An Alt-Power Taylor from a different perspective. Content and Trigger warnings for adult and...
RE:Cycle (Worm)
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(1) Re-Acquaint
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
An Alt-Power Taylor from a different perspective. Content and Trigger warnings for adult and unsettling themes such as suicide, sexual assault, etc. apply
RE:Cycle
Got a secret
Can you keep it?
Swear this one you'll save
Better lock it, in your pocket
Taking this one to the grave
If I show you then I know you
Won't tell what I said
Cause two can keep a secret
If one of them is dead
--Secret, by The Pierces
(1) Re-Acquaint
He saw her misery first, a bright and luring thing, from all the way at street level. He stopped mid-sentence when he did, and focused his attention on it, trying to sort out exactly what he was seeing through the cement wall, because if he was noticing it through objects then it was a certain thing indeed. He got the colors sorted as best he could, and bit down on a curse; it was what he hoped it wouldn't be. Gallant started running, and he tapped at his radio link as he did.
"Aegis, get back over here. 33rd and, uh-- Cuthbert. And get the Console. And fly about halfway up, just in case."
"In case of what? Gallant, what are--"
"In case you need to catch someone."
The Wards leader dropped anything else he'd meant to say in favor of a simple acknowledgement, and by then Gallant had no more breath to spare to answer anyway. He'd spotted the old office building's open fire escape and charged inside, taking the steps two at a time until he judged himself level with the misery. The door to the stairwell was still open, but he took care not to slam it as he passed through and into a room full of half-disassembled cubicles. His armored footsteps were loud and easy, so as not to startle. He might not have bothered: as he got closer to the silhouette standing at the broken-open window details in the cloud of colors resolved, became more clear.
She was calm, not frantic, which was both good and bad. The misery was a slowly-boiling thing, all deep hues of of a feeling well established. And when Gallant drew close enough that the girl turned her face towards him, he saw a faint and smoky shimmer that moved in the cloud, not quite superimposed on it. An echo with the same palette. A darkly luring thing, like seeing the beauty in an oil slick.
The girl stared, until he remembered introductions. Though from the look on her face, there didn't seem a whole lot of point to chatter. "...hey."
"Hey."
"You mind if I stay here with you, talk for a bit?"
"It's a free country," she said, and turned back to the window. Close enough. Gallant stepped forward, until he stood beside her. She was almost as tall as he was, he noted, and probably not far removed in age. There was a smattering of acne on her chin and one cheek, and she stood with the sort of inherent gangliness that anyone who hadn't properly grown into their body possessed. "You don't have to talk me down, if that's what you're here for. I'm not jumping. Not today."
"I'll still stay and talk, if you want." She made a wordless hmm noise. Gallant waited.
"...it helps, in a weird way. Doing this, I mean. Like digging a fingernail into a mosquito bite. It hurts more for minute, and then it goes numb. Catharsis." She fell silent again, and Gallant watched the misery flex and roil a little slower. Aegis spoke quietly over his headset, promising a rapid response team ready, and a suicide hotline worker if he needed it.
"Do you come here often, then?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes it's the pier. I'm not serious about it, I mean it. I just… need to think about it, some days." She sighed. "Gallant, right? Is this part of your job?"
"No, it isn't. I still do it." He glanced at her again, measured the saturation of her colors. "I'll do it tomorrow, too, if you need. Or the day after that."
The girl turned her face again, looking at him with one brow raised in an unspoken question. "You said, 'not today.' So, we can meet again some other day. Whatever days you need."
Gallant knew that look. The hesitation of someone who doesn't want to stick their hand in a new fire. But there was just a tiny twist of something brighter, so he forged ahead. "Hey-- keep a secret?" And just like that, something twisted darker, hotter. The misery stirred fitfully-- but she nodded, once and slow. So Gallant held out his hand, and after another moment, she took it.
"My name's Dean. Pleased to meet you."
"...sure. Taylor."
* * *
Taylor didn't call the next day, or the day after that, but eventually she did. She clearly didn't expect him to show up, but he did. He'd gotten a number of lectures about operational security and personal safety, and a backup team on standby just in case of deception, but he did. They sat on an iron bench in the corner of Rime park, and talked about nothing at all. She hadn't seen the latest movie; neither had he, actually. She'd read an article in the papers about a fight between the Protectorate and the E88; he had too, but Wards weren't supposed to be in such fights.
She called again a week or so later, and was just as surprised as the first time when he answered. She was a little less surprised the third time. And so it went. The season turned, for what it was worth in Brockton Bay, as January became March became April. Taylor's selection of drab and occasionally stained hoodies remained, enduring the passage of time with stubborn threads. Though as she pointed out, Gallant never wore different armor, so he didn't really have room to talk.
And then, on the fifth visit, Taylor asked:
"What's it like, being in the Wards?"
He couldn't tell her everything, and she understood, but he could answer a few things. Did the Wards get along? Did they get paid? Was it a lot of work-- and was it enjoyable work? Gallant thought so, at least, and that seemed an acceptable answer.
On the sixth visit, Dean asked instead: "I know that you're unhappy. Is there a way that I can help?"
Taylor looked at him, and then back out at the park. Dean waited, giving her time to think, and weigh, and measure. She did that a lot-- took her time to speak. This time it took her five minutes, and Dean was honestly starting to worry. But her colors hadn't boiled over, just stirred and pushed each other in debate, so he waited.
"...hey. Keep a secret?" There was a ghost of a smile with the question. When Dean nodded, she said, "Okay. Look at my hand."
He couldn't see anything special about it. Taylor bit her nails, and the cold air had dried her skin a bit, but the hand resting at her side on the iron slats of the bench was unremarkable. Until she moved the hand, pulled it up to rest on her knee, and her shadow stayed behind. A faint, smoky shimmer stayed with it, a misery not in synch with the rest of her, but made of the same palette.
* * *
They called her 'Lantern,' and she always went hooded.
It only became more apt as time went on. Gallant would always wonder if she knew how much.
RE:Cycle
Got a secret
Can you keep it?
Swear this one you'll save
Better lock it, in your pocket
Taking this one to the grave
If I show you then I know you
Won't tell what I said
Cause two can keep a secret
If one of them is dead
--Secret, by The Pierces
(1) Re-Acquaint
He saw her misery first, a bright and luring thing, from all the way at street level. He stopped mid-sentence when he did, and focused his attention on it, trying to sort out exactly what he was seeing through the cement wall, because if he was noticing it through objects then it was a certain thing indeed. He got the colors sorted as best he could, and bit down on a curse; it was what he hoped it wouldn't be. Gallant started running, and he tapped at his radio link as he did.
"Aegis, get back over here. 33rd and, uh-- Cuthbert. And get the Console. And fly about halfway up, just in case."
"In case of what? Gallant, what are--"
"In case you need to catch someone."
The Wards leader dropped anything else he'd meant to say in favor of a simple acknowledgement, and by then Gallant had no more breath to spare to answer anyway. He'd spotted the old office building's open fire escape and charged inside, taking the steps two at a time until he judged himself level with the misery. The door to the stairwell was still open, but he took care not to slam it as he passed through and into a room full of half-disassembled cubicles. His armored footsteps were loud and easy, so as not to startle. He might not have bothered: as he got closer to the silhouette standing at the broken-open window details in the cloud of colors resolved, became more clear.
She was calm, not frantic, which was both good and bad. The misery was a slowly-boiling thing, all deep hues of of a feeling well established. And when Gallant drew close enough that the girl turned her face towards him, he saw a faint and smoky shimmer that moved in the cloud, not quite superimposed on it. An echo with the same palette. A darkly luring thing, like seeing the beauty in an oil slick.
The girl stared, until he remembered introductions. Though from the look on her face, there didn't seem a whole lot of point to chatter. "...hey."
"Hey."
"You mind if I stay here with you, talk for a bit?"
"It's a free country," she said, and turned back to the window. Close enough. Gallant stepped forward, until he stood beside her. She was almost as tall as he was, he noted, and probably not far removed in age. There was a smattering of acne on her chin and one cheek, and she stood with the sort of inherent gangliness that anyone who hadn't properly grown into their body possessed. "You don't have to talk me down, if that's what you're here for. I'm not jumping. Not today."
"I'll still stay and talk, if you want." She made a wordless hmm noise. Gallant waited.
"...it helps, in a weird way. Doing this, I mean. Like digging a fingernail into a mosquito bite. It hurts more for minute, and then it goes numb. Catharsis." She fell silent again, and Gallant watched the misery flex and roil a little slower. Aegis spoke quietly over his headset, promising a rapid response team ready, and a suicide hotline worker if he needed it.
"Do you come here often, then?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes it's the pier. I'm not serious about it, I mean it. I just… need to think about it, some days." She sighed. "Gallant, right? Is this part of your job?"
"No, it isn't. I still do it." He glanced at her again, measured the saturation of her colors. "I'll do it tomorrow, too, if you need. Or the day after that."
The girl turned her face again, looking at him with one brow raised in an unspoken question. "You said, 'not today.' So, we can meet again some other day. Whatever days you need."
Gallant knew that look. The hesitation of someone who doesn't want to stick their hand in a new fire. But there was just a tiny twist of something brighter, so he forged ahead. "Hey-- keep a secret?" And just like that, something twisted darker, hotter. The misery stirred fitfully-- but she nodded, once and slow. So Gallant held out his hand, and after another moment, she took it.
"My name's Dean. Pleased to meet you."
"...sure. Taylor."
* * *
Taylor didn't call the next day, or the day after that, but eventually she did. She clearly didn't expect him to show up, but he did. He'd gotten a number of lectures about operational security and personal safety, and a backup team on standby just in case of deception, but he did. They sat on an iron bench in the corner of Rime park, and talked about nothing at all. She hadn't seen the latest movie; neither had he, actually. She'd read an article in the papers about a fight between the Protectorate and the E88; he had too, but Wards weren't supposed to be in such fights.
She called again a week or so later, and was just as surprised as the first time when he answered. She was a little less surprised the third time. And so it went. The season turned, for what it was worth in Brockton Bay, as January became March became April. Taylor's selection of drab and occasionally stained hoodies remained, enduring the passage of time with stubborn threads. Though as she pointed out, Gallant never wore different armor, so he didn't really have room to talk.
And then, on the fifth visit, Taylor asked:
"What's it like, being in the Wards?"
He couldn't tell her everything, and she understood, but he could answer a few things. Did the Wards get along? Did they get paid? Was it a lot of work-- and was it enjoyable work? Gallant thought so, at least, and that seemed an acceptable answer.
On the sixth visit, Dean asked instead: "I know that you're unhappy. Is there a way that I can help?"
Taylor looked at him, and then back out at the park. Dean waited, giving her time to think, and weigh, and measure. She did that a lot-- took her time to speak. This time it took her five minutes, and Dean was honestly starting to worry. But her colors hadn't boiled over, just stirred and pushed each other in debate, so he waited.
"...hey. Keep a secret?" There was a ghost of a smile with the question. When Dean nodded, she said, "Okay. Look at my hand."
He couldn't see anything special about it. Taylor bit her nails, and the cold air had dried her skin a bit, but the hand resting at her side on the iron slats of the bench was unremarkable. Until she moved the hand, pulled it up to rest on her knee, and her shadow stayed behind. A faint, smoky shimmer stayed with it, a misery not in synch with the rest of her, but made of the same palette.
* * *
They called her 'Lantern,' and she always went hooded.
It only became more apt as time went on. Gallant would always wonder if she knew how much.
- Location
- United States
Her shadow has seemed to run off. Can you help her find it?
- Location
- Planet Earth
I'm not quite sure what's going on yet, but I'll stick around to see. I never really liked Gallant, but I also never liked Oni Lee until he was saved by a magic dog.
HircumPrinceps
Goat Lord
- Location
- Seattle
Yeah! More very much welcome storm!
- Location
- NC
Oh dear, Dean still had that backup team when Taylor "unmasked" didn't he?
Maybe it's because of a fic I recently reread, but the hood and name Lantern are making me think Tonberry, but that doesn't really fit with her power... Unless the "shadow" is Everyone's (her) Grudge?
Thank you for sharing your new story with us!
Maybe it's because of a fic I recently reread, but the hood and name Lantern are making me think Tonberry, but that doesn't really fit with her power... Unless the "shadow" is Everyone's (her) Grudge?
Thank you for sharing your new story with us!
- Location
- United states
More please
Rungni Khazadson
Just another random Runesmith!
- Location
- New Zealand
YASSSS @UnwelcomeStorm gib me moar!
GameDragon
Too Hot To Handle
- Location
- Challenger Deep
That was interesting. Can't wait for more!
- Location
- USA
I know this song Storm. I look forward to seeing where you go with this.
- Location
- Italy
It's interesting. And Storm is always a good bet for a story, so I'm watching.
VoiceoftheAbyss
May or may not stare back.
- Location
- The Depths of the Eternal Abyss
Praise @UnwelcomeStorm the bringer of good fanfiction and warm cuddlely feelings that are hard to explain. Every so often they walk among worm and they are known as the feelsbringer.
Good fanfiction US.
Good fanfiction US.
- Location
- USA
You have read Hunter right? Bloodborne is like the opposite of good feels. Unless it got better after I dropped it (nothing against the story itself, but the depressing atmosphere was bringing my depression up and the last time that happened I crashed for a month).
VoiceoftheAbyss
May or may not stare back.
- Location
- The Depths of the Eternal Abyss
I have not, must go find.
I have.
Given the warning at the top of this first chapter, I'm assuming this story isn't going to be warm and fuzzy, but hopefully it's not as dark as Hunter.
I mean, Hunter is very well done, but it's unquestionably horror.
- Location
- USA
Yeah it was a very good read, I just couldn't handle it after a certain point.
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
I have a sudden want for popcorn.
(2) Re-Bound
UnwelcomeStorm
BARK! BARK! BARK!
- Location
- United States
(2) Re-Bound
There was a building at the edge of the Heights that Dean loved. Not for what it was, but for what it offered him.
He'd hired a locksmith a year ago, on the sly, and gotten a key made for the side door. He'd considered, once or twice, bringing up the idea of buying the block and renovating it to his father, with the goal of funding some new businesses to take the place of whatever had been there before. He gave it up each time, of course. The faded For Lease signs and darkened windows weren't helping anyone, so maybe it was a bit selfish, but that was human nature and need. So he kept his key and his silence, and in return he got to hoard a tiny wonder.
It had been a beer garden once, he thought, or maybe just a rooftop cafe. Now it was a bare expanse of tile, sheltered on three sides by cement walls, with the fourth looking West. The only bright spots against the grey-and-grey aesthetic were a red cooler, holding a few flannel blankets for colder evenings, and a pair of lawn chairs that looked out of place so far away from a pool. Victoria was there already, her tiara hooked over the open lid of the cooler, and she'd pulled a sweater on over her costume. She waved him over when he appeared in the stairwell.
It had been a good month, because she smiled when he kissed her. She walked back to the cooler--always walked, here--and got a 2-liter of Coke, grinning like it was a secret. Dean knelt and offered a bottle of off-brand rum, like it was a princely gift. A little game they played.
The chairs were cozy and the liquor was warm, and the only colors all around were the dusky city-twilight above and the gold of Victoria's hair. Just two teenagers, sneaking a drink away from prying eyes, staying out past a curfew that didn't exist for either of them. This must be what Normal felt like.
* * *
"It's so stupid. They weren't even arguing about the same thing. I know they'll make up sooner or later, but in the meantime it's just uugghhhh." Victoria sighed, and raked a hand through her hair. Then she poked Dean in the ribs, making him jump. "Sorry, I'm nattering. What's new on your side?"
"Same old shit, mostly."
"Mooooostly?" She poked him again, sensing weakness. He batted her hand away from his ticklish ribs, but she snuck past his defenses and poked again.
"Mostly-- gaha, stop!-- at least at home. Work has gotten a bit, uh, tense."
"Management being petty tense, or Clockblocker being a smartass tense, or…?"
"Bit worse… you really can't tell anyone, okay?" She nodded, and settled against his chest to listen. "Wards might have a new member. Might. It's kind of becoming a thing."
"What's so complicated about it? PRT does this all the time."
"Interpersonal conflicts," he hedged. "The new girl knows one of the current team, and they don't really get along-- and they're both refusing to be transferred. There's more to it, I'm sure, but it's private."
"And you're wading into the middle to mediate, aren't you?" Victoria sighed.
"Got to. I'm worried they'll come to blows sooner or later." Or even… no. Shadow Stalker was aggressive, that was undeniable, but she tended to keep her personal life out of her professional one. It was Taylor that worried him. Stalker wore a cape of disgust and disdain when she looked at Lantern, but the other side of that feud held real hate. Enough of it that it had settled, darkened all the colors in her cloud. And there was only so much scheduling that could be done, to keep them separated, if Lantern did manage to join the team.
* * *
She carried her namesake with her. An old oil lantern, salvaged from an attic or a pawn shop, the kind easily lit by a clever mechanism and the light it provided able to be focused by a sliding hood. She refused to give it up, even when the PR department came calling. Aegis took her aside, tried to explain that being uncooperative wasn't doing her any favors. It didn't matter if it helped with her power, it was about being a team player.
She compromised with adding a better lighting source into the same frame, something not flammable like oil; Kid Win put it together in a day. He grumbled about it behind closed doors. Gallant wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but Lantern seemed to regard Kid coldly after that. It was uncharitable of her, and Gallant told her so, because if nothing else she wanted honesty. She apologized to the Tinker the next day.
"They're going to force me out, aren't they." Taylor asked, even if the phrasing denied it. She spent a lot of time in the Ward's Commons, and today Dean found her doing homework on the couch. Arcadia had nearly denied her for her past academic performance, but she'd held her ground. The pile of tests and assignments they'd given her as an entry exam had been a victory more than a punishment. "Or try to. Just make things difficult until I give in, and move to Maine or something."
He'd seen it happen before, in his family's company. What isn't useful gets pruned away. It's just how business goes, but the Protectorate wasn't a common business. Dean didn't think they'd get so bad as to drive Taylor out entirely, since any parahuman is better with them than against them, but there was certainly pressure. Not really something he'd prefer to say aloud, though, so instead he leaned against the back of the couch and asked, "What happened between you, if I may ask?"
Her face twisted with her colors. "Piggot made me sign an NDA. Her too, but I doubt it'll stop her. Long story short, she's a big part of why I'm like this." Taylor declined to clarify which this she meant, which gave Dean a sinking feeling that it might be all of them. "They told me it'd take a few months at the least to 'investigate my claims.' Switched both our schools in the meantime-- and that's damning, because it means they know what she did. They have to. How could they not?"
She stared down at the half-completed makework in front of her, voice quiet. "How could they not know?"
"Nobody can know everything, Taylor. It's cold comfort, but it's true."
She buried her face in her hands, and said nothing. Her Shade circled back from wherever it had gone, and after the flat black silhouette braced itself, stepped off the wall and into the third dimension. Its hands trailed smoke as it gathered up Taylor's papers and pencils, and placed them into her backpack. Dean watched, and frowned when the Shade picked up a book as well, and packed it up. If it could lift a textbook then it had to have been out for a while now-- probably close to the time limit. He hadn't known it could go back to being a shadow without resetting.
Taylor faced the world again, for a certain definition. "I'm going to bed."
"It's only five."
"I don't care." She stood, grabbed her lantern and her backpack, and left in the direction of the dorms. The Shade followed close on her heels.
* * *
Dean asked about it, a few days later, when he was assigned to teach her the ins-and-outs of manning the Console. Response codes, and regulations, and the ever-shifting Master/Stranger protocols. It was difficult to parse the mix of shame and resentment the question stirred up in her cloud. There was a streak of blue in there, an odd shade that made him think it had lost its vibrancy to cold sweat.
"That's-- not it, exactly. The timer doesn't stop until I dismiss it." She turned her focus back to work, tuning him out until the blue shivered back beneath the surface. "...keep a secret?"
"If it's not dangerous." He had a duty to the team, after all. Taylor considered, and found the stipulation acceptable.
"What's not useful gets pruned away," she echoed him, "And… I wanted to see if I would be. That's all." Or because she had expected to be. And he couldn't assure her otherwise, and still be honest.
"You'll have to tell, sooner or later. It's important to know what we're all capable of, so we can work together."
"Maybe."
"Yes," he insisted, but didn't prod any further. Taylor was already the color of bruises. He'd thought it a mercy not to press on them. He thought there'd be plenty of time.
He'd thought, when the report came in that Armsmaster had captured Lung, that it was a sign of things getting better. He'd thought there were lines that everyone knew not to cross.
He still cursed himself for not knowing better.
There was a building at the edge of the Heights that Dean loved. Not for what it was, but for what it offered him.
He'd hired a locksmith a year ago, on the sly, and gotten a key made for the side door. He'd considered, once or twice, bringing up the idea of buying the block and renovating it to his father, with the goal of funding some new businesses to take the place of whatever had been there before. He gave it up each time, of course. The faded For Lease signs and darkened windows weren't helping anyone, so maybe it was a bit selfish, but that was human nature and need. So he kept his key and his silence, and in return he got to hoard a tiny wonder.
It had been a beer garden once, he thought, or maybe just a rooftop cafe. Now it was a bare expanse of tile, sheltered on three sides by cement walls, with the fourth looking West. The only bright spots against the grey-and-grey aesthetic were a red cooler, holding a few flannel blankets for colder evenings, and a pair of lawn chairs that looked out of place so far away from a pool. Victoria was there already, her tiara hooked over the open lid of the cooler, and she'd pulled a sweater on over her costume. She waved him over when he appeared in the stairwell.
It had been a good month, because she smiled when he kissed her. She walked back to the cooler--always walked, here--and got a 2-liter of Coke, grinning like it was a secret. Dean knelt and offered a bottle of off-brand rum, like it was a princely gift. A little game they played.
The chairs were cozy and the liquor was warm, and the only colors all around were the dusky city-twilight above and the gold of Victoria's hair. Just two teenagers, sneaking a drink away from prying eyes, staying out past a curfew that didn't exist for either of them. This must be what Normal felt like.
* * *
"It's so stupid. They weren't even arguing about the same thing. I know they'll make up sooner or later, but in the meantime it's just uugghhhh." Victoria sighed, and raked a hand through her hair. Then she poked Dean in the ribs, making him jump. "Sorry, I'm nattering. What's new on your side?"
"Same old shit, mostly."
"Mooooostly?" She poked him again, sensing weakness. He batted her hand away from his ticklish ribs, but she snuck past his defenses and poked again.
"Mostly-- gaha, stop!-- at least at home. Work has gotten a bit, uh, tense."
"Management being petty tense, or Clockblocker being a smartass tense, or…?"
"Bit worse… you really can't tell anyone, okay?" She nodded, and settled against his chest to listen. "Wards might have a new member. Might. It's kind of becoming a thing."
"What's so complicated about it? PRT does this all the time."
"Interpersonal conflicts," he hedged. "The new girl knows one of the current team, and they don't really get along-- and they're both refusing to be transferred. There's more to it, I'm sure, but it's private."
"And you're wading into the middle to mediate, aren't you?" Victoria sighed.
"Got to. I'm worried they'll come to blows sooner or later." Or even… no. Shadow Stalker was aggressive, that was undeniable, but she tended to keep her personal life out of her professional one. It was Taylor that worried him. Stalker wore a cape of disgust and disdain when she looked at Lantern, but the other side of that feud held real hate. Enough of it that it had settled, darkened all the colors in her cloud. And there was only so much scheduling that could be done, to keep them separated, if Lantern did manage to join the team.
* * *
She carried her namesake with her. An old oil lantern, salvaged from an attic or a pawn shop, the kind easily lit by a clever mechanism and the light it provided able to be focused by a sliding hood. She refused to give it up, even when the PR department came calling. Aegis took her aside, tried to explain that being uncooperative wasn't doing her any favors. It didn't matter if it helped with her power, it was about being a team player.
She compromised with adding a better lighting source into the same frame, something not flammable like oil; Kid Win put it together in a day. He grumbled about it behind closed doors. Gallant wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but Lantern seemed to regard Kid coldly after that. It was uncharitable of her, and Gallant told her so, because if nothing else she wanted honesty. She apologized to the Tinker the next day.
"They're going to force me out, aren't they." Taylor asked, even if the phrasing denied it. She spent a lot of time in the Ward's Commons, and today Dean found her doing homework on the couch. Arcadia had nearly denied her for her past academic performance, but she'd held her ground. The pile of tests and assignments they'd given her as an entry exam had been a victory more than a punishment. "Or try to. Just make things difficult until I give in, and move to Maine or something."
He'd seen it happen before, in his family's company. What isn't useful gets pruned away. It's just how business goes, but the Protectorate wasn't a common business. Dean didn't think they'd get so bad as to drive Taylor out entirely, since any parahuman is better with them than against them, but there was certainly pressure. Not really something he'd prefer to say aloud, though, so instead he leaned against the back of the couch and asked, "What happened between you, if I may ask?"
Her face twisted with her colors. "Piggot made me sign an NDA. Her too, but I doubt it'll stop her. Long story short, she's a big part of why I'm like this." Taylor declined to clarify which this she meant, which gave Dean a sinking feeling that it might be all of them. "They told me it'd take a few months at the least to 'investigate my claims.' Switched both our schools in the meantime-- and that's damning, because it means they know what she did. They have to. How could they not?"
She stared down at the half-completed makework in front of her, voice quiet. "How could they not know?"
"Nobody can know everything, Taylor. It's cold comfort, but it's true."
She buried her face in her hands, and said nothing. Her Shade circled back from wherever it had gone, and after the flat black silhouette braced itself, stepped off the wall and into the third dimension. Its hands trailed smoke as it gathered up Taylor's papers and pencils, and placed them into her backpack. Dean watched, and frowned when the Shade picked up a book as well, and packed it up. If it could lift a textbook then it had to have been out for a while now-- probably close to the time limit. He hadn't known it could go back to being a shadow without resetting.
Taylor faced the world again, for a certain definition. "I'm going to bed."
"It's only five."
"I don't care." She stood, grabbed her lantern and her backpack, and left in the direction of the dorms. The Shade followed close on her heels.
* * *
Dean asked about it, a few days later, when he was assigned to teach her the ins-and-outs of manning the Console. Response codes, and regulations, and the ever-shifting Master/Stranger protocols. It was difficult to parse the mix of shame and resentment the question stirred up in her cloud. There was a streak of blue in there, an odd shade that made him think it had lost its vibrancy to cold sweat.
"That's-- not it, exactly. The timer doesn't stop until I dismiss it." She turned her focus back to work, tuning him out until the blue shivered back beneath the surface. "...keep a secret?"
"If it's not dangerous." He had a duty to the team, after all. Taylor considered, and found the stipulation acceptable.
"What's not useful gets pruned away," she echoed him, "And… I wanted to see if I would be. That's all." Or because she had expected to be. And he couldn't assure her otherwise, and still be honest.
"You'll have to tell, sooner or later. It's important to know what we're all capable of, so we can work together."
"Maybe."
"Yes," he insisted, but didn't prod any further. Taylor was already the color of bruises. He'd thought it a mercy not to press on them. He thought there'd be plenty of time.
He'd thought, when the report came in that Armsmaster had captured Lung, that it was a sign of things getting better. He'd thought there were lines that everyone knew not to cross.
He still cursed himself for not knowing better.
- Location
- California
So a Tonberry then,well exit the multiverse is still the plan.
OverReactionGuy
Verified Sanity
Well, damn. The PRT is done fucking up here.
- Location
- United States
I've watched, I've learned, yet I still feel surprized when they do this.