and list of many crossed out names all around it.
"Sunset," someone called out.
"No, too cliche. Corona?" another countered.
"Too beery. Try again."
"Lux. Luminary."
"'Meeeh."
"Wait, was that the elevator? It was! Look innocent!"
The Wards break room (which had a strong resemblance to the waiting room upstairs) went quiet as all the occupants pretended that they weren't just brainstorming name ideas for their potential newest member. They had learned the hard way that some people just were bad about deciding on a name, and so being bombarded with 'helpful' ideas tended to speed the process along. That said, they weren't even sure if the glowing girl was going to sign up; it was pretty hard to get a read off her during the incident and the van ride.
Clockblocker glided into the room, with his smugness turned up to eleven, if his face was any indication.
"The riffraff, as promised," he said as he gestured into the room.
Taylor entered, that odd symbol glowing on her forehead clearly.
"Hey guys," she said, as she gave a little wave.
Noticing that whatever crazy confidence she had before was melting quickly in the face of the crowd, Clockblocker gestured to the empty seat on the far side of the room, by Vista. Also present were Aegis, Gallant, and Kid Win.
"I am delighted to announce that Taylor here has agreed to become the newest member of the Brockton Bay Wards, effective immediately," Clockblocker announced. "That said, who's thirsty?
Hands went up, including Taylor's, hesitantly. Clockblocker hit the fridge and started digging around.
Vista leaned over and stuck out her hand to shake.
"I'm Missy. Also Vista. Nice to meet you."
"Taylor. Not too sure on a-"
"Lightshow! Think fast!"
Taylor broke the handshake and grabbed the can of juice out of the air before she turned her head to look. When she did, she noticed the assembled glaring at Clockblocker or a paper on the table. The paper had a sketch of her sigil and a bunch of potential names, with most entries crossed out and humorous reasons why scribbled next to them in girly handwriting. She giggled a bit, then switched to full out laughing. Soon she wasn't alone doing so.
For better or worse, 'Lightshow' stuck.
