[OC][Non-BB] Sinews

[YseultNott]

The worst part of it all is the wait.

Daisy Bell's works, when they work right, when she spends time enough on them, tend to be pretty, to be thin and delicate, like spun glass and spiderwebs and dragonfly wings, and they are just as fragile as they look.

The more complex, the more well-made, the easier they break, and rarely does anything more extraordinary than a mundane flashlight survive more than a couple of uses.

"It will take a few days," she says. "I can salvage the machine enough for it to work, but it will take time, then more time to make the tests and get the results. And I'm not sure I'll be able to repair it afterward, I might have to rebuild it from scratch."

Alison wishes she could do it. A few days worth of work and a mystery solved, maybe even the entire case, lives saved and villain punished.

Still.

A few days turn out not to be fast enough.

 

[YseultNott]

There is no witness this time. Just security footage, black and white and blurry, and a figure with a hood over their head, stumbling backward when the bullets hit and then moving forward again until they bring their victim down, tearing at the flesh with their teeth, monster made faceless because their back is to the camera.

The blood is dark on the video, like the ink smudged on her fingers, and it makes something in Alison's stomach feel oily and gross, but she can't stop herself from watching, again and again and again.

It's on YouTube. Someone linked it to the press, so it was on the news too.

The news renames the villain Dog-Hungry.

 

[YseultNott]

Mom is the one who turns off the computer.

It's dark outside already. Alison hadn't noticed, just like she hadn't noticed the tears down her cheeks or the broken wood in the hollow of her fist.

"I don't know what this thing was doing on YouTube," Mom says, "they ought to take it down. It's disgusting," and all Alison can do is stare, and the words refuse to make sense.

She broke something, didn't she?

It's all she ever does.

"It's okay," Mom says, "it's just a chair. It's replaceable. It doesn't matter," and she steps toward Alison and Alison steps back, because what if?

What if she breaks her?

"Shhhh," Mom says, like soothing a child, "shhhhh, it's okay sweetie, it's okay," and Alison can feel hot glass burning her sternum, and when she opens her mouth to speak it comes out in a wail, tearing at her throat.

She has to use the back of her hands to rub her eyes. The palms are full of splinters.

"It's okay," Mom lies. "It's all going to be okay."

Her arms close around Alison.

It's the first time since she broke the wall.

Alison didn't think it would happen again.

 

[punster lv1]

A cry and a hug. I'm tentatively optimistic as to Alison's mood in the coming chapters.

 

[YseultNott]

Alison doesn't go to the headquarters the following day.

"A day together!" Mom says with an enthusiasm that rings forced, hollow. "Just you and me. It will be fun."

"What about work?" Alison asks.

Mom waves her hand dismissively.

"I took a day off!" she says. "I deserve a break! What do you want to do?"

Alison doesn't know.

A second ticks by, two, three, four, five, and the smile starts to slip from Mom's lips, and all of a sudden, Alison doesn't want to know what she would see without it, what Mom is trying to hide under the fake cheer.

(What if she doesn't know what to do either?)

"We could watch a movie," Alison says, more a question and a plea than anything else, but Mom holds onto it like a lifeline, and her smile is back, not quite reaching her eyes.

She looks tired.

She looks scared.

"Excellent idea!" she says. "I think we have pop-corn!"

They do, the microwave kind, and Mom heats it while Alison picks a movie.

They watch it on the sofa, and Mom puts her arm around Alison's shoulders, keeping her close, and the bowl of popcorn between them digs uncomfortably into the side of her leg. She doesn't care.

Alison falls asleep half an hour in.

She doesn't dream.

 

[YseultNott]

"Do you want to go on a walk?" Mom asks that afternoon. "Get some fresh air? Or, err, do you want to talk?"

Talk.

What about? The dead man and the dead men and Dog-Hungry, bloody-handed, surging forward, and the hair and the woman and would they be alive if she'd said something? The blood she still feels on her own fingers, rust-colored and half-dry and sticky, crumbling walls and broken chairs and the sound of someone screaming?

Daisy Bell and Sunbreeze and Sweet Dreams, blue and yellow and multicolored, and Alison, in black and white?

Mom?

"I don't know," Alison says, and Mom flinches.

"Okay," she says. "I… I'm here if you want to."

"Okay," Alison says.

She does her worksheet in the living room.

 

[YseultNott]

The following morning, Mom is making breakfast in the kitchen when Alison gets out of bed.

"There was a call for you," Mom says. "They told me Daisy Bell would like you to drop by the headquarters today. Not for the whole day, they just want to tell you something, apparently. No idea why they can't just call, but what can you do?"

"Oh," Alison says. "Okay."

There is a weight in her stomach that wasn't there before, just a little bit more dread added to the dread already there, and she tries to distract herself with the smell of syrup and cooking dough.

"Are these pancakes?" she asks.

It has been a while since the last time she had any. Mom used to make them in the morning, but she has too much work, now, is too tired on the weekends, so she doesn't anymore.

"Yes," Mom says. "They're still your favorite, right?"

"Yeah," Alison says.

They eat in silence. The pancakes are drowned in syrup, just like she likes, still warm from the pan, sticky-sweet on her fingers and lips.

"I was thinking," Mom says. "We could go to the headquarters a bit before noon, and then have lunch together in town? Maybe walk around a bit, go to the cinema together or something like that."

Her tone is light, casual, but there is something hesitant underneath, and her right hand has wrapped around the fingers of the left one, twisting, pulling backwards.

"Okay," Alison says.

Mom smiles.

 

[Half Moon]

Things look to be improving.
Maybe.
Hopefully.

 

[YseultNott]

"So," Daisy Bell says, the word almost lost in the snap of the closing door. "I wouldn't usually talk to a Ward about an ongoing case, especially not one of this importance, but as Officer Mills said it might help you feel better, and Sweet Dreams concurred, I will make an exception."

Usually. It's funny, almost. Makayla was the only Ward on the team before Alison got there, and that was only a few months after Daisy Bell took Roseus's place as leader of the Protectorate team, as much as her and Sweet Dreams can be called one. Not a lie, but…

It's weird, a bit, to think that in a way, Daisy Bell is almost as new as Alison herself.

"It goes without saying," Daisy Bell continues, "that you will not discuss this with anyone beside Sweet Dreams, Officer Mills and myself with explicit permission to do so. Is that understood?"

"I understand," Alison says, and Daisy Bell lets herself lean back into her chair.

"Good," she says. "I finished the analysis on the hair strand from the first crime scene. Unfortunately, we don't have any direct match with named DNA samples, but I was able to narrow things down a bit. You guessed right, it is a woman, in her mid-twenties to early thirties."

Alison's fingers twitch, and she carefully grips the side of her chair.

"We're still looking for her?" she asks.

Daisy Bell sighs.

"I did find a match," she says. "With the blood found at the last crime scene."

She pauses, as if waiting for an answer, but Alison's head feels strangely light, dizzying, and her ears are full of cotton.

When Daisy Bell speaks again, her voice is soft.

"There was no missing victim, Cadenza," she says.

 

[YseultNott]

"Is everything okay?" Mom asks, her voice muffled, far away.

I don't know, Alison doesn't say, because she's fine, really, still fingers and steady hands, and it feels a bit strange, the cotton in her head, the hollow in her guts, the feeling of glass between her and the world, but it's not bad, just a little bit cold under the sun.

"Yeah," she says.

"Great!" Mom says. "Wonderful! What do you want for lunch?"

"Fries," Alison says, and she craves it, suddenly, the warmth, the taste of salt, the sensation of a full stomach.

"Finley's Fries it is, then," Mom says. "There is one two streets from here, it's a five minutes walk."

"Great," Alison says.

She's ravenous.

 

[Half Moon]

She's ravenous.

Click to shrink...

That's not worrying in the slightest...

 

[YseultNott]

The sun is high in the sky.

It's a nice day for a walk, surprisingly warm for the early spring, the streets almost empty. It's a bit early for lunch.

Alison finds she doesn't mind. Not with the hollow in her stomach and the promise of Finley's Fries, still steaming hot, and the crunch of them under her teeth as she wipes her fingers at the paper napkin, and…

She can almost taste them already.

"Hungry?" Mom asks. "Me too. I'm glad you picked somewhere so close. Maybe I didn't make enough pancakes this morning."

There is a woman standing at the corner of the street, raising an arm for a greeting, and Alison raises her arm to wave back.

"They were good," she says. "I'm glad you made them."

The woman bites into the side of her own arm.

Mom stops walking, her hand coming to rest on Alison's shoulder.

The woman bites, and yanks back her head, and they're close enough now for Alison to see the stains against her pink hoodie, to see her blonde hair bleached by the sky, to see the tears in her clothes.

There is a strip of flesh hanging between her teeth, a strip of meat, and as she chews the blood drips down, thicker than the red from a steak, and there is a rumbling in Alison's stomach, a hollow asking to be filled, and something like bile in the back of her throat.

Alison takes a step forward, and the woman chews, and chews, and chews, and Alison steps forward again.

Overhead, the sun is shining bright.

The woman swallows.

 

[Half Moon]

That was horrifying. And I don't usually mind cannabilism.

 

[YseultNott]

It's Mom who stops her. Mom, and her hand on her shoulder, holding her back. Mom, shoving her behind, putting herself between Alison and the woman.

The killer.

The villain.

"It's a cape," Alison hears herself saying.

"Alison, run," Mom says.

She's always been tall, and always been strong, carrying Alison on her shoulders as a child when she was tired from walking, and those shoulders are squared, now, and Alison can't think of one single thing that would make her mother move.

The woman is looking at them. Her eyes are blue. Her lips are red. They pull open over white teeth.

Mom's hands are shaking.

"No," Alison says, and she steps forward again.

The woman lunges.

Someone screams.

 

[Half Moon]

I very much want to know the power here. I can't wait.

 

[YseultNott]

It's Mom.

It's Mom who screams.

There are teeth in her upper arm. Blood on the gray of her jacket. Red in front of Allison's eyes.

Her fingers twitch. She lets them.

They lengthen as they do, writhing worms awkward with bones, and they can't build anything but they can dig in through wood and stone, burrow inside concrete and steel, and Dog-Hungry?

Dog-Hungry is made of flesh.

The blood is slick on Alison's hands, the bone crumbles under her grip, and Dog-Hungry takes another bite, tearing the flesh apart as Alison pulls her away.

Mom screams again, something between a wail and a sob, pressing a hand over her arm, and Alison…

Alison can't touch her. Alison can't put pressure on the wound, can't hold her close, can't reach a hand and pull her up.

(There is still meat in Dog-Hungry's mouth, to be chewed.)

(To be swallowed.)

The wounds heal where her fingers withdrew, and hunger comes, tenfold, hundredfold, like a wave overhead, like a knee to the stomach, and Alison falls to her knees.

Dog-Hungry gets back up.

 

[Half Moon]

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

Alright, time to be constructive.
Dog-Hungry's power, as currently known: Regeration, likely but not certainly powered by human flesh.
Ability to inflict extremely powerful feeling of hunger onto others, might affect herself as well. She doesn't have to be present for it to take effect. Perhaps it's spread through things she touches.

 

[YseultNott]

There is blood on Alison's fingers, slick in-between where they rub against each other, tacky where it started to dry, and it tastes of salt under her tongue.

Under, her skin is warm.

Under, she can feel bones.

There is a void in her stomach, an empty, all-devouring hunger, and Alison, Alison needs to eat. Alison needs to eat now.

There is flesh around her finger bones, and the blood isn't enough.

Dog-Hungry is looming over her. Alison is dog-hungry, too.

"Alison!" someone screams. It's not Mom. Mom is licking her fingers, too, and digging them back for more into the flesh of her arm.

It's Sweet Dreams.

Sweet Dreams. Sweet, sweet Sweet Dreams in her rainbow dress, dizzying Sweet Dreams, vertigo Sweet Dreams, who make your head turn and lights dance behind your eyes.

There is blood trickling off Dog-Hungry's ear as she bends over and throws up.

 

[YseultNott]

The hunger doesn't leave. Not completely. It merely subsides, recedes, and Alison has space to think again, has enough of herself back to part her teeth and pull her fingers away.

There is blood in Dog-Hungry's sick. Meat. Chunks of things Alison can't recognize.

There is something like fear on Dog-Hungry's face as she presses her hands to her mouth to hold it back inside, something like horror as she chokes on it, something like despair that makes something clench in Alison's stomach.

It's a relief when Dog-Hungry collapses. When Alison doesn't have to look at her anymore. When Officer Mills, made faceless by her helmet, drowns her in foam, like a teacher in a schoolyard pouring sand over a kid's vomit.

"It's okay," Sweet Dreams says. "It's okay, Alison."

There is someone kneeling over Mom, holding something white, bandage or gauze pad, whispering words of comfort. There is the sound of sirens ringing through the air. There is a hand on Alison's shoulder.

"It's over, Alison," Sweet Dreams says. "You did well."

 

[Half Moon]

No one we knew got eaten. Except possibly Allison's mom. I hope she's alright.

 

[YseultNott]

There is a newspaper on the nightstand, and an article spread over the front page, broad and bold title announcing the arrest of the villain, of the monster, of Dog-Hungry.

Of Amber.

Amber Goodman, Daisy Bell said. Talk about irony, Sweet Dreams said. Her sister lives on this street, Officer Mills said, Alyssa, I know her, she works at the post office.

Mom said nothing. She wasn't there.

They said Amber Goodman went missing last year, two towns over, and hadn't been found. They said she was a waitress. They said she used to be pretty, and isn't that such a shame?

They said she can't turn the hunger off, the one she spreads to others. They said she might feel it herself. They said maybe it drove her mad.

They said she might not go to jail. They said maybe she'll go to the Asylum instead.

They said sometimes, you get a tragedy instead of a bad guy.

There is a newspaper on the nightstand, and a glass, full of water. Her glass, on her nightstand, in her room in the Wards headquarters, because Mom is in the hospital, and she has to stay somewhere.

Sweet Dreams will take Alison to visit tomorrow.

 

[YseultNott]

Sweet Dreams looks different with her hair down, bun undone to make a braid, with a leather coat instead of a dress, with silver instead of rainbow. Still neater than Alison, whose ponytail can't quite keep her own hair in place, still prettier, but she looks more solid like that. More real.

She looks out of place in the white hallway.

"I'll wait here," she says, waving her hand toward a line of plastic chairs affixed to the wall. "Give you some privacy. Come here when you're done, okay?"

It's not far, from there to the door, to the room, to the bed with Mom in it.

"Alison," Mom says. "How are you doing, sweetie?"

There are bandages peeking at the edge of her hospital shirt. Alison hates them, a bit. A lot.

The bandages are white, at least. Unstained. No blood seeping through. That's good.

Alison shrugs.

"I'm fine," she says, as true as not. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Mom says. "Don't worry. The surgery went well, I'll be out in no time."

"I know," Alison says. "Sweet Dreams told me."

Mom could have died. They both could have.

It's hard, to shake off the leftover dread.

"Can I have a hug?" Alison asks.

Mom opens her arms.

The hug is uncomfortable, awkward, Alison bent over the bed, twisted to keep away from the wound and the morphine bag, Mom half sitting with a tube sticking out her elbow.

"It's okay," Mom says. "It's okay, sweetie, it's over. You were very brave and she's gone and it's over and I'm so, so proud of you."

There is something soft on Mom's face when Alison pulls out of the hug. Something nice. Something…

Her hand reaches toward Alison's forehead, brushes the blonde strand away from her eyes.

"I love you," Mom says.

"I know," Alison says.

This time, she believes it.

Spoiler: Author note

And that's a wrap! There's gonna be a bit of extra material coming over the next 2-3 days, but that's it for the story proper. I hope you enjoyed it!

 

[Half Moon]

I did indeed enjoy it. Can't wait to see the extra material.

 

[YseultNott]

Daisy Bell:

Tinker. The more complex what she makes is, the more fragile it is, to the point of things being essentially single-use when advanced enough. Her tech tends to look pretty and delicate, often with light shining through clear, cristalline parts. She generally has a flying apparatus shaped like wings stashed in reserve, but she tends to only use it for predetermined PR occasions or when she knows she will have to fight or has a strategic reason to need to fly.



Sweet Dreams:

Not entirely sure what classification it is, but the publicly known aspect of her power is to select people in her line of sight and give make them feel dizzy, along with loss of balance, nausea, headaches and seeing spots of lights behind the eyes similar to what can happen during a hard cough or certain kind of migraines. What is less known is that she can "push" her power to cause outright vomiting and, in extreme cases, strokes or brain hemorrhage.

 

[punster lv1]

Not entirely sure what classification it is

Click to shrink...

That sounds like either shaker (depending on how many people she can affect at once), blaster (because she can attack at range) or stranger (because she messes with people's senses). It fits stranger a lot better than the other two.