'Karma will bless you with daughters.'
Marquis couldn't help but remember the line spat out to him at one point by some Lustrumite, presumably for some slight or disagreement with the way he'd treated the fairer sex, perhaps in belief having them would change him somehow. She'd been wrong about
that , but emerging onto the upper balcony of his manor, looking down to the poolside below, where his two daughters sat, chattering to one another, he couldn't help but agree on one point. He
had been blessed.
Marquis leaned against the railing. Even if there was business he'd come to attend to, he couldn't help but listen in, to get a window into their lives, into who they were when he wasn't around. Amelia was fourteen now, getting to the age where she didn't tell her father every little thought she'd had, and Victoria had always been rather quiet.
"-you know those galas suck for actually finding someone with my preferences." Amelia leaned forward in her pool chair, animated like she always was when she was with her sister, freckled skin shaded by the floppy sun hat that adorned her head. "Besides, I know you're deflecting again, Victoria!"
To her credit, Victoria seemed unfazed by her sister's teasing, remaining laid down in her beach chair, sunning herself, "I'm there to keep you safe, Ames. It's
your job to socialize and charm the pants off everyone. You're honest; you make them let their guard down, y'know?"
Even as Victoria remained lying down, he could see the familiar tension there, how every muscle was taut like a bow. Her eyes couldn't help but rove, snapping back and forth, the metal of the chair creaking in her grip before her gaze inevitably returned to Amelia and softened, hands unclenching. It was a persistent back and forth, and he wondered how long it'd take her to look
up and notice him.
Amelia sighed oh so dramatically, in that way teenagers seemed so fond of these days: "I'm going to get Dad to hire some bodyguards for me so you can enjoy yourself. Also, again, on the deflection thing, because I want you to tell me more about that Stansfield guy I saw you chatting up."
Marquis straightened a bit. He
hadn't seen that.
Victoria's shoulders sagged ever so slightly, a frown flickering across her face, "Yeah, he was cute, seemed nice, but we were making small talk, and midway through, it seemed like he'd just swallowed a lemon and made some excuses before leaving. No idea what that was about, what his family had been trying to set up with that or just," she threw up her hands in a way so very un-Victoria.
"You're not fake, Vicky, and yes, I know that's what you're implying don't you try and deny it," She pointed her finger "You and Dad have to keep your cards close to your chest because of
cape stuff, which is a lot better and a lot different than being some tarted up-"
Victoria stopped, putting her hand up to shush her sister, head snapping towards him, her cold blue stare locking onto Marquis. Just one of many things she'd inherited from her mother, "Business, Father?"
Amelia looked over at him, adjusting her sun hat so she could get a better look. "Hey, Dad, um, it's a surprise to see you here. Were you planning on joining us for some sun?"
Seeing Amelia's embarrassment of being caught mid-conversation quickly morph into a small smile of hope, he couldn't help but feel a twinge in his heart that he had to crush it. "Unfortunately not, dear. I am simply here on business as your sister suggested."
Her shoulders sagged, "Oh, well, I'll be out here for a bit in case you get back soon, okay?"
Victoria crossed the distance between her and Amelia, pulling her sister into a hug. "I'll be back in no time, okay, Ames? Greatest capes around, remember? Make sure to save some sun for me in the meantime."
Amelia nodded, a smile returning to her face even if he couldn't help but notice it didn't reach her eyes, "You never know; I might fall asleep and steal it all for myself like last time."
Victoria pulled away, a pained look crossing her face, "Please don't cook yourself again."
Despite their being business at hand, Marquis couldn't help but remain silent and let them continue exchanging parting pleasantries. It warmed his heart to see the two of them like this, especially when the two had been such sullen, quiet children when they'd each arrived. Yet another reason to be thankful Brandish's daughter had fallen into his lap, how the arrival of another girl more lost than Amelia had been when she'd arrived had finally fulfilled that need for companionship with someone her age.
With a final hug and assurances they'd be okay, Victoria flew up to the balcony, landing beside him before they proceeded into the manor together.
The door hadn't even finished closing when she asked, "So what's going on? I'd think things would still be quiet, given how recent our last show of force was."
"No, nothing of that sort; we won't need to leave the estate at all." He said as they continued, and he heard the rhythmic sound of her footfalls, perfectly in step with his, come to a stop. Marquis turned, seeing her arms crossed, eyes questioning.
"Wait, if it's not a fight, why not tell Amelia what's up so she doesn't worry? Hell, why not wait?" She frowned, and he could see the tinges of guilt coloring her face. "I hate when this stuff intrudes; makes her feel left out, especially when it's something like training."
"Call it a time-sensitive teachable moment, if you will? I could ask someone else to handle it, but this is something you will need to pick up at some point, and I
know you well enough that you'd be furious if I didn't include you in this. As for telling your sister," He sighed, "This is ugly business, Victoria, and your sister is delicate."
Amelia was delicate because she was still
whole, still breakable. She hadn't been shattered like Marquis, like Victoria. He could put those splinters back together for sure, reforge them into a greater whole as he'd done with himself, as he'd done with Victoria… But letting her break in the first place, the most precious treasure he'd ever had in all his years, would be proof he'd failed as a parent. Just like Brandish had.
Victoria nodded slowly, mollified for now, falling back into lockstep as they continued their way through their estate. He'd once been prepared to abandon this place, discard it if need be, much like the manor he'd lived in when the Brigade had attacked if need be, but after so many years with his daughters here… He couldn't deny that this place felt like a proper home.
It may also have helped that he'd spent a small fortune and contracted some very hard-to-contact people to assist with security measures over the years to ensure no one could ever repeat the Brigade's failed stunt. Starting over in that regard would be somewhat painful.
They descended the first set of stairs, then the second, making their way to the living room. Striding towards the fireplace, his hand quickly found just the spot to press, causing it to slide away, revealing the staircase hidden behind it, bending over slightly to enter, Victoria following behind.
"Y'know, it'd be a lot more convenient if we had something more modern. I'm sure we could find someone to make a hidden Tinkertech elevator that I don't need to bend down or head all the way to the greenhouse," Victoria griped.
Marquis snorted as they reached the bottom of the stairway, greeted by the dull grey of the basement's door, "If there's nothing wrong with it, why bother replacing it."
"What about out with the old, in with the new, especially when the old is so out of date? I'm pretty sure most other capes with this much money would have something a bit more fancy, and we're supposed to be a cut above the rest of the rabble, remember?"
"And being better means respecting the classics; what is it with kids these days?" Marquis groused as he extended and shaped his finger bone to fit exactly within the door's keyhole, and with a gentle groan, it opened up into one of his estate's two basement spaces.
The first was the 'public' one, which existed to help dispel any suspicions and because there were plenty of legitimate uses for it. The second contained one of the manor's many shelters and served as a location for more... illicit matters.
He hadn't even needed to ask before Victoria floated to the changing room to the right, the door shutting as she began to exchange the swimsuit she'd been wearing for the costume. A few minutes passed before the door opened, and where Victoria had entered,
Dame emerged.
His eyes scanned over the bone armor he'd provided her when she'd first donned her title, appraising for any pieces out of place. The pure white was stark against the hints of black undersuit and the gold-trimmed black of the cape that draped over her shoulders. Where bare face and chin-length blonde hair once were, was instead a visored helmet, spines of bone extending out to emulate a crown or sun-ray. His hand reached out, checking what he'd thought had been an imperfection in the way the greave to her clawed gauntlets rested on her wrist, but it was simply a trick of the eyes.
Marquis grinned as he took one last look over the ensemble. Normally, he wouldn't comment; the praise would have been perfunctory after all. But with what was up ahead, she'd need the positive reinforcement. "Beautiful as always, Dame,"
She straightened ever so slightly at the praise, and he could practically hear her preening... though he could also see the way those blue eyes scanned him up and down, questioning his own lack of armor.
"This task only requires you to be in full attire, dear; I'll simply be on the sidelines taking note of it all."
"Lead on, then," she responded. Whereas before, Victoria simply mirrored his steps, it was here where she came into her own. Her stride was sure but calm, her back straight, and her footsteps just the right level of noise to capture attention without stomping—all perfectly shaped for the persona she'd created.
Marquis couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at that. He may have been the one to craft the armor, but it had been Victoria who'd come up with the design, the presentation, the persona and after a few slight additions of his own, Dame had been born.
She took after him in that way, in the love of the theater, the presentation, the guidelines, the thrill, the
everything about being Dame, in the same way he'd embraced being Marquis. How long he wondered, until she was
just like him, until when in her very thoughts she was Dame instead of Victoria, where armor was the truth, cloth and skin were the lies, and-
He exhaled as they finally arrived at the door on the left. She was still young, still ways away from that, even if today would be shaping her artistry, her skill, encouraging it for the future.
Marquis opened the door for her as any gentleman would, following her in. As soon as Victoria entered, her helmeted head glanced towards the one-way mirror on the far side of the room, gazing through it at the utterly non-descript woman who sat in the room on the other side, completely unaware that Marquis or his daughter had even entered, simply continuing to shiver in the chair she'd been seated in silently.
Victoria hadn't looked surprised, which made sense, given that aura of hers. He was the only person she couldn't 'feel' through it. Instead, she turned to look at him, "Another interrogation?" She asked, though from her tone, it was clear she'd thought the question was rhetorical.
He took a deep breath. She wasn't stupid and there was no use dancing around the topic for long, "No, dear. Today, I'll be asking you to make an
example of her."
And just like that, Dame disappeared, her poise falling away as she took a nervous step back, and as she took her helmet off, Victoria stared back at him.
"Father, I-" Her gaze flicked to the woman before falling back to him, "Why, who is-what did she do?"
Asking the who and why rather than simply following orders. Good, He'd never wanted her to be one. Brandish's child had had far too much potential for something so lowly.
"Victoria, you remember the raid you led two or so weeks ago?"
Victoria nodded, even as her face twisted into a frown, likely thinking back to that whole fiasco. She'd led some men to clean up an establishment, an Empire-affiliated bar just a bit too close to their territory for Victoria's liking. Empire capes had been there, and it'd turned into a complete mess that saw the Protectorate come down on both sides.
Her eyes continued roving, evaluating the woman, "I don't recognize her. I know she wasn't involved on our end, and she doesn't look like the trash who'd be Empire."
"I remember finding it rather odd that for such a minor establishment, Odal and Hookwolf just so happened to be there. You'd think they'd have more important things to do than lurk around, so I did some digging. Her husband was one of the men assigned to you, a Mr. Jones, if you remember. Apparently, he had a habit of telling her the jobs he'd been assigned to."
He gestured to the woman, "Mrs. Jones, from what a few little birdies told me, had a habitual, tragic case of loose lips. The information spread to the wrong person eventually, and they set up an ambush. That's why your operation went the way it did, and that's why I'm placing her in your care."
Behind every great man was a great woman, as the saying went, but here, a good man had been tragically torn down by the woman meant to support them.
Victoria's eyes flicked back and forth from Marquis to her eventual victim. "I- it was just an accident though; she didn't mean it and," her voice grew somber, her gaze now fully on the woman, "her husband
died in that fight. I…" She took a breath before continuing, "If you think she needs punishment, that's punishment enough for what she did. She doesn't-she shouldn't
die for that."
Marquis sighed, brushing aside his own long hair. Victoria still blamed herself for it, despite the outside factors, the betrayal by pure fool carelessness. He liked that she wasn't the type to pass off blame when she did fail, but in cases like this it was certainly a
frustrating tendency of hers.
"Victoria, what differentiates us from the gangs of this city, from Empire, the Azns, and the gaggle of small-minded scum filling in the gaps? "
Her eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, even as she spoke oh-so-familiar words, her voice controlled, "We have self-control; we enforce order. We don't hurt people because we want to. It's always because there's a purpose to it that makes it worth it."
"This woman acted without purpose, without thought, and people died for it." Marquis gestured to her, still shivering, still so very unaware as to the conversation only a room over.
"It was an accident, and she's already facing the-"
"So when Lung lights half the docks on fire because he's a savage animal, when Purity blasts apart an entire apartment in a fight because she's a dimwitted inbred, will you suddenly decide that it's okay that it wasn't intentional? Is it better that those people who died did so out of idiocy and a lack of self-control? That their deaths were meaningless. Is it not the same principle here? Does this woman being a nattering fool somehow absolve her of responsibility?" His tone was firm, teacher speaking to pupil rather than father to daughter.
He could see the retort coming, and he moved closer, staring her right in the eyes, "You haven't even absolved yourself, Victoria, and
that accident came from a place far more sympathetic than being a gossiping fool. Why are you giving her the benefit of the doubt when you refuse to give it yourself?"
Victoria recoiled, eyes wide even as she looked away grimacing. He hated having to bring that up to remind her of her Trigger and its aftermath, but this was too important, nor would he let her be a hypocrite.
She walked over to the glass, putting her free hand on it as she looked at her, "I just… you know when you said to define myself as… as a cape?"
She looked at him, finally meeting his eyes, and he nodded.
"I knew that I'd need to kill people, but I always figured it would just be that… killing them in a proper fight or making them disappear. Something clean. But when you say make an example, it's not just killing them it's… I know that it's more than that…" She took a breath before continuing, "What's the purpose of that? I just… don't get
that ."
He walked beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I suppose you don't understand why I've done what I've done there. That is a failure on my part, and because it's certainly become less necessary these days, but there is a purpose to it. It's not just my own artistic whims; it's purposeful, much like everything we do. The way we kill has
meaning. "
Marquis flourished, a tiny figure of bone forming out from the palm of his hand, a lone spike punching through it, "When I staked Krieg with his own spine and left him screaming, I showed our strength, how even the best they have to offer isn't enough, I showed the weakness of the Protectorate, and how we provide the protection they fail to offer. It causes every petty cousinfucker that works for the Empire to pause before venturing near our domain because if we're willing and able to do that to someone like Krieg, what would that mean for them?"
The human figure he'd made shifted, twisting and crumpling, "And when I turned that pack of bums inside out, I show we provide more than just protection from the gangs, from criminals. It shows that we're devoted to cleaning up this city and revitalizing it. That when we finally achieve our ascendance, it will be good for everyone, not just us. Word of mouth will spread, and that riffraff will stay clear of the territory, of the businesses that we protect. The action itself may seem indulgent, but the ripples it causes give the killing its purpose, and it makes every clean disappearance all the more impactful."
He paused and exhaled, letting the energy fall away Before he once again looked at Victoria. She was stock still, breathing hard and level, her eyes locked on the Jones woman. It seemed he'd need to pull on another set of strings.
Marquis's tone softened, that of a father and daughter again. "It even keeps people alive because the fear of what we could do to them keeps them from doing anything at all. I know you want to save lives, Victoria; it's why you became a villain in the first place, to do what was necessary to clean up this city."
She slowly nodded but remained still otherwise, save for the slight tremble he could see even through her armor. Her voice was nearly a whisper when she finally spoke, "I can't."
"Look at me," He gave a slight squeeze on her arm when she didn't immediately respond, and she silently spun around, her breath hitching, blue eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments.
"I won't make you do this, Victoria… I'd never make you do anything, but no matter what happens, that woman isn't leaving that room alive. She nearly got you killed, Victoria, and I can't in good conscience let that go unpunished, even if it means breaking my rules. You and Amelia mean
too much to me; keeping you two safe comes above all else, but…"
He exhaled, letting it settle in. That she'd be making him break his code, his rules, when she
knew it was a position he'd never put her in, to break her own code she'd adopted, never to bring harm to children, never to kill heroes. He may have disagreed with the latter, but he'd
always respected it.
"You doing this will give her death a proper, good meaning rather than it being what finally breaks my code. You get to define your style, how you will send a message in the future that will let everyone know it was
Dame, test the limits of your aura and its control on her, and…"
He paused, the pieces had fallen into place, and all he needed was the coup de grace, "I know we may not agree on everything, but trust me when I say this, that everything I do, that
we do, is to keep Amelia safe, to keep the ugliness we have to deal with from ever touching her."
She froze, a slight shudder working its way through her body, and while her eyes still couldn't meet his own, he saw the slight nod she gave. He had her. He
had Brandish's daughter; she was
his.
Marquis gently plucked the helmet from the crook of her arm and placed it on her head, just as he'd done when he first bequeathed her the armor. Dame stared back at him;
his daughter stared back at him.
"You're making me so proud, Dame." Marquis pulled away, moving to the door, waiting for her. Her fists opened and closed, the clawed tips of her gloves making a faint click each time they impacted the palm. She bounced on her heels, rolling her shoulders as if she were preparing for a fight, nodding to herself. He heard her speak, a small repeated mantra he probably hadn't been meant to hear: "I can do this."
Then, one final inhale, and Dame strode over to him. Her earlier poise, her earlier self-control, was back, and Victoria and her doubts were buried underneath. He stared into those blue eyes of hers, and Brandish's gaze returned, self-confident, assured in her task. Marquis smiled, opening the door for her to her triumph.
The door hadn't even behind Dame when the woman began
begging, "I- I didn't do anything I don't know what's--"
Dame stalked over, not in her usual smooth stride but out of step, manic even. "You killed those people you killed them you-!" She kicked out one armored foot, sweeping the chair out from under her victim, words, and platitudes replaced by shrill screaming.
"Shut up!"
Another kick, another scream, and he could hear
something crunch.
"I said stop it! Fucking stop it!"
And just like that, Dame's crying victim went
silent, even as Marquis
saw the look on her face, the way her mouth moved. Dame's aura was at work, gripping that woman's vocal cords most likely, and he couldn't help but feel the slightest bit envious. While breaking someone strong was always amusing, he'd dealt with enough sniveling creatures that being able to keep them quiet until he was out of earshot would have been rather handy.
A clawed, bone-white glove gripped a shoulder. Another crack filled the air as Dame hauled her up, and Marquis watched as his daughter, his
successor, bloomed. A flower, once trampled and dying, nurtured and cared for, finally reaching her full potential.
-her free hand pulled away, white gloves now shining red -
Yes, if Amelia was his treasure then Victoria was his successor, his
legacy! Where Amelia was to be protected, hidden from the world, Victoria would step center stage into the spotlight!
-spurs of bone pierced into palms, blood welling up, dripping-
Even when he was gone, she'd be
Marquis's daughter; her accomplishments would be his legacy.
-flecks of blood spattered the one-way mirror, ruby rivulets trailing down, staining glass-
Yes, Victoria, Dame, whoever she was when she was ready to
rule.
His lessons, his parenting would carry her far, farther than he'd ever go.
-a final breath, a final gasp rattled out, but she hadn't realized-
She was Marquis's creativity, his skill with powers, his drive for more, his love for the game, his love for Amelia, all of it poured into a near-perfect protégé, into-
Brandish's daughter stood still, stood silent, having realized she was finished, gazing silently upon her masterwork. Pure white armor had smatters and sprays of red across the front. Messy, but it was her first time.
He opened the door, spurs of bone extending from the soles of his feet to cover his bare feet so he wouldn't accidentally step into stray splatters and streaks of blood.
"Dame," Marquis called.
No response. She was still staring, still silent. To be expected, she was only fourteen, after all.
"Victoria." He said, softer this time as he slowly approached his daughter.
That got a response as she spun around, "Father, I-I didn't hear you."
"Tis quite alright; I understand things can be intense the first time."
"Yes I-yes." She muttered.
He took a look at Victoria's handiwork, his eyes appraising, The woman who Victoria had tried to save, who Dame had tortured, hung against the wall, small spikes of bone from her armor she'd manipulated with her power jammed into hands, feet, and joints.
He looked back at her, "Crucifixion? Simple but surprisingly effective." His tone made it clear. He was interested in her reasoning, the same way he showed interest whenever she'd finished drawing or painting, in the meaning, the technique.
"I-yes I just- That was how they used to punish way back when, when they had to be brutal. We need to be brutal, but we represent order. I can't manipulate bone like you can, but I can do enough."
One of the fascinating facets of her power. He was immune to her aura, but as the bone he produced became harder for him to manipulate, it became malleable to her. It was why her armor
worked. More proof she was
his daughter,
his masterwork.
"It's a good choice. It represents us, but at the same time, incorporates something only you can do." He gestured to the spikes of bone holding the corpse up, "I certainly couldn't punch those into solid concrete."
"Yeah—I did that, did that, didn't I?" she said, and she moved her arms, perhaps involuntarily, and blood flicked off her red gloves, and she flinched as her gaze shifted to her bloody hands.
No, he couldn't let her
dwell and Marquis moved forward, hands cupping her helmet, gently lifting it off her head, before he pulled her into a hug. Her arms fell to her side, and he could feel the forced, uneven rhythm of her breathing as her head buried its way into his shirt.
They stood there like that before he gave her a slow pat on the back, pulling away. He looked down on her bare face and blue eyes. Where Brandish's gaze once was, it was instead that of his daughter, wide-eyed, desperate,
unsure . And then she broke the eye contact, eyes darting away from his own
His eyes fell upon a speck of blood, one that must have gotten through her visor and onto her cheeks. His hand moved up tenderly, wiping the imperfection away from her face and she winced, eye contact gone as they darted away from him.
Marquis sighed, "Go get yourself cleaned up so you can go see your sister, okay? We don't want to keep her lonely, and you deserve the day with her. I'll handle the rest and come on up after, okay?"
"I-yeah, that's good. It's good. Amelia is good," Brandish's daughter gave him one last look, "Thank you, Father." She said, tone clipped, as she strode, then flew to the door, realizing the blood that smeared the bottom of her boots, grasping and twisting at the handle, leaving it crumpled, coated in crimson.
He huffed, turning to look back at the corpse, back at Victoria's masterwork. It would become easier with time- she certainly had kept better control of herself than he had his first time taking someone apart with his powers.
He moved closer, Marquis's critical eye scanning for anything he missed, points of improvement, things she may have missed, so when the next time came, he could help her along, offer suggestions. It always got easier after the first time, after all.
There was a surprising amount of wounds for how long she'd lasted, but ah- that was
interesting. Early stages of scabbing on one or two of the smaller gashes. Her aura, perhaps? He knew she could do more the longer she spent time with someone, but outside of Amelia and himself, it was rare she was around others for long. The inevitable
failures in their organization and the seemingly endless plague of vagrants that infested the city would give her more than enough people to test that facet of her powers fully.
He gave it one last once over, brushing the hair that fell across the corpse's face away, taking it in, taking in his victory one last time before he had his 'help' clean up.
"If only you were here to see this Brandish…" He sighed, "But if you were here, I wouldn't have this victory; I wouldn't have this gift you bequeathed upon me."
Even all these years later, he could still imagine her, clear as day, with the judgment and seriousness of it all written on the seemingly perpetual scowl on her face. Perhaps because she'd passed on that dour seriousness to Victoria? Yes, even as much as he could see his daughter taking after him, the pieces left intact after Victoria had shattered, the pieces he'd put back together… that was all from her.
"I remember you telling me once, Brandish,
Carol." a grin had settled in on his face,
" One of the last times we fought. You said something about how everything I had was built on foundations of sand, that I'd be forgotten."
"And yet," Marquis paused, taking in a deep breath, "Not only am I alive and doing even better than before," he spun around, looking directly at the corpse. "I control your memory. I was the one who funded the memorial to your team, who keeps the statues of you and the rest of your family clean. Your daughter is my daughter; she's my legacy, and she will be how I'm remembered."
He stalked up to the body, eye level with it, face contorting into a glare, "I'm the one who raised, who teaches her about how the world works, who made her my protégé! Victoria
Lavere will never be a lawyer; she will never become a superhero with some
ridiculous name, and she will never be Victoria
Dallon. The only one who remembers
her, who remembers the little girl huddled next to your corpse, will be me, the only reminder of her existence being a little plaque next to the statue of you
I had built."
There was only silence as the response, the corpse remaining quiet, remaining still except for the slowing trails of blood that leaked from it. Marquis exhaled, shoulders sagging as if the fight was leaking away from him.
He turned away and left the room taking a few seconds to get the broken, slick doorknob to open while the bony soles on his feet retracted. His pace was quick as he left for the changing room designated for him, washing hands and face before tossing the clothes he'd been wearing into the bin on the side, bloody from hugging Victoria, exchanging them for a nice Hawaiian shirt and shorts.
Marquis made his way up the stairs to the upper floor of his estate. He wanted to check on his daughter before he came down to see Amelia, see if Victoria was in a state to relax alongside him and her sister.
He frowned as he entered the wing of the third floor where his daughters' rooms were, hearing the faint sounds of Victoria's sobbing as he got closer. It was a sound he was unfortunately accustomed to, given how she'd ended up in his care, one that clenched and pulled on his heart every time he heard it.
It was louder than usual, and he noticed her door was ajar; as he advanced closer, he could hear more than just the wailing; he could hear the
words that had come with it and froze, his hand about to knock on the door, even if he could peer right in.
"-so sorry, I'm so sorry, so sorry I-I had to Mom, Dad. I have to keep Amelia safe I have to make Father proud, oh god, I- that woman, I-I just-I don't know what to
do!" Her voice shifted into a low, mournful, keening, imperceptible wail.
He could see through the ajar door, see his daughter staring at her open palms, kneeling before the nightstand beside her bed, the nightstand with the lamp she kept on even while she slept, the nightstand atop which a photo of Brandish, of Carol, stood framed. He never knew
how she'd gotten her hands on it all those years ago, but he'd let her keep it for fear of breaking the then tenuous bond between the two… He wondered now if that'd been the right decision.
Marquis stood still for a few more seconds, frozen, before he pulled away, scowling. He couldn't help here; his daughter needed her space, after all. It was best to let her come out on her own time when she was ready to, where she could finish recharging with Amelia and himself. He had his foibles, and so did Victoria; he couldn't help it; he shouldn't interfere.
It wasn't long until he was out on his back patio again, the sun a welcome presence on his skin, the wind causing strands of long hair to blow and flutter in the breeze, and he called out, "Amelia!"
She looked up from the pool chair she'd been lounging on, setting down the magazine in her hands, a surprised smile coloring her freckled face. "Dad! I didn't think you'd be back so soon."
"I told you I'd be back," He smiled at her enthusiasm, so pure and simple, and the tightness in his chest slowly began to unwind. He grabbed one of the pool chairs, moving it up beside her as he sat down, going without an umbrella. He hadn't gotten much sun lately, and he certainly didn't want his skin to be as pale as bone.
Amelia's gaze flicked between the door he'd come from, the patio, and finally one last glance skyward, smile finally faltering before she looked back at him, amber eyes questioning, "Where's Victoria?"
He sighed as that tightness returned. "She's not hurt; it's just…" He struggled to find the words, to find the right combination to placate Amelia in a way that kept her happiest. She always managed to disarm him like this.
She finished, her voice soft, "It's her family stuff, isn't it…"
He nodded back, and she frowned, staring off into the distance, before she finally spoke, "I hate depression, I just… it's not fair. Victoria's such an awesome sister, she's such an awesome person, and it's just… she's gotten stuck with this stuff, stuff that gets in the way of us being family…"
Her voice trailed off, and when it became clear she wasn't continuing, he jumped in: "Life isn't fair, Amelia. It's unfortunate, but it's not unexpected. We know her father had a history with the condition, and that's combined with what happened with her family."
She shot him a glare, "I know that! I just.." She exhaled, "I wish I could do something. Give me healing powers that could zap her depression away, to let me help you guys out with stuff."
Marquis frowned, his tone lowering, "Amelia, I've told you where powers come from… you shouldn't
ever wish for them."
She flinched, "Sorry, I just…" She leaned back into her chair, voice watery, and he could see tears welling, "Is it bad that I wish her family stuff just… wasn't always on her mind? She's had us for longer than she ever had them, and that's ignoring she was a baby for most of that, but sometimes…" She sniffled, "I just feel like she still thinks of her bio-dad and her mom as a family more than us, y'know?"
He shook his head, "It's not selfish at all, but… think about it with some perspective. Remember when she first got here? Those days when she'd just refuse to leave her room or get out of her bed? You, above all, helped her through that. And while I won't say you're wrong about her family coming in between us, coming in between me and her in particular… she never had a sister before, and I know for a fact she adores you above
everything ."
Amelia nodded, smiling, even as tears tracked down her face. She sidled over, giving him a hug, one which he returned earnestly before continuing to talk, his tone softening, "We just need to be patient with her, to give her the time she needs to grieve, continue to be there for her, and I don't see any reason as to why things won't continue to improve."
He felt Amelia nod again in his shirt, growing wet from tears, and she mumbled, "Thanks, Dad."
Marquis gently squeezed, rubbing circles on his daughter's back. They'd exorcise the spectre of that woman who hung over Victoria, who'd made both of his daughters cry, one step at a time until Victoria was finally able to join him and Amelia as family whole-heartedly, guilt-free, and as his daughter forevermore.
///
Another Worm oneshot (Wormshot?) from me, this one was definitely a lot more spontaneous though I had a lot of help (seriously thanks y'all).
Marquis has always been a really interesting character for me, given his status of 'horrid parent and person despite loving his kids,' a really interesting mirror to Carol who is a character I fucking adore (we stan Carol in this house).
Unfortunately, as far as the 'shitty no, good parents who get a pass, because they love their kids' in this fandom, goes, I think only Purity has gotten the Woobie treatment harder than Marquis. I think this is because we see people look at Carol's mess with Amy and reflexively decide that Marquis is a lot better despite his, uh, general horridness and massive insecurity.
So I decided to contrast/mirror things, especially because a Victoria Lavere AU is something for a long while I've wanted to play with, and see how Marquis would handle himself in Carol's position, taking inspiration from Carol casually joking about how awkward it was to be teaching her like, 14 yo daughter with superpowers how to break someone's arm, and thought to myself, 'if this is what Carol is teaching, what the fuck would Marquis be teaching his 14 yo daughter with superpowers?'
And thus, this fic was born. I absolutely plan on writing more shots in this AU from Amy, Victoria, and Crystal's perspectives, and have a full-length fic I've drafted that I'll get to at some point when my backlog clears up. Hope y'all enjoyed this!
