- Location
- Attached to a wall
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Surely we could figure something out between the two healing capes in the room
Orderly (Worm Semi-SI)
- Thread starter Obscura
- Start date
- Superhero
- Location
- The House of Moon and Star
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Jacqueline's only got the one heart too, even if it is made of gold, but I'm sure Amy can do something.Surely we could figure something out between the two healing capes in the room
30-4 Incapable (Interlude: Amy)
- Location
- The House of Moon and Star
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Amy:
Vicky was going to be fine. That was the important thing. Amy had needed to soothe practically every single nerve in her sister's body, and even the ones that were already mostly fine looked like that was a recent development, but Vicky was going to be fine.
Amywouldn't couldn't do anything to Vicky's brain, but that wasn't going to be a problem. It hadn't been hit directly by whatever infernal device did this, at least not much, and between its apparent gradual self-healing and what Amy could do from the outside, Vicky's brain would be fine. Vicky was going to be fine.
Amy was the one who was doomed.
She couldn't even be mad at her soon-to-be executioner. A part of her wanted to, but she just couldn't. For several reasons.
First of all, the girl clearly wasn't all there, and Amy still had some strands of moral fiber left. Wretched and immoral though she was, she wasn't about to pick on the mentally ill. That, at least, was one line she hadn't crossed.
Secondly, Vicky was going to be fine, and that was because of the girl. She hadn't had to let Amy fix up her sister before her doom, and brains didn't fix themselves, not unless Josephine's power was at work. So Amy really couldn't be mad.
But most of all, Amy couldn't be mad because she knew Josephine was going to be right to destroy her. This wasn't a criminal getting the jump on a defenseless civilian, or even a villain standing darkly triumphant over a broken hero.
This was Amy's just deserts.
It didn't really matter who Josephine told, in the end.
The hospital, the PRT, the regular cops, the news, Carol, a fellow Ward, Josephine's own parents. It'd spread around, and then everybody would know what a filthy degenerate monster Amy was. Amy just hoped it wasn't Vicky. Vicky would find out eventually, but Amy wanted her spared that for as long as possible.
But people would find out. And then Amy was doomed.
Doomed. Doomed. Doomed. Doomed. Doomed!
Ack! Josephine was right there! Holding up a clipboard! And pointing at it!
Amy froze.
Josephine looked at Amy.
Amy remained frozen.
Josephine looked more. Looked harder, unless Amy was imagining things.
Amy didn't think she was imagining things, and remained frozen.
Josephine walked a little closer, and started waving quietly.
Amy remained frozen.
Josephine started pulling. Amy hadn't even noticed her reaching out to grab her before she was suddenly being tugged.
Amy couldn't quite bring herself to resist. There wasn't any point. She was gently sat down on one of the unoccupied beds.
Amy hoped this wasn't what she was thinking this was.
And it wasn't.
Josephine was pointing at the clipboard. Again. And holding it out for Amy to take. There was writing on it.
It's okay
Amy didn't understand. Why was she writing stuff out?
The girl took the clipboard back and sat down next to Amy to write some more, keeping the paper attached to it and the words written on that paper in Amy's vision at all times.
Can't talk right now
You shouldn't either, if you want to discuss anything that you don't want getting out
Lots of bored ears with nothing better to listen to, and capes always draw attention
Amy hadn't even said anything.
It was the obvious question for the situation
Amy carefully looked over the brass-skinned girl beside her. Clearly, she had grossly underestimated the other healer. Young and silly (and maybe crazy) though she might be, Josephine Calavera was obviously far savvier and more cynical than Amy had realised.
Pen
Right
Sorry
Amy cautiously accepted the pen being held out to her, but she didn't have anything to write. Josephine knew, and whatever scheme she had in mind Amy wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of Amy asking to be told it.
Because it had to be a scheme if she was having secret talks with wretched, horrible, depraved Amy Dallon, rather than going straight to proper authorities. Josephine knew.
So Amy didn't write anything. And, eventually, Josephine did.
It's okay. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I'll keep quiet about the matter either way
And then Amy had something to communicate. Something she had to communicate. She said it out loud, automatically. She couldn't stop herself.
"Why?"
And Josephine looked at her. Again. For just a second longer than Amy was comfortable with. It was hard to tell what she was thinking, with that mask in the way. Amy was tempted to just grab her and find out what she was feeling, at least, but that would be an abuse of power.
And Amy was just a bit scared of what she might find if she did.
You're not a monster, Amy. And having an inappropriate crush doesn't make you one
Vicky was going to be fine. That was the important thing. Amy had needed to soothe practically every single nerve in her sister's body, and even the ones that were already mostly fine looked like that was a recent development, but Vicky was going to be fine.
Amy
Amy was the one who was doomed.
She couldn't even be mad at her soon-to-be executioner. A part of her wanted to, but she just couldn't. For several reasons.
First of all, the girl clearly wasn't all there, and Amy still had some strands of moral fiber left. Wretched and immoral though she was, she wasn't about to pick on the mentally ill. That, at least, was one line she hadn't crossed.
Secondly, Vicky was going to be fine, and that was because of the girl. She hadn't had to let Amy fix up her sister before her doom, and brains didn't fix themselves, not unless Josephine's power was at work. So Amy really couldn't be mad.
But most of all, Amy couldn't be mad because she knew Josephine was going to be right to destroy her. This wasn't a criminal getting the jump on a defenseless civilian, or even a villain standing darkly triumphant over a broken hero.
This was Amy's just deserts.
It didn't really matter who Josephine told, in the end.
The hospital, the PRT, the regular cops, the news, Carol, a fellow Ward, Josephine's own parents. It'd spread around, and then everybody would know what a filthy degenerate monster Amy was. Amy just hoped it wasn't Vicky. Vicky would find out eventually, but Amy wanted her spared that for as long as possible.
But people would find out. And then Amy was doomed.
Doomed. Doomed. Doomed. Doomed. Doomed!
Ack! Josephine was right there! Holding up a clipboard! And pointing at it!
Amy froze.
Josephine looked at Amy.
Amy remained frozen.
Josephine looked more. Looked harder, unless Amy was imagining things.
Amy didn't think she was imagining things, and remained frozen.
Josephine walked a little closer, and started waving quietly.
Amy remained frozen.
Josephine started pulling. Amy hadn't even noticed her reaching out to grab her before she was suddenly being tugged.
Amy couldn't quite bring herself to resist. There wasn't any point. She was gently sat down on one of the unoccupied beds.
Amy hoped this wasn't what she was thinking this was.
And it wasn't.
Josephine was pointing at the clipboard. Again. And holding it out for Amy to take. There was writing on it.
It's okay
Amy didn't understand. Why was she writing stuff out?
The girl took the clipboard back and sat down next to Amy to write some more, keeping the paper attached to it and the words written on that paper in Amy's vision at all times.
Can't talk right now
You shouldn't either, if you want to discuss anything that you don't want getting out
Lots of bored ears with nothing better to listen to, and capes always draw attention
Amy hadn't even said anything.
It was the obvious question for the situation
Amy carefully looked over the brass-skinned girl beside her. Clearly, she had grossly underestimated the other healer. Young and silly (and maybe crazy) though she might be, Josephine Calavera was obviously far savvier and more cynical than Amy had realised.
Pen
Right
Sorry
Amy cautiously accepted the pen being held out to her, but she didn't have anything to write. Josephine knew, and whatever scheme she had in mind Amy wasn't about to give her the satisfaction of Amy asking to be told it.
Because it had to be a scheme if she was having secret talks with wretched, horrible, depraved Amy Dallon, rather than going straight to proper authorities. Josephine knew.
So Amy didn't write anything. And, eventually, Josephine did.
It's okay. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I'll keep quiet about the matter either way
And then Amy had something to communicate. Something she had to communicate. She said it out loud, automatically. She couldn't stop herself.
"Why?"
And Josephine looked at her. Again. For just a second longer than Amy was comfortable with. It was hard to tell what she was thinking, with that mask in the way. Amy was tempted to just grab her and find out what she was feeling, at least, but that would be an abuse of power.
And Amy was just a bit scared of what she might find if she did.
You're not a monster, Amy. And having an inappropriate crush doesn't make you one
DracoLazarus
Caster of Fist
- Location
- France
Well, I guess that's probably one of the things that Amy needed to hear. Not sure it's going to be enough, but it's a good chunk of the way there.
The rest of the issue, obviously, is with her powers, but that's harder for Jacqueline to find out.
The rest of the issue, obviously, is with her powers, but that's harder for Jacqueline to find out.
- Location
- The House of Moon and Star
- Pronouns
- She/Her
It is definitely not going to be enough. Nobody gets over a deeply ingrained issue with two sentences from a total stranger, even if said sentences are exactly the right ones.
But the conversation isn't over yet.
- Location
- The House of Moon and Star
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Well, that, and Amy is just kinda a stilted person, especially when it comes to hard subjects like this.
30-5 Inadmissable (Interlude: Amy)
- Location
- The House of Moon and Star
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Author's Note/Warning: This chapter contains mentions of theoretical sex crimes, including sexual assault. These have been hidden behind in-line spoilers. You don't need to read them if you're uncomfortable, and the context should be sufficient to understand what's going on. No actual sex crimes or the like occur in this chapter, and it's never believable that they did.
You're not a monster, Amy. And having an inappropriate crush doesn't make you one
Amy had to read that again. She couldn't believe she'd read it correctly, the first time.
You're not a monster, Amy. And having an inappropriate crush doesn't make you one
Or the second time, for that matter.
You're not a monster, Amy. And having an inappropriate crush doesn't make you one
By the third, it was looking like it might be real.
You're not a monster, Amy. And having an inappropriate crush doesn't make you one
After the fourth reading, and an acute awareness that the text was exactly the same each time she read it, she managed to accept that that really was what Josephine had written. And with that acceptance came revelation: Josephine Calavera was completely [funtime] insane, or at least utterly divorced from humanity as Amy understood it.
Everything made much more sense after that. Honestly, she'd suspected the girl wasn't all there for a while, but knowing she was completely over the hills and far away made everything so clear. She stared into the mad girl's inhuman eyes. Clocks. Her eyes were clocks. Amy had never noticed that before. Cold. Mechanical. Unfeeling, or at least not feeling in any way a human being would recognize.
Something so distant, so removed from humanity, so alien it was simply unable to comprehend just how twisted and broken Amy was. Mimicking, but never understanding, blithely accepting the best and worst with the same undiscerning gaze. It just made so much sense.
And then the alien hugged Amy. Nobody hugged Amy, except Vicky and the occasional overenthusiastic patient or patient's loved one. And Carol, she supposed, but Amy knew full well that it was just an obligation for Carol, something she had to do as Amy's mother, not something she meant. And all those patients and their loved ones were strangers, hugging their idea of Panacea. Not Amy. Nobody hugged Amy, except Vicky.
And Josephine Calavera.
Josephine's hug was radically different from most of Vicky's, true. Vicky, for the most part, was all fiery enthusiasm and superhuman strength. Josephine was delicate and hesitant, gentle and ready to back off the second Amy requested it, verbally or otherwise. Like how Vicky tried to be, when Amy was truly upset.When Vicky realized Amy was truly upset. When she tried to be understanding. And, with Josephine, it worked.
And when Amy took the time to look in those eyes again, what she noticed was the tears. Soft, sympathetic, and Amy just knew they were for her.
And then Amy couldn't pretend that Josephine Calavera was an alien anymore.
What have you done that's so bad, anyway?
Which didn't mean the girl wasn't breathtakingly oblivious.
I [funtime] like my sister. Romantically. Really [funtime] decent
Writing it down made it more real, somehow. Something she had to face, rather than a distant but all-consuming threat. Smaller, maybe, yet less avoidable. Amy didn't like that feeling.
She also didn't like the way the words seemed so tiny and unimportant. They didn't live up to the sheer gravity they should have had. So she traced over them again and added a whole bunch of underlining. The paper was damaged, but oh boo hoo. Amy had bigger problems.
She handed the clipboard back, and silently dared Josephine to say anything about it.
The smug [bear] didn't say anything about it. She just looked [funtime] amused for about a tenth of a second, before she made the most perfunctory sweep Amy had ever seen over the clipboard and handed it back.
What have you done that's so bad, anyway?
One underlined word. That was the sum total of Josephine's response to Amy's soul-tearing confession.
That smug [bear].
Amy just knew Josephine was smiling at her. She couldn't see it, because the girl was wearing a surgical mask for some reason. (Which why? Sure it was a hospital, but the girl's aura provided far better protection against infection than anything short of a full tinkertech hazmat suit. Surely a regular mask would serve her needs just fine.)
Well, Josephine, two could play at that game. Amy underlined her confession again. The level of underlining was bordering on melodramatic absurdity by this point, but no more so than the entire situation.
Seriously, the girl had clocks in her eyes. Right behind her pretty little glasses. Clocks. That was prima facie ridiculous in its own right, let alone everything else about this whole bizarre conversation.
Sadly, Josephine didn't seem fazed. She just looked at Amy, and despite the fact the girl was probably at least four years younger than Amy, Amy suddenly felt like a six year old caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Amy didn't know what thoughts lurked behind those pupilless eyes, but something told her she was being judged, and not for anything to do with her feelings towards her sister.
And then, in an instant, it was gone, and the younger healer was handing her the clipboard again.
Seriously, what have you done? Have you been sexually harassing Victoria?
What the [fun]? Where had Josephine gotten that idea? Amy wasn't that far gone!
The mere suggestion had Amy spluttering in rage and denial. She had just about recovered enough to ask what the [h-e-double hockey sticks] Josephine thought she was doing when she looked back and it became clear the disrespectful midget wasn't done.
Have you set up a secret shrine to her divinely-given pulchritude?
No!
Seriously, where did Josephine get the nerve to ask that? How dare she? And how was she even able to use "pulchritude" in a sentence? Amy barely even knew the word, and only because it had come up in English class recently!
(And because of certain low-class "novels" she would not admit to reading, but that wasn't relevant.)
Peeped on her, maybe?
No! What the absolute flying [fun]!
Perhaps you've stolen her underwear?
No, no, no, no, no, no, no!
Have you been grabbing things you shouldn't be grabbing?
This was impossible. Where the [fun] was this coming from? Josephine had seemed perfectly nice before, so what was this?
Are you assaulting her in her sleep?
Alright. That was enough.
Before she could think about it, Amy grabbed that stupid, lie-spewing pen and applied it to the clipboard herself.
No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No NO!
What the [fun] is wrong with you!?!?!
And the little jerk just grabbed Amy's pen, without asking (nevermind that she was the one who gave Amy the pen in the first place, or that Amy had just grabbed hers, that's not important) and started writing without so much as the slightest flicker of being insulted.
So, in the end, all you've done is had an awkward crush on a very attractive person who it'd be inappropriate to actually go counting cuckoo's nests with? Like every single teenage human in the history of forever?
[Bunnies. Lots of Happy, Playful Bunnies. No swear words whatsoever. Definitely.]
A trap.
This whole time! This whole [funtime] time! Every repugnant accusation! Every [funtime] grossly inappropriate question! The hideous claims of sex crimes, of general creepiness of every disturbing level! All of it! Every single [funtime] penstroke!
It was all one united, horrible, brutally efficient trap. Josephine had all but outright accused Amy of every vile crime under the sun, all the horrible things she could have done, to force her to deny them. To make her realise that she hadn't done those things, that she hadn't done anything of the sort.
And that the monster she thought she was would have.
It was vicious. It was conniving. It was evil.
And, worst of all, it had worked.
Not totally, and the whispers in the back of Amy's head were still insisting she was awful in every way, especially this, but at least for the moment she knew full well that she was not a monster for having those thoughts, that she still had the chance to be a decent person. All thanks to the efforts of a certain ridiculous clock-themed healer. There was only one thing Amy could say:
Oh you smug [bear]
At least the girl had the decency to look ashamed of herself.
You're not a monster, Amy. And having an inappropriate crush doesn't make you one
Amy had to read that again. She couldn't believe she'd read it correctly, the first time.
You're not a monster, Amy. And having an inappropriate crush doesn't make you one
Or the second time, for that matter.
You're not a monster, Amy. And having an inappropriate crush doesn't make you one
By the third, it was looking like it might be real.
You're not a monster, Amy. And having an inappropriate crush doesn't make you one
After the fourth reading, and an acute awareness that the text was exactly the same each time she read it, she managed to accept that that really was what Josephine had written. And with that acceptance came revelation: Josephine Calavera was completely [funtime] insane, or at least utterly divorced from humanity as Amy understood it.
Everything made much more sense after that. Honestly, she'd suspected the girl wasn't all there for a while, but knowing she was completely over the hills and far away made everything so clear. She stared into the mad girl's inhuman eyes. Clocks. Her eyes were clocks. Amy had never noticed that before. Cold. Mechanical. Unfeeling, or at least not feeling in any way a human being would recognize.
Something so distant, so removed from humanity, so alien it was simply unable to comprehend just how twisted and broken Amy was. Mimicking, but never understanding, blithely accepting the best and worst with the same undiscerning gaze. It just made so much sense.
And then the alien hugged Amy. Nobody hugged Amy, except Vicky and the occasional overenthusiastic patient or patient's loved one. And Carol, she supposed, but Amy knew full well that it was just an obligation for Carol, something she had to do as Amy's mother, not something she meant. And all those patients and their loved ones were strangers, hugging their idea of Panacea. Not Amy. Nobody hugged Amy, except Vicky.
And Josephine Calavera.
Josephine's hug was radically different from most of Vicky's, true. Vicky, for the most part, was all fiery enthusiasm and superhuman strength. Josephine was delicate and hesitant, gentle and ready to back off the second Amy requested it, verbally or otherwise. Like how Vicky tried to be, when Amy was truly upset.
And when Amy took the time to look in those eyes again, what she noticed was the tears. Soft, sympathetic, and Amy just knew they were for her.
And then Amy couldn't pretend that Josephine Calavera was an alien anymore.
What have you done that's so bad, anyway?
Which didn't mean the girl wasn't breathtakingly oblivious.
I [funtime] like my sister. Romantically. Really [funtime] decent
Writing it down made it more real, somehow. Something she had to face, rather than a distant but all-consuming threat. Smaller, maybe, yet less avoidable. Amy didn't like that feeling.
She also didn't like the way the words seemed so tiny and unimportant. They didn't live up to the sheer gravity they should have had. So she traced over them again and added a whole bunch of underlining. The paper was damaged, but oh boo hoo. Amy had bigger problems.
She handed the clipboard back, and silently dared Josephine to say anything about it.
The smug [bear] didn't say anything about it. She just looked [funtime] amused for about a tenth of a second, before she made the most perfunctory sweep Amy had ever seen over the clipboard and handed it back.
What have you done that's so bad, anyway?
One underlined word. That was the sum total of Josephine's response to Amy's soul-tearing confession.
That smug [bear].
Amy just knew Josephine was smiling at her. She couldn't see it, because the girl was wearing a surgical mask for some reason. (Which why? Sure it was a hospital, but the girl's aura provided far better protection against infection than anything short of a full tinkertech hazmat suit. Surely a regular mask would serve her needs just fine.)
Well, Josephine, two could play at that game. Amy underlined her confession again. The level of underlining was bordering on melodramatic absurdity by this point, but no more so than the entire situation.
Seriously, the girl had clocks in her eyes. Right behind her pretty little glasses. Clocks. That was prima facie ridiculous in its own right, let alone everything else about this whole bizarre conversation.
Sadly, Josephine didn't seem fazed. She just looked at Amy, and despite the fact the girl was probably at least four years younger than Amy, Amy suddenly felt like a six year old caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Amy didn't know what thoughts lurked behind those pupilless eyes, but something told her she was being judged, and not for anything to do with her feelings towards her sister.
And then, in an instant, it was gone, and the younger healer was handing her the clipboard again.
Seriously, what have you done? Have you been sexually harassing Victoria?
What the [fun]? Where had Josephine gotten that idea? Amy wasn't that far gone!
The mere suggestion had Amy spluttering in rage and denial. She had just about recovered enough to ask what the [h-e-double hockey sticks] Josephine thought she was doing when she looked back and it became clear the disrespectful midget wasn't done.
Have you set up a secret shrine to her divinely-given pulchritude?
No!
Seriously, where did Josephine get the nerve to ask that? How dare she? And how was she even able to use "pulchritude" in a sentence? Amy barely even knew the word, and only because it had come up in English class recently!
(And because of certain low-class "novels" she would not admit to reading, but that wasn't relevant.)
Peeped on her, maybe?
No! What the absolute flying [fun]!
Perhaps you've stolen her underwear?
No, no, no, no, no, no, no!
Have you been grabbing things you shouldn't be grabbing?
This was impossible. Where the [fun] was this coming from? Josephine had seemed perfectly nice before, so what was this?
Are you assaulting her in her sleep?
Alright. That was enough.
Before she could think about it, Amy grabbed that stupid, lie-spewing pen and applied it to the clipboard herself.
No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No NO!
What the [fun] is wrong with you!?!?!
And the little jerk just grabbed Amy's pen, without asking (nevermind that she was the one who gave Amy the pen in the first place, or that Amy had just grabbed hers, that's not important) and started writing without so much as the slightest flicker of being insulted.
So, in the end, all you've done is had an awkward crush on a very attractive person who it'd be inappropriate to actually go counting cuckoo's nests with? Like every single teenage human in the history of forever?
[Bunnies. Lots of Happy, Playful Bunnies. No swear words whatsoever. Definitely.]
A trap.
This whole time! This whole [funtime] time! Every repugnant accusation! Every [funtime] grossly inappropriate question! The hideous claims of sex crimes, of general creepiness of every disturbing level! All of it! Every single [funtime] penstroke!
It was all one united, horrible, brutally efficient trap. Josephine had all but outright accused Amy of every vile crime under the sun, all the horrible things she could have done, to force her to deny them. To make her realise that she hadn't done those things, that she hadn't done anything of the sort.
And that the monster she thought she was would have.
It was vicious. It was conniving. It was evil.
And, worst of all, it had worked.
Not totally, and the whispers in the back of Amy's head were still insisting she was awful in every way, especially this, but at least for the moment she knew full well that she was not a monster for having those thoughts, that she still had the chance to be a decent person. All thanks to the efforts of a certain ridiculous clock-themed healer. There was only one thing Amy could say:
Oh you smug [bear]
At least the girl had the decency to look ashamed of herself.
Last edited:
- Pronouns
- She
Yes! A breakthrough! Amy still has a long way to go, but so glad she got that first bit of help 
- Location
- Attached to a wall
- Pronouns
- She/Her
WQho is the one censoring Amy here?
Amy is unlikely to be censoring herself, so I think that we are either looking through Shaper who is a bit uncomfortable with all the cussing or this is Jacqueline's reconstruction of what happened in Amy's head after the fact.
EDIT: added something I forgot.
Amy is unlikely to be censoring herself, so I think that we are either looking through Shaper who is a bit uncomfortable with all the cussing or this is Jacqueline's reconstruction of what happened in Amy's head after the fact.
EDIT: added something I forgot.
Last edited:
- Location
- The House of Moon and Star
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Who's censoring any of the interludes? Let's be honest here, there's been a whole lot of interludes with people who aren't inclined to censor themselves, and all of them have been censored in the same distinctive way, (Except the first ones, and I keep meaning to go back and fix that,) with a text formatting we've only otherwise seen with the the [Redacted] pov in the second Emily Piggot interlude and in Achronal Engine's interlude.
The answer is, of course, either "literary convenience" or a massive spoiler, and that's not an "xor". Word of god here, it's not just literary convenience. Sorry if that's not a very satisfying answer.
- Location
- Attached to a wall
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Must have forgotten that there was censoring going on in other interludes.
I thought that it might have been something similar to the Jacqueline doing it on purpose.
- Location
- The House of Moon and Star
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Eh, these things happen.
It might. But if it is, it's been there for a while.
This gave me the push to fix those earlier interludes, so thanks for that.
30-6 Inappropriate
- Location
- The House of Moon and Star
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Author's Note/Warning: Same as the last chapter, this chapter contains mentions of theoretical sex crimes, including sexual assault. These have been hidden behind in-line spoilers. You don't need to read them if you're uncomfortable, and the context should be sufficient to understand what's going on. No actual sex crimes or the like occur in this chapter, and it's never believable that they did.
In hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was that telling Amy she didn't have to talk about it led to talking about it. After all, not having to do something had a strong tendency to make people more willing to do it, and now I wasn't basically blackmailing her.
But hindsight is 20/(an arbitrarily small number). And anyway that was at most a supplementary factor, in the end. What ended up driving matters was something else entirely.
The thing is, people tend to question it when my behaviour is unusual. Most of them only do so in their heads, most of the time, but this wasn't most of the time, and Amy Dallon wasn't most people.
And, tragically, she saw a little basic human kindness and respect as unusual behaviour, at least when it was pointed at her and her little private catastrophe. Not entirely unexpected, but it was sad all the same.
"Why?" was all that was said explicitly, but there was a lot more to it. Things like "Why help me?", "Why keep this secret?", and, going by the tone, "I don't deserve your kindness.", "Why would you help somebody so disgusting?" and "I'm a monster".
You know, the usual "my self-esteem has been ruined by irrational guilt and/or excessive criticism so please don't help me because I'm not worth it" stuff. Depressingly familiar, that, though the "I'm a disgusting horrible monster" vibes were especially strong in that one word.
Yeah, I couldn't let that go unchallenged. Even if I knew full well she wouldn't believe me. Not that easily.
You're not a monster, Amy. And having an inappropriate crush doesn't make you one
I was right, of course. She didn't believe me. She didn't say as much, or write it, didn't say or write anything, but the skepticism in her disbelieving eyes, her unbelieving, slightly open as if to object mouth and her guilt hiding from judgement type curling in on herself was profound. So I gave what little support I could. Hugs are usually nice, though I had to keep it gentle and make sure it was clear I'd back off the second she wanted me to. And I kept talking.
Kept writing, I suppose. Flickering fingers, not sylveren tongue. I'm not sure how much of a practical difference it made, beyond being quieter, but this contrivance of ours does demand a certain level of accuracy, and I'd rather not fall afoul of certain possible consequences.
I'd rather not be sharing something so private, either, especially when the secrets involved aren't mine to spill, but I don't exactly have a choice in the matter. You understand, don't you?
I hope you do.
I really hope you do.
What have you done that's so bad, anyway?
Amy Dallon did not understand. Instead, she looked at me like I was the single stupidest creature to ever walk the surface of Earth Bet, and likely any other Earth as well. I shrugged it off. Wasn't the first time I'd been on the receiving end of that look, and it probably wouldn't be the last.
Actually, I know it wasn't the last. It wasn't even the last in that particular conversation.
I bleeping like my sister. Romantically. Really bleeping decent.
Actually, that's not an accurate transcription. Bleeping obviously wasn't really what she wrote, either time, and everything was underlined. The words I've underlined here were just the ones she underlined more than five or six times. And the whole thing was done with so much applied pressure that the paper actually ripped in several places. Thankfully, what I'd handed her was a clipboard, and not a desk, so it was still somewhat legible.
She really took her self loathing seriously. Ridiculously seriously, for something so utterly lacking in any real basis. It would have been hilarious, if it wasn't so concerning.
Actually, it was still pretty funny. Fortunately I was wearing a mask, so she couldn't see my slight smile before concern and my need to do the best I could for her took over again. And she wasn't looking at my eyes.
Thinking quickly, by which I mean once again acting hastily, I added a line to paper, then handed it and the clipboard back.
What have you done that's so bad, anyway?
There. Short and sweet. Unfortunately she just underlined her one line of text again. Well that and looking at me like I was the single stupidest creature to ever walk the surface of Earth Bet, and likely any other Earth as well. Again.
This sort of thing is never easy. But sometimes, if you try hard enough and really understand what you're doing, you can slip around the wall.
Not through it. Never try going through it. Not if you have any choice in the matter at all. That doesn't end well. It'd be better if it was a professional doing this, of course. But something told me she wasn't gonna agree to see one. Even if I somehow managed to force her to, she wouldn't be honest with them, and that would render the whole exercise rather pointless.
And she could hardly lie to me about her private little (pseudo-)Rubicon. Not now. I suppose I could just tell the hypothetical professional, but betrayal is a very poor route to mental health, and the only element of this serious enough to make me even consider it was her massive self-hatred. Further exposure wouldn't help with that.
So I came up with a plan. Perhaps not the best plan, but it was a plan, and not a bad one in terms of effectiveness. Though I can't say it was an entirely comfortable one. Not for me, and especially not for her.
It started with asking questions.
Seriously, what have you done? Have you been sexually harassing Victoria?
I knew the answer was no, of course, and that she'd be appalled at the very suggestion. That was, in fact, the whole point of asking. I didn't understand what she said in response but my plan was not disappointed.
And it wasn't done, either.
Have you set up a secret shrine to her divinely-given pulchritude?
Perhaps that was cruel of me.
No, no, there's no "perhaps" about it. It was cruel of me. But sometimes, just sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind. Usually when you need to knock somebody out of an unhealthy pattern of thought. And maybe I was just a bit angry and spiteful at the world and full of schadenfreudic delight that for once I wasn't the one on the wrong foot.
Peeped on her, maybe?
Maybe I just lacked the creativity to do things differently. Maybe I wasn't as smart as I could have been, should have been. Maybe there was a better way. But if there was, I can't see it. Not one that would have worked. Though even then I could have been gentler about the way I chose.
I should have been gentler about the way I chose, if I had to choose it at all.
Perhaps you've stolen her underwear?
Whatever I could or should have done, what I was doing was inquiring about a lot of dark and immoral things Amy Dallon could have done.
Just as planned.
Have you been grabbing things you shouldn't be grabbing?
Things she would have done, if she was the perverted, degenerate monster she thought she was.
Which, of course, was exactly the point.
Are you assaulting her in her sleep?
Things that, lo and behold, she had not done. I was tremendously surprised.
It was all according to plan, not that that made her pain and outrage any easier to bear.
Her No was clear enough, once she managed to write it. The rest of the following Nos were largely redundant, but I suppose they conveyed just how emphatic she was in her denial. Though the way she used my pen was frankly emphatic enough. As was the presumably rhetorical question she followed up with. But, in the end, I have to consider my final followup to be the piece de resistance of the whole sordid affair, even if I did have to borrow Amy's pen to write it.
So, in the end, all you've done is had an awkward crush on a very attractive person who it'd be inappropriate to actually go counting cuckoo's nests with? Like every single teenage human in the history of forever?
I have to admit, I am proud of my delivery on that one. The line itself was great, but the context, the setup? The way it all played together? Magnifique. 5 stars. Absolutely exquisite. Truly a masterstroke.
Though perhaps what I like best about it was that it, unlike the rest of the scheme, wasn't an act of callous malignity. Or at least not to anywhere near the same degree.
The scheme, as a whole, really wasn't all that nice. It was, to be frank, more than a little harsh. A series of vicious, sadistic twistings of the metaphorical knife, even if it was ultimately for a noble end. But Amy needed to realise she wasn't a monster, and just telling her directly more wouldn't work. I couldn't see another way. Cold necessity, performed excellently.
I did what I had to do, and I did it well.
And, looking back, I can almost forgive myself for it.
In hindsight, maybe I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was that telling Amy she didn't have to talk about it led to talking about it. After all, not having to do something had a strong tendency to make people more willing to do it, and now I wasn't basically blackmailing her.
But hindsight is 20/(an arbitrarily small number). And anyway that was at most a supplementary factor, in the end. What ended up driving matters was something else entirely.
The thing is, people tend to question it when my behaviour is unusual. Most of them only do so in their heads, most of the time, but this wasn't most of the time, and Amy Dallon wasn't most people.
And, tragically, she saw a little basic human kindness and respect as unusual behaviour, at least when it was pointed at her and her little private catastrophe. Not entirely unexpected, but it was sad all the same.
"Why?" was all that was said explicitly, but there was a lot more to it. Things like "Why help me?", "Why keep this secret?", and, going by the tone, "I don't deserve your kindness.", "Why would you help somebody so disgusting?" and "I'm a monster".
You know, the usual "my self-esteem has been ruined by irrational guilt and/or excessive criticism so please don't help me because I'm not worth it" stuff. Depressingly familiar, that, though the "I'm a disgusting horrible monster" vibes were especially strong in that one word.
Yeah, I couldn't let that go unchallenged. Even if I knew full well she wouldn't believe me. Not that easily.
You're not a monster, Amy. And having an inappropriate crush doesn't make you one
I was right, of course. She didn't believe me. She didn't say as much, or write it, didn't say or write anything, but the skepticism in her disbelieving eyes, her unbelieving, slightly open as if to object mouth and her guilt hiding from judgement type curling in on herself was profound. So I gave what little support I could. Hugs are usually nice, though I had to keep it gentle and make sure it was clear I'd back off the second she wanted me to. And I kept talking.
Kept writing, I suppose. Flickering fingers, not sylveren tongue. I'm not sure how much of a practical difference it made, beyond being quieter, but this contrivance of ours does demand a certain level of accuracy, and I'd rather not fall afoul of certain possible consequences.
I'd rather not be sharing something so private, either, especially when the secrets involved aren't mine to spill, but I don't exactly have a choice in the matter. You understand, don't you?
I hope you do.
I really hope you do.
What have you done that's so bad, anyway?
Amy Dallon did not understand. Instead, she looked at me like I was the single stupidest creature to ever walk the surface of Earth Bet, and likely any other Earth as well. I shrugged it off. Wasn't the first time I'd been on the receiving end of that look, and it probably wouldn't be the last.
Actually, I know it wasn't the last. It wasn't even the last in that particular conversation.
I bleeping like my sister. Romantically. Really bleeping decent.
Actually, that's not an accurate transcription. Bleeping obviously wasn't really what she wrote, either time, and everything was underlined. The words I've underlined here were just the ones she underlined more than five or six times. And the whole thing was done with so much applied pressure that the paper actually ripped in several places. Thankfully, what I'd handed her was a clipboard, and not a desk, so it was still somewhat legible.
She really took her self loathing seriously. Ridiculously seriously, for something so utterly lacking in any real basis. It would have been hilarious, if it wasn't so concerning.
Actually, it was still pretty funny. Fortunately I was wearing a mask, so she couldn't see my slight smile before concern and my need to do the best I could for her took over again. And she wasn't looking at my eyes.
Thinking quickly, by which I mean once again acting hastily, I added a line to paper, then handed it and the clipboard back.
What have you done that's so bad, anyway?
There. Short and sweet. Unfortunately she just underlined her one line of text again. Well that and looking at me like I was the single stupidest creature to ever walk the surface of Earth Bet, and likely any other Earth as well. Again.
This sort of thing is never easy. But sometimes, if you try hard enough and really understand what you're doing, you can slip around the wall.
Not through it. Never try going through it. Not if you have any choice in the matter at all. That doesn't end well. It'd be better if it was a professional doing this, of course. But something told me she wasn't gonna agree to see one. Even if I somehow managed to force her to, she wouldn't be honest with them, and that would render the whole exercise rather pointless.
And she could hardly lie to me about her private little (pseudo-)Rubicon. Not now. I suppose I could just tell the hypothetical professional, but betrayal is a very poor route to mental health, and the only element of this serious enough to make me even consider it was her massive self-hatred. Further exposure wouldn't help with that.
So I came up with a plan. Perhaps not the best plan, but it was a plan, and not a bad one in terms of effectiveness. Though I can't say it was an entirely comfortable one. Not for me, and especially not for her.
It started with asking questions.
Seriously, what have you done? Have you been sexually harassing Victoria?
I knew the answer was no, of course, and that she'd be appalled at the very suggestion. That was, in fact, the whole point of asking. I didn't understand what she said in response but my plan was not disappointed.
And it wasn't done, either.
Have you set up a secret shrine to her divinely-given pulchritude?
Perhaps that was cruel of me.
No, no, there's no "perhaps" about it. It was cruel of me. But sometimes, just sometimes, you have to be cruel to be kind. Usually when you need to knock somebody out of an unhealthy pattern of thought. And maybe I was just a bit angry and spiteful at the world and full of schadenfreudic delight that for once I wasn't the one on the wrong foot.
Peeped on her, maybe?
Maybe I just lacked the creativity to do things differently. Maybe I wasn't as smart as I could have been, should have been. Maybe there was a better way. But if there was, I can't see it. Not one that would have worked. Though even then I could have been gentler about the way I chose.
I should have been gentler about the way I chose, if I had to choose it at all.
Perhaps you've stolen her underwear?
Whatever I could or should have done, what I was doing was inquiring about a lot of dark and immoral things Amy Dallon could have done.
Just as planned.
Have you been grabbing things you shouldn't be grabbing?
Things she would have done, if she was the perverted, degenerate monster she thought she was.
Which, of course, was exactly the point.
Are you assaulting her in her sleep?
Things that, lo and behold, she had not done. I was tremendously surprised.
It was all according to plan, not that that made her pain and outrage any easier to bear.
Her No was clear enough, once she managed to write it. The rest of the following Nos were largely redundant, but I suppose they conveyed just how emphatic she was in her denial. Though the way she used my pen was frankly emphatic enough. As was the presumably rhetorical question she followed up with. But, in the end, I have to consider my final followup to be the piece de resistance of the whole sordid affair, even if I did have to borrow Amy's pen to write it.
So, in the end, all you've done is had an awkward crush on a very attractive person who it'd be inappropriate to actually go counting cuckoo's nests with? Like every single teenage human in the history of forever?
I have to admit, I am proud of my delivery on that one. The line itself was great, but the context, the setup? The way it all played together? Magnifique. 5 stars. Absolutely exquisite. Truly a masterstroke.
Though perhaps what I like best about it was that it, unlike the rest of the scheme, wasn't an act of callous malignity. Or at least not to anywhere near the same degree.
The scheme, as a whole, really wasn't all that nice. It was, to be frank, more than a little harsh. A series of vicious, sadistic twistings of the metaphorical knife, even if it was ultimately for a noble end. But Amy needed to realise she wasn't a monster, and just telling her directly more wouldn't work. I couldn't see another way. Cold necessity, performed excellently.
I did what I had to do, and I did it well.
And, looking back, I can almost forgive myself for it.
30-7 Insupportable (Interlude: Amy)
- Location
- The House of Moon and Star
- Pronouns
- She/Her
I'm sorry, the clipboard said, though the words were really Josephine's.
The strange girl did look sorry, as much as she could look sorry with polished brass skin and clock eyes anyway. Far more so than Amy would have expected, really.
All the parahuman weirdness in the girl's appearance did surprisingly little to tamp down her apparently highly expressive nature, but that wasn't what Amy meant.
Usually, when people did things "for (Amy's) own good", they didn't feel sorry about it. Carol didn't care about inconveniencing Amy or making her uncomfortable. The people who wanted her to heal more or somebody specific were just using it as a convenient excuse and didn't care about Amy at all. And even Vicky rarely understood that Amy was uncomfortable to be sorry.
Though whenever she did understand she at least was sorry. Unlike Carol. Unlike the strangers.
Josephine had understood right away. Had known and understood and seemingly regretted it before she did it, and did it anyway. Amy wasn't sure if that was better or worse. She supposed it all depended on one question: Why? Why did she do it?
She suspected she knew the answer, of course. It wasn't hard to get the point of Josephine's little rhetorical trap, not now that it was sprung. But she wanted to hear it from the girl's own lips.
Can't talk right now was still right there, just below the top of the page.
Right.
Failing that, she at least wanted it in the girl's own words.
Why?
Because even if it was the only way to break your self-recrimination - self-loathing - self-recrimination cycle, and I'm not entirely sure it was, I know what I did had to be really hard on you
They say you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, but I really don't like that saying. It works well enough for disposable resources, like concrete and lumber and gasoline and even eggs, I suppose, but people are more than just disposable resources
I could give you excuses, and maybe they'd even be good ones, but at the end of the day I hit you right where I knew it would hurt, and I'm sorry for that
That…
That wasn't what Amy meant, for one thing, though she supposed her actual question did get answered, if only as an "even if". Josephine probably would have elaborated more if she'd realized what she was actually being asked, but there was enough to confirm Amy's suspicions.
It really was for Amy's own good. And the stupid kid really was sorry about it, unless she was a far better actress than anyone Amy had ever met. Honestly, Josephine looked more than a little pathetic. Sad, and vulnerable, and Amy wanted to comfort her and wipe the welling tears from those doleful eyes. Amy didn't like that feeling.
It was, perhaps, a natural response to being confronted with a softly crying child who just wanted to help. It was probably a sign that Amy wasn't actually a monster, or at least not completely a monster. And if Amy's empathy was starting to work again, that was probably a way to keep herself on the straight and narrow.
Amy appreciated that. She really, really appreciated it. She wanted to believe that she wasn't a monster.
But it did conflict with Amy's lingering urge to punch Josephine's stupid, adorable face in.
Amy supposed she probably shouldn't follow through on that second desire. Given the provocation, it wasn't exactly a monster move, but it was exactly the sort of stupid and impulsive decision that Vicky, as one of her (relatively) few flaws, was prone too. Amy wasn't ready to surrender her sense of quiet superiority about that yet.
And punching somebody with metal skin seemed like a good way to hurt your hand. Amy couldn't just shove her fist through a wall whenever she felt like it.
Actually, did the kid have metal skin? It looked like metal, but that wasn't a guarantee, not with parahumans. Amy reached out to check, then remembered that touching strange parahumans unexpectedly was a bad idea, especially when you didn't know their powers. Even if it wouldn't have been an abuse of Amy's power, and it would have been, it'd be a very, very risky move.
Amy had a pretty good grip on what Josephine's Aura did, even if she didn't understand how it generated its tiny changes and such, but there was obviously more to her powerset than that. Even if the (visually) metallic skin and the ticking and the gears weren't hints, every power was dangerous. There was precisely one thought-to-be exception, and Amy Dallon was in a position to know full well that Panacea's power was actually insanely dangerous.
Josephine didn't seem to notice, having taken the clipboard back and resumed writing sometime around when Amy was talking herself down from swift and (mostly) unjustified violence. Awkward silence stretched out, but at last the pen ceased its movements and the child turned to Amy once more.
She looked so understanding and sympathetic. Like she genuinely felt bad for Amy's situation. Not even just her own contribution, but for the whole gruesome mess as a whole. It was everything she'd wanted from Carol, from Vicky, even from Dad, and it was coming from some random kid who just so happened to have a power suitable for healing.
It was infuriating.
But Amy had already decided against face-punching, so she decided to actually read what was written.
I know you're probably uncomfortable with me knowing your secret, even if it was an accident, and even if you know I don't judge you for it. We're both painfully aware that just like-liking a girl could get us killed in this town, and it's hard, having someone you have no reason to trust knowing things that could destroy you, even when they say they'll keep it secret
Which I will, don't get me wrong, but I know it's hard for you to trust that
It's not nice, knowing somebody has that kind of power over you, and I'm sorry for that. And I'm going to try to make it better. I can't unknow what I know, but I can at least try and level the playing field a little.
Last time we met, you told me that your power lets you see the complete biology of people you touch. I'd like you to do that now, if you're feeling up to it
There was an open, brazen, hand reaching out towards Amy Dallon, glove gently laid over the railing at the head of the bed.
Not entirely sure why, Amy took it. Like always, the sudden influx of information, the sudden knowledge of every cell, every signal, every tiny platelet felt like the most natural thing in the world, even as Amy recoiled from everything she knew she could do with it.
"What the [fun] happened to your face!?"
And from the burnt and savaged mess that was Jospehine's face. Amy had seen a lot worse, known a lot worse, but Josephine had managed to hide it well enough that Amy hadn't even noticed. No wonder she couldn't talk at the moment, it was a testament to her pain tolerance that she could think clearly enough to hold a coherent conversation.
It got burnt
Mostly hold a coherent conversation, anyway. Not that Amy blamed her, even if it was a little frustrating.
"How did it get burnt?"
Tea Accident
That was it? No, it didn't match the injury. There was a scald there, but there was obviously more to it.
Then I aggravated the burns trying to put those kids out
Seriously, what the actual [fun]?
"Kids." was what Amy said, once she recovered enough to be coherent herself, and she wasn't sure if it was a question or not. Whether she wanted to know or not.
Either way, Josephine nodded somberly and began, shudderingly, to explain. So, for Browbeat's debut, they had a little area roped off for the children. Nothing big or fancy, just a bit of space for them to run around in without disturbing the adults.
When the beeping started, the children didn't panic and run like most of the adults. A few did, but not enough. There was some kind of incendiary, tinkertech I think, and when the bombs went off the whole area was covered in liquid fire
I did what I could. We all did
I hope it was enough
[Fun]
Josephine wasn't lying. Even if it hadn't been a stupid, easily disproven thing to lie about, and even if Amy had thought Josephine was the type to lie about something so horrible, her body showed exactly none of the signs of deception. Just grief, trauma and stress. A lot of grief, trauma, and stress.
Amy was the single densest, stupidest, most callous excuse for a person who ever lived.
"I'm sorry."
?
And the heck of it was, Josephine really was confused. Amy could tell. Her chemicals and hormones told the same story as her tilted head.
(They also told other stories, stories of alteration and manipulation and distinctly imperfect medical intervention, but Amy wasn't thinking about those. Much. She did appreciate the secrets she'd been entrusted with, but they weren't an immediate concern.)
Amy threw her hands in the air in exasperation.
"Because you're hurt, dummy. Because you've had a really, really bad day and you tried to help with my stupid problems. You're doing your best to help me and I got mad at you for it. You poked at my feelings for the best of reasons while your own are such a mess and I almost punched your face in for it. So I'm sorry, Josephine, I really am so very, very sorry."
And Josephine Calavera, sweet, kind, stupid Josephine Calavera, tilted her head once more and wrote.
My name is Jacqueline?
Amy Dallon took one look, and realisation struck. She hadn't quite been able to hearJosephine Jacqueline introduce herself the first time they'd met, with the sound of ticking, and she hadn't cared enough to ask what her name was ever since. The sheer level of difference between their behaviour really was ridiculous.
It was too much.
Amy Dallon, Panacea, the greatest healer in the world, threw herself back onto the bedspread and cackled like a madwoman.
Maybe she was, maybe she really, really was, but she felt better than she had in years.
The strange girl did look sorry, as much as she could look sorry with polished brass skin and clock eyes anyway. Far more so than Amy would have expected, really.
All the parahuman weirdness in the girl's appearance did surprisingly little to tamp down her apparently highly expressive nature, but that wasn't what Amy meant.
Usually, when people did things "for (Amy's) own good", they didn't feel sorry about it. Carol didn't care about inconveniencing Amy or making her uncomfortable. The people who wanted her to heal more or somebody specific were just using it as a convenient excuse and didn't care about Amy at all. And even Vicky rarely understood that Amy was uncomfortable to be sorry.
Though whenever she did understand she at least was sorry. Unlike Carol. Unlike the strangers.
Josephine had understood right away. Had known and understood and seemingly regretted it before she did it, and did it anyway. Amy wasn't sure if that was better or worse. She supposed it all depended on one question: Why? Why did she do it?
She suspected she knew the answer, of course. It wasn't hard to get the point of Josephine's little rhetorical trap, not now that it was sprung. But she wanted to hear it from the girl's own lips.
Can't talk right now was still right there, just below the top of the page.
Right.
Failing that, she at least wanted it in the girl's own words.
Why?
Because even if it was the only way to break your self-recrimination - self-loathing - self-recrimination cycle, and I'm not entirely sure it was, I know what I did had to be really hard on you
They say you can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs, but I really don't like that saying. It works well enough for disposable resources, like concrete and lumber and gasoline and even eggs, I suppose, but people are more than just disposable resources
I could give you excuses, and maybe they'd even be good ones, but at the end of the day I hit you right where I knew it would hurt, and I'm sorry for that
That…
That wasn't what Amy meant, for one thing, though she supposed her actual question did get answered, if only as an "even if". Josephine probably would have elaborated more if she'd realized what she was actually being asked, but there was enough to confirm Amy's suspicions.
It really was for Amy's own good. And the stupid kid really was sorry about it, unless she was a far better actress than anyone Amy had ever met. Honestly, Josephine looked more than a little pathetic. Sad, and vulnerable, and Amy wanted to comfort her and wipe the welling tears from those doleful eyes. Amy didn't like that feeling.
It was, perhaps, a natural response to being confronted with a softly crying child who just wanted to help. It was probably a sign that Amy wasn't actually a monster, or at least not completely a monster. And if Amy's empathy was starting to work again, that was probably a way to keep herself on the straight and narrow.
Amy appreciated that. She really, really appreciated it. She wanted to believe that she wasn't a monster.
But it did conflict with Amy's lingering urge to punch Josephine's stupid, adorable face in.
Amy supposed she probably shouldn't follow through on that second desire. Given the provocation, it wasn't exactly a monster move, but it was exactly the sort of stupid and impulsive decision that Vicky, as one of her (relatively) few flaws, was prone too. Amy wasn't ready to surrender her sense of quiet superiority about that yet.
And punching somebody with metal skin seemed like a good way to hurt your hand. Amy couldn't just shove her fist through a wall whenever she felt like it.
Actually, did the kid have metal skin? It looked like metal, but that wasn't a guarantee, not with parahumans. Amy reached out to check, then remembered that touching strange parahumans unexpectedly was a bad idea, especially when you didn't know their powers. Even if it wouldn't have been an abuse of Amy's power, and it would have been, it'd be a very, very risky move.
Amy had a pretty good grip on what Josephine's Aura did, even if she didn't understand how it generated its tiny changes and such, but there was obviously more to her powerset than that. Even if the (visually) metallic skin and the ticking and the gears weren't hints, every power was dangerous. There was precisely one thought-to-be exception, and Amy Dallon was in a position to know full well that Panacea's power was actually insanely dangerous.
Josephine didn't seem to notice, having taken the clipboard back and resumed writing sometime around when Amy was talking herself down from swift and (mostly) unjustified violence. Awkward silence stretched out, but at last the pen ceased its movements and the child turned to Amy once more.
She looked so understanding and sympathetic. Like she genuinely felt bad for Amy's situation. Not even just her own contribution, but for the whole gruesome mess as a whole. It was everything she'd wanted from Carol, from Vicky, even from Dad, and it was coming from some random kid who just so happened to have a power suitable for healing.
It was infuriating.
But Amy had already decided against face-punching, so she decided to actually read what was written.
I know you're probably uncomfortable with me knowing your secret, even if it was an accident, and even if you know I don't judge you for it. We're both painfully aware that just like-liking a girl could get us killed in this town, and it's hard, having someone you have no reason to trust knowing things that could destroy you, even when they say they'll keep it secret
Which I will, don't get me wrong, but I know it's hard for you to trust that
It's not nice, knowing somebody has that kind of power over you, and I'm sorry for that. And I'm going to try to make it better. I can't unknow what I know, but I can at least try and level the playing field a little.
Last time we met, you told me that your power lets you see the complete biology of people you touch. I'd like you to do that now, if you're feeling up to it
There was an open, brazen, hand reaching out towards Amy Dallon, glove gently laid over the railing at the head of the bed.
Not entirely sure why, Amy took it. Like always, the sudden influx of information, the sudden knowledge of every cell, every signal, every tiny platelet felt like the most natural thing in the world, even as Amy recoiled from everything she knew she could do with it.
"What the [fun] happened to your face!?"
And from the burnt and savaged mess that was Jospehine's face. Amy had seen a lot worse, known a lot worse, but Josephine had managed to hide it well enough that Amy hadn't even noticed. No wonder she couldn't talk at the moment, it was a testament to her pain tolerance that she could think clearly enough to hold a coherent conversation.
It got burnt
Mostly hold a coherent conversation, anyway. Not that Amy blamed her, even if it was a little frustrating.
"How did it get burnt?"
Tea Accident
That was it? No, it didn't match the injury. There was a scald there, but there was obviously more to it.
Then I aggravated the burns trying to put those kids out
Seriously, what the actual [fun]?
"Kids." was what Amy said, once she recovered enough to be coherent herself, and she wasn't sure if it was a question or not. Whether she wanted to know or not.
Either way, Josephine nodded somberly and began, shudderingly, to explain. So, for Browbeat's debut, they had a little area roped off for the children. Nothing big or fancy, just a bit of space for them to run around in without disturbing the adults.
When the beeping started, the children didn't panic and run like most of the adults. A few did, but not enough. There was some kind of incendiary, tinkertech I think, and when the bombs went off the whole area was covered in liquid fire
I did what I could. We all did
I hope it was enough
[Fun]
Josephine wasn't lying. Even if it hadn't been a stupid, easily disproven thing to lie about, and even if Amy had thought Josephine was the type to lie about something so horrible, her body showed exactly none of the signs of deception. Just grief, trauma and stress. A lot of grief, trauma, and stress.
Amy was the single densest, stupidest, most callous excuse for a person who ever lived.
"I'm sorry."
?
And the heck of it was, Josephine really was confused. Amy could tell. Her chemicals and hormones told the same story as her tilted head.
(They also told other stories, stories of alteration and manipulation and distinctly imperfect medical intervention, but Amy wasn't thinking about those. Much. She did appreciate the secrets she'd been entrusted with, but they weren't an immediate concern.)
Amy threw her hands in the air in exasperation.
"Because you're hurt, dummy. Because you've had a really, really bad day and you tried to help with my stupid problems. You're doing your best to help me and I got mad at you for it. You poked at my feelings for the best of reasons while your own are such a mess and I almost punched your face in for it. So I'm sorry, Josephine, I really am so very, very sorry."
And Josephine Calavera, sweet, kind, stupid Josephine Calavera, tilted her head once more and wrote.
My name is Jacqueline?
Amy Dallon took one look, and realisation struck. She hadn't quite been able to hear
It was too much.
Amy Dallon, Panacea, the greatest healer in the world, threw herself back onto the bedspread and cackled like a madwoman.
Maybe she was, maybe she really, really was, but she felt better than she had in years.
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- The House of Moon and Star
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Ah, yes. So much setup. Keeping Amy using the wrong name wasn't as hard as some of the little differences between POVs, but it was interesting nonetheless. For the healing, I don't know how much of a surprise the direction I'll be going with really will be, but there'll be something. For transition, that won't be happening this conversation, it's overburdened with sensitive personal issues already. I really wasn't expecting to spend as long on this as I already have, and that'd probably be at least another chapter.
Honestly I was a little surprised they still exist. I would have expected that Jacqueline's power would have already been working to correct things like that as her power seems a bit more conceptual in action than intentional. So minor flaws would get fixed as a matter of course.
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The changes are functioning perfectly, for what they are. NewU's work doesn't need maitenence, not after it's in place, and Jacqueline's aura means her body is generally doing as well as it can. But, when you can see in as much detail as Amy's power lets her look in, there's still some very obvious differences and flaws in the work. NewU isn't really better in terms of the degree of medical transition he can help with than mundane means, just much easier from the patient's perspective and doesn't require continuing treatment. (Well he might be for Earth Bet, because medical science is behind there and it's 2011, but compared to what we have he's not all that special that way.) It's mostly "just" a much longer-lasting form of hormone therapy that only needs to be done once, and Amy can see a lot more of the story. (Maybe more, but I have not and won't be going into the nitty-gritty of some things. Privacy)
In short, it's imperfect because it doesn't go nearly as far as what Amy can see, not because it's wrong in what it does do. Hope that helps.
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I kinda want to ask about Amy fixing the flaws she sees, but such would be tricky, and isn't necessary as such
Ahh, that makes more sense. Perfectly functional, not biological perfection.
Amy is just a dirty cheater who cheats. Still the best kind of person to have on your side, but still a cheater. And then that would make sense as to why Jacqueline's power hasn't 'healed/fixed' anything further as its not required. Of course now I'm imagining her power 'fixing' someone who had a nose job etc back to their biological start point, or inversely, 'fixing' someone who has a real honker of a nose into a perfectly symmetrical pretty thing. Oh the silliness.
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- The House of Moon and Star
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- She/Her
What "healing" means in the context of Amy's power is, in the end, entirely arbitrary. Because that limit is entirely self-imposed, although even if it was real it'd still be arbitrary, just with her shard making the arbitrary decisions instead of her, possibly in advance.Ahh, that makes more sense. Perfectly functional, not biological perfection.
Of course now I'm imagining her power 'fixing' someone who had a nose job etc back to their biological start point, or inversely, 'fixing' someone who has a real honker of a nose into a perfectly symmetrical pretty thing. Oh the silliness.
Sorry I had meant Jacqueline in the second paragraph there. Though your response still stands as it would be her shard making those arbitrary decisions. I just thought the idea of a parahuman out there who's healing undid a nose job would be funny.
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- The House of Moon and Star
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- She/Her
Ah. With Jacqueline and Achronal Engine, it's actually a little more complicated. In the end, it is Achronal Engine to decide what to fix and how, but Achronal Engine has basically no context or understanding of the situation so AE mostly relies on Jacqueline to tell AE what is and is not a problem to be fixed and what things should look like, while an older shard like Amy's would make it's own decisions. Furthermore, there's the matter of Achronal Engine only fixing and repairing things, which is in itself pretty arbitrary, but the decision was already made when Achronal Engine came to awareness/existence. Achronal Engine probably wouldn't fix a nose job unless Jacqueline decided it was a problem, probably because the job was botched, but if it did the end result might be the old nose, what the nose job was supposed to look like, or whatever Jacqueline thought it should look like, depending on what would (seem to) be best for the situation.
Othala, on the other hand, would probably just end up accidentally undoing it, since her regeneration is largely unguided. Same with Cask. Scapegoat could, but he selects which injury he steals so probably not. Rachel only does dogs, but if there was a dog with a nose job and she healed it, it seems to me that the nose job would be undone. More often, it probably undoes spaying and neutering.
Jacqueline and Amy are actually a little unusual among healers, both ones that can affect others and those that can only affect themselves, in that their healing is smart and directed, although Amy's control is a lot more direct than Jacqueline's. Most healers, as far as there is a most, have it fully automated to some plan or other per person, at most selecting areas, but those two have much more precise guiding and don't undo surgery and the like, even if that surgery is presently ongoing.
In other words, it's likely a problem for most healers, but not for these two.
Nah, Rachel's transformations kill off infections and parasites, but they don't change the results of an injury that has healed up. Brutus had the doggy equivalent of a nose job, a docked tail, and Rachel's transformation of him didn't affect that at all. Angelica doesn't get her missing eye and ear back either, they had scarred over before Rachel rescued her.