Essence 3.2.1
There was a solid tactical disadvantage to my powerset, which was kind of obvious.
I wasn't subtle.
At all.
My eponymous display set a radius of the air around me to glowing, regardless of barriers, obstructions, or any other feasible source of 'shade.' And shade was the word, as it was (to paraphrase Dennis) magical bullshit super sunlight. It didn't tan people or injure them, but it eroded the environment around me mercilessly. While that itself wasn't a problem, it made my passage terribly obvious. Bad guys would see me coming, and they would be able to see where I exerted myself. This made my patrols in the more troublesome parts of town somewhat problematic.
Wards weren't really expected to do more than skirt the most questionable districts, and if they did see anything going down in those parts they simply called for help. Preferably without being noticed. That, unfortunately, was my biggest problem. I could operate slightly above human norms without lighting up, but being useful was a challenge. It was the Tinker problem, in a sense; they were useless without tools much of the time, while I was useless if I didn't want to stand out.
And trust me, not standing out was getting harder every day.
Even in my civilian guise, I was taller, walking with more grace, and slowly replacing my wardrobe. Well, sort of.
While the airbrushing was undoubtedly seeping into every aspect of my being, I had to work on my Clark Kent impression all the harder for it. Hair (wonderful, wonderful hair) tied up in a bun, glasses with false lenses that dominated my face (rather than the flawless skin), and a very very careful eye for fashion.
Ego aside, I was now too pretty to dress in my admittedly frumpy and, well, poor, old style. Someone with my face and figure in my old clothes would turn heads for entirely different reasons than a supermodel wearing something daring. While I couldn't be a total top-of-the-line fashionista in my daily life, I could dress to emphasize different parts of myself than the Lightshow costume did. So, I aimed for the opposite of a shiny, smiling, approachable super-girl.
I was the untouchable and perpetually frowning hot librarian. I could pass for a bit older than I was, now. Every moment I spent on the streets of Brockton Bay was practice, keeping my neutral frown going until I was forced to interact with people. Obviously the most common unwelcome one was boys (or guys, as the age variance was surprisingly wide). I got to immediately turn the juice up from 'frown' to 'imperious glare,' and watch flirts melt down as I wordlessly rejected them under the weight of my disapproval.
It was so much fun!
Not that I had anything against guys; I just had no time to bother with it in my day to day life. If I was going to go and, um, do that sort of thing, I'd probably dress differently and aim for other locations, and-
Well, in the old days Emma and I had chatted about that kind of thing, but it was all a pipe dream. Nowadays Missy was still too young, the other Wards were all male, and the older female PRT members . . . yeah. Little embarrassed to admit my interest in such things to adults, at this point. Especially since I couldn't rely on my power.
Well, sort of.
I've been leaving something out, this whole time. I didn't notice it immediately myself, and when I did, I kept it quiet.
I have a small reserve of 'juice' that doesn't have to make me glow. I can use it for any of my active powers, and no brand, no anima, no light at all happens. The best part is, if I force it, I can make that pool of power to act like the rest.
So, technically, I can pull off some stuff in everyday life without outing myself. An absolute godsend, honestly. Just, also terrifying. Much of my ability make me obviously parahuman, but there are other layers that do not. The idea that I could clandestinely charm my way into any boy's heart (and wallet) was . . . distinctly uncomfortable.
So, I stayed in my comfort zone; isolation. Self-imposed, self-enforced isolation via an ice-queen facade that I was slowly building up with practice. I took all of Glenn's advice, and simply did the opposite. Glaring, looking down on people that bugged me, radiating I do not want to be disturbed and otherwise harnessing the very same lessons for . . . well, PR isn't 'good' or 'evil,' so I can't just say one of those.
It started small, at first, with little flares of that pool of energy to boost shifts of stance and expression. Eventually I had it down to glaring at guys when they first displayed signs of approaching me. I'll admit I was caught completely of guard by the first woman to hit on me, but after I (less harshly than normally) brushed her off I kept my eyes open for incoming men and women, and it never happened again during those peaceful days.
It all culminated when I was off and at the library studying for more course credits. I didn't want to rely on the internet (or the PRT's internet connection, never mind my hacked server) for this. I was sidestepping down an aisle, and reached out to grab a book when my hand was blocked by another.
Blinking and stepping back, I beheld Dennis with a list in one hand (of topics I had mentioned to him I was studying) and the book I had just reached for in the other, looking at my like a deer in headlights. He also stepped back to an appropriate distance.
"Ah, I-I'm sorry miss, I was just-"
Ah. He doesn't recognize me.
Internally I smiled. Time for fun!
Externally, my frown deepened and he was now under the boy-searing glare.
"-just, ah, grabbing, this, for a friendandI'llgetoutofyourwaynowbye!"
"Stop."
He froze, as if his power had been activated. I glanced around. No one else was in earshot.
"Turn around, now."
He pivoted, sweat visible on his forehead.
"Ah, miss, I really need to get this to my friend, so-"
I pumped a splash of power into my next words. Most of the power was 'quiet,' with just a bit being 'flashy.'
"Drop it."
And the book hit the ground with a thunk, followed shortly by his knees.
He was shaking. Was that a tear? Holy crap!
"Pfft."
One hand clamped over my mouth, I doubled over, laughing silently.
"Huh?" he let out with a squeak.
I kneeled down and tapped my forehead, when the faint image of my brand was barely visible, sparking softly.
His face warped in a way I can't really describe with words, and an accusing finger preceded an entirely too-large intake of breath. Before he could yell, I simply put a finger to my lips.
"Shh."
And he flinched, and nodded with a grimace. He scooped up the book and I nodded, and we filed out of the library without another word.
Needless to say, that evening he got the best meal of his life as an apology- and as payment for his absolute unconditional silence.
