Aisha was bored. Very bored. A condition that could prove to be troublesome, since the girl, also known as the Parahuman (and literal) Imp, had a grab bag of various minor Powers that, when creatively applied, made her a handful for anyone, let alone her brother and family.
And when Aisha was bored, she got creative and incautious in her entertainment. Tonight she needed to find something else to do first.
The storm had finished blowing through the area; the heavy rain and lightning earlier had kept her inside. While she was a very minor Brute – immunity to fire and poisons, and resistant to cold and normal weapon attacks – she was no stronger in her alternate form than she was normally. She was in no way a force of nature, and didn't much want to challenge even a minor one.
Her major Power was simply to make people forget that she was ever there, kind of like a real Jedi from Star Wars but without all the hand waving. And that worked on nearly everyone she'd encountered. Except for Hellhound's dogs. They had no problem finding her, but that was fine because she liked the dogs and they liked her. Or at least the dog treats she brought when she helped at one of the animal shelters.
Yeah, bummer, she thought to herself.
Public Service hours for shoplifting charges from before I Triggered suck. At least I'm nearly done. A combination of the time put in at the homeless shelter with Natalie and Brian, and credit for hours helping reduce street crime as a Cape. Her father hadn't been pleased to find out about the shoplifting, but he made sure she performed her public service or else she
would join the Wards.
Aisha, as Imp, took to the air, eventually reaching one of her favorite places to watch the street from in the night.
"Well," said an unfamiliar voice, "who do we have here?"
Imp turned to face the speaker. She had indeterminate ethnicity – she could tell between white, black, Asian, and Mediterranean, but within those large groups they all looked alike to her – with raven black hair and red eyes. A pair of raven's wings sprouted from her back, and she wore a seriously cool set of armor that looked like something from one of the better Hollywood fantasy movies.
"Cool armor," Imp commented. "Do I know you?" She deliberately kept her hands away from the taser at her back and the K-Bar knife at her left side.
"Thank you," the larger being replied. "No, you don't know me. You may call me Tisi. My mistress gave me your name, little Imp, as someone to look up and ask about local goings on."
"Huh," Imp intelligently replied. "Someone by the name of Gracia?"
"That is one of her more common aliases," Tisi answered.
"OK," Imp said. While she hadn't expected another fiend to appear on their own – what few things she could look up on the occult and demons and devils said they had to be summoned to the world and couldn't travel there under their own power – it had been bound to happen, because this was Brockton Bay, home of the weird and apparently a nexus of magical energy. "Why are you here and what, specifically, do you want to know?"
"Just the lay of the land," Tisi replied. "Who not to annoy, where to stay away from, and any other fiends that are in the area. Things like that. And I'm here to watch."
"Watch?"
"And report, of course. Who comes, who goes, what happens, the usual."
"Okay. Do not fuck with any of the dragons. That's rule number one," Imp stated. "From Tiamat all the way down to a new baby one that's been spotted in one of the better neighborhoods. Be polite, say hello, but let them alone and avoid doing anything they might want to stop."
"Sensible. The elders are dangerous on their own, and the young tend to have elders watching over them."
"There are a couple of places to the north-east of town that are a no-go; the old Mistlands resort, and the Marsden estate. The reason is rule number one." Imp thought for a moment. "Also, I'd advise staying away from The Rig, the PRT Building, and the Wilson Financial building. Heroes, Minions, and another dragon or two.
"Then there's the dockworkers. The gangs learned to stay clear of 'em, and they've sometimes helped a dragon when they needed something special, so kind of a mixed bag if you know what I mean.
"If you've got actual business with someone, contact them ahead of time and make an appointment. If they know what to expect, most people around here will be okay with all kinds of weirdness. There are food carts on The Boardwalk that don't bat an eye when a Cape flies down for a snack so long as they stand in line and pay cash like everyone else.
"As far as other fiends go? I'm assuming the hot chick with bat wings behind you is a friend of yours," Imp continued. "Deirdre got called home by her boss. Tiamat has a few dragonoid minions running around taking care of business. There's a couple of kitsune mostly keeping out of sight, and an Arachne living in one of the better neighborhoods, but she's pretty young. And cool. And has people shooing away nuisances. Might want to avoid that, too."
Tisi sighed. "Sarena, must you?"
Imp smirked. "Arch your back any more and your top's gonna suffer a failure under tension. I'm not really the audience for that."
The succubus laughed. "Oh, I
like you, little Imp. Yes, I'm her associate. So what does one do for
fun around here?"
Imp sighed. "Like I told Deirdre, what I consider fun and you consider fun are most likely two completely different things. Your kind of fun would probably be had in one of the clubs on the south side of town. There used to be some street fighting rings, but those have been shut down. You might find the occasional idiot doing stupid things in back alleys, but anyone stupid enough to stick around and do that probably isn't smart enough to avoid getting caught. And you could always get the attention of Tucker's crew."
Tisi arched an eyebrow. "Tucker? About four of your feet tall, looks like a miniature dragon without wings?"
"Yeah, that's him," Imp answered. "Has around fifty followers. Likes the dragons."
"I'd sooner take my chances annoying Tiamat," Sarena commented. "It's safer."
"Probably, but you wouldn't be bored."
= = = = = = = = = = = =
The next day was rife with rumors about strange, inhuman creatures stalking the alleys and secondary streets in the abandoned areas of the city. Some spoke in awe of seeing extremely attractive women, others in terror of being lured by things you do not fuck with.
"Crazy night last night," Amy muttered as she walked into the hallowed halls of higher learning that was Arcadia. "I'd think the Merchants were back in town, pushing hallucinogens, for all the 'There are demons in the back alleys of Brockton Bay!' ranting and raving going on."
"At least no one is saying they're aliens," Vicky added.
"Why would anyone be saying that?" Greg asked as he heard the discussion while walking into school. "Every description I've heard is straight out of the D&D Monster Manual and listed as demons. 'Alien' usually means extraterrestrial."
Amy gave the young man a side-eye with an arched eyebrow. "Do I know you from someplace?"
"You may have encountered me online a couple of times," Greg admitted. "You may have once told me not to talk about your sister in a certain way, or you'd make sure that I'd never be able to father children again. Not that I have yet. Got us both banned from PHO; you for three days, and me for a week."
One could see the light come on inside Amy's head as she realized who she was talking to. "In person, you appear to be a much more civil person," she stated in a neutral tone of voice.
Greg shrugged. "I'm within arm's reach of your sister, who could probably twist my head off like a bottle cap, and even closer to you, and I know better than to piss off the healer. I'm also not getting shook down for my meds every week by Empire or Merchant thugs, and with trans-oceanic shipping getting more regular, I've got a reliable supply."
Vicky looked thoughtful for a moment. "Suddenly, a whole bunch of things make a certain amount of sense."
"Like I told Taylor when she said something similar," Greg said, "you can't voluntarily ban yourself from PHO or request one, only close your account. When I'd run out and my meds started to wear off, I'd do something minor but bad enough to get me temp-banned so I wouldn't do something that would get me in
real trouble.
"In hindsight, I've acted like a jerk to a lot of people across the world, but it kept me from landing in Juvie, a hospital, or a morgue," Greg continued. "So yeah, I'm sorry for how I've behaved towards you, your sister, your cousins, and everyone else. I had reasons, but it doesn't make what I did right. I'm trying to do better. And maybe make amends if I ever figure out how."
"Huh," both Dallon sisters replied.
"Wait a minute," Vicky suddenly realized something. "Isn't Samira one of your friends?"
Greg nodded. "Yeah. Kinda says something when two of your best friends are former monsters, doesn't it?"
Amy shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. While I can't say that I'd ever call you a friend, I can be civil so long as you are. Deal?"
"Deal," Greg answered. "We'd better get a move on, five minute warning's coming up."
= = = = = = = = = = = =
After a fairly pleasant day at school, Taylor found herself headed over to The Rig via the roundabout route of going home and then jumping to her lair and then into her quarters in the Wards area, where she changed into her costume.
Waiting for her when she came out was Miss Militia. "We've received a message from Lung via Somer's Rock. He'd like to meet you at the shrine this afternoon. Mizuchi was to accompany us, but she ran into a bit of trouble at school with a bully."
"How bad is it?" Taylor asked.
"Nothing serious," Miss Militia replied. "She took exception to one of her classmates getting pushed. When said bully decided to hit her, she managed to catch the attempt and restrain him, using some basic Aikido."
"And let me guess," Taylor said, "the bully proceeded to sprain or dislocate his shoulder because he tried to escape the hold and she hasn't learned to counter that."
"Pretty much. I've got my bike down in the motorpool," Miss Militia continued. "I had them put the sidecar on. We're trying to keep this meeting relatively quiet."
"And a gold dragon the size of a fighter jet flying overhead is anything but quiet."
"Exactly."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
The drive to the old shrine hadn't taken too long. The afternoon was pleasant so the ride wasn't too uncomfortable. She even used her shapeshifting to make herself slightly smaller so she would fit in the sidecar better, and not have her knees hitting the body of the thing.
The trees were just beginning to turn, the maples beginning to show that brilliant red color they were known for in the fall and the evergreens still a deep green, making an attractive combination. Below their foliage, the motorbike pulled up to the vermilion
torii.
"And here we are," Miss Militia stated as Naurelin extricated herself from the motorcycle sidecar, moving around to try and hide her changing back to her normal size.
Naurelin looked around. Everything here was quiet. Not the suspicious "too quiet"; nature was still making its assortment of sounds, it was the sounds of humanity that were missing or muted in the vicinity of the shrine. It was calm, serene, and peaceful.
Without saying a word to each other, they began to climb the stairs into the shrine proper. There were a few buildings surrounding a flagstone courtyard; one that looked like a residence of some kind, and another that was larger and had an older appearance.
"Welcome," a voice unfamiliar to the Heroes called out. A young looking Japanese man dressed in simple
hakui and
hakama, with
setta sandals had come out of the smaller building. His black hair was straight and cut short.
"My guest is expecting you in the
haiden," he explained. "I must ask that you refrain from violence in this place. To engage in such would be a violation of this place's neutrality."
"I understand," Taylor answered, bowing politely. "We're here to talk."
"Rather,
you are here to talk," Miss Militia clarified. "I'm here to make sure you get here and return safely."
"In which case, while Naurelin talks with my guest," the man said, "I've got tea and snacks in the shrine office."
As the priest (she assumed) and Miss Militia made their way to the shrine's office, she walked up into the shrine's rather modest
haiden. Quietly opening the door, she saw there was a single low table in the middle of the room, with a large man seated at it.
"Hello, Naurelin," the man formerly known as Lung greeted her. "Please, be seated, and we shall talk."
= = = = = = = = = = = =
Somewhere, the twelfth gem in a circle of thirteen began to glow with a sickly, purplish-green light.
