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Scrawlings - [Ziel's Collected Works]
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City In Night (Worm)
As my first actual post to this thread, I thought I'd post something totally new.
New as in it's been sitting on my harddrive for two years and never went anywhere. This idea originally came out of a prompt I suggested at the end of Speak with the Dead, but I could never quite get it to materialize. Main inspiration was definitely Salem's Lot by Stephen King.
City in Night
7:50pm
Elle peeked out the back door, biting her lip.
Through the gap, she could look into the garden behind the Palanquin. It was a small space, only half the width of the building, and itself barely wider than an alley. The gap let her catch a glimpse of the tall wooden fence that blocked out the street beyond, enclosing the garden on three sides.
She opened the door a little wider. The view grew to include the cluster of thin trees shading the sparse grass, and the little bench that sat against the left fence. The sight of the bench- empty, made her let out a low breath. Newter brought girls out back sometimes, and she didn't want to interrupt if he had.
The door opened just wide enough for her to slip through, and she shut it like it was made of glass.
She was having a good day. Good enough that she'd helped Emily set up the DJ's station for when the club opened in a little while. She'd even managed to talk to Emily while they worked, and carry on her end of the conversation and not come off sounding dumb.
But any more would be pushing her luck. Shamrock would have said something about not blowing a winning streak. So Elle was keeping quiet, trying to avoid having to talk to anyone.
She glanced down at the bench. Cigarette butts littered the ground around it, and a vague memory of some of the busboys smoking out here floated up to her. She turned away, walking into the grass.
The garden was well within her power, now grown to several blocks in size, but there was no need for anything big. On a good day, her view into those imaginary worlds was a crack, half-glimpsed like when she'd peered out into the garden. It made her power slower, more limited, but also easier to control, less distracting.
She focused, pulling from images of fields of grain, of grass bending in the wind. The patch of grass rippled, new shoots springing up from nothing, the gravel melting away to become thick, loamy dirt. Vines began twining up and down the fence, dark purple flowers blooming along them in bunches. More changes began- statues shifting their way out of the ground, the flowers were twisting into impossible hues and shapes, but she held out a hand and pushed her power to a stop.
The images flashed over her vision, wanting to come out, but she pushed harder. Slowly, they faded; the verdant landscapes giving way to the real world. She let the half-finished changes remain. To push them away would incite more visions. They'd fade on their own.
Elle kicked off her shoes and flopped down on her grass. It was a little too sharp, too prickly, not quite as she'd imagined it. She risked one last use of her power, and the grass shivered, laying a little less stiffly.
She ran her hands through the blades of grass, now softer than any she'd ever felt. A palpable relief rose in her. Another success. And she'd got her power under control before she turned the block into Narnia or something. This was a good day. It was a small thing, but Melanie had told her to take pride in the small things.
A breeze whistled through the slats in the fence, rustling the trees and grass. Elle lay back, staring up through the leaves into a sky painted orange by sunset. The day- the good day was almost over. For once, she was to just able to sit and stare, and have it mean something.
Slowly, the orange crept out of the sky, replaced by fingers of blue and purple. The Palanquin hummed into life behind her, a murmur of voices leaking out as the club filled up with early customers. The noise didn't spoil the moment, not even a bit. There were people inside, but she didn't have to talk to them. Not because she couldn't, but because she didn't want to. And that made all the difference in the world.
Elle inhaled, drinking in the calm. She'd have to go inside in a bit. Brockton Bay's January wasn't as cold as some, but the chill wasn't something she could stave off. Now that the sun was down, any warmth had left the air, leaving behind a briskness that made her want to burrow down into the grass.
She giggled softly at the thought. Infinite power over reality itself at her fingertips, and she still couldn't just magic up a sweater.
Maybe she could…
The visions rose up, faster than before. Landscapes. Warmth. Tropical islands with white sand stretching to the horizon. Deserts built of parched bone. A realm of fire and lava and iron. She pushed, reaching for the tropics. They blended, morphing as she imposed her thoughts. Beaches. But no, she couldn't warm the air, could she? Maybe she-
The wind blew again, and Elle blinked. The sky was full dark above her now. The trees were shadowy cutouts, leaves standing out against the haze of light pollution. Webs of brass and gold threaded themselves through the trees, glinting dully. The leaves were elongating, twirling to meld into the webs, forming the trees into an elaborate tangle of-
Ell pounded her fist against the ground. Even the grass felt different; mossier, ribbed with roots. It shuddered under her, flowing into dirt, and then sand, and then-
No. It was happening again. She was losing control, losing focus. She-
Her eyes swept over the worlds that could and would.
===
9:16pm
Michael Paulson twirled his mop, finishing the last bit of tile in the corner of the lobby. He nodded, spun his mop of in a parody of parade rest, and then grabbed the bucket.
"All done," he called to Eliza.
The blonde girl behind the desk didn't look up from her textbook. She made a noise like "mmh," and went on reading.
"Meaning we can go home," Michael added loudly.
Eliza mm-ed again, turned a page, made a note with her highlighter. Michael waited, leaning on his mop, for her to catch up. Talking to Eliza when she studied was like talking to the wall. It took a long moment before she jerked her head up, blinking owlishly.
"You're done?"
Michael swept his hand wide, gesturing at the glistening expanse of the lobby. The chore chart hadn't been kind today; mopping the front took forever. It was easier than cleaning the kennels, but the time it took made it his least favorite of all the jobs in the animal shelter.
Eliza dog-earred the corner of her page and closed the book. She stood with a groan and stretched, her skinny frame bending as she did so.
Michael felt his gaze slide up her, tracing the little folds in her shirt where it contoured her body. It was like using his power, his eye going inexorably to points, crossing the loose neck of her t-shirt to follow the smooth line of her collarbone; from there up her neck to her face, his eyes meeting hers.
She was smirking, one eyebrow arched roguishly. "How's the view?"
Michael sidled over to the front desk.
"Not bad," he said. "I might enjoy it more though if someone had helped me mop."
"You just want to see me in a maid outfit," Eliza shot back, grinning.
He shrugged. "It's not like sexy veterinarian is really a thing. I'll take what I can get."
Eliza laughed and began gathering her books while he carried his cleaning supplies over to the little storage closet on the side of the room. He tossed them in without turning on the lights, already tallying up all the things they needed to do in order to close.
He'd mopped, Eliza had cleaned the kennels, and Meredith was in the office doing paperwork. Reggie, Juno, Mikey, Samuel and… what was the terrier's name? Campbell? Something like that. They'd all gotten their medication, and he'd give them a final check before lights out. Juno had been picking her stitches. She'd need a cone during the night. Mercedes was due for an x-ray in the morning; he'd pencil that in before he left.
What else though?
An arm wrapped around his waist. Eliza grinned up at him from his side. "Hurry up, I want to show Meredith something."
"Something with the dogs?"
"Something like that," she said. "I think you're wrong about the sexy vet thing, and I bet she'll agree."
Still with Eliza clinging to him, Michael returned to the desk to write in Mercedes' x-ray.
"So… you're going to demonstrate?" he said distractedly.
He'd do another round of bloodwork for Mercedes. Just to be sure. That wasn't going to be fun. Merc was a dog-fight rescue, and even with his power there was only so much he could do to calm her. He'd-
Eliza squeezed his wrist. "I was thinking that you'd demonstrate for us."
Michael stopped mid-sentence, staring at her.
"You wanna be our sexy vet?" she said innocently.
Michael tried as hard as he could, but he couldn't control the blush that worked its way into his tanned cheeks. He knew Eliza had seen it when she snorted and let go of him.
He gave her a nudge with his elbow. "You know my feelings on office romance."
"No funny business in the break room?"
"No," he said, all mock-sternness, "It's-"
The dogs started barking. All the dogs at once. His reply was lost in the cacophony, muted in the lobby, but still ever-present wherever they could go in the shelter.
"The hell?" Eliza muttered. "What are they barking at?"
Michael cocked his head, listening. It was impossible to pick out individual dogs in the tumult; two-dozen animals were barking, howling, and snarling, and the sounds were reverberating against the concrete, forming a deafening wall of noise. He let his power loosen a bit, focusing on the general sounds from the kennels. The sound of breaking glass- a crash, something else breaking, and the dogs changed their tune.
They didn't qualify things in actual words; his power was doing that, translating their vague instincts into something he could understand.
-other-other-stranger-new-stranger-bad-intruder-defend-bite-bad-
"What's wrong?" Eliza said. She was looking at him, a hint of worry creeping into her face.
"I don't know," he said slowly. "Something doesn't feel right though. Go get Meredith and-"
"No." Eliza shook her head. "You're a fucking idiot if you expect me to let you go in there alone."
The stony determination in her expression took him aback. He didn't need his power to see that she was completely set on coming with him.
"Let's get Meredith," he amended, and Eliza nodded.
The dogs continued barking as he and Eliza moved to the door on the opposite side of the lobby from the closet. Unlike the utilitarian metal door of the closet, this door had a small wire-glass window, and a nameplate reading 'Staff Only.'
He pulled the door open. The office was dim, barely larger than the storage room, lit by a single computer screen. Meredith sat hunched over the keyboard, grumbling under her breath at the tall stack of forms beside her.
"Mere, someone's in the back," Eliza said breathlessly.
Meredith turned to look at them, her eyes reflecting back little rectangles of light from the screen.
"With the dogs?" she said, her face darkening. "What are we waiting for?"
"It's- I mean- better safe than sorry, right?" said Eliza.
Both girls exchanged a look at that, and Michael winced. He'd never seen that look before a couple of years ago. A few Merchants had busted in the back door of the shelter looking for pills. He'd been there, caught them at it and rushed in like an idiot. When it was all said and done, the gangers got away, and he got six weeks in intensive care and a new scar.
It was an ugly, puckered little thing like a cigarette burn, just below his right nipple where the bullet had gone in. And it still hadn't hurt nearly as much as realizing that he'd almost lost them.
"Hey," he said softly. "Don't. It's not going to be like then."
"No, no it's not," Meredith finished.
She bent to open the bottom drawer of the desk. From within, she withdrew a short, snubby revolver, the one thing she'd inherited from her father. Eliza made a small gasping noise, but Meredith ignored her, going through the motions of checking the cylinder and hammer. When she clicked the cylinder back into place, it seemed to echo through the room.
"Let's go," she said.
They were quiet, alone with their thoughts as they returned to the lobby. Halfway to the desk, Eliza held up a hand for them to wait. She scurried over and picked up the brick they used to prop open the front door on warm nights, hefting it like a shot put.
That left only him without a weapon. Michael's stomach churned as separated from them and went to the storage closet. There was an iron bar there, propped up against the water heater. It was a remnant, a leftover from when they'd first remodeled the building into a shelter. The bar didn't have any actual purpose, but they'd all agreed that it was good to have around just in case they found a use for it. It was cool against his palm, little bits of rust flaking off as he touched it.
"For… for them."
His voice hitched in the middle, his nerves betraying him. He wasn't a fighter. Never had been. It was why he'd never done the cape thing.
But for them- for them, he would be.
He returned to the lobby, and the girls fell in at his sides, their trio reformed. Eliza had her brick clutched to her chest, her face a little green. Meredith was stalking, pistol at her side, the other hand on his shoulder.
The dogs were still barking, but he could hear the intruder now, their low voice barely audible in the rare space between barks.
He put his hand against the right kennel door. They were metal, with a small circular window set at head height. The windows were plastic, fingerprint-smudged and scratched from long use. It was impossible to see more than blurs through them.
"Ready?" he whispered.
Meredith nodded, her face grim.
Eliza nudged his elbow. "If anything happens, we run. Okay?"
He copied Meredith's nod, not trusting his voice much at the moment.
"We all run," Eliza repeated. "All of us."
As one, they pushed the door open.
The dog kennel was one long building, all cinderblock, with a door at the far end leading to the cat kennel. Each kennel was identical, with chain-link fronted pens along each wall running the length of the floor.
Again, as one, they stopped and stared.
Someone had let the dogs out.
Someone who was standing in the midst of a veritable herd of furry bodies. The intruder turned, and Michael's heart leapt into his throat.
The young woman was auburn-haired, a shade darker than his. She wore a green military jacket, the front hanging open over bare skin, her jeans torn off at the knee, the fabric hanging in strips around her legs. She stood unconcerned in the throng, running muddy hands along every dog within reach.
"You!" Eliza hissed.
The woman jerked, her head coming up, her hair falling away from her face. Dark circles ran under hollow eyes, and her skin was nearly gray under the fluorescents, but it was a face Michael knew well.
He let the bar fall from his hand with a clatter and stepped forward to face her.
"Bitch."
===
9:30pm
Far across the city from the animal shelter, a man walked down the flight of stairs from the rooftop. He did up the last buttons on the white doctor's coat he now wore, long fingers moving smoothly, working by feel alone. The safety light in the stairs had been broken at some point, and now the man had to descend in darkness.
He was smiling the whole way down. The cities here were funny, their nights so light polluted that it was like having a second day. It wasn't a bad thing; he liked the change of scenery, but the end result was that the stairwell, unlit as it was, was actually more soothing than the night outside.
A line of light appeared below as a door opened, and someone entered the stairwell. The man stepped aside for the newcomer. He could see her clearly; a woman, wearing the twin to his jacket. She ascended with a cell phone held out in front of them as an impromptu flashlight. The man gave her his best smile as the light highlighted him.
"Dark, isn't it?" he said.
The woman gave a barking laugh, "Buddy, you want lighting, you go to Anders Memorial. Brockton General doesn't need piddly crap like lights."
His laugh filled the stairwell, and he descended past her.
"Hey." She had paused, looking back at him. "Are you new? I don't recognize you."
The man shrugged, deliberately shifting the white coat he wore. "I just transferred onto this shift. I was on graveyard before, down in pediatrics."
"Oh, I just thought- I dunno." She hesitated. "So, you know Doctor Mullhauser?"
"Mullhauser?" The man said slowly, like he was trying to recall. This was growing tiresome. He suddenly glanced down at his watch. "Damn! I've got to be back. Sorry, but duty calls!"
He hurried away down the stairs before she could get another word in. A passing conversation was one thing, easily bluffed. But the longer they spoke, the more likely he was to arouse suspicion. Better to cut and run and be forgotten than to overcompensate and blow his cover.
He exited the stairwell onto an almost blindingly well-lit corridor. Blinking surreptitiously, the man made his way toward the nurse's station. The desk sat at the juncture of two intersecting halls, deserted but for a single tired-looking nurse going through manila folders.
He paused there a moment, taking in a deep breath of hospital air. The scent universal to all hospitals filled his lungs, and his body dissected it, picking apart the individual strands of pine cleanser and anti-septic spray, of urine and sweat, and- he swallowed- of blood.
Tempting, but not now. It was a single scent he wanted, one not so mundane as the others. The trail led down the right side of the intersection. He followed the trail, giving a casual nod to the nurse as he looked up.
The new hallway ran only a short distance before a wall and a locked door blocked it. A sign reading 'Psychiatric Ward.' A smaller, hand-written sign was taped up just below it. 'Card reader on the fritz. If it doesn't work, call Maintenance (ext. 313)'
Helpful. His white coat had a nametag attached to one pocket. He bent down to press it against the reader. The reader beeped, a little red light flicking on it. It… stayed red.
He tried the door. Locked.
"Guess it's maintenance for me," he muttered, checking over his shoulder. The hall was empty, the nurse not visible.
It was the work of seconds to twist the door handle until the locking mechanism snapped. The handle itself bent, the metal plating around it rumpling. When he pulled his hand away, there were actually little ridges on the handle where his fingers had been.
Maintenance was going to have its work cut out for them.
The man slipped through the door, his smile back in place.
It was late enough that the psych ward was quiet; the hallway lights dimmed, and the lights in each patient's room were off. The smell of urine was stronger here, tinged with a sour undercurrent of fear-sweat. Fortunately, the trail he was following wasn't actually a scent. It took the form of a scent; an olfactory cue, a more educated type might have said, but it was really just his power conceptualizing something too complex for him to understand.
For that, he was grateful. The trail was a delight; airy, somehow multi-faceted, revealing new aspects the longer he examined it, like a dozen exotic perfumes vying for his attention. It wasn't quite what he'd imagined Panacea's power to look like; it felt more like a Thinker, really, but he wasn't complaining.
Room 304 was at the end of the hall, just short of a picture window with a little bench. He spared the window a glance, did a double-take, and then laughed. The stupid thing! It faced out on a distant wing of the hospital; an identical span of dark windows and dim hallways. The view below was the roof of a lower wing, all gray concrete stained with pigeon shit.
No wonder they were mad. He'd be mad too if that was all he had to look at.
The man turned and entered 304. The door was unlocked, and it wasn't hard to see why. The patient was tied to her bed, held at ankles and wrist by padded cuffs. Even her fingers were wrapped in mesh bags to prevent her clawing herself.
He flicked on the light. The girl stirred, her dark hair knotted like a wild woman's.
The trail led to her. The man frowned slightly. Definitely not Panacea then. He had thought… it was a hospital after all. How many parahumans could there be in one hospital? And Panacea was just so well known for visiting…
But beggars couldn't be choosers. Or would the saying about life and lemons be more appropriate here? He could get Panacea later.
"Dobrý večer, Sleeping Beauty!" he called cheerily.
The girl twisted again at the sound of his voice. The bed clothes were rumpled around her, the sheets kicked to the floor. Even her hospital gown was a mess, tangled about her thin body and hiked above the knee.
The man rested a hand on her ankle cuff. The chart at the foot of the bed was very helpful. Not Panacea indeed. He slid his hand to her ankle as he read, walking his fingers up her leg. The chart made him want to laugh again. They had all the puzzle pieces, but hadn't put it together. He hadn't even needed his powers to figure it out. A psychotic episode? Hardly.
"A troublesome power, isn't it?" he said to the girl. She didn't answer.
His fingers spidered up her knee.
"What do you say we leave this place, dear girl?"
Silence. He'd take that as a maybe.
The man tugged the hem of her gown down before walking his fingers up her hip.
"I'm collecting talented people, you see. There's someone very important who's going to be watching, and I'm going to put on a show for her."
His hand crept up and up to settle over her heart, his long fingers splayed out like a star. He could feel her heartbeat, low and slow in sleep.
"One night only, and I think you'd make a fine addition."
The man leaned down, tasting her scent. An excellent power indeed. He wasn't sure what it did, but it felt special. He wondered briefly what she would have called it.
The girl stirred, her eyes fluttering.
"Time to wake up."
Her eyes opened. She blinked once, and then her eyes shot open. The man leapt forward, but not in time to stop her from uttering a high, keening moan. He slapped his hand over her mouth, but she didn't stop making the sound.
"Calm, calm!" he hissed.
Either she didn't hear, or she didn't understand. She was pulling against the cuffs now, the bed shaking as her thin frame contorted itself. Her face was screwed up with pain, her rapid breaths hot against his palm as she kept moaning.
"Please, hush! You can-" What the girl could do, he didn't know. He closed his free hand around her throat and her moan choked off, the breath needed to scream no longer there.
"Hush."
She didn't stop writhing though, her eyes rolling, unseeing. The man sighed as he continued to hold her down. The powers would be wasted on her, mad as she was. What he was going to do was practically a public service.
The man leaned in, pressing her down- holding her down. He could feel her pulse, the vein in her neck thrumming away under his fingers.
"Carpe nocte, Taylor."
His lips met her throat, and she started trying to scream again.
For a long while, the only sound in the hospital room was the dull patter of her heels against the bed as she struggled. Eventually though, even those ceased.
Carpe jugulum.
===
9:35 pm
Bitch was silent for a long moment. One of the dogs nudged her, but she pushed him away with an absent hand.
"What are you doing here?" Michael said, shouting to be heard over the symphony of barking dogs.
Bitch's lips moved, but he couldn't hear her. Her reply was lost in the noise.
Michael grimaced, anger bleeding out from tensed nerves.
"Shut up!" he yelled.
Every dog stopped barking at once. A few whined, but most were looking to him now. Eliza stirred behind him, uneasy. He never used his power around them if he could help it.
Bitch looked angry now, spots of color rising in her pale cheeks.
"Why are you here?" he repeated.
"Don't yell at my dogs." She stepped forward, her fists balled. "Don't you fucking dare."
Meredith moved to stand at his side. "You broke in!"
Bitch froze, a muscle in her cheek twitching. Some of the anger had left her face, and Michael was shocked at what replaced it. Bone deep exhaustion. Bitch never showed weakness.
"Had- had to," Bitch said. "I- I was ordered to come here."
That was bad. If she'd been ordered, this was a cape thing. By unspoken agreement, both of them refrained from using their powers in the shelter. He let her keep bringing in strays she found for medical care, and she didn't cause any trouble. They'd known she was a cape, of course. He'd been getting emails from the Protectorate ever since he first registered as an independent, and their 'Villain Bulletin' featured Bitch prominently.
"Who ordered you?" Meredith spoke this time. She had both hands on her gun, still pointing it at the floor.
"Him. He-" Bitch swallowed, shaking her head. "Can't say. He makes it so you can't- can't fight back." She set a hand on one of the dogs, one of hers, a bulky Doberman with a clipped ear.
"Eliza, get back," Michael whispered. He let his power free, the world seeming to expand around his as his senses split. Bitch's body language was suddenly clear as day; frightened, coerced, angry, but also… her hands- she was preparing to fight. Beside him, Eliza was readjusting her grip on her brick, and Meredith was stepping back into a firing stance.
"Girls," he said, deathly quiet. "I want you to run."
"What- no!" Eliza hissed. "We're a team. We'll-"
"She's coming," he shot back. "Now go out the front and run. Call the police."
Meredith raised her pistol, pointing it directly at Bitch. "Hands up. Don't fuck around, Bitch."
Bitch's lips twitched, her brow furrowing with anger. She stepped forward, her other dogs coming to heel beside her.
She was coming. It was happening now. Bitch was angry, but he could see it, could read her words and body for cues. Knew that even if she didn't want to fight, she had to, and she'd always reacted to threats with aggression.
"Mere, Eliza, run now."
The girls flinched, and he turned to look as they fled. Eliza's face, white and stark, mouth twisted with the force of his betrayal. Meredith didn't look back, but he could read her, could read the hurt there. Because he'd broken his promise, his oath to them.
I will never use my power on you. Never.
Bitch was waiting for him when he turned back. "You should run too," she said.
"Wouldn't work. You're too fast. If they can get away, I'm happy with what happens."
"They better drive fast," she said. Something behind her eyes had gone dark. "Because I have to catch them too."
"Maybe you should just stop there," He commanded.
She flinched, her motions drawing to a halt.
"Won't… work," she gritted through clenched teeth. "Not now."
Bitch took a step forward, her limbs slow and clumsy like she was walking through tar. A wave of cold went down Michael's back. His commands weren't infallible, but they couldn't be shaken off just like that.
"Stop."
She took another step, this one a little faster.
"I said stop, Bitch!"
Another step. Then another. Her lips pulled back, exposing white, sharp teeth. No- not just teeth- she had fangs- long canines like one of her dogs.
"Run!" she snarled.
And then she howled.
===
I had more, but this was the longest continuous, largely finished section. Didn't have much more though.
If anyone cares, Michael is one of the OCs from Speak, making an appearance here. His power is a low level Master ability centered around communication. He can be understood regardless of what language someone speaks, and animals understand him as well. He can give weighted commands that generate a very strong impulse in the target to follow what was said. Being a generally decent human being, he tries very hard not to use it.
New as in it's been sitting on my harddrive for two years and never went anywhere. This idea originally came out of a prompt I suggested at the end of Speak with the Dead, but I could never quite get it to materialize. Main inspiration was definitely Salem's Lot by Stephen King.
City in Night
7:50pm
Elle peeked out the back door, biting her lip.
Through the gap, she could look into the garden behind the Palanquin. It was a small space, only half the width of the building, and itself barely wider than an alley. The gap let her catch a glimpse of the tall wooden fence that blocked out the street beyond, enclosing the garden on three sides.
She opened the door a little wider. The view grew to include the cluster of thin trees shading the sparse grass, and the little bench that sat against the left fence. The sight of the bench- empty, made her let out a low breath. Newter brought girls out back sometimes, and she didn't want to interrupt if he had.
The door opened just wide enough for her to slip through, and she shut it like it was made of glass.
She was having a good day. Good enough that she'd helped Emily set up the DJ's station for when the club opened in a little while. She'd even managed to talk to Emily while they worked, and carry on her end of the conversation and not come off sounding dumb.
But any more would be pushing her luck. Shamrock would have said something about not blowing a winning streak. So Elle was keeping quiet, trying to avoid having to talk to anyone.
She glanced down at the bench. Cigarette butts littered the ground around it, and a vague memory of some of the busboys smoking out here floated up to her. She turned away, walking into the grass.
The garden was well within her power, now grown to several blocks in size, but there was no need for anything big. On a good day, her view into those imaginary worlds was a crack, half-glimpsed like when she'd peered out into the garden. It made her power slower, more limited, but also easier to control, less distracting.
She focused, pulling from images of fields of grain, of grass bending in the wind. The patch of grass rippled, new shoots springing up from nothing, the gravel melting away to become thick, loamy dirt. Vines began twining up and down the fence, dark purple flowers blooming along them in bunches. More changes began- statues shifting their way out of the ground, the flowers were twisting into impossible hues and shapes, but she held out a hand and pushed her power to a stop.
The images flashed over her vision, wanting to come out, but she pushed harder. Slowly, they faded; the verdant landscapes giving way to the real world. She let the half-finished changes remain. To push them away would incite more visions. They'd fade on their own.
Elle kicked off her shoes and flopped down on her grass. It was a little too sharp, too prickly, not quite as she'd imagined it. She risked one last use of her power, and the grass shivered, laying a little less stiffly.
She ran her hands through the blades of grass, now softer than any she'd ever felt. A palpable relief rose in her. Another success. And she'd got her power under control before she turned the block into Narnia or something. This was a good day. It was a small thing, but Melanie had told her to take pride in the small things.
A breeze whistled through the slats in the fence, rustling the trees and grass. Elle lay back, staring up through the leaves into a sky painted orange by sunset. The day- the good day was almost over. For once, she was to just able to sit and stare, and have it mean something.
Slowly, the orange crept out of the sky, replaced by fingers of blue and purple. The Palanquin hummed into life behind her, a murmur of voices leaking out as the club filled up with early customers. The noise didn't spoil the moment, not even a bit. There were people inside, but she didn't have to talk to them. Not because she couldn't, but because she didn't want to. And that made all the difference in the world.
Elle inhaled, drinking in the calm. She'd have to go inside in a bit. Brockton Bay's January wasn't as cold as some, but the chill wasn't something she could stave off. Now that the sun was down, any warmth had left the air, leaving behind a briskness that made her want to burrow down into the grass.
She giggled softly at the thought. Infinite power over reality itself at her fingertips, and she still couldn't just magic up a sweater.
Maybe she could…
The visions rose up, faster than before. Landscapes. Warmth. Tropical islands with white sand stretching to the horizon. Deserts built of parched bone. A realm of fire and lava and iron. She pushed, reaching for the tropics. They blended, morphing as she imposed her thoughts. Beaches. But no, she couldn't warm the air, could she? Maybe she-
The wind blew again, and Elle blinked. The sky was full dark above her now. The trees were shadowy cutouts, leaves standing out against the haze of light pollution. Webs of brass and gold threaded themselves through the trees, glinting dully. The leaves were elongating, twirling to meld into the webs, forming the trees into an elaborate tangle of-
Ell pounded her fist against the ground. Even the grass felt different; mossier, ribbed with roots. It shuddered under her, flowing into dirt, and then sand, and then-
No. It was happening again. She was losing control, losing focus. She-
Her eyes swept over the worlds that could and would.
===
9:16pm
Michael Paulson twirled his mop, finishing the last bit of tile in the corner of the lobby. He nodded, spun his mop of in a parody of parade rest, and then grabbed the bucket.
"All done," he called to Eliza.
The blonde girl behind the desk didn't look up from her textbook. She made a noise like "mmh," and went on reading.
"Meaning we can go home," Michael added loudly.
Eliza mm-ed again, turned a page, made a note with her highlighter. Michael waited, leaning on his mop, for her to catch up. Talking to Eliza when she studied was like talking to the wall. It took a long moment before she jerked her head up, blinking owlishly.
"You're done?"
Michael swept his hand wide, gesturing at the glistening expanse of the lobby. The chore chart hadn't been kind today; mopping the front took forever. It was easier than cleaning the kennels, but the time it took made it his least favorite of all the jobs in the animal shelter.
Eliza dog-earred the corner of her page and closed the book. She stood with a groan and stretched, her skinny frame bending as she did so.
Michael felt his gaze slide up her, tracing the little folds in her shirt where it contoured her body. It was like using his power, his eye going inexorably to points, crossing the loose neck of her t-shirt to follow the smooth line of her collarbone; from there up her neck to her face, his eyes meeting hers.
She was smirking, one eyebrow arched roguishly. "How's the view?"
Michael sidled over to the front desk.
"Not bad," he said. "I might enjoy it more though if someone had helped me mop."
"You just want to see me in a maid outfit," Eliza shot back, grinning.
He shrugged. "It's not like sexy veterinarian is really a thing. I'll take what I can get."
Eliza laughed and began gathering her books while he carried his cleaning supplies over to the little storage closet on the side of the room. He tossed them in without turning on the lights, already tallying up all the things they needed to do in order to close.
He'd mopped, Eliza had cleaned the kennels, and Meredith was in the office doing paperwork. Reggie, Juno, Mikey, Samuel and… what was the terrier's name? Campbell? Something like that. They'd all gotten their medication, and he'd give them a final check before lights out. Juno had been picking her stitches. She'd need a cone during the night. Mercedes was due for an x-ray in the morning; he'd pencil that in before he left.
What else though?
An arm wrapped around his waist. Eliza grinned up at him from his side. "Hurry up, I want to show Meredith something."
"Something with the dogs?"
"Something like that," she said. "I think you're wrong about the sexy vet thing, and I bet she'll agree."
Still with Eliza clinging to him, Michael returned to the desk to write in Mercedes' x-ray.
"So… you're going to demonstrate?" he said distractedly.
He'd do another round of bloodwork for Mercedes. Just to be sure. That wasn't going to be fun. Merc was a dog-fight rescue, and even with his power there was only so much he could do to calm her. He'd-
Eliza squeezed his wrist. "I was thinking that you'd demonstrate for us."
Michael stopped mid-sentence, staring at her.
"You wanna be our sexy vet?" she said innocently.
Michael tried as hard as he could, but he couldn't control the blush that worked its way into his tanned cheeks. He knew Eliza had seen it when she snorted and let go of him.
He gave her a nudge with his elbow. "You know my feelings on office romance."
"No funny business in the break room?"
"No," he said, all mock-sternness, "It's-"
The dogs started barking. All the dogs at once. His reply was lost in the cacophony, muted in the lobby, but still ever-present wherever they could go in the shelter.
"The hell?" Eliza muttered. "What are they barking at?"
Michael cocked his head, listening. It was impossible to pick out individual dogs in the tumult; two-dozen animals were barking, howling, and snarling, and the sounds were reverberating against the concrete, forming a deafening wall of noise. He let his power loosen a bit, focusing on the general sounds from the kennels. The sound of breaking glass- a crash, something else breaking, and the dogs changed their tune.
They didn't qualify things in actual words; his power was doing that, translating their vague instincts into something he could understand.
-other-other-stranger-new-stranger-bad-intruder-defend-bite-bad-
"What's wrong?" Eliza said. She was looking at him, a hint of worry creeping into her face.
"I don't know," he said slowly. "Something doesn't feel right though. Go get Meredith and-"
"No." Eliza shook her head. "You're a fucking idiot if you expect me to let you go in there alone."
The stony determination in her expression took him aback. He didn't need his power to see that she was completely set on coming with him.
"Let's get Meredith," he amended, and Eliza nodded.
The dogs continued barking as he and Eliza moved to the door on the opposite side of the lobby from the closet. Unlike the utilitarian metal door of the closet, this door had a small wire-glass window, and a nameplate reading 'Staff Only.'
He pulled the door open. The office was dim, barely larger than the storage room, lit by a single computer screen. Meredith sat hunched over the keyboard, grumbling under her breath at the tall stack of forms beside her.
"Mere, someone's in the back," Eliza said breathlessly.
Meredith turned to look at them, her eyes reflecting back little rectangles of light from the screen.
"With the dogs?" she said, her face darkening. "What are we waiting for?"
"It's- I mean- better safe than sorry, right?" said Eliza.
Both girls exchanged a look at that, and Michael winced. He'd never seen that look before a couple of years ago. A few Merchants had busted in the back door of the shelter looking for pills. He'd been there, caught them at it and rushed in like an idiot. When it was all said and done, the gangers got away, and he got six weeks in intensive care and a new scar.
It was an ugly, puckered little thing like a cigarette burn, just below his right nipple where the bullet had gone in. And it still hadn't hurt nearly as much as realizing that he'd almost lost them.
"Hey," he said softly. "Don't. It's not going to be like then."
"No, no it's not," Meredith finished.
She bent to open the bottom drawer of the desk. From within, she withdrew a short, snubby revolver, the one thing she'd inherited from her father. Eliza made a small gasping noise, but Meredith ignored her, going through the motions of checking the cylinder and hammer. When she clicked the cylinder back into place, it seemed to echo through the room.
"Let's go," she said.
They were quiet, alone with their thoughts as they returned to the lobby. Halfway to the desk, Eliza held up a hand for them to wait. She scurried over and picked up the brick they used to prop open the front door on warm nights, hefting it like a shot put.
That left only him without a weapon. Michael's stomach churned as separated from them and went to the storage closet. There was an iron bar there, propped up against the water heater. It was a remnant, a leftover from when they'd first remodeled the building into a shelter. The bar didn't have any actual purpose, but they'd all agreed that it was good to have around just in case they found a use for it. It was cool against his palm, little bits of rust flaking off as he touched it.
"For… for them."
His voice hitched in the middle, his nerves betraying him. He wasn't a fighter. Never had been. It was why he'd never done the cape thing.
But for them- for them, he would be.
He returned to the lobby, and the girls fell in at his sides, their trio reformed. Eliza had her brick clutched to her chest, her face a little green. Meredith was stalking, pistol at her side, the other hand on his shoulder.
The dogs were still barking, but he could hear the intruder now, their low voice barely audible in the rare space between barks.
He put his hand against the right kennel door. They were metal, with a small circular window set at head height. The windows were plastic, fingerprint-smudged and scratched from long use. It was impossible to see more than blurs through them.
"Ready?" he whispered.
Meredith nodded, her face grim.
Eliza nudged his elbow. "If anything happens, we run. Okay?"
He copied Meredith's nod, not trusting his voice much at the moment.
"We all run," Eliza repeated. "All of us."
As one, they pushed the door open.
The dog kennel was one long building, all cinderblock, with a door at the far end leading to the cat kennel. Each kennel was identical, with chain-link fronted pens along each wall running the length of the floor.
Again, as one, they stopped and stared.
Someone had let the dogs out.
Someone who was standing in the midst of a veritable herd of furry bodies. The intruder turned, and Michael's heart leapt into his throat.
The young woman was auburn-haired, a shade darker than his. She wore a green military jacket, the front hanging open over bare skin, her jeans torn off at the knee, the fabric hanging in strips around her legs. She stood unconcerned in the throng, running muddy hands along every dog within reach.
"You!" Eliza hissed.
The woman jerked, her head coming up, her hair falling away from her face. Dark circles ran under hollow eyes, and her skin was nearly gray under the fluorescents, but it was a face Michael knew well.
He let the bar fall from his hand with a clatter and stepped forward to face her.
"Bitch."
===
9:30pm
Far across the city from the animal shelter, a man walked down the flight of stairs from the rooftop. He did up the last buttons on the white doctor's coat he now wore, long fingers moving smoothly, working by feel alone. The safety light in the stairs had been broken at some point, and now the man had to descend in darkness.
He was smiling the whole way down. The cities here were funny, their nights so light polluted that it was like having a second day. It wasn't a bad thing; he liked the change of scenery, but the end result was that the stairwell, unlit as it was, was actually more soothing than the night outside.
A line of light appeared below as a door opened, and someone entered the stairwell. The man stepped aside for the newcomer. He could see her clearly; a woman, wearing the twin to his jacket. She ascended with a cell phone held out in front of them as an impromptu flashlight. The man gave her his best smile as the light highlighted him.
"Dark, isn't it?" he said.
The woman gave a barking laugh, "Buddy, you want lighting, you go to Anders Memorial. Brockton General doesn't need piddly crap like lights."
His laugh filled the stairwell, and he descended past her.
"Hey." She had paused, looking back at him. "Are you new? I don't recognize you."
The man shrugged, deliberately shifting the white coat he wore. "I just transferred onto this shift. I was on graveyard before, down in pediatrics."
"Oh, I just thought- I dunno." She hesitated. "So, you know Doctor Mullhauser?"
"Mullhauser?" The man said slowly, like he was trying to recall. This was growing tiresome. He suddenly glanced down at his watch. "Damn! I've got to be back. Sorry, but duty calls!"
He hurried away down the stairs before she could get another word in. A passing conversation was one thing, easily bluffed. But the longer they spoke, the more likely he was to arouse suspicion. Better to cut and run and be forgotten than to overcompensate and blow his cover.
He exited the stairwell onto an almost blindingly well-lit corridor. Blinking surreptitiously, the man made his way toward the nurse's station. The desk sat at the juncture of two intersecting halls, deserted but for a single tired-looking nurse going through manila folders.
He paused there a moment, taking in a deep breath of hospital air. The scent universal to all hospitals filled his lungs, and his body dissected it, picking apart the individual strands of pine cleanser and anti-septic spray, of urine and sweat, and- he swallowed- of blood.
Tempting, but not now. It was a single scent he wanted, one not so mundane as the others. The trail led down the right side of the intersection. He followed the trail, giving a casual nod to the nurse as he looked up.
The new hallway ran only a short distance before a wall and a locked door blocked it. A sign reading 'Psychiatric Ward.' A smaller, hand-written sign was taped up just below it. 'Card reader on the fritz. If it doesn't work, call Maintenance (ext. 313)'
Helpful. His white coat had a nametag attached to one pocket. He bent down to press it against the reader. The reader beeped, a little red light flicking on it. It… stayed red.
He tried the door. Locked.
"Guess it's maintenance for me," he muttered, checking over his shoulder. The hall was empty, the nurse not visible.
It was the work of seconds to twist the door handle until the locking mechanism snapped. The handle itself bent, the metal plating around it rumpling. When he pulled his hand away, there were actually little ridges on the handle where his fingers had been.
Maintenance was going to have its work cut out for them.
The man slipped through the door, his smile back in place.
It was late enough that the psych ward was quiet; the hallway lights dimmed, and the lights in each patient's room were off. The smell of urine was stronger here, tinged with a sour undercurrent of fear-sweat. Fortunately, the trail he was following wasn't actually a scent. It took the form of a scent; an olfactory cue, a more educated type might have said, but it was really just his power conceptualizing something too complex for him to understand.
For that, he was grateful. The trail was a delight; airy, somehow multi-faceted, revealing new aspects the longer he examined it, like a dozen exotic perfumes vying for his attention. It wasn't quite what he'd imagined Panacea's power to look like; it felt more like a Thinker, really, but he wasn't complaining.
Room 304 was at the end of the hall, just short of a picture window with a little bench. He spared the window a glance, did a double-take, and then laughed. The stupid thing! It faced out on a distant wing of the hospital; an identical span of dark windows and dim hallways. The view below was the roof of a lower wing, all gray concrete stained with pigeon shit.
No wonder they were mad. He'd be mad too if that was all he had to look at.
The man turned and entered 304. The door was unlocked, and it wasn't hard to see why. The patient was tied to her bed, held at ankles and wrist by padded cuffs. Even her fingers were wrapped in mesh bags to prevent her clawing herself.
He flicked on the light. The girl stirred, her dark hair knotted like a wild woman's.
The trail led to her. The man frowned slightly. Definitely not Panacea then. He had thought… it was a hospital after all. How many parahumans could there be in one hospital? And Panacea was just so well known for visiting…
But beggars couldn't be choosers. Or would the saying about life and lemons be more appropriate here? He could get Panacea later.
"Dobrý večer, Sleeping Beauty!" he called cheerily.
The girl twisted again at the sound of his voice. The bed clothes were rumpled around her, the sheets kicked to the floor. Even her hospital gown was a mess, tangled about her thin body and hiked above the knee.
The man rested a hand on her ankle cuff. The chart at the foot of the bed was very helpful. Not Panacea indeed. He slid his hand to her ankle as he read, walking his fingers up her leg. The chart made him want to laugh again. They had all the puzzle pieces, but hadn't put it together. He hadn't even needed his powers to figure it out. A psychotic episode? Hardly.
"A troublesome power, isn't it?" he said to the girl. She didn't answer.
His fingers spidered up her knee.
"What do you say we leave this place, dear girl?"
Silence. He'd take that as a maybe.
The man tugged the hem of her gown down before walking his fingers up her hip.
"I'm collecting talented people, you see. There's someone very important who's going to be watching, and I'm going to put on a show for her."
His hand crept up and up to settle over her heart, his long fingers splayed out like a star. He could feel her heartbeat, low and slow in sleep.
"One night only, and I think you'd make a fine addition."
The man leaned down, tasting her scent. An excellent power indeed. He wasn't sure what it did, but it felt special. He wondered briefly what she would have called it.
The girl stirred, her eyes fluttering.
"Time to wake up."
Her eyes opened. She blinked once, and then her eyes shot open. The man leapt forward, but not in time to stop her from uttering a high, keening moan. He slapped his hand over her mouth, but she didn't stop making the sound.
"Calm, calm!" he hissed.
Either she didn't hear, or she didn't understand. She was pulling against the cuffs now, the bed shaking as her thin frame contorted itself. Her face was screwed up with pain, her rapid breaths hot against his palm as she kept moaning.
"Please, hush! You can-" What the girl could do, he didn't know. He closed his free hand around her throat and her moan choked off, the breath needed to scream no longer there.
"Hush."
She didn't stop writhing though, her eyes rolling, unseeing. The man sighed as he continued to hold her down. The powers would be wasted on her, mad as she was. What he was going to do was practically a public service.
The man leaned in, pressing her down- holding her down. He could feel her pulse, the vein in her neck thrumming away under his fingers.
"Carpe nocte, Taylor."
His lips met her throat, and she started trying to scream again.
For a long while, the only sound in the hospital room was the dull patter of her heels against the bed as she struggled. Eventually though, even those ceased.
Carpe jugulum.
===
9:35 pm
Bitch was silent for a long moment. One of the dogs nudged her, but she pushed him away with an absent hand.
"What are you doing here?" Michael said, shouting to be heard over the symphony of barking dogs.
Bitch's lips moved, but he couldn't hear her. Her reply was lost in the noise.
Michael grimaced, anger bleeding out from tensed nerves.
"Shut up!" he yelled.
Every dog stopped barking at once. A few whined, but most were looking to him now. Eliza stirred behind him, uneasy. He never used his power around them if he could help it.
Bitch looked angry now, spots of color rising in her pale cheeks.
"Why are you here?" he repeated.
"Don't yell at my dogs." She stepped forward, her fists balled. "Don't you fucking dare."
Meredith moved to stand at his side. "You broke in!"
Bitch froze, a muscle in her cheek twitching. Some of the anger had left her face, and Michael was shocked at what replaced it. Bone deep exhaustion. Bitch never showed weakness.
"Had- had to," Bitch said. "I- I was ordered to come here."
That was bad. If she'd been ordered, this was a cape thing. By unspoken agreement, both of them refrained from using their powers in the shelter. He let her keep bringing in strays she found for medical care, and she didn't cause any trouble. They'd known she was a cape, of course. He'd been getting emails from the Protectorate ever since he first registered as an independent, and their 'Villain Bulletin' featured Bitch prominently.
"Who ordered you?" Meredith spoke this time. She had both hands on her gun, still pointing it at the floor.
"Him. He-" Bitch swallowed, shaking her head. "Can't say. He makes it so you can't- can't fight back." She set a hand on one of the dogs, one of hers, a bulky Doberman with a clipped ear.
"Eliza, get back," Michael whispered. He let his power free, the world seeming to expand around his as his senses split. Bitch's body language was suddenly clear as day; frightened, coerced, angry, but also… her hands- she was preparing to fight. Beside him, Eliza was readjusting her grip on her brick, and Meredith was stepping back into a firing stance.
"Girls," he said, deathly quiet. "I want you to run."
"What- no!" Eliza hissed. "We're a team. We'll-"
"She's coming," he shot back. "Now go out the front and run. Call the police."
Meredith raised her pistol, pointing it directly at Bitch. "Hands up. Don't fuck around, Bitch."
Bitch's lips twitched, her brow furrowing with anger. She stepped forward, her other dogs coming to heel beside her.
She was coming. It was happening now. Bitch was angry, but he could see it, could read her words and body for cues. Knew that even if she didn't want to fight, she had to, and she'd always reacted to threats with aggression.
"Mere, Eliza, run now."
The girls flinched, and he turned to look as they fled. Eliza's face, white and stark, mouth twisted with the force of his betrayal. Meredith didn't look back, but he could read her, could read the hurt there. Because he'd broken his promise, his oath to them.
I will never use my power on you. Never.
Bitch was waiting for him when he turned back. "You should run too," she said.
"Wouldn't work. You're too fast. If they can get away, I'm happy with what happens."
"They better drive fast," she said. Something behind her eyes had gone dark. "Because I have to catch them too."
"Maybe you should just stop there," He commanded.
She flinched, her motions drawing to a halt.
"Won't… work," she gritted through clenched teeth. "Not now."
Bitch took a step forward, her limbs slow and clumsy like she was walking through tar. A wave of cold went down Michael's back. His commands weren't infallible, but they couldn't be shaken off just like that.
"Stop."
She took another step, this one a little faster.
"I said stop, Bitch!"
Another step. Then another. Her lips pulled back, exposing white, sharp teeth. No- not just teeth- she had fangs- long canines like one of her dogs.
"Run!" she snarled.
And then she howled.
===
I had more, but this was the longest continuous, largely finished section. Didn't have much more though.
If anyone cares, Michael is one of the OCs from Speak, making an appearance here. His power is a low level Master ability centered around communication. He can be understood regardless of what language someone speaks, and animals understand him as well. He can give weighted commands that generate a very strong impulse in the target to follow what was said. Being a generally decent human being, he tries very hard not to use it.
Underestimated (HP)
Underestimated
"Your time has come, old man!"
His voice reverberated through the Great Hall. Heads turned to stare at the boy- no, at the man standing in the doorway.
"Your reign of terror ends here, Dumbledore." Harry said coldly.
He had a veritable armory of magical artifacts around him. Rings and pendants, three separate faerie-made wands, his cloak of invisibility draped around his shoulders. Even the Sword of Gryffindor hung at his waist; once more wielded for a righteous cause. Harry stepped forward, clinking slightly with the weight of his gear.
Dumbledore gave no reaction for a long moment, only staring down at Harry from the teacher's table. Finally, Dumbledore rose wearily to his feet.
"Harry... I'm not sure what has prompted this, but-"
Harry cut him off. "You know what you did, Dumbledore! 'For the Greater Good,' wasn't it? No more. Don't try your befuddled old man act on me any longer."
Professor McGonagall stood then. "Mister Potter, what is the meaning of this?!" She shouted. "You can't possibly-"
The Boy Who Lived raised a glowing sapphire. "Silence, Minerva." He snapped his wrist once, and McGonagall fell senseless, the sapphire glowing even more sinisterly for an instant.
Dumbledore's benign smile vanished. Harry smirked back.
"No more blandishments about my mother's love, Dumbledore? Maybe you can send me to live with the Dursley's again. Oh wait," Harry's smirk grew wider. "I killed them already. My real family aren't a bunch of muggles. They weren't even the Potters."
"Harry, please." Dumbledore said. "It is not too late to change things."
"The only changes we'll have today is your end." Harry shot back. "Harry Potter is dead. Call me... Harry Arcturus Neverborn Extremis Black!"
The other students in the hall began muttering among themselves. A few snickered at Harry's new name.
"Now," Harry said. "Will you fight me, Dumbledore? Or will you lay down and die?"
He pocketed the glowing sapphire and raised a new magical artifact. A demon's sword, heritage of his true father. Forged in the flames of a nonspecific, probably vaguely Judeo-Christian Hell. Baptized in the blood of Harry's Veela mother and tempered with angel's tears. The blade did not glow. No, it was filled with unlight. The hall grew darker for its very presence.
Dumbledore sighed. "I see. If it must be this way... Mister Black, then it shall be. However..." Dumbledore paused for a moment, stroking his beard. "May I inquire if that is the particular demon sword that was sealed away in-"
Harry interrupted him again. "Yes! In the ruins of my father's home- the Iron Death Ice Fortress! My birthright, but for your interference!"
"I see." Dumbledore's smile returned.
"What?" Harry snarled. "You dare smirk at High Overlord Black?!"
Dumbledore raised his hands defensively. "Oh no, Mister Black. I was just thinking of the last time I saw that sword."
"When you banished my father and usurped my-"
This time it was Dumbledore who interrupted. "And I suppose that you read the book of spells sealed with it?"
"Yes, but-"
"And you did the accompanying rituals?"
"Yes!" Harry shouted triumphantly. "Even the Dark Rite of Fakshite!"
"Ah." Dumbledore's smile grew a little wider. "Well then, stop me if you've heard this one."
Dumbledore snapped his long fingers once, and then spoke a single word.
"Hubris."
At once, Harry's sword snapped in two. The pieces rusted into nothing in a matter of moments. The High Overlord Black found himself suddenly dizzy, barely able to stay standing. His new-found power deserted him in seconds; most of his magical trinkets fading and falling to pieces. Dumbledore simply stood there, still smiling benignly.
"Tell me, Mister Black, did you ever wonder what I was doing all these years as Headmaster?" Dumbledore chuckled. "You think you're the first special boy to come to Hogwarts? Oh no. It must be every decade or so that one of my students gets it into his head that he could do a better job. Tom Riddle was only the latest. Or... second latest, if we count you."
"What?!" Harry gasped. "But what about the Greater Good and all that?"
"The Greater Good?" Dumbledore shook his head pityingly. "I move our society towards the-" Dumbledore made air-quotes, "Greater Good, with every student who passes through our doors. A proper education and good friends are worth more to wizard kind than any magical rituals or silly artifacts."
"And the Sword of Greater Deathbane?" Harry said. The weight of his artifacts grew too much and he fell to his knees. Around him, students were finally backing away, deserting their spots at the long tables like rats deserting a sinking ship.
"Planted." Dumbledore said. "As was the Ritual of True Ascension, the Jewel of Grinding Souls, and most every other mysterious artifact you can think of. I wasn't sitting on my laurels this whole time, oh no." Dumbledore snapped his fingers once more, and one by one, Harry's remaining items crumbled away into dust.
"You really should have listened to Miss Granger some more," Dumbledore chided. "She'd have known that you can't be half-demon, vampire, veela, and whatever other silly races you've filled in the blanks with at the same time."
"Ah bollocks." Harry swore.
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes." He drew himself up; the air crackling with untold power, every drop of magical power held back for decades.
Harry quailed under the Headmaster's gaze. "No! Dumbledore, please!"
Harry Deathlord Dark'ness Dementia Black screamed with terror as the sentence was pronounced, each word screaming with death's knell.
"One-hundred points from Gryffindor!"
XXX
Original Prompt was: "I just want to see Dumbledore look upon Super-Harry, and, with a twinkle in his eyes, say some compassionate old mentor variant of, "What are you, a fucken casual? Git gud, scrub."
"Your time has come, old man!"
His voice reverberated through the Great Hall. Heads turned to stare at the boy- no, at the man standing in the doorway.
"Your reign of terror ends here, Dumbledore." Harry said coldly.
He had a veritable armory of magical artifacts around him. Rings and pendants, three separate faerie-made wands, his cloak of invisibility draped around his shoulders. Even the Sword of Gryffindor hung at his waist; once more wielded for a righteous cause. Harry stepped forward, clinking slightly with the weight of his gear.
Dumbledore gave no reaction for a long moment, only staring down at Harry from the teacher's table. Finally, Dumbledore rose wearily to his feet.
"Harry... I'm not sure what has prompted this, but-"
Harry cut him off. "You know what you did, Dumbledore! 'For the Greater Good,' wasn't it? No more. Don't try your befuddled old man act on me any longer."
Professor McGonagall stood then. "Mister Potter, what is the meaning of this?!" She shouted. "You can't possibly-"
The Boy Who Lived raised a glowing sapphire. "Silence, Minerva." He snapped his wrist once, and McGonagall fell senseless, the sapphire glowing even more sinisterly for an instant.
Dumbledore's benign smile vanished. Harry smirked back.
"No more blandishments about my mother's love, Dumbledore? Maybe you can send me to live with the Dursley's again. Oh wait," Harry's smirk grew wider. "I killed them already. My real family aren't a bunch of muggles. They weren't even the Potters."
"Harry, please." Dumbledore said. "It is not too late to change things."
"The only changes we'll have today is your end." Harry shot back. "Harry Potter is dead. Call me... Harry Arcturus Neverborn Extremis Black!"
The other students in the hall began muttering among themselves. A few snickered at Harry's new name.
"Now," Harry said. "Will you fight me, Dumbledore? Or will you lay down and die?"
He pocketed the glowing sapphire and raised a new magical artifact. A demon's sword, heritage of his true father. Forged in the flames of a nonspecific, probably vaguely Judeo-Christian Hell. Baptized in the blood of Harry's Veela mother and tempered with angel's tears. The blade did not glow. No, it was filled with unlight. The hall grew darker for its very presence.
Dumbledore sighed. "I see. If it must be this way... Mister Black, then it shall be. However..." Dumbledore paused for a moment, stroking his beard. "May I inquire if that is the particular demon sword that was sealed away in-"
Harry interrupted him again. "Yes! In the ruins of my father's home- the Iron Death Ice Fortress! My birthright, but for your interference!"
"I see." Dumbledore's smile returned.
"What?" Harry snarled. "You dare smirk at High Overlord Black?!"
Dumbledore raised his hands defensively. "Oh no, Mister Black. I was just thinking of the last time I saw that sword."
"When you banished my father and usurped my-"
This time it was Dumbledore who interrupted. "And I suppose that you read the book of spells sealed with it?"
"Yes, but-"
"And you did the accompanying rituals?"
"Yes!" Harry shouted triumphantly. "Even the Dark Rite of Fakshite!"
"Ah." Dumbledore's smile grew a little wider. "Well then, stop me if you've heard this one."
Dumbledore snapped his long fingers once, and then spoke a single word.
"Hubris."
At once, Harry's sword snapped in two. The pieces rusted into nothing in a matter of moments. The High Overlord Black found himself suddenly dizzy, barely able to stay standing. His new-found power deserted him in seconds; most of his magical trinkets fading and falling to pieces. Dumbledore simply stood there, still smiling benignly.
"Tell me, Mister Black, did you ever wonder what I was doing all these years as Headmaster?" Dumbledore chuckled. "You think you're the first special boy to come to Hogwarts? Oh no. It must be every decade or so that one of my students gets it into his head that he could do a better job. Tom Riddle was only the latest. Or... second latest, if we count you."
"What?!" Harry gasped. "But what about the Greater Good and all that?"
"The Greater Good?" Dumbledore shook his head pityingly. "I move our society towards the-" Dumbledore made air-quotes, "Greater Good, with every student who passes through our doors. A proper education and good friends are worth more to wizard kind than any magical rituals or silly artifacts."
"And the Sword of Greater Deathbane?" Harry said. The weight of his artifacts grew too much and he fell to his knees. Around him, students were finally backing away, deserting their spots at the long tables like rats deserting a sinking ship.
"Planted." Dumbledore said. "As was the Ritual of True Ascension, the Jewel of Grinding Souls, and most every other mysterious artifact you can think of. I wasn't sitting on my laurels this whole time, oh no." Dumbledore snapped his fingers once more, and one by one, Harry's remaining items crumbled away into dust.
"You really should have listened to Miss Granger some more," Dumbledore chided. "She'd have known that you can't be half-demon, vampire, veela, and whatever other silly races you've filled in the blanks with at the same time."
"Ah bollocks." Harry swore.
Dumbledore nodded. "Yes." He drew himself up; the air crackling with untold power, every drop of magical power held back for decades.
Harry quailed under the Headmaster's gaze. "No! Dumbledore, please!"
Harry Deathlord Dark'ness Dementia Black screamed with terror as the sentence was pronounced, each word screaming with death's knell.
"One-hundred points from Gryffindor!"
XXX
Original Prompt was: "I just want to see Dumbledore look upon Super-Harry, and, with a twinkle in his eyes, say some compassionate old mentor variant of, "What are you, a fucken casual? Git gud, scrub."
Stargazing (Worm, Taylor x Simurgh)
Stargazing
The sky overhead was bright, every star standing out against the velvet blackness. They were only a short drive outside the city, but the difference it made was unparalleled.
"Wow..." Taylor breathed. "It's beautiful."
"It is," Simone said. She was very pointedly not looking at the stars.
Taylor adjusted herself, scooting a little further up the hood of the car, her head still craned upward to watch the sky.
"You forget it's up there," Taylor said softly. "All of that, buried behind smog and light pollution."
"Yeah."
Simone leaned in, trying to follow Taylor's gaze. She'd seen the sky enough for ten lifetimes, and could name every star up there without thought. But like this, trying to see it through Taylor's eyes added a sort of magic to it.
"Look! A shooting star!"
Taylor pointed. A pinprick of light flashed across the sky in a long arc before... suddenly veering off at an odd angle.
"That was weird," Simone remarked. She snickered inwardly. It was weird alright, unless you knew that Dragon had a satellite in that quadrant, and wanted to say, interrupt her day.
Taylor sighed before looking back down at the earth. "This was nice."
Simone slid a little closer to her. "It was. I can't think of anyone else I'd share this with."
"Yeah..." Taylor hesitated for a moment before meeting her eye. "It's funny, I'm still not used to... doing this kind of thing... with friends."
Simone's smile twitched, her face suddenly frozen. Friends. Oh no. Oh no no no. They were not doing 'friends.'
"Like, I think I did something like this when I was a kid. Me and Emma in the backyard."
"Yeah?"
Taylor looked away, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. "Yeah. And it's stupid, but... I mean, we were like sisters."
Sisters? Wait, no, she could work with that. Sisters could work. Look at Tohu and Bohu, fucking twincestuous sluts.
"I don't really have a sister," Simone said slowly. "But I can imagine what that would feel like. How I'd feel if Levi or Ben turned on me."
Taylor nodded. "We were like sisters. But... that... that was then." Her voice hitched, but redoubled, gaining force the more she spoke. "It's not my fault she turned out the way she did. And all that shit she said about me, that was her."
"I talked to her about that once," Simone interjected. "Emma. She was so worried about being strong, being invulnerable, that she couldn't recognize how strong you were. How lucky she was to have you in her life. How special-"
"Simone," Taylor said. She was blushing. "That's a little much."
"No." Simone shook her head adamantly. "It's not."
She scooted closer, close enough that their thighs were touching. Close enough to smell the hint of perfume Taylor had put on, a rose scent that Simone knew had belonged to Taylor's mother.
"Listen, I said there was no one else I'd share this with, and I meant it," Simone said. "And if I have to beat it into your head that you're a beautiful, wonderful, goddamn special human being, then that's tough. And that's why I lov-"
Her cellphone rang.
FUCK EVERYONE.
"Ignore that."
Someone was dead. Someone was going to be so fucking dead for ruining her moment. Someone-
"Maybe you should just get it?" Taylor suggested, when the phone rang for the twelfth time.
Simone dug her phone out of her purse. The caller ID read simply, "Levi." The reason she hadn't say, used her precognition to look at it, might have been because she wanted to conserve every possible bit of psychic power for FUCKING LEVI SIDEWAYS BECAUSE HE RUINED HER DATE AND NO ONE GOT A SECOND DATE WITH TAYLOR HEBERT, AND EVEN IF TAYLOR DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS A DATE, DIDN'T MEAN IT STILL WASN'T A DATE-
"I'll be back in just a second."
She slipped off the hood of the car and rushed off into the woods. Only when she was a safe distance from Taylor did she answer.
"I'm gonna fucking murder you, Levi." Canary, who could literally talk people to death, could not have injected more murderous intent into her voice.
"Oh. Uh... hey," Levi stammered. "I was just calling because-"
"That gay swimming boys anime you like?" Simone growled. "None of them fuck. None of them will ever fuck. Not even in Season 2."
"Wha- AHH CMON!" Levi cried. "Why would you-"
"Listen closely," she said, her voice barely more than a hiss gritted through teeth. "Finish this call within the next five seconds or I'll personally spoil the plots of every show you watch from now until the sun explodes. And that's my warm up."
There were two seconds of silence - she counted, and Levi mumbled, "I'm supposed to attack and-"
"Spain."
"But what if Dadversary shows up? Shouldn't I-"
"SPAIN."
She did not just hang up. She reached out across the city, found Levi's phone and crushed it into a ball the size of a flea. Then she hung up her end of the call and walked back to Taylor.
The other girl was looking up at the sky again. She stopped when Simone came back to the car.
"Everything okay?"
"Just Levi being a dumbass," Simone said airily. "Boys."
She hopped back onto the hood of the car. But... now what? The mood was broken. Irreparably broken, and Taylor would never want another date because she'd killed the mood so badly and- Fuck. She was gonna kill Levi.
"Where was I?" Simone whispered. Why bother? Taylor had the romantic density of a neutron star. You had to lay it on thick or she'd never catch on.
"I believe," Taylor said softly. "You were just telling me that you love me."
Simone gaped at her. But Taylor was meeting her gaze now, and she was smiling.
"I've never had anyone say that to me."
"Wha.. wha..." Simone couldn't manage real words. Her brain was having a critical meltdown. She didn't use precog on Taylor, but this- this was unprecedented- unbelievable in the extreme!
"I think you're right. There's no one else I'd rather share this night with," Taylor said.
And then she leaned in and- and- AND-
Soft lips brushed hers. Taylor had on peach lip gloss, and her breath was warm, the barest brush across Simone's lips, and then Taylor was pulling away and-
Simone toppled backwards off the hood. She hit the dirt and didn't even feel it.
Taylor had- Taylor kissed her.
She stared up at the sky. Another shooting star ricocheted off Dragon's satellite and she barely noticed.
A shape moved in front of the sky. Taylor was leaning off the car, peering down at her.
"Are you okay?!"
Simone managed a delirious smile. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"
STARSTARSTARSTARSTAR
Omake:
"You said Spain! I went to Spain!"
Simone glared at Levi. The hydrokinetic scowled back.
"Madrid. I said Spain, and you went to Madrid."
"It is in Spain," Ben supplied. He was sitting a safe distance away. Or so he thought.
"Coastal Spain! Levi attacks coastal targets! How- gaahh!" Simone shook her head. God, the stupid. He was just so stupid. "How did you even get there!?"
Levi shrugged. "There's a river. I surfed."
Simone's eye twitched. "You know that basketball anime you just started?"
"Kuroko no- wait Simone don't!"
"They aren't ever going to fuck. Not now, not ever, and that I have to keep telling this just speaks to how fucking insane you are for thinking a show aimed at teenage boys is going to have gay fucking in it!"
Levi groaned and ran from the room, hands clamped over his ears. Simone dashed after him.
"That cycling show you watched last week? Season 2 is coming out, and there's no yaoi!"
The sky overhead was bright, every star standing out against the velvet blackness. They were only a short drive outside the city, but the difference it made was unparalleled.
"Wow..." Taylor breathed. "It's beautiful."
"It is," Simone said. She was very pointedly not looking at the stars.
Taylor adjusted herself, scooting a little further up the hood of the car, her head still craned upward to watch the sky.
"You forget it's up there," Taylor said softly. "All of that, buried behind smog and light pollution."
"Yeah."
Simone leaned in, trying to follow Taylor's gaze. She'd seen the sky enough for ten lifetimes, and could name every star up there without thought. But like this, trying to see it through Taylor's eyes added a sort of magic to it.
"Look! A shooting star!"
Taylor pointed. A pinprick of light flashed across the sky in a long arc before... suddenly veering off at an odd angle.
"That was weird," Simone remarked. She snickered inwardly. It was weird alright, unless you knew that Dragon had a satellite in that quadrant, and wanted to say, interrupt her day.
Taylor sighed before looking back down at the earth. "This was nice."
Simone slid a little closer to her. "It was. I can't think of anyone else I'd share this with."
"Yeah..." Taylor hesitated for a moment before meeting her eye. "It's funny, I'm still not used to... doing this kind of thing... with friends."
Simone's smile twitched, her face suddenly frozen. Friends. Oh no. Oh no no no. They were not doing 'friends.'
"Like, I think I did something like this when I was a kid. Me and Emma in the backyard."
"Yeah?"
Taylor looked away, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. "Yeah. And it's stupid, but... I mean, we were like sisters."
Sisters? Wait, no, she could work with that. Sisters could work. Look at Tohu and Bohu, fucking twincestuous sluts.
"I don't really have a sister," Simone said slowly. "But I can imagine what that would feel like. How I'd feel if Levi or Ben turned on me."
Taylor nodded. "We were like sisters. But... that... that was then." Her voice hitched, but redoubled, gaining force the more she spoke. "It's not my fault she turned out the way she did. And all that shit she said about me, that was her."
"I talked to her about that once," Simone interjected. "Emma. She was so worried about being strong, being invulnerable, that she couldn't recognize how strong you were. How lucky she was to have you in her life. How special-"
"Simone," Taylor said. She was blushing. "That's a little much."
"No." Simone shook her head adamantly. "It's not."
She scooted closer, close enough that their thighs were touching. Close enough to smell the hint of perfume Taylor had put on, a rose scent that Simone knew had belonged to Taylor's mother.
"Listen, I said there was no one else I'd share this with, and I meant it," Simone said. "And if I have to beat it into your head that you're a beautiful, wonderful, goddamn special human being, then that's tough. And that's why I lov-"
Her cellphone rang.
FUCK EVERYONE.
"Ignore that."
Someone was dead. Someone was going to be so fucking dead for ruining her moment. Someone-
"Maybe you should just get it?" Taylor suggested, when the phone rang for the twelfth time.
Simone dug her phone out of her purse. The caller ID read simply, "Levi." The reason she hadn't say, used her precognition to look at it, might have been because she wanted to conserve every possible bit of psychic power for FUCKING LEVI SIDEWAYS BECAUSE HE RUINED HER DATE AND NO ONE GOT A SECOND DATE WITH TAYLOR HEBERT, AND EVEN IF TAYLOR DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS A DATE, DIDN'T MEAN IT STILL WASN'T A DATE-
"I'll be back in just a second."
She slipped off the hood of the car and rushed off into the woods. Only when she was a safe distance from Taylor did she answer.
"I'm gonna fucking murder you, Levi." Canary, who could literally talk people to death, could not have injected more murderous intent into her voice.
"Oh. Uh... hey," Levi stammered. "I was just calling because-"
"That gay swimming boys anime you like?" Simone growled. "None of them fuck. None of them will ever fuck. Not even in Season 2."
"Wha- AHH CMON!" Levi cried. "Why would you-"
"Listen closely," she said, her voice barely more than a hiss gritted through teeth. "Finish this call within the next five seconds or I'll personally spoil the plots of every show you watch from now until the sun explodes. And that's my warm up."
There were two seconds of silence - she counted, and Levi mumbled, "I'm supposed to attack and-"
"Spain."
"But what if Dadversary shows up? Shouldn't I-"
"SPAIN."
She did not just hang up. She reached out across the city, found Levi's phone and crushed it into a ball the size of a flea. Then she hung up her end of the call and walked back to Taylor.
The other girl was looking up at the sky again. She stopped when Simone came back to the car.
"Everything okay?"
"Just Levi being a dumbass," Simone said airily. "Boys."
She hopped back onto the hood of the car. But... now what? The mood was broken. Irreparably broken, and Taylor would never want another date because she'd killed the mood so badly and- Fuck. She was gonna kill Levi.
"Where was I?" Simone whispered. Why bother? Taylor had the romantic density of a neutron star. You had to lay it on thick or she'd never catch on.
"I believe," Taylor said softly. "You were just telling me that you love me."
Simone gaped at her. But Taylor was meeting her gaze now, and she was smiling.
"I've never had anyone say that to me."
"Wha.. wha..." Simone couldn't manage real words. Her brain was having a critical meltdown. She didn't use precog on Taylor, but this- this was unprecedented- unbelievable in the extreme!
"I think you're right. There's no one else I'd rather share this night with," Taylor said.
And then she leaned in and- and- AND-
Soft lips brushed hers. Taylor had on peach lip gloss, and her breath was warm, the barest brush across Simone's lips, and then Taylor was pulling away and-
Simone toppled backwards off the hood. She hit the dirt and didn't even feel it.
Taylor had- Taylor kissed her.
She stared up at the sky. Another shooting star ricocheted off Dragon's satellite and she barely noticed.
A shape moved in front of the sky. Taylor was leaning off the car, peering down at her.
"Are you okay?!"
Simone managed a delirious smile. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"
STARSTARSTARSTARSTAR
Omake:
"You said Spain! I went to Spain!"
Simone glared at Levi. The hydrokinetic scowled back.
"Madrid. I said Spain, and you went to Madrid."
"It is in Spain," Ben supplied. He was sitting a safe distance away. Or so he thought.
"Coastal Spain! Levi attacks coastal targets! How- gaahh!" Simone shook her head. God, the stupid. He was just so stupid. "How did you even get there!?"
Levi shrugged. "There's a river. I surfed."
Simone's eye twitched. "You know that basketball anime you just started?"
"Kuroko no- wait Simone don't!"
"They aren't ever going to fuck. Not now, not ever, and that I have to keep telling this just speaks to how fucking insane you are for thinking a show aimed at teenage boys is going to have gay fucking in it!"
Levi groaned and ran from the room, hands clamped over his ears. Simone dashed after him.
"That cycling show you watched last week? Season 2 is coming out, and there's no yaoi!"
Bird and Bug (Worm, Little Zizter)
Bird and Bug
"Hi, what's your name? I'm Taylor!" I said.
The little girl had a long, tangled mane of white-blonde hair. So long that I couldn't even see her eyes. She'd been standing alone by the woods for a while, and I'd come over to see what she was doing. She looked kind of lonely.
When the girl didn't answer, I tried a different tactic. "Do you want to play tag? My friend Emma is getting some other kids together, and we're all gonna play tag."
The girl stood stock still, not answering. And stood. And stood…
What was her deal? Maybe she was shy. If I was shy, I'd want someone else to take the lead. So I held out a hand to the girl. Pale fingers crept around mine, and I beamed at her.
"Let's roll!"
We trotted back to the playground, hand in hand. Emma stood in a crowd of other kids, practically bouncing back and forth as she talked to everyone.
"Who's the brat?" Emma said, giving the girl a disapproving look.
"Dunno. She's gonna play tag with us." I hesitated. We hadn't actually gotten that far. "I think."
"She's too little."
"Emmmaaa." I said. "Be nice to… whatshername."
"You don't even know her name?"
"Simone."
Emma and I looked down. The girl's bangs had parted slightly, just enough that I could see a single gray eye peering at us. Her grip tightened a little bit, like she was scared of Emma.
"See, she said her name is Simone." I said triumphantly. "Simone, you wanna play tag with us?"
Simone gave the tiniest of nods.
Emma huffed, scuffing her shoes in the dirt. "Fine. But she better not cry if she gets tagged."
"That was what you did." I said.
"Yeah, but that was last year." Emma said. She gave Simone one last glance before turning back to the other kids.
I pulled Simone aside. "You know how to play, right?
Nod.
"You gonna be okay?"
Nod.
"…can you see where you're going?"
She hesitated.
"I thought so." I said, rummaging in my pockets. "My hair is super tangly too, and my mom always makes me carry this!" My blue ribbon fluttered in the breeze. I already had the green one in my hair. The blue one was in case I lost it, but Mom wouldn't mind if I let Simone borrow it.
Simone's eye got really big.
"Pretty, isn't it?"
Two nods.
"Right… now let's just…" I wrestled Simone's messy hair back and forced it into a rough ponytail. It took some work to get the ribbon tied, and it wasn't perfect. Not like Mom would have done.
When it was all said and done, Simone stood blinking owlishly; squinting her eyes even in the early morning sun. She was pale, almost ghostly with her hair. Privately, I thought she looked like an angel. Not like one of those cheesy cherubs, but one of the pretty ones who held trumpets and flaming swords and stuff.
"Thank you."
"It's just a ribbon." I was a little embarrassed. She liked the ribbon enough to actually say something.
I took Simone's hand again and led her back to Emma.
"Now that Taylor and… you are ready, we're gonna play tag!" Emma said. She seemed annoyed by seeing Simone still there, but I couldn't figure out why.
"Annd… you're it!" Emma tagged Simone on the top of her head and ran for it. All the kids scattered, screaming excitedly as they went. I was still holding Simone's hand.
"I could be it, if you want."
Simone shook her head. There was a faint blush on her cheeks, and she stared determinedly at Emma's fleeing back.
"I am it."
The resulting game of tag spanned not only the playground, but most of the nearby woods as well. By the time it ended, I was splattered with mud, and had a veritable birdsnest of hair with all the sticks and leaves caught in it. Funnily enough, I'd lost my ribbon somewhere. I lay slumped in the grass with my shoes kicked off.
"H-h- is your Mom coming to pick us up?" Emma panted, flopping down beside me.
She wasn't as dirty as I was, but she'd had to work a lot harder. Simone had tagged her back in record time. I wasn't sure, but I suspected that Simone had tagged Emma every time she was it. The little girl was surprisingly fast.
I checked her watch. Almost noon. "She should be here in a minute." Grass rustled behind us, and I looked up to see Simone sitting primly. She smiled broadly at us.
"Twelve times." Simone said, pointing to Emma. Emma gave her a dirty look.
"She's not allowed to play anymore."
"Emma!" Emma could be a sore loser sometimes, but she wasn't usually this bad. She really disliked Simone for some reason.
"Taylor, Emma, time to go!" Mom's voice carried easily over the whole playground.
I shot up, looking around for her. She was standing next to the car, waving at us.
"Bye, I hope I see you again." I said to Simone. I met a lot of neat people at the playground, but Simone was… she was kinda weird, but I liked her. She was fun.
"Cya." Emma said curtly.
We made our way over to the car. It was getting cloudy now. Big black clouds were blocking the sun. Mom had picked a good time to come.
"Taylor, what have you been doing? And Emma…" Mom sighed dejectedly. "You're both getting a bath when we get home. I'm not sending you home looking like a vagabond, Emma. I'd never hear the end of it from Alan."
"Sorry Mom." I said. I didn't like disappointing Mom, but I'd had enough fun today to make up for it. It was like math. Enough fun canceled out bathtime's unfun.
"Sorry Mrs. Hebert." Emma echoed.
"The things I put up with. I should have had a boy. Nobody complains when boys get dirty!" Mom said dramatically. She paused, looking over my shoulder. "Well, hey there. Who are you?"
I turned to find Simone standing there. A lock of hair had escaped her ponytail and fallen over one eye.
"This is Simone, Mom. We played together today."
Thunder rumbled ominously, and Mom looked at Simone with concern.
"Are your parents picking you up, sweetheart?"
Head shake.
"She's shy, Mom." I whispered.
"I see… Simone, do you live around here?"
Head shake.
"How are you getting home?"
Shrug.
"Do you know where you live? What your last name is?"
Two head shakes.
Mom looked to me for help. "Taylor?"
I shrugged. "I don't know." It hadn't come up. It's not like you needed a last name to play tag.
"Simone," Mom said. "How did you get here?"
"Sent."
"You were sent here?"
Nod.
"Who sent you? Your parents?
"Mission."
Mom was looking increasingly aggravated. "A mission?! What mission?"
Simone pointed at me. What the heck?
"Me?"
The look that passed over Mom's face was one I'd never seen before. She went from annoyed to scary in seconds. She took Simone's arm and pulled her away from us.
"Emma, Taylor, get in the car." She used the voice grownups only used when they were really, really serious.
Me and Emma watched from inside the car. The windows were shut, and we couldn't hear anything. We still had our noses pressed up against the glass, trying to see what Simone and Mom were talking about.
"You just had to talk to the weird kid, didn't you?" Emma said.
"She's not weird." Simone was pretty weird, but I wouldn't admit it to Emma.
"Why's she here for you?"
"Dunno. Maybe I'm like a secret princess or something."
Outside, Mom was talking very fast, moving her arms a lot. Simone seemed to be as quiet as before.
Simone nodded. Nodded again. Shook her head. Nodded.
Mom looked upset now. Her face was getting all red, and she was pacing back and forth.
"Fine!" She shouted loud enough for us to hear. Then she stormed back to the car and yanked open the door. Simone slid into the back seat.
"Mom?" I said.
"Not now." Mom said. "We're going home."
"Uh-" Emma cleared her throat.
"Emma's house first. Then home." Mom said. There was a vein pulsing in her temple. "Simone, buckle your seat belt."
By the time we took Emma home it was raining. Mom was so mad that she was leaning forward, muttering under her breath every time we hit a stoplight. She kept glancing in the mirror to look at me and Simone. Simone sat quietly and looked out the window. It didn't seem to bother her that Mom was mad.
The car had barely stopped moving into the driveway when Mom leapt out and herded us inside.
She pointed at Simone and then the couch. "You, sit." Then she pointed at me. "You… watch her. Both of you stay here."
I could smell something good from in the kitchen. It smelled like Dad was making lunch. He had the day off and was using it to catch up on housework. He had a lot to get done, but he'd promised to make time to hang a sign on my door that said "Taylor's Room." We all knew it was my room, but it was fun to have.
"Danny!" Mom called. There was the sound of pots clattering in the kitchen, and Dad burst into the living room. He had spaghetti sauce smeared across his cheek, and he looked worried.
"Annette? What is it?" He said. Then he saw Simone. "Who's that?"
"Kitchen." Mom said shortly. They vanished into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Simone.
"So… why are you here?" I said. "Like, what's your mission for?"
"Can't tell."
"You told my Mom."
"Part of the mission."
"What's it got to do with me?"
Head shake.
I groaned. She'd gone back to gestures. I was about to try and listen in on Mom and Dad's conversation when Simone pointed at the front door.
Someone knocked a second later. How did she…
"I'll get it. Taylor, do not open the door!" Mom shouted. She sounded just as mad as before. Simone pointed more insistently, looking at me.
"I should open the door." I said.
Nod.
She was pretty aggravating. Everything didn't have to be 20 Questions.
I went to the door. Simone smiled at me. And, as I opened the door, I had the sudden feeling that I was going to regret it.
The woman standing on the front porch looked kind of like Mom. Her black hair was cut in the same way, but she didn't dress like Mom at all. Mom definitely didn't own a fancy suit like this lady did. She didn't have an umbrella, but she was perfectly dry, even though it was still raining.
"Hello there." The lady said. She had a weird accent that I didn't recognize. "May I come in?"
"You're a stranger."
She smiled at me. "You can call me Contessa, if you want."
That didn't convince me. She was still a stranger. A stranger with a strange name.
"I'm here to see Simone too. May I come in?"
How did she know that? Simone had only been here for like ten minutes.
A hand grabbed my shoulder from behind and I jumped. Mom and Dad stood behind me, both of them dead serious.
"Hello." Contessa said to them. "May I?"
"No." Dad said.
"Yes. Mom said through gritted-teeth.
They looked at each other, and Dad relented.
"Thank you." Contessa said. I stepped aside and she walked in, tucking her hat under one arm.
"Hello Simone." She said. Simone blushed. She looked like she'd just gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Contessa sat down beside her, still smiling pleasantly. Mom pointed me to a chair, and she and Dad stood next to me like guards.
"Explain." Dad said. He was the one getting mad now. I didn't like it when he got mad. He and Mom always ended up shouting at each other.
"Well, I was going to start from the beginning, but as someone," Contessa nodded at Simone, who blushed again. "Decided to show up early, I think I'll skip to the important parts."
She turned to me. "Taylor, how would you like a new little sister?"
I stared at Mom with eyes as big as plates. "You're pregnant?!"
Contessa snorted with laughter. Mom closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths before she answered me.
"No Taylor, I'm not pregnant. She means Simone."
"What?" What she was saying didn't make any sense. What about Simone?
"Simone would be your sister." Contessa said. "How do you feel about that?"
I… I wasn't sure how to feel, really. Little sisters weren't supposed to drop out of the sky like this.
"Who are you? Are you Simone's mom?" I said.
"I was wondering the same thing." Dad said. "Who are you exactly?"
"No, Simone doesn't have a mother. Consider me a… an interested party. Mr. Hebert, this arrangement would be extremely advantageous to all parties. If you'd like, the organization I represent could provide assistance with-"
"No." Simone interrupted. "Hands off."
Contessa looked surprised, her ever-present smile fading. "I see. Simone, you would be…"
Nod.
"Ah. Completely and totally, then?"
Nod.
Contessa frowned. "I know you don't know how the path goes either. Surely we could provide some direction? Even with your knowledge, you're only a child."
Head shake.
I was completely lost. This felt less like two people having a conversation that was over my head, and more like two people being deliberately weird.
Contessa questioned Simone on a few other things, and when no clear answers came, she stood. "Mr. and Mrs. Hebert, if we could discuss this in the kitchen?"
Dad stomped into the kitchen, leaving Mom with me. She glared at Contessa.
"You don't have to agree to anything." Mom said to me. "Don't let her pressure you."
She and Contessa exited. The faint murmur of voices started up in the kitchen. Dad's was the loudest, but I still couldn't hear anything clearly. It seemed like people kept having conversations that I wasn't allowed to hear.
"Taylor." Simone said. There was a note of pleading in her voice. It sounded odd, compared to her normal monotone. "Mission!"
"I don't really understand. You want to be my sister, right?"
Nod.
"That lady isn't forcing you or anything? Like, if I say no, she's not going to throw you off a cliff or something?"
Head shake.
"All of this… why? Your mission?"
Nod.
We were back to 20 Questions again.
"If you become my sister, we're not doing the nod and shake thing. We're gonna talk."
Simone almost nodded, but then caught herself. She smiled at me. "Yes. Sisters."
"What if Mom and Dad say no?"
"Contessa. They will agree."
I sighed. Eight year olds weren't supposed to make big decisions like this. Couldn't it wait until I was a grownup? Like in three or four years, at least. I liked Simone, but even I knew that having a girl I'd just met be my sister was a bad idea.
"You'll get superpowers."
"Bull."
Simone shrugged. "You would agree anyway. You think having a sister will be fun."
…Yeah, I was going to, but I wasn't going to put up with any of that smart-allecky stuff.
Because when it came down to it, regardless of the consequences, it was just one of those choices that you knew the answer for. A gut feeling.
"What do you want? Like, what do you get out of all this?"
"Humanity. A sister."
That… that didn't answer my question at all. But… what the heck? Mom and Dad were gonna be furious, but I was almost nine. It was about time I started making big decisions.
"Alrighty then. Let's be sisters."
Simone held out her hand, and I took it, her pale fingers once more clasping mine. She squeaked with surprise as I pulled her into a tight hug. Her hands dithered about for a moment before she returned the hug.
It felt nice. Like we'd just done something good. Something important. As weird as today had been, I was excited for what was going to change now.
"Taylor." I let Simone go. She put her hands on my shoulders and pulled me down to eye-level. With a toss of her head, she whipped her bangs away and our eyes met. Her gray eyes had a frightening intensity. They bored into me, and I found I couldn't look away.
"Khepri."
The word echoed in my ears. A nonsense word. A name that meant nothing, though I knew it to be a name. Something shifted deep inside me. I felt the change, and-
Stars.
I saw stars.
Stars going out, one by one.
"Hi, what's your name? I'm Taylor!" I said.
The little girl had a long, tangled mane of white-blonde hair. So long that I couldn't even see her eyes. She'd been standing alone by the woods for a while, and I'd come over to see what she was doing. She looked kind of lonely.
When the girl didn't answer, I tried a different tactic. "Do you want to play tag? My friend Emma is getting some other kids together, and we're all gonna play tag."
The girl stood stock still, not answering. And stood. And stood…
What was her deal? Maybe she was shy. If I was shy, I'd want someone else to take the lead. So I held out a hand to the girl. Pale fingers crept around mine, and I beamed at her.
"Let's roll!"
We trotted back to the playground, hand in hand. Emma stood in a crowd of other kids, practically bouncing back and forth as she talked to everyone.
"Who's the brat?" Emma said, giving the girl a disapproving look.
"Dunno. She's gonna play tag with us." I hesitated. We hadn't actually gotten that far. "I think."
"She's too little."
"Emmmaaa." I said. "Be nice to… whatshername."
"You don't even know her name?"
"Simone."
Emma and I looked down. The girl's bangs had parted slightly, just enough that I could see a single gray eye peering at us. Her grip tightened a little bit, like she was scared of Emma.
"See, she said her name is Simone." I said triumphantly. "Simone, you wanna play tag with us?"
Simone gave the tiniest of nods.
Emma huffed, scuffing her shoes in the dirt. "Fine. But she better not cry if she gets tagged."
"That was what you did." I said.
"Yeah, but that was last year." Emma said. She gave Simone one last glance before turning back to the other kids.
I pulled Simone aside. "You know how to play, right?
Nod.
"You gonna be okay?"
Nod.
"…can you see where you're going?"
She hesitated.
"I thought so." I said, rummaging in my pockets. "My hair is super tangly too, and my mom always makes me carry this!" My blue ribbon fluttered in the breeze. I already had the green one in my hair. The blue one was in case I lost it, but Mom wouldn't mind if I let Simone borrow it.
Simone's eye got really big.
"Pretty, isn't it?"
Two nods.
"Right… now let's just…" I wrestled Simone's messy hair back and forced it into a rough ponytail. It took some work to get the ribbon tied, and it wasn't perfect. Not like Mom would have done.
When it was all said and done, Simone stood blinking owlishly; squinting her eyes even in the early morning sun. She was pale, almost ghostly with her hair. Privately, I thought she looked like an angel. Not like one of those cheesy cherubs, but one of the pretty ones who held trumpets and flaming swords and stuff.
"Thank you."
"It's just a ribbon." I was a little embarrassed. She liked the ribbon enough to actually say something.
I took Simone's hand again and led her back to Emma.
"Now that Taylor and… you are ready, we're gonna play tag!" Emma said. She seemed annoyed by seeing Simone still there, but I couldn't figure out why.
"Annd… you're it!" Emma tagged Simone on the top of her head and ran for it. All the kids scattered, screaming excitedly as they went. I was still holding Simone's hand.
"I could be it, if you want."
Simone shook her head. There was a faint blush on her cheeks, and she stared determinedly at Emma's fleeing back.
"I am it."
The resulting game of tag spanned not only the playground, but most of the nearby woods as well. By the time it ended, I was splattered with mud, and had a veritable birdsnest of hair with all the sticks and leaves caught in it. Funnily enough, I'd lost my ribbon somewhere. I lay slumped in the grass with my shoes kicked off.
"H-h- is your Mom coming to pick us up?" Emma panted, flopping down beside me.
She wasn't as dirty as I was, but she'd had to work a lot harder. Simone had tagged her back in record time. I wasn't sure, but I suspected that Simone had tagged Emma every time she was it. The little girl was surprisingly fast.
I checked her watch. Almost noon. "She should be here in a minute." Grass rustled behind us, and I looked up to see Simone sitting primly. She smiled broadly at us.
"Twelve times." Simone said, pointing to Emma. Emma gave her a dirty look.
"She's not allowed to play anymore."
"Emma!" Emma could be a sore loser sometimes, but she wasn't usually this bad. She really disliked Simone for some reason.
"Taylor, Emma, time to go!" Mom's voice carried easily over the whole playground.
I shot up, looking around for her. She was standing next to the car, waving at us.
"Bye, I hope I see you again." I said to Simone. I met a lot of neat people at the playground, but Simone was… she was kinda weird, but I liked her. She was fun.
"Cya." Emma said curtly.
We made our way over to the car. It was getting cloudy now. Big black clouds were blocking the sun. Mom had picked a good time to come.
"Taylor, what have you been doing? And Emma…" Mom sighed dejectedly. "You're both getting a bath when we get home. I'm not sending you home looking like a vagabond, Emma. I'd never hear the end of it from Alan."
"Sorry Mom." I said. I didn't like disappointing Mom, but I'd had enough fun today to make up for it. It was like math. Enough fun canceled out bathtime's unfun.
"Sorry Mrs. Hebert." Emma echoed.
"The things I put up with. I should have had a boy. Nobody complains when boys get dirty!" Mom said dramatically. She paused, looking over my shoulder. "Well, hey there. Who are you?"
I turned to find Simone standing there. A lock of hair had escaped her ponytail and fallen over one eye.
"This is Simone, Mom. We played together today."
Thunder rumbled ominously, and Mom looked at Simone with concern.
"Are your parents picking you up, sweetheart?"
Head shake.
"She's shy, Mom." I whispered.
"I see… Simone, do you live around here?"
Head shake.
"How are you getting home?"
Shrug.
"Do you know where you live? What your last name is?"
Two head shakes.
Mom looked to me for help. "Taylor?"
I shrugged. "I don't know." It hadn't come up. It's not like you needed a last name to play tag.
"Simone," Mom said. "How did you get here?"
"Sent."
"You were sent here?"
Nod.
"Who sent you? Your parents?
"Mission."
Mom was looking increasingly aggravated. "A mission?! What mission?"
Simone pointed at me. What the heck?
"Me?"
The look that passed over Mom's face was one I'd never seen before. She went from annoyed to scary in seconds. She took Simone's arm and pulled her away from us.
"Emma, Taylor, get in the car." She used the voice grownups only used when they were really, really serious.
Me and Emma watched from inside the car. The windows were shut, and we couldn't hear anything. We still had our noses pressed up against the glass, trying to see what Simone and Mom were talking about.
"You just had to talk to the weird kid, didn't you?" Emma said.
"She's not weird." Simone was pretty weird, but I wouldn't admit it to Emma.
"Why's she here for you?"
"Dunno. Maybe I'm like a secret princess or something."
Outside, Mom was talking very fast, moving her arms a lot. Simone seemed to be as quiet as before.
Simone nodded. Nodded again. Shook her head. Nodded.
Mom looked upset now. Her face was getting all red, and she was pacing back and forth.
"Fine!" She shouted loud enough for us to hear. Then she stormed back to the car and yanked open the door. Simone slid into the back seat.
"Mom?" I said.
"Not now." Mom said. "We're going home."
"Uh-" Emma cleared her throat.
"Emma's house first. Then home." Mom said. There was a vein pulsing in her temple. "Simone, buckle your seat belt."
By the time we took Emma home it was raining. Mom was so mad that she was leaning forward, muttering under her breath every time we hit a stoplight. She kept glancing in the mirror to look at me and Simone. Simone sat quietly and looked out the window. It didn't seem to bother her that Mom was mad.
The car had barely stopped moving into the driveway when Mom leapt out and herded us inside.
She pointed at Simone and then the couch. "You, sit." Then she pointed at me. "You… watch her. Both of you stay here."
I could smell something good from in the kitchen. It smelled like Dad was making lunch. He had the day off and was using it to catch up on housework. He had a lot to get done, but he'd promised to make time to hang a sign on my door that said "Taylor's Room." We all knew it was my room, but it was fun to have.
"Danny!" Mom called. There was the sound of pots clattering in the kitchen, and Dad burst into the living room. He had spaghetti sauce smeared across his cheek, and he looked worried.
"Annette? What is it?" He said. Then he saw Simone. "Who's that?"
"Kitchen." Mom said shortly. They vanished into the kitchen, leaving me alone with Simone.
"So… why are you here?" I said. "Like, what's your mission for?"
"Can't tell."
"You told my Mom."
"Part of the mission."
"What's it got to do with me?"
Head shake.
I groaned. She'd gone back to gestures. I was about to try and listen in on Mom and Dad's conversation when Simone pointed at the front door.
Someone knocked a second later. How did she…
"I'll get it. Taylor, do not open the door!" Mom shouted. She sounded just as mad as before. Simone pointed more insistently, looking at me.
"I should open the door." I said.
Nod.
She was pretty aggravating. Everything didn't have to be 20 Questions.
I went to the door. Simone smiled at me. And, as I opened the door, I had the sudden feeling that I was going to regret it.
The woman standing on the front porch looked kind of like Mom. Her black hair was cut in the same way, but she didn't dress like Mom at all. Mom definitely didn't own a fancy suit like this lady did. She didn't have an umbrella, but she was perfectly dry, even though it was still raining.
"Hello there." The lady said. She had a weird accent that I didn't recognize. "May I come in?"
"You're a stranger."
She smiled at me. "You can call me Contessa, if you want."
That didn't convince me. She was still a stranger. A stranger with a strange name.
"I'm here to see Simone too. May I come in?"
How did she know that? Simone had only been here for like ten minutes.
A hand grabbed my shoulder from behind and I jumped. Mom and Dad stood behind me, both of them dead serious.
"Hello." Contessa said to them. "May I?"
"No." Dad said.
"Yes. Mom said through gritted-teeth.
They looked at each other, and Dad relented.
"Thank you." Contessa said. I stepped aside and she walked in, tucking her hat under one arm.
"Hello Simone." She said. Simone blushed. She looked like she'd just gotten caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Contessa sat down beside her, still smiling pleasantly. Mom pointed me to a chair, and she and Dad stood next to me like guards.
"Explain." Dad said. He was the one getting mad now. I didn't like it when he got mad. He and Mom always ended up shouting at each other.
"Well, I was going to start from the beginning, but as someone," Contessa nodded at Simone, who blushed again. "Decided to show up early, I think I'll skip to the important parts."
She turned to me. "Taylor, how would you like a new little sister?"
I stared at Mom with eyes as big as plates. "You're pregnant?!"
Contessa snorted with laughter. Mom closed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths before she answered me.
"No Taylor, I'm not pregnant. She means Simone."
"What?" What she was saying didn't make any sense. What about Simone?
"Simone would be your sister." Contessa said. "How do you feel about that?"
I… I wasn't sure how to feel, really. Little sisters weren't supposed to drop out of the sky like this.
"Who are you? Are you Simone's mom?" I said.
"I was wondering the same thing." Dad said. "Who are you exactly?"
"No, Simone doesn't have a mother. Consider me a… an interested party. Mr. Hebert, this arrangement would be extremely advantageous to all parties. If you'd like, the organization I represent could provide assistance with-"
"No." Simone interrupted. "Hands off."
Contessa looked surprised, her ever-present smile fading. "I see. Simone, you would be…"
Nod.
"Ah. Completely and totally, then?"
Nod.
Contessa frowned. "I know you don't know how the path goes either. Surely we could provide some direction? Even with your knowledge, you're only a child."
Head shake.
I was completely lost. This felt less like two people having a conversation that was over my head, and more like two people being deliberately weird.
Contessa questioned Simone on a few other things, and when no clear answers came, she stood. "Mr. and Mrs. Hebert, if we could discuss this in the kitchen?"
Dad stomped into the kitchen, leaving Mom with me. She glared at Contessa.
"You don't have to agree to anything." Mom said to me. "Don't let her pressure you."
She and Contessa exited. The faint murmur of voices started up in the kitchen. Dad's was the loudest, but I still couldn't hear anything clearly. It seemed like people kept having conversations that I wasn't allowed to hear.
"Taylor." Simone said. There was a note of pleading in her voice. It sounded odd, compared to her normal monotone. "Mission!"
"I don't really understand. You want to be my sister, right?"
Nod.
"That lady isn't forcing you or anything? Like, if I say no, she's not going to throw you off a cliff or something?"
Head shake.
"All of this… why? Your mission?"
Nod.
We were back to 20 Questions again.
"If you become my sister, we're not doing the nod and shake thing. We're gonna talk."
Simone almost nodded, but then caught herself. She smiled at me. "Yes. Sisters."
"What if Mom and Dad say no?"
"Contessa. They will agree."
I sighed. Eight year olds weren't supposed to make big decisions like this. Couldn't it wait until I was a grownup? Like in three or four years, at least. I liked Simone, but even I knew that having a girl I'd just met be my sister was a bad idea.
"You'll get superpowers."
"Bull."
Simone shrugged. "You would agree anyway. You think having a sister will be fun."
…Yeah, I was going to, but I wasn't going to put up with any of that smart-allecky stuff.
Because when it came down to it, regardless of the consequences, it was just one of those choices that you knew the answer for. A gut feeling.
"What do you want? Like, what do you get out of all this?"
"Humanity. A sister."
That… that didn't answer my question at all. But… what the heck? Mom and Dad were gonna be furious, but I was almost nine. It was about time I started making big decisions.
"Alrighty then. Let's be sisters."
Simone held out her hand, and I took it, her pale fingers once more clasping mine. She squeaked with surprise as I pulled her into a tight hug. Her hands dithered about for a moment before she returned the hug.
It felt nice. Like we'd just done something good. Something important. As weird as today had been, I was excited for what was going to change now.
"Taylor." I let Simone go. She put her hands on my shoulders and pulled me down to eye-level. With a toss of her head, she whipped her bangs away and our eyes met. Her gray eyes had a frightening intensity. They bored into me, and I found I couldn't look away.
"Khepri."
The word echoed in my ears. A nonsense word. A name that meant nothing, though I knew it to be a name. Something shifted deep inside me. I felt the change, and-
Stars.
I saw stars.
Stars going out, one by one.
Daddy Issues (Worm)
This was the first fic I ever posted on SB. It came as an omake from an unpublished attempt at Endbringer!Taylor, but works fine as a standalone story.
If you've seen my FFN page, you'll notice that there's a chapter missing here. Chapter 3 was a oneshot about Human!Tohu and Bohu. It wasn't anything more than decent, and on reflection, I decided not to bother porting it over.
XXX
Daddy Issues
They flew high above the world. The blue in the sky was bleeding off into black. Even the clouds were far below them now. Sister took the lead, setting their flightpath with her usual unerring confidence. She followed, not directly, but mirroring Sister in a delayed helix, spiraling together. Her copy of Sister's powers told her that the shape of their flight was important- that it would inspire specific responses in observers, but her imitation was too limited to know more.
After a time, Sister stopped, the sun to her back. She faced Taylor, little more than a silhouette in front of the sun. Taylor spoke, her words audible even in the near-vacuum.
"I have a question."
"And I have answers." Sister replied smugly. Taylor rolled her eyes.
"Do you think I have- uh... Daddy issues?"
Sister raised an elegant eyebrow. "What brought this up?"
"Dad and I had a fight. And when I told Clockblocker, he made a joke about me having... you know."
"Oh Taylor..." Sister flew to her and took her hand. "Of course you have Daddy Issues."
"What?!" Taylor shouted.
"Shh." Sister began stroking her hair. "You have them, I have them, our brothers have them. Everyone has them."
"But-" Taylor sputtered. "I- you have them? How do you- you don't even have a dad."
"Of course I do. I think you even know who he is."
Taylor stopped and thought. It couldn't possibly be... No way. She couldn't be serious.
"Are you talking about Eidolon?"
Sister just smiled. After a moment, she pulled away and pointed down at the Earth.
"All of that," She swept her hands across the world. "All of that is Daddy Issues."
"So all of the murder and plotting were-"
"That's right. All three of us have a bone to pick with that man. We just have extreme ways of showing it. I take out my anger on fathers everywhere."
Taylor looked at her incredulously. "Seriously?"
"Why do you think there are so many ruined fathers out there? All me. Mannequin. Mad dad. Siberian. Sad Dad." Sister smirked. "I had Leviathan target Kaiser for the same reason."
"Seriously?!"
"Seriously. Why do you think we picked you? What would devastate your father more than anything else in the world?"
Taylor's jaw dropped, and she gaped at her sister in horror. "My... Dad?"
Sister's smile faded as she saw Taylor's face. "That was a joke!" She held up her hands defensively. "Just a joke. And nothing else."
Taylor didn't look any happier. "If Dad knew- he'd never..." She trailed off, her lip quivering.
Sister shifted, embracing her from behind. Her wings enfolded both of them, blocking out the world behind a layer of white.
"He'll never find out as long as you stick with me. Also, I think he deserves more credit than you give him. He really loves you, you know that?"
"Yeah." Taylor whispered. She let her wings retract, putting herself entirely in Sister's hands. "Why did you pick me anyway?"
"You're the best equipped to kill Eidolon, among other things." Sister put a finger to her lips thoughtfully. "Hmm... I guess that's a Daddy Issue also."
"For Father's Day this year, can we kill Heartbreaker or something? I want at least some good to come from your weird patricide thing." Taylor hesitated. "Or we could- You could celebrate with my dad and me."
Sister didn't answer. She just ran her fingers through Taylor's hair, combing it the way her mother used to. They stayed that way for a while, just floating along. Sister was the one to break the silence.
"Wave to Dragon!" She pointed at a light moving across the sky. Taylor waved. Sister just smiled her Mona Lisa smile and tweaked the satellite's course.
As the satellite drifted away on its new course, Sister spoke again. "I forgot about Dragon. I killed her father too."
"Daddy Issues." Taylor said. She sighed heavily. "Get Heartbreaker first. Then- uh... Does Jack Slash have any kids?"
"You could argue that Bonesaw is like an adopted daughter." Sister stared off into space, looking at a world only she could see. "I wonder if I can get Heartbreaker and Jack at the same time?"
Taylor smiled for the first time. "Show off."
Simurgh smiled back. "You haven't seen how Eidolon dies yet."
If you've seen my FFN page, you'll notice that there's a chapter missing here. Chapter 3 was a oneshot about Human!Tohu and Bohu. It wasn't anything more than decent, and on reflection, I decided not to bother porting it over.
XXX
Daddy Issues
They flew high above the world. The blue in the sky was bleeding off into black. Even the clouds were far below them now. Sister took the lead, setting their flightpath with her usual unerring confidence. She followed, not directly, but mirroring Sister in a delayed helix, spiraling together. Her copy of Sister's powers told her that the shape of their flight was important- that it would inspire specific responses in observers, but her imitation was too limited to know more.
After a time, Sister stopped, the sun to her back. She faced Taylor, little more than a silhouette in front of the sun. Taylor spoke, her words audible even in the near-vacuum.
"I have a question."
"And I have answers." Sister replied smugly. Taylor rolled her eyes.
"Do you think I have- uh... Daddy issues?"
Sister raised an elegant eyebrow. "What brought this up?"
"Dad and I had a fight. And when I told Clockblocker, he made a joke about me having... you know."
"Oh Taylor..." Sister flew to her and took her hand. "Of course you have Daddy Issues."
"What?!" Taylor shouted.
"Shh." Sister began stroking her hair. "You have them, I have them, our brothers have them. Everyone has them."
"But-" Taylor sputtered. "I- you have them? How do you- you don't even have a dad."
"Of course I do. I think you even know who he is."
Taylor stopped and thought. It couldn't possibly be... No way. She couldn't be serious.
"Are you talking about Eidolon?"
Sister just smiled. After a moment, she pulled away and pointed down at the Earth.
"All of that," She swept her hands across the world. "All of that is Daddy Issues."
"So all of the murder and plotting were-"
"That's right. All three of us have a bone to pick with that man. We just have extreme ways of showing it. I take out my anger on fathers everywhere."
Taylor looked at her incredulously. "Seriously?"
"Why do you think there are so many ruined fathers out there? All me. Mannequin. Mad dad. Siberian. Sad Dad." Sister smirked. "I had Leviathan target Kaiser for the same reason."
"Seriously?!"
"Seriously. Why do you think we picked you? What would devastate your father more than anything else in the world?"
Taylor's jaw dropped, and she gaped at her sister in horror. "My... Dad?"
Sister's smile faded as she saw Taylor's face. "That was a joke!" She held up her hands defensively. "Just a joke. And nothing else."
Taylor didn't look any happier. "If Dad knew- he'd never..." She trailed off, her lip quivering.
Sister shifted, embracing her from behind. Her wings enfolded both of them, blocking out the world behind a layer of white.
"He'll never find out as long as you stick with me. Also, I think he deserves more credit than you give him. He really loves you, you know that?"
"Yeah." Taylor whispered. She let her wings retract, putting herself entirely in Sister's hands. "Why did you pick me anyway?"
"You're the best equipped to kill Eidolon, among other things." Sister put a finger to her lips thoughtfully. "Hmm... I guess that's a Daddy Issue also."
"For Father's Day this year, can we kill Heartbreaker or something? I want at least some good to come from your weird patricide thing." Taylor hesitated. "Or we could- You could celebrate with my dad and me."
Sister didn't answer. She just ran her fingers through Taylor's hair, combing it the way her mother used to. They stayed that way for a while, just floating along. Sister was the one to break the silence.
"Wave to Dragon!" She pointed at a light moving across the sky. Taylor waved. Sister just smiled her Mona Lisa smile and tweaked the satellite's course.
As the satellite drifted away on its new course, Sister spoke again. "I forgot about Dragon. I killed her father too."
"Daddy Issues." Taylor said. She sighed heavily. "Get Heartbreaker first. Then- uh... Does Jack Slash have any kids?"
"You could argue that Bonesaw is like an adopted daughter." Sister stared off into space, looking at a world only she could see. "I wonder if I can get Heartbreaker and Jack at the same time?"
Taylor smiled for the first time. "Show off."
Simurgh smiled back. "You haven't seen how Eidolon dies yet."
Dog of the Devils (Touhou)
Dog of the Devils
1
Water heated to a boil in the copper kettle. The cup and saucer came from the top shelf- lilac patterned – Remilia was in a dour mood today, and the color was calming. The tea leaves were her own blend, carefully selected for freshness, and also for their mundanity. Remilia could taste the magic in supernatural breeds, and would complain that it ruined the flavor.
The oven dinged. Sakuya went on arranging the tea tray for another ten seconds before realizing that no one had handled the oven. She cleared her throat loudly.
The fairy chef, currently examining her reflection in the back of a ladle, yelped and turned. "Sorry, Boss."
The fairy opened the oven, releasing a burst of heat into the already steamy kitchen. She tried to take the baking tray, only to yelp again as she burned her hand.
"Oven mitts!" Sakuya snapped. She hadn't stopped arranging, but her free hand was toying with her pocket watch. If this took any longer, she was going to just do it herself, and damn the maid.
Surprisingly though, the fairy found her mitts and withdrew the tray before it burned. The scent of warm cookies filled the room, rich ginger and spices. The fairy even remembered to turn off the oven before she began icing the cookies with quick dabs of buttercream.
Sakuya allowed herself to look away and pour the first cup of tea. The tea was a rich black, and earthy, to compliment the sweetness of the cookies. It would steep for the four minutes it took Sakuya to get to Remilia, just in time to reach the ideal temperature and flavor.
She turned just as the fairy reached for a cookie, drooling slightly.
"Are you done?"
Another yelp, and the chef nearly flipped the cookie sheet with her flinch. "S-sorry, Boss! I just- they smelled really good, and I've never seen these before, and- and-"
Sakuya gave her a long, flat look. "Don't be here when I return."
The maid was already trembling as Sakuya did her final preparations. The teapot went on one side of the tray, wrapped in a cozy to keep it warm. The cup and saucer were in the middle, both for stability and temperature. Too close to the kettle and it would stay too hot. Six cookies, arranged in a neat circle on a plate, went on the far left, away from any heat that might melt the icing. The napkin was the final piece, accenting the tea cup with a crisp, triangular fold.
She lifted the tray and left the kitchen. The room was adjacent to the main dining room, but Remilia had decided to take her tea on the west veranda today. Sakuya thought she might be watching the moonrise, though the Lady had said little since she awoke.
The hallways in the mansion were not always the same, or even logically consistent with the dimensions of the house. The Kirisame girl had complained loudly on numerous occasions that the mazelike nature of the mansion was Patchouli's way to keep her out. Kirisame was, as always, mistaken. The spell was of Koakuma's invention, powered by a matrix Remilia had written.
It was their way of protecting Patchouli from undue exertion, and though it warped the halls and rooms at random, some features were static. Remilia's bedroom was always deep in the mansion, and Flandre's door was always at the end of a long, remote hallway. The trick to getting anywhere, especially when you had a tray full of steaming tea and cookies, was not to try.
Sakuya took a left at the first junction, another left, and paused to glare at a maid she'd caught shirking behind a suit of armor. A third left, then a right, and, instead of finding herself back at the kitchens, she turned into an entirely new colonnaded room, one side lined with windows. The doors to the west veranda were ahead, one ajar, letting in wisps of cool night air.
She moved steadily, heels clacking on the tile. The mental clock that had begun when she poured the tea was ticking towards zero. Just in time. She-
"Boss Maid! Boss Maid!"
Long practice kept her irritation from showing as she turned to face the interloper.
Sakuya frowned.
The maid was a mess. Cerulean hair singed, one sleeve of her uniform was torn away entirely, and the skirt had a clean hole through the center, like someone had fired a danmaku bullet between the fairy's legs.
"Yes?"
"Boss, I just came from downstairs! It was like, super dark down there, and there's all those bones and stuff, and it's scary, even though you always make me go anyway, and-"
"What do you need?" Sakuya said coolly. The timer for teatime was coming dangerously close to 'now.'
"Oh!" The maid blinked, seeming to remember why she was upset. "I was supposed to get Lady Flandre's dresses for the laundry, but she was awake, and she was soooo grumpy! But she uh- she said that she wanted to see you."
"You mean she wished to speak to her sister?"
Sakuya's frown deepened as the maid shook her head in response.
"Nuh-uh! She said 'Send me the Boss Maid, or I'll come get her myself.'" The maid gestured toward her ruined dress and hair. "She's really grumpy tonight."
"I see. Put that dress in the trash, and you are dismissed for the night. Fix your hair before tomorrow."
She strode towards the veranda, already preparing her apologies for the delay, when the maid called after her.
"But Lady Flandre said, 'Do it in five minutes!' And that was like forever ago because I couldn't find you."
Sakuya stopped. The words took an instant to set in, and then she had a hand on her watch.
Click .
The world went still and quiet, all the colors turning to inverted monochrome. Sakuya took flight. Half a second to drop the tray onto the table beside a frozen Remilia.
Click .
The eldest Scarlet was long-used to Sakuya's appearances, and didn't even twitch at her arrival.
"Milady, I apologize for my lateness, but something urgent with your sister seems to have come up."
Remilia tilted her head slightly. "Is that so? She's not rampaging again, is she?"
"No, Milady." She relayed what the maid had said to her, as fast as she could.
"Ah." Remilia yawned and waved a hand. "I slept poorly. I trust you can take care of it, Sakuya?"
"Yes, Milady."
She waited just long enough for Remilia to give an affirming nod before she touched her watch again.
Sakuya moved. She had all the time in the world, yes, but Flandre demanded urgency. She hadn't ever made a request like this, actually sending a messenger to relay it. If she wanted something, she'd usually just stand at her door and yell until someone heard her. Or, on bad days, kick down the door and come get what she wanted.
But sending a messenger? That was the kind of thing Remilia would do, and showed a degree of restraint that Flandre just didn't have. When Flandre Scarlet wanted something, she'd go get it herself, regardless of the consequences.
The air was stale, in Sakuya's timeless world, and flying without a breeze never failed to be an odd sensation. The spell matrix that warped the hallways had a distorting effect on time and space, and the mansion interior was always blurred and unfocused, the details nebulous when she stopped time.
It took her nearly ten minutes to locate the hallway leading to Flandre's domain. Today, it was sandwiched between two moonlit gardens, almost a mirror of the windowed colonnade that led to Remilia.
Time resumed as she touched down.
Flandre's door was open just a hair. Sakuya's initial thought that the maid had left it open was replaced by a more disquieting one: Flandre had left it open for her. Another degree of restraint that she'd rarely shown.
Sakuya pulled it fully open. The basement staircase yawned before her, the stench of old blood and death wafting up from the stones.
"Lady Scarlet, I'm here," she called. Her voice echoed down the stairs and vanished into the gloom.
There was no response from below.
She descended.
Flandre's realm was exempt from the space-changing magic that affected most of the house, but taking the stairs always held a degree of risk. Flandre's tantrums had left clawmarks gouged into the walls, and the stairs were not always whole. Sakuya opted to just hover a few inches off the pitted stones rather than risk tripping over loose rubble.
It was pitch black below. Sakuya whispered a cantrip as she went. It was something from the days before her life as Head Maid, when she'd had other reasons to need to see in the dark. The shadows flickered and then clarified, details looming up around her as the darkvision engaged.
The stairs came to a landing and then turned at a right angle, descending ten more yards before meeting the stone floor of the basement.
Sakuya continued hovering, her heels brushing over the scattered bones and mess that carpeted the room. Though, room didn't do it justice. The basement ran the full length and width of the mansion, and even with her spell, Sakuya couldn't penetrate far into the darkness. It was more like a cave. It smelled like a cave, all dampness and stale death.
"Lady Scarlet? You wished to see me?" Her voice was calm and steady. Another old habit. Vampires were predators, and responded to perceived weakness with aggression. It helped that she wasn't frightened of Flandre. The girl was dangerous, yes, but also fragile and childlike.
Sakuya was more worried about what had happened to trigger this change in Flandre's behavior than of what Flandre was actually doing with it.
She hovered aimlessly, crossing a long expanse of stone and bones.
"Sa-ku-yaaa." Flandre's voice sang from all around her.
Sakuya stopped.
Two eyes opened just at the edge of Sakuya's vision. Red, bright enough to shine through the dark.
"Milady. You called?"
The sound of small footsteps, of things crunching underfoot answered her. Flandre materialized from the shadows, wings chiming like bells on every step.
Her dress was crimson trimmed with white, her stockings pale against mary-janes. Her usual mobcap was absent, though her hair was neater than the usual blood-clotted tangle. And…
Sakuya's frown returned. It wasn't just Flandre's hair that was cleaner. Her dress was unstained, with none of the tears she accumulated playing in the basement. She often just went nude, with no one to see her, but here she was, fully dressed and groomed, and… smiling.
"Took you long enough," Flandre said, pouting playfully. "I bet Big Sis was being boring again, wasn't she?"
"The maid was tardy. I apologize for my delay though, Lady Scarlet."
"Doesn't matter." Flandre rolled her blazing eyes and kept walking, padding toward Sakuya. Sakuya stayed still, letting Flandre circle her, drawing ever inward until she spoke from just beside Sakuya's ear.
"You know what today is, Sakuya?"
"Thursday, January 5th, Milady. The year is-"
"Nope!" Flandre shook her head hard enough to send her wings ringing. "Don't care! What's next week?"
Sakuya paused for a moment, examining a mental calendar. Coming-Of-Age-Day was on the 11th, but the Scarlets didn't celebrate the Japanese holidays most of Gensokyo did, and Flandre was much too old for… Flandre was too old for…
Oh dear.
"Your birthday is January 15th."
"Yes!" Flandre darted around her and caught Sakuya's hands in a grip bordering on crushing. "My birthday! I'm going to be 500 this year, and I started thinking. I have nothing else to do down here but think. But maybe it's time I started being a little more grown up."
"I confess that your age had slipped my mind, Milady," Sakuya said, bowing her head apologetically. "Did you want to have a party this year?"
Now that she thought of it, she didn't think Remilia had ever actually celebrated a birthday in the time that she had known her. The numbers probably lost meaning after a couple centuries. Where in the hell had Flandre even come up with this idea?
"If you want." Flandre looked unenthused with the idea, floating listlessly a few feet away from Sakuya now.
"I would have to ask your sister. She would be in charge of the preparations, after all." And in charge of denying it, because a party would be overstimulating for Flandre, and likely deadly for everyone involved.
"Would there be gifts at a party? I thought- that's what I wanted to ask you about. I'm going to be more of a grownup now." Flandre gestured at her dress. "Doing grownup stuff, helping Remi with things."
Sakuya controlled her eye twitch. Where had Flandre gotten this notion from? Had the fairies said something to her? Fairies always had lots of stupid notions in their heads, and Flandre was just so impressionable. She was sheltered!
"But what I really wanted…" She was hesitating now, her words faltering. "Cuz you and Remi always do it, and I'm kinda… jealous, because all I have is the dumb food the maids bring, but…" Flandre trailed off, twiddling her fingers. If she'd been able to blush, she would have been.
"Yes, Milady?"
"I wanna… I wanna drink your blood, Sakuya."
Notes:
Likely to be no more than 2-3 chapters.
I had ideas of smutty Sakuya/Remilia stuff, with Remi drinking from Saku, and went on a kick of reading those fics, (all 4 of them... ;_; ), and then this popped up. Something that is neither smutty nor Saku/Remi. Honestly not sure what kicked this off. I'm not a big fan of Flandre at all.
1
Water heated to a boil in the copper kettle. The cup and saucer came from the top shelf- lilac patterned – Remilia was in a dour mood today, and the color was calming. The tea leaves were her own blend, carefully selected for freshness, and also for their mundanity. Remilia could taste the magic in supernatural breeds, and would complain that it ruined the flavor.
The oven dinged. Sakuya went on arranging the tea tray for another ten seconds before realizing that no one had handled the oven. She cleared her throat loudly.
The fairy chef, currently examining her reflection in the back of a ladle, yelped and turned. "Sorry, Boss."
The fairy opened the oven, releasing a burst of heat into the already steamy kitchen. She tried to take the baking tray, only to yelp again as she burned her hand.
"Oven mitts!" Sakuya snapped. She hadn't stopped arranging, but her free hand was toying with her pocket watch. If this took any longer, she was going to just do it herself, and damn the maid.
Surprisingly though, the fairy found her mitts and withdrew the tray before it burned. The scent of warm cookies filled the room, rich ginger and spices. The fairy even remembered to turn off the oven before she began icing the cookies with quick dabs of buttercream.
Sakuya allowed herself to look away and pour the first cup of tea. The tea was a rich black, and earthy, to compliment the sweetness of the cookies. It would steep for the four minutes it took Sakuya to get to Remilia, just in time to reach the ideal temperature and flavor.
She turned just as the fairy reached for a cookie, drooling slightly.
"Are you done?"
Another yelp, and the chef nearly flipped the cookie sheet with her flinch. "S-sorry, Boss! I just- they smelled really good, and I've never seen these before, and- and-"
Sakuya gave her a long, flat look. "Don't be here when I return."
The maid was already trembling as Sakuya did her final preparations. The teapot went on one side of the tray, wrapped in a cozy to keep it warm. The cup and saucer were in the middle, both for stability and temperature. Too close to the kettle and it would stay too hot. Six cookies, arranged in a neat circle on a plate, went on the far left, away from any heat that might melt the icing. The napkin was the final piece, accenting the tea cup with a crisp, triangular fold.
She lifted the tray and left the kitchen. The room was adjacent to the main dining room, but Remilia had decided to take her tea on the west veranda today. Sakuya thought she might be watching the moonrise, though the Lady had said little since she awoke.
The hallways in the mansion were not always the same, or even logically consistent with the dimensions of the house. The Kirisame girl had complained loudly on numerous occasions that the mazelike nature of the mansion was Patchouli's way to keep her out. Kirisame was, as always, mistaken. The spell was of Koakuma's invention, powered by a matrix Remilia had written.
It was their way of protecting Patchouli from undue exertion, and though it warped the halls and rooms at random, some features were static. Remilia's bedroom was always deep in the mansion, and Flandre's door was always at the end of a long, remote hallway. The trick to getting anywhere, especially when you had a tray full of steaming tea and cookies, was not to try.
Sakuya took a left at the first junction, another left, and paused to glare at a maid she'd caught shirking behind a suit of armor. A third left, then a right, and, instead of finding herself back at the kitchens, she turned into an entirely new colonnaded room, one side lined with windows. The doors to the west veranda were ahead, one ajar, letting in wisps of cool night air.
She moved steadily, heels clacking on the tile. The mental clock that had begun when she poured the tea was ticking towards zero. Just in time. She-
"Boss Maid! Boss Maid!"
Long practice kept her irritation from showing as she turned to face the interloper.
Sakuya frowned.
The maid was a mess. Cerulean hair singed, one sleeve of her uniform was torn away entirely, and the skirt had a clean hole through the center, like someone had fired a danmaku bullet between the fairy's legs.
"Yes?"
"Boss, I just came from downstairs! It was like, super dark down there, and there's all those bones and stuff, and it's scary, even though you always make me go anyway, and-"
"What do you need?" Sakuya said coolly. The timer for teatime was coming dangerously close to 'now.'
"Oh!" The maid blinked, seeming to remember why she was upset. "I was supposed to get Lady Flandre's dresses for the laundry, but she was awake, and she was soooo grumpy! But she uh- she said that she wanted to see you."
"You mean she wished to speak to her sister?"
Sakuya's frown deepened as the maid shook her head in response.
"Nuh-uh! She said 'Send me the Boss Maid, or I'll come get her myself.'" The maid gestured toward her ruined dress and hair. "She's really grumpy tonight."
"I see. Put that dress in the trash, and you are dismissed for the night. Fix your hair before tomorrow."
She strode towards the veranda, already preparing her apologies for the delay, when the maid called after her.
"But Lady Flandre said, 'Do it in five minutes!' And that was like forever ago because I couldn't find you."
Sakuya stopped. The words took an instant to set in, and then she had a hand on her watch.
Click .
The world went still and quiet, all the colors turning to inverted monochrome. Sakuya took flight. Half a second to drop the tray onto the table beside a frozen Remilia.
Click .
The eldest Scarlet was long-used to Sakuya's appearances, and didn't even twitch at her arrival.
"Milady, I apologize for my lateness, but something urgent with your sister seems to have come up."
Remilia tilted her head slightly. "Is that so? She's not rampaging again, is she?"
"No, Milady." She relayed what the maid had said to her, as fast as she could.
"Ah." Remilia yawned and waved a hand. "I slept poorly. I trust you can take care of it, Sakuya?"
"Yes, Milady."
She waited just long enough for Remilia to give an affirming nod before she touched her watch again.
Sakuya moved. She had all the time in the world, yes, but Flandre demanded urgency. She hadn't ever made a request like this, actually sending a messenger to relay it. If she wanted something, she'd usually just stand at her door and yell until someone heard her. Or, on bad days, kick down the door and come get what she wanted.
But sending a messenger? That was the kind of thing Remilia would do, and showed a degree of restraint that Flandre just didn't have. When Flandre Scarlet wanted something, she'd go get it herself, regardless of the consequences.
The air was stale, in Sakuya's timeless world, and flying without a breeze never failed to be an odd sensation. The spell matrix that warped the hallways had a distorting effect on time and space, and the mansion interior was always blurred and unfocused, the details nebulous when she stopped time.
It took her nearly ten minutes to locate the hallway leading to Flandre's domain. Today, it was sandwiched between two moonlit gardens, almost a mirror of the windowed colonnade that led to Remilia.
Time resumed as she touched down.
Flandre's door was open just a hair. Sakuya's initial thought that the maid had left it open was replaced by a more disquieting one: Flandre had left it open for her. Another degree of restraint that she'd rarely shown.
Sakuya pulled it fully open. The basement staircase yawned before her, the stench of old blood and death wafting up from the stones.
"Lady Scarlet, I'm here," she called. Her voice echoed down the stairs and vanished into the gloom.
There was no response from below.
She descended.
Flandre's realm was exempt from the space-changing magic that affected most of the house, but taking the stairs always held a degree of risk. Flandre's tantrums had left clawmarks gouged into the walls, and the stairs were not always whole. Sakuya opted to just hover a few inches off the pitted stones rather than risk tripping over loose rubble.
It was pitch black below. Sakuya whispered a cantrip as she went. It was something from the days before her life as Head Maid, when she'd had other reasons to need to see in the dark. The shadows flickered and then clarified, details looming up around her as the darkvision engaged.
The stairs came to a landing and then turned at a right angle, descending ten more yards before meeting the stone floor of the basement.
Sakuya continued hovering, her heels brushing over the scattered bones and mess that carpeted the room. Though, room didn't do it justice. The basement ran the full length and width of the mansion, and even with her spell, Sakuya couldn't penetrate far into the darkness. It was more like a cave. It smelled like a cave, all dampness and stale death.
"Lady Scarlet? You wished to see me?" Her voice was calm and steady. Another old habit. Vampires were predators, and responded to perceived weakness with aggression. It helped that she wasn't frightened of Flandre. The girl was dangerous, yes, but also fragile and childlike.
Sakuya was more worried about what had happened to trigger this change in Flandre's behavior than of what Flandre was actually doing with it.
She hovered aimlessly, crossing a long expanse of stone and bones.
"Sa-ku-yaaa." Flandre's voice sang from all around her.
Sakuya stopped.
Two eyes opened just at the edge of Sakuya's vision. Red, bright enough to shine through the dark.
"Milady. You called?"
The sound of small footsteps, of things crunching underfoot answered her. Flandre materialized from the shadows, wings chiming like bells on every step.
Her dress was crimson trimmed with white, her stockings pale against mary-janes. Her usual mobcap was absent, though her hair was neater than the usual blood-clotted tangle. And…
Sakuya's frown returned. It wasn't just Flandre's hair that was cleaner. Her dress was unstained, with none of the tears she accumulated playing in the basement. She often just went nude, with no one to see her, but here she was, fully dressed and groomed, and… smiling.
"Took you long enough," Flandre said, pouting playfully. "I bet Big Sis was being boring again, wasn't she?"
"The maid was tardy. I apologize for my delay though, Lady Scarlet."
"Doesn't matter." Flandre rolled her blazing eyes and kept walking, padding toward Sakuya. Sakuya stayed still, letting Flandre circle her, drawing ever inward until she spoke from just beside Sakuya's ear.
"You know what today is, Sakuya?"
"Thursday, January 5th, Milady. The year is-"
"Nope!" Flandre shook her head hard enough to send her wings ringing. "Don't care! What's next week?"
Sakuya paused for a moment, examining a mental calendar. Coming-Of-Age-Day was on the 11th, but the Scarlets didn't celebrate the Japanese holidays most of Gensokyo did, and Flandre was much too old for… Flandre was too old for…
Oh dear.
"Your birthday is January 15th."
"Yes!" Flandre darted around her and caught Sakuya's hands in a grip bordering on crushing. "My birthday! I'm going to be 500 this year, and I started thinking. I have nothing else to do down here but think. But maybe it's time I started being a little more grown up."
"I confess that your age had slipped my mind, Milady," Sakuya said, bowing her head apologetically. "Did you want to have a party this year?"
Now that she thought of it, she didn't think Remilia had ever actually celebrated a birthday in the time that she had known her. The numbers probably lost meaning after a couple centuries. Where in the hell had Flandre even come up with this idea?
"If you want." Flandre looked unenthused with the idea, floating listlessly a few feet away from Sakuya now.
"I would have to ask your sister. She would be in charge of the preparations, after all." And in charge of denying it, because a party would be overstimulating for Flandre, and likely deadly for everyone involved.
"Would there be gifts at a party? I thought- that's what I wanted to ask you about. I'm going to be more of a grownup now." Flandre gestured at her dress. "Doing grownup stuff, helping Remi with things."
Sakuya controlled her eye twitch. Where had Flandre gotten this notion from? Had the fairies said something to her? Fairies always had lots of stupid notions in their heads, and Flandre was just so impressionable. She was sheltered!
"But what I really wanted…" She was hesitating now, her words faltering. "Cuz you and Remi always do it, and I'm kinda… jealous, because all I have is the dumb food the maids bring, but…" Flandre trailed off, twiddling her fingers. If she'd been able to blush, she would have been.
"Yes, Milady?"
"I wanna… I wanna drink your blood, Sakuya."
Notes:
Likely to be no more than 2-3 chapters.
I had ideas of smutty Sakuya/Remilia stuff, with Remi drinking from Saku, and went on a kick of reading those fics, (all 4 of them... ;_; ), and then this popped up. Something that is neither smutty nor Saku/Remi. Honestly not sure what kicked this off. I'm not a big fan of Flandre at all.
Looking for Group (Worm)
Looking For Group
"So, I know we're always looking for new talent, but I hadn't pegged us as your... scene."
Purity rolled her glowing shoulders in a shrug. "You're my last resort."
"It couldn't have been that bad," Jack Slash said, rubbing his beard bemusedly.
"Think again," Purity muttered. "Ma- Kaiser is too much of a sociopath to deal with, and I'm sick of him trying to control me with our kids."
"Nine sociopaths, right here."
Purity didn't seem to hear him. "And so I tried joining other groups. The ABB were out, of course. The others were... problematic."
XXX
"Forgive me if I'm not convinced, Purity," Grue said. Black smoke wreathed his head, making his already dark presence even more ominous.
Purity bit her lip. Okay, Grue's black. Don't use the n-word. Don't call him 'boy.' Just be cool, and maybe Tattletale will agree to vote him out.
"I'm... I'm ready to turn over a new leaf."
Grue sighed visibly, his helmet dipping. Purity didn't miss the nudge Tattletale gave him in the ribs.
"I think we can agree to try."
He held out a hand. A very, very dark-skinned hand.
Purity's eye twitched. Wait. She had this. She knew what to do!
She fist-bumped him.
XXX
"We're mercenaries," Fautline said. "You're not exactly the subtle type, and a neo-nazi doesn't really help our image."
"I'm willing to change," Purity said, fingers drumming on her resume folder. "I- I'm really impressed by how you-"
She glanced around the empty dance floor of the Palanquin. Say something that'll make her trust you.
Her eyes settled on the pale blonde waif staring into space as an orange boy helped her cross to the stairs.
"I really admire your work with mental defectives."
XXX
"Wow. Just... wow," Jack Slash said.
"I know!" Purity shouted. "Nobody wants to give me a chance!"
XXX
"We do have programs that allow villains to make a new start. They're typically not as high profile as you, but I think we can work something out in another city." Armsmaster shuffled papers for a moment. "How do you feel about Detroit?"
"..." Purity said.
XXX
"I know it's awkward because I've beaten most of you into the ground before," Purity said. "But I think your ideals of openness and accountability are really... really... good..."
"If it was possible to hate someone to death..." Gallant muttered from his spot in the corner.
The rest of New Wave continued to give Purity the stink eye.
XXX
"Was there anyone you didn't try?" Jack asked. He sounded almost embarrassed now.
"Well..."
XXX
"..." Skidmark said.
"..." Squealer said.
Purity turned on her heel and walked away.
XXX
"I'm all out of options," Purity moaned. "No one wants to work with me. And you- you guys accept anyone!"
Jack cocked an eyebrow at her. "You're sure you'd fit in with the Nine?"
"I'm willing to try!" She sounded desperate now, and she was, and she was far past caring.
"We're a family," Jack said. "The Nine. So I don't think you'd have any problem if I mentioned that Burnscar is a flaming lesbian?"
Purity's smile tilted down on one side. "I- I think that's very... good for her, that she made that... lifestyle choice."
"And you have no problem with Crawler being African American?"
"Crawler is a giant monster!"
Jack jabbed a finger at her. "So suddenly you won't judge him on skin color?"
He stood up, towering over her. "I don't think this is going to work."
"Please, just give me a chance," she cried.
"Bonesaw's last name is 'Goldstein.'"
Purity flinched backwards. "No!"
"And Shatterbird is from Dubai!"
"Ahhh! Not there!" She had no idea where it was, only that it scared the shit out of her.
"Siberian is half-black, half-white!"
"Race traitor!"
"And she's technically a woman trapped in a man's body!"
Purity paused. "Wait, what?"
"So really, the only member of the Nine you'd get along with would be Mannequin. He's nice and white like you like." Jack sounded genuinely disgusted now.
"What about you and Cherish?"
"No one likes Cherish."
(Somewhere nearby, Cherish looked up from where she was making terrible life choices. "Hey!")
"And me..." Jack continued. "You remember Harbinger, of the original Nine?"
Purity nodded dumbly.
"He and I fucked. A lot."
She nodded again and stood up. "I- I think I'll just see myself out."
"Please do."
He even held the door for her.
"So, I know we're always looking for new talent, but I hadn't pegged us as your... scene."
Purity rolled her glowing shoulders in a shrug. "You're my last resort."
"It couldn't have been that bad," Jack Slash said, rubbing his beard bemusedly.
"Think again," Purity muttered. "Ma- Kaiser is too much of a sociopath to deal with, and I'm sick of him trying to control me with our kids."
"Nine sociopaths, right here."
Purity didn't seem to hear him. "And so I tried joining other groups. The ABB were out, of course. The others were... problematic."
XXX
"Forgive me if I'm not convinced, Purity," Grue said. Black smoke wreathed his head, making his already dark presence even more ominous.
Purity bit her lip. Okay, Grue's black. Don't use the n-word. Don't call him 'boy.' Just be cool, and maybe Tattletale will agree to vote him out.
"I'm... I'm ready to turn over a new leaf."
Grue sighed visibly, his helmet dipping. Purity didn't miss the nudge Tattletale gave him in the ribs.
"I think we can agree to try."
He held out a hand. A very, very dark-skinned hand.
Purity's eye twitched. Wait. She had this. She knew what to do!
She fist-bumped him.
XXX
"We're mercenaries," Fautline said. "You're not exactly the subtle type, and a neo-nazi doesn't really help our image."
"I'm willing to change," Purity said, fingers drumming on her resume folder. "I- I'm really impressed by how you-"
She glanced around the empty dance floor of the Palanquin. Say something that'll make her trust you.
Her eyes settled on the pale blonde waif staring into space as an orange boy helped her cross to the stairs.
"I really admire your work with mental defectives."
XXX
"Wow. Just... wow," Jack Slash said.
"I know!" Purity shouted. "Nobody wants to give me a chance!"
XXX
"We do have programs that allow villains to make a new start. They're typically not as high profile as you, but I think we can work something out in another city." Armsmaster shuffled papers for a moment. "How do you feel about Detroit?"
"..." Purity said.
XXX
"I know it's awkward because I've beaten most of you into the ground before," Purity said. "But I think your ideals of openness and accountability are really... really... good..."
"If it was possible to hate someone to death..." Gallant muttered from his spot in the corner.
The rest of New Wave continued to give Purity the stink eye.
XXX
"Was there anyone you didn't try?" Jack asked. He sounded almost embarrassed now.
"Well..."
XXX
"..." Skidmark said.
"..." Squealer said.
Purity turned on her heel and walked away.
XXX
"I'm all out of options," Purity moaned. "No one wants to work with me. And you- you guys accept anyone!"
Jack cocked an eyebrow at her. "You're sure you'd fit in with the Nine?"
"I'm willing to try!" She sounded desperate now, and she was, and she was far past caring.
"We're a family," Jack said. "The Nine. So I don't think you'd have any problem if I mentioned that Burnscar is a flaming lesbian?"
Purity's smile tilted down on one side. "I- I think that's very... good for her, that she made that... lifestyle choice."
"And you have no problem with Crawler being African American?"
"Crawler is a giant monster!"
Jack jabbed a finger at her. "So suddenly you won't judge him on skin color?"
He stood up, towering over her. "I don't think this is going to work."
"Please, just give me a chance," she cried.
"Bonesaw's last name is 'Goldstein.'"
Purity flinched backwards. "No!"
"And Shatterbird is from Dubai!"
"Ahhh! Not there!" She had no idea where it was, only that it scared the shit out of her.
"Siberian is half-black, half-white!"
"Race traitor!"
"And she's technically a woman trapped in a man's body!"
Purity paused. "Wait, what?"
"So really, the only member of the Nine you'd get along with would be Mannequin. He's nice and white like you like." Jack sounded genuinely disgusted now.
"What about you and Cherish?"
"No one likes Cherish."
(Somewhere nearby, Cherish looked up from where she was making terrible life choices. "Hey!")
"And me..." Jack continued. "You remember Harbinger, of the original Nine?"
Purity nodded dumbly.
"He and I fucked. A lot."
She nodded again and stood up. "I- I think I'll just see myself out."
"Please do."
He even held the door for her.
Deusphage (Worm/God Eater)
Deusphage
Original Prompt: Taylor as an Aragami from God Eater-Burst.
XXX
"Ready?"
The little creature chittered in acknowledgement, squirming and dancing back and forth on the bathroom tile like a puppy. I tossed my handful of nail clippings at it, and it leapt for them, snatching them out of the air with its tendrils and devouring them. I watched it intently for a sign of change, but it looked like the meal was too small to give it any growth.
It chirped again, sounding disappointed at the paltry meal.
"I know, sorry. Maybe... how about this?" I rummaged under the sink, holding up a handful of items for it to examine. After a long moment of serious consideration, it bit into a shampoo bottle, tearing the plastic apart with its jaws. The leftover shampoo still in the bottle frothed up, and the creature ended its meal with a bubble beard.
I laughed and picked it up so it could see itself in the mirror. "Look at you."
The tiny creature stared at its reflection; a bundle of hairlike tendrils wrapped around a six-legged body. It had a thin layer of growth on its blackish skin, more like moss than fur, and I suspected it had been chewing up the grass when I wasn't looking. It blinked, a cluster of red eyes set into its rounded face.
As I held it, its body shook gently and then swelled, gaining a bit of size and weight as it digested the shampoo bottle. After three weeks, it had gone from a clump of my own hair, cut free after Madison stuck gum in it, to an... animal the size of a small cat.
"What are you?" I whispered.
It responded with a quiet chirp, snuggling against my chest, its answer clear. It was mine.
XXX
I was more careful at school now.
Anything that left my body, any bits of me, would become creatures. I'd learned my lesson after an unfortunate shave-session that ended up spawning a bathtub full of tiny, maggot-like worms. My first had come to the rescue, devouring the worms in a matter of seconds and gaining its first growth spurt.
Hair and nails were the biggest hurdle. I had to feed anything to the creature. I'd worried briefly about my period and the horrors that might bring, but I didn't seem to have one anymore. Nor did I have to use the bathroom. I ate and drank, but I never got full.
School was still the biggest threat. The creature had to come with me. It got anxious without me, and the one time I'd left it alone, it had eaten a hole the size of a pizza in the drywall. It huddled in my backpack, and I prayed that it would obey me enough for that.
"Alright, I'll need your essays on contemporary cape culture. Pass them forward." Gladly waved the class into motion.
I dug into my bag. The creature wiggled happily as my fingers touched it, but I pressed it gently to the side, trying to keep it quiet. I found my homework folder and withdrew it. And- and...
"Are you shitting me?" I whispered.
A ragged stub was all the remained of my folder. A few torn pages, just long enough for me to see the title to my essay, ending in a shredded, torn edge.
It had eaten my homework.
Slowly, I put the folder back into my bag. Madison, who sat in front of me, turned to get my essay. She grinned when she saw that I had nothing.
"Didn't even bother, huh?"
"Shut up."
XXX
They cornered me outside after class. Their words washed over me. The same old insults.
Dumb. Stupid. Ugly. Unwanted. Slut. Bitch. Loser.
My hand tightened around my bag strap. The bag shook slightly, the creature reacting to my distress.
"No. Stay," I hissed.
"Talking to yourself now?" Emma chided.
The bag twitched. A thought came to me. A wild, vicious thought. If I opened the bag and let the creature at them, what would happen? It could eat anything.
Anything.
The creature went still inside, tensed, just waiting for me to unleash it.
Emma said something, but I didn't hear. The wave of mocking laughter was enough.
I turned and ran, shoving through the ring of girls. The exit loomed in front of me and I kept going.
XXX
We sat in the basement. I was leaning against a box of Mom's things, her old possessions scattered around me like dead leaves. It had been her that stopped me. Thoughts of what she would think if I let the creature go on Emma and the others.
I raised you better than that, she would say.
And... that wasn't true. I wasn't any better. I was ugly, so ugly on the inside. My hate had eaten me up, burnt away everything about me that Mom would have loved.
Slowly, I raised my backpack. The creature raised its stubby head to watch me.
"Chow down."
It tore the bag from my hand and ripped it to pieces in a matter of seconds. Bits of paper and fabric flew. The creature swallowed up the bag, my homework, pencils, folders, papers, gym clothes, text books... I watched, hands on my knees as it ate my last link to Winslow.
The creature finished the bag and started sniffing out the scraps, getting each one with painstaking care. A stray pen rolled to my feet, and I tossed it back to it. The creature snapped it in two, ink spurting across its many-eyed face like blood. It chewed and swallowed, and that was that.
"We're never going back there," I said.
The creature chittered, its body twitching and growing as it absorbed my bag. It had sprouted a set of small, conical horns around its face, pointing in odd directions. I had a feeling they'd get much larger as it did. Its eyes blinked, and its face shifted, eyes moving aside as another red eye swelled out of its skin. That made seven.
How much could it eat? I wondered. Could it just go on and on, endless, devouring the world like my anger had me?
I picked up the first thing that came to hand. A polaroid, fallen out of one of the album's from Mom's box. Mom and Dad, both young and happy, their arms around as they smiled at the camera.
I held it out to the creature. Stopped. Withdrew it.
"No." It was mine. My memory of Mom. It wasn't right for the creature to eat it.
I folded the picture, the paper crinkling as I creased it. And then I put it in my mouth.
It was easier to chew than I had imagined, and even easier to swallow.
The creature made a happy noise as it saw me eat.
The change came like a heat wave. My whole body shuddered involuntarily, my skin crawling. I exhaled, gasping, my hands clenching and twisting as the change took them.
It came as suddenly as it went, leaving me shaking on the floor.
The creature nuzzled my face, sounding worried.
"I'm... fine," I murmured.
I sat up slowly.
Held up my hands.
They had changed. Not a big thing. But they had changed all the same. Blue, tough skin, had grown over my hands and wrists, spreading in thin, metallic plates like armor. My nails had gone hard and silver, becoming almost clawlike. The back of my left hand boasted a small growth, a hard, cylindrical orange bump.
If I ate more, they would grow. The change would increase.
I knew that for certain now. Something I should have known since the creature first grew from my hair. I wasn't human any longer. There was no hiding this.
No going back now.
I opened the box of Mom's things. It felt... right. It would be my way of remembering her.
I'd swallow up the person named Taylor Hebert and become something new.
"Your name... It's... I'm going to call you Ouroboros," I said to the creature. "That's what we are."
Its eyes lit up and it cocked its head at me. It liked having a name, but more than that, it liked me acknowledging what I was.
I was no different from the creature now. We would eat and eat and eat, until we became something new, something better.
I tugged the first of Mom's things from the box.
"Let's eat."
XXX
A oneshot that I banged out in about 45 minutes. Imagine the creature as a Chibi-Ouroboros, and Taylor's transformation was leading toward Tsukuyomi.
In retrospect, this is probably one of my favorites of the oneshots. Very pleased with how it turned out. I'm hoping to do more God Eater stuff in the future, as I'm about 80% through GE2. Got a lotta inspiration for a fic, and possibly... some smut.
Original Prompt: Taylor as an Aragami from God Eater-Burst.
XXX
"Ready?"
The little creature chittered in acknowledgement, squirming and dancing back and forth on the bathroom tile like a puppy. I tossed my handful of nail clippings at it, and it leapt for them, snatching them out of the air with its tendrils and devouring them. I watched it intently for a sign of change, but it looked like the meal was too small to give it any growth.
It chirped again, sounding disappointed at the paltry meal.
"I know, sorry. Maybe... how about this?" I rummaged under the sink, holding up a handful of items for it to examine. After a long moment of serious consideration, it bit into a shampoo bottle, tearing the plastic apart with its jaws. The leftover shampoo still in the bottle frothed up, and the creature ended its meal with a bubble beard.
I laughed and picked it up so it could see itself in the mirror. "Look at you."
The tiny creature stared at its reflection; a bundle of hairlike tendrils wrapped around a six-legged body. It had a thin layer of growth on its blackish skin, more like moss than fur, and I suspected it had been chewing up the grass when I wasn't looking. It blinked, a cluster of red eyes set into its rounded face.
As I held it, its body shook gently and then swelled, gaining a bit of size and weight as it digested the shampoo bottle. After three weeks, it had gone from a clump of my own hair, cut free after Madison stuck gum in it, to an... animal the size of a small cat.
"What are you?" I whispered.
It responded with a quiet chirp, snuggling against my chest, its answer clear. It was mine.
XXX
I was more careful at school now.
Anything that left my body, any bits of me, would become creatures. I'd learned my lesson after an unfortunate shave-session that ended up spawning a bathtub full of tiny, maggot-like worms. My first had come to the rescue, devouring the worms in a matter of seconds and gaining its first growth spurt.
Hair and nails were the biggest hurdle. I had to feed anything to the creature. I'd worried briefly about my period and the horrors that might bring, but I didn't seem to have one anymore. Nor did I have to use the bathroom. I ate and drank, but I never got full.
School was still the biggest threat. The creature had to come with me. It got anxious without me, and the one time I'd left it alone, it had eaten a hole the size of a pizza in the drywall. It huddled in my backpack, and I prayed that it would obey me enough for that.
"Alright, I'll need your essays on contemporary cape culture. Pass them forward." Gladly waved the class into motion.
I dug into my bag. The creature wiggled happily as my fingers touched it, but I pressed it gently to the side, trying to keep it quiet. I found my homework folder and withdrew it. And- and...
"Are you shitting me?" I whispered.
A ragged stub was all the remained of my folder. A few torn pages, just long enough for me to see the title to my essay, ending in a shredded, torn edge.
It had eaten my homework.
Slowly, I put the folder back into my bag. Madison, who sat in front of me, turned to get my essay. She grinned when she saw that I had nothing.
"Didn't even bother, huh?"
"Shut up."
XXX
They cornered me outside after class. Their words washed over me. The same old insults.
Dumb. Stupid. Ugly. Unwanted. Slut. Bitch. Loser.
My hand tightened around my bag strap. The bag shook slightly, the creature reacting to my distress.
"No. Stay," I hissed.
"Talking to yourself now?" Emma chided.
The bag twitched. A thought came to me. A wild, vicious thought. If I opened the bag and let the creature at them, what would happen? It could eat anything.
Anything.
The creature went still inside, tensed, just waiting for me to unleash it.
Emma said something, but I didn't hear. The wave of mocking laughter was enough.
I turned and ran, shoving through the ring of girls. The exit loomed in front of me and I kept going.
XXX
We sat in the basement. I was leaning against a box of Mom's things, her old possessions scattered around me like dead leaves. It had been her that stopped me. Thoughts of what she would think if I let the creature go on Emma and the others.
I raised you better than that, she would say.
And... that wasn't true. I wasn't any better. I was ugly, so ugly on the inside. My hate had eaten me up, burnt away everything about me that Mom would have loved.
Slowly, I raised my backpack. The creature raised its stubby head to watch me.
"Chow down."
It tore the bag from my hand and ripped it to pieces in a matter of seconds. Bits of paper and fabric flew. The creature swallowed up the bag, my homework, pencils, folders, papers, gym clothes, text books... I watched, hands on my knees as it ate my last link to Winslow.
The creature finished the bag and started sniffing out the scraps, getting each one with painstaking care. A stray pen rolled to my feet, and I tossed it back to it. The creature snapped it in two, ink spurting across its many-eyed face like blood. It chewed and swallowed, and that was that.
"We're never going back there," I said.
The creature chittered, its body twitching and growing as it absorbed my bag. It had sprouted a set of small, conical horns around its face, pointing in odd directions. I had a feeling they'd get much larger as it did. Its eyes blinked, and its face shifted, eyes moving aside as another red eye swelled out of its skin. That made seven.
How much could it eat? I wondered. Could it just go on and on, endless, devouring the world like my anger had me?
I picked up the first thing that came to hand. A polaroid, fallen out of one of the album's from Mom's box. Mom and Dad, both young and happy, their arms around as they smiled at the camera.
I held it out to the creature. Stopped. Withdrew it.
"No." It was mine. My memory of Mom. It wasn't right for the creature to eat it.
I folded the picture, the paper crinkling as I creased it. And then I put it in my mouth.
It was easier to chew than I had imagined, and even easier to swallow.
The creature made a happy noise as it saw me eat.
The change came like a heat wave. My whole body shuddered involuntarily, my skin crawling. I exhaled, gasping, my hands clenching and twisting as the change took them.
It came as suddenly as it went, leaving me shaking on the floor.
The creature nuzzled my face, sounding worried.
"I'm... fine," I murmured.
I sat up slowly.
Held up my hands.
They had changed. Not a big thing. But they had changed all the same. Blue, tough skin, had grown over my hands and wrists, spreading in thin, metallic plates like armor. My nails had gone hard and silver, becoming almost clawlike. The back of my left hand boasted a small growth, a hard, cylindrical orange bump.
If I ate more, they would grow. The change would increase.
I knew that for certain now. Something I should have known since the creature first grew from my hair. I wasn't human any longer. There was no hiding this.
No going back now.
I opened the box of Mom's things. It felt... right. It would be my way of remembering her.
I'd swallow up the person named Taylor Hebert and become something new.
"Your name... It's... I'm going to call you Ouroboros," I said to the creature. "That's what we are."
Its eyes lit up and it cocked its head at me. It liked having a name, but more than that, it liked me acknowledging what I was.
I was no different from the creature now. We would eat and eat and eat, until we became something new, something better.
I tugged the first of Mom's things from the box.
"Let's eat."
XXX
A oneshot that I banged out in about 45 minutes. Imagine the creature as a Chibi-Ouroboros, and Taylor's transformation was leading toward Tsukuyomi.
In retrospect, this is probably one of my favorites of the oneshots. Very pleased with how it turned out. I'm hoping to do more God Eater stuff in the future, as I'm about 80% through GE2. Got a lotta inspiration for a fic, and possibly... some smut.
Heartless (Worm)
Heartless
I didn't have a lot of memories of Dad from early on. He didn't take a lot of interest in us until we got our powers. Before then, my strongest memory of him was at a party. The memory was clear as a bell, untouched by the dreamy haze that seems to fill all childhood memories. I couldn't have been more than five or six at the time.
Christmas at the Vasil household.
I was on his lap. That in itself was unusual. Dad wasn't the touchy-feely sort- not for us at least. The women- moms, bodyguards, whoever, they'd be all over him. But for us, his kids? Not a chance.
And yet I remembered. I was balanced across his lap, one of his arms around me. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the scent of evergreen needles and turkey. That blend of scents always made me think of home. Even years later, triggered by a whiff of sap or a man on the street. In that moment, I was home.
My Dad's scent, his strong arm around me, my back to his chest. The rumble of his laughter carried through me, and I couldn't help smiling too. I was too young then to understand what kind of man my father was. Too young to realize just how rare an opportunity I had then.
"Taylor, why don't you go first?" Dad said.
Mom beamed at him from where she sat at his elbow.
Dad motioned, and Cassie, his favorite bodyguard, picked up a present from under the tree. A couple of the other kids protested, but I ignored them. Not even Nicholas' furious glare could detract from the moment.
Dad loved me. I knew that with a child's certainty. It was a fact. Santa Claus was real, the sky was blue, Cherie was a jerk, and Dad loved me.
"Go ahead, Taylor." Mom said. The sunny warmth of her smile made the moment perfect. Dad loved me. Mom loved me.
I reached out with trembling hands to take the present from Cassie. It was blue, wrapped with green. The same shade of blue as Dad's eyes.
I told him so, and he smiled at me- another rarity, I would realize later. Not the charming smile he used on his women, but an honest, open smile that wrinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Open your present." Dad said. His smile quirked at the edges. "You're making the others jealous."
Cherie scowled at me from across the room. I'd catch hell from her later, but so what? She didn't get to be the favorite. I was the favorite.
The paper crinkled under my fingers as I slowly unfolded the edges of the little box. Next came the ribbon, which I folded up and set carefully to one side. Ribbon gone, I finished unfolding the paper, revealing a box about the size of my hand.
I was almost shaking with restraint by then. For a five year old, holding back while opening presents was meeting the greatest temptation in life and coming out victorious. Moses, Gandhi, Taylor Vasil.
I slid the box top off with the care of a girl defusing a bomb. Tissue paper wrapped the present inside. I reached for it and-
Cold liquid splashed over me. I blinked up through glasses covered in red. A few drops fell from the tip of my nose, and I tasted something nasty and tart.
One of the women- a new girl- Lauren had spilled her drink on Dad. Red wine spread like clouds on Dad's clean white shirt, and my yellow Christmas dress was ruined. The empty wine glass lay on the rug, still beaded with wine.
Everyone in the room stared in horror at Lauren. The Christmas cheer had gone, replaced with a danger I could actually feel; like a thunderstorm on the horizon. Lauren gaped, her mouth working as she tried to say something.
"I- I oh God, Nikos, I didn't- I tripped and-" She babbled on, trying in vain to wipe some of the wine off Dad.
I shifted in Dad's lap, sticky and uncomfortable. Something cold brushed my fingers, and I looked down at my present. Wine sloshed around in the box, the tissue paper already turning to pulp. A glint of silver shone up through the wine.
Numbly, I tilted the present, letting the wine dribble out onto the carpet.
What remained, now just as sticky as I was, was a necklace. A silver chain, with a little pendant shaped like a cracked heart.
"Taylor, why don't you-" Mom reached for me, trying to get me away from Dad before he got angry.
His arm locked around me, almost painfully tight.
"No." He said, not looking at either of us. His gaze was fixed on Lauren. She was almost crying; her fear creeping over into hysteria.
"Taylor," Dad said. He sounded calm, but I could tell he wasn't. "Taylor, I want you to help me with something."
I nodded. Of course I would help him. He was my dad.
"Good girl." His free hand snapped up and caught Lauren's wrist. He jerked her forward and she fell to the carpet, too frightened to even stand. She just huddled there, her hands balled up on the stained rug, surrounded by a room of silent people.
"Taylor, what do you think is a good punishment for Lauren?" Dad said.
I twisted in his lap so I could look at him. He gave me another smile. It wasn't the nice smile he'd given me earlier.
"Don't be shy, sweetheart." Dad said. "Lauren has ruined our Christmas, so I think she deserves a little punishment."
She had messed everything up. But what was I supposed to say for punishment? I knew Dad could punish people with his powers, but I didn't have any powers.
"Nikos, please." Lauren whispered.
"Shut up." He growled. I could feel his whole body tense with anger, and she fell silent instantly.
"Well…" I hesitated. He was really mad, so the punishment had to be something that would make him happy. When I got in trouble, Mom usually took me aside and talked to me. But that wouldn't be good enough here. So… sometimes when I got really mad at Cherie or Jean-Paul, I imagined them getting beat up or run over by cars. But that was only imaginary.
It was a conundrum. I was on the spot in front of everyone. Dad was counting on me. I needed to think- Lauren was in trouble for making a mess. So… you punished a mess with a mess, right? Like when dogs made a mess on tv shows, the owner rubbed their nose in it.
"Hold this, please." I said to Mom. I handed her my present and got up. Everyone stayed quiet, watching me, waiting for me to pass judgment on Lauren. She stared up at me with eyes like saucers.
"Stay here." I told Lauren. If she ran off like Jean-Paul always did when he was in trouble, then she couldn't get punished.
I left the living room and headed for the kitchen. A murmur of talk broke out as I left the room, but Dad turned to watch me, one eyebrow raised.
When I returned, carrying the wine bottle in my arms, the murmur intensified. Cherie was giving me an odd, probing look, and Nicholas was grinning from beside her.
I stood over Lauren, cradling the wine bottle. The moment stretched out, Lauren frozen with horror.
And then I upended the bottle over her. Wine soaked into her sleek party dress and turned the carpet red around her. I held it over her until the bottle was empty and the carpet was swimming with wine.
I mustered all the sternness I could, channeling Mom's best 'angry grown-up' face.
"Clean it up."
"W-what?" Lauren stuttered, looking at me through a curtain of wine-clotted blonde hair.
I jabbed a finger at the soaked carpet.
"You made a mess. Now clean it up."
I'd seen this game before. On one of Dad's weird grown-up tv channels that I wasn't supposed to watch. And once when I accidentally walked in on Dad and Bermuda doing grown-up stuff.
"No hands." I ordered. "Now clean!"
Dad leaned forward and picked me up, settling me back in his lap. He looked down at me, giving me his nice smile again.
"You heard her." He said to Lauren. "Get every drop, or I'll be the one to punish you."
Lauren squeaked with fright, and then bent to try and drink up the wine. I felt a little bad, seeing her crouched there like a bad dog, but being able to sit with Dad outweighed it by a million.
His laughter rumbled in his chest once more, and he waved to the rest of the party. The uncomfortable silence finally broke, and people started talking again.
"Let's get the next present!" Dad roared. "Merry Christmas!"
Mom smiled at me and patted Dad's arm. Cherie was laughing so hard at Lauren that she was crying. Lauren was sobbing silently as she tried to lick the rug clean. Jean-Paul just rolled his eyes at her, and then at me. Whatever. He was just jealous.
Because in that moment, I knew that Mom and Dad loved me.
XXX
Basic premise came from a fic Prim the Amazing did where a pregnant Annette gets abducted during a trip to Montreal. Danny gets a bullet to the face, and Taylor grows up as a Vasil.
Chibi!Taylor continues to be my favorite Taylor.
I didn't have a lot of memories of Dad from early on. He didn't take a lot of interest in us until we got our powers. Before then, my strongest memory of him was at a party. The memory was clear as a bell, untouched by the dreamy haze that seems to fill all childhood memories. I couldn't have been more than five or six at the time.
Christmas at the Vasil household.
I was on his lap. That in itself was unusual. Dad wasn't the touchy-feely sort- not for us at least. The women- moms, bodyguards, whoever, they'd be all over him. But for us, his kids? Not a chance.
And yet I remembered. I was balanced across his lap, one of his arms around me. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the scent of evergreen needles and turkey. That blend of scents always made me think of home. Even years later, triggered by a whiff of sap or a man on the street. In that moment, I was home.
My Dad's scent, his strong arm around me, my back to his chest. The rumble of his laughter carried through me, and I couldn't help smiling too. I was too young then to understand what kind of man my father was. Too young to realize just how rare an opportunity I had then.
"Taylor, why don't you go first?" Dad said.
Mom beamed at him from where she sat at his elbow.
Dad motioned, and Cassie, his favorite bodyguard, picked up a present from under the tree. A couple of the other kids protested, but I ignored them. Not even Nicholas' furious glare could detract from the moment.
Dad loved me. I knew that with a child's certainty. It was a fact. Santa Claus was real, the sky was blue, Cherie was a jerk, and Dad loved me.
"Go ahead, Taylor." Mom said. The sunny warmth of her smile made the moment perfect. Dad loved me. Mom loved me.
I reached out with trembling hands to take the present from Cassie. It was blue, wrapped with green. The same shade of blue as Dad's eyes.
I told him so, and he smiled at me- another rarity, I would realize later. Not the charming smile he used on his women, but an honest, open smile that wrinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Open your present." Dad said. His smile quirked at the edges. "You're making the others jealous."
Cherie scowled at me from across the room. I'd catch hell from her later, but so what? She didn't get to be the favorite. I was the favorite.
The paper crinkled under my fingers as I slowly unfolded the edges of the little box. Next came the ribbon, which I folded up and set carefully to one side. Ribbon gone, I finished unfolding the paper, revealing a box about the size of my hand.
I was almost shaking with restraint by then. For a five year old, holding back while opening presents was meeting the greatest temptation in life and coming out victorious. Moses, Gandhi, Taylor Vasil.
I slid the box top off with the care of a girl defusing a bomb. Tissue paper wrapped the present inside. I reached for it and-
Cold liquid splashed over me. I blinked up through glasses covered in red. A few drops fell from the tip of my nose, and I tasted something nasty and tart.
One of the women- a new girl- Lauren had spilled her drink on Dad. Red wine spread like clouds on Dad's clean white shirt, and my yellow Christmas dress was ruined. The empty wine glass lay on the rug, still beaded with wine.
Everyone in the room stared in horror at Lauren. The Christmas cheer had gone, replaced with a danger I could actually feel; like a thunderstorm on the horizon. Lauren gaped, her mouth working as she tried to say something.
"I- I oh God, Nikos, I didn't- I tripped and-" She babbled on, trying in vain to wipe some of the wine off Dad.
I shifted in Dad's lap, sticky and uncomfortable. Something cold brushed my fingers, and I looked down at my present. Wine sloshed around in the box, the tissue paper already turning to pulp. A glint of silver shone up through the wine.
Numbly, I tilted the present, letting the wine dribble out onto the carpet.
What remained, now just as sticky as I was, was a necklace. A silver chain, with a little pendant shaped like a cracked heart.
"Taylor, why don't you-" Mom reached for me, trying to get me away from Dad before he got angry.
His arm locked around me, almost painfully tight.
"No." He said, not looking at either of us. His gaze was fixed on Lauren. She was almost crying; her fear creeping over into hysteria.
"Taylor," Dad said. He sounded calm, but I could tell he wasn't. "Taylor, I want you to help me with something."
I nodded. Of course I would help him. He was my dad.
"Good girl." His free hand snapped up and caught Lauren's wrist. He jerked her forward and she fell to the carpet, too frightened to even stand. She just huddled there, her hands balled up on the stained rug, surrounded by a room of silent people.
"Taylor, what do you think is a good punishment for Lauren?" Dad said.
I twisted in his lap so I could look at him. He gave me another smile. It wasn't the nice smile he'd given me earlier.
"Don't be shy, sweetheart." Dad said. "Lauren has ruined our Christmas, so I think she deserves a little punishment."
She had messed everything up. But what was I supposed to say for punishment? I knew Dad could punish people with his powers, but I didn't have any powers.
"Nikos, please." Lauren whispered.
"Shut up." He growled. I could feel his whole body tense with anger, and she fell silent instantly.
"Well…" I hesitated. He was really mad, so the punishment had to be something that would make him happy. When I got in trouble, Mom usually took me aside and talked to me. But that wouldn't be good enough here. So… sometimes when I got really mad at Cherie or Jean-Paul, I imagined them getting beat up or run over by cars. But that was only imaginary.
It was a conundrum. I was on the spot in front of everyone. Dad was counting on me. I needed to think- Lauren was in trouble for making a mess. So… you punished a mess with a mess, right? Like when dogs made a mess on tv shows, the owner rubbed their nose in it.
"Hold this, please." I said to Mom. I handed her my present and got up. Everyone stayed quiet, watching me, waiting for me to pass judgment on Lauren. She stared up at me with eyes like saucers.
"Stay here." I told Lauren. If she ran off like Jean-Paul always did when he was in trouble, then she couldn't get punished.
I left the living room and headed for the kitchen. A murmur of talk broke out as I left the room, but Dad turned to watch me, one eyebrow raised.
When I returned, carrying the wine bottle in my arms, the murmur intensified. Cherie was giving me an odd, probing look, and Nicholas was grinning from beside her.
I stood over Lauren, cradling the wine bottle. The moment stretched out, Lauren frozen with horror.
And then I upended the bottle over her. Wine soaked into her sleek party dress and turned the carpet red around her. I held it over her until the bottle was empty and the carpet was swimming with wine.
I mustered all the sternness I could, channeling Mom's best 'angry grown-up' face.
"Clean it up."
"W-what?" Lauren stuttered, looking at me through a curtain of wine-clotted blonde hair.
I jabbed a finger at the soaked carpet.
"You made a mess. Now clean it up."
I'd seen this game before. On one of Dad's weird grown-up tv channels that I wasn't supposed to watch. And once when I accidentally walked in on Dad and Bermuda doing grown-up stuff.
"No hands." I ordered. "Now clean!"
Dad leaned forward and picked me up, settling me back in his lap. He looked down at me, giving me his nice smile again.
"You heard her." He said to Lauren. "Get every drop, or I'll be the one to punish you."
Lauren squeaked with fright, and then bent to try and drink up the wine. I felt a little bad, seeing her crouched there like a bad dog, but being able to sit with Dad outweighed it by a million.
His laughter rumbled in his chest once more, and he waved to the rest of the party. The uncomfortable silence finally broke, and people started talking again.
"Let's get the next present!" Dad roared. "Merry Christmas!"
Mom smiled at me and patted Dad's arm. Cherie was laughing so hard at Lauren that she was crying. Lauren was sobbing silently as she tried to lick the rug clean. Jean-Paul just rolled his eyes at her, and then at me. Whatever. He was just jealous.
Because in that moment, I knew that Mom and Dad loved me.
XXX
Basic premise came from a fic Prim the Amazing did where a pregnant Annette gets abducted during a trip to Montreal. Danny gets a bullet to the face, and Taylor grows up as a Vasil.
Chibi!Taylor continues to be my favorite Taylor.
Strangers on a Train (Worm)
Strangers on a Train
The driver gave her a long stare as she got on the bus. He opened his mouth as if to tell her to go away, and then shut it again, shaking his head. She fumbled for her bus pass and withdrew it dripping from a pocket, the laminated surface smeared with congealing soda.
"Just get in," the driver said, jerking his thumb toward the back of the bus.
She nodded and walked away before he could reconsider. Her shoes squished with each step, and she agonized over the sounds- could anyone else hear them?
The bus was sparsely populated; it was midday, and most people were either at work already, or done with their errands. She passed a few older women with shopping bags, and gave a wide berth to a tattooed man sitting in one of the side-seats. A Latino girl glanced up at her, and then did a double-take. Taylor hurried by, her head down.
The back seats were occupied by a trio of young men in the rough jackets she associated with blue-collar workers. They all looked at her, but no remarks came her way. It was only that that made her sit down where she was, rather than retreating back to the front. She was roughly 3/4s of the way back, in a small gulf where no one else sat.
The bus revved into motion, and she stared out the window, watching as the scenery changed around her. It was a distraction from the sickly-sweet reek of juice that surrounded her, and the way her hair was drying into stiff, tacky clumps.
They made it a few blocks before her eyes unfocused and she turned away, her mind churning over what had happened.
Emma.
That bathroom was one more place she couldn't hide now. Little by little, she was being hunted down and driven like- like a stupid, frightened rabbit.
Taylor closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the back of the seat in front of her.
Five more months of school. Just five more, she promised herself. It didn't make her feel better. Every day felt like a war; not hours long, but weeks. Prolonged campaigns from the other girls with the sole purpose of breaking her down.
She sighed, and unbidden, a little voice in her head added, 'Two more years.' Not five months. Five months plus two years.
A sticky bead of liquid slid down her cheek. It felt like a tear, but she wasn't crying. Tears hadn't done anything. She'd dried up long ago.
The bus stopped, and a few of the passengers departed through the side door. Several more got on at the front, filing down the aisle. She noticed them only vaguely; glancing up, checking for threats, for anyone who might do something, and then returned to staring at the floor.
A man sat down in the seat across the aisle from her. Taylor turned away so he couldn't see what a mess she was. Hopefully, and she almost laughed bitterly at the thought, he'd think she was just another homeless person.
The bus started up again, turning down a side street as it headed for the next stop. There would be four more before hers.
"Excuse me."
The landscape outside blurred into a mélange of shapes and colors; all dirty buildings and concrete.
"Miss?"
Taylor blinked. She looked up.
The man in the other seat was eyeing her. He held out a hand, and she drew back reflexively.
"It's alright," he said. He opened his hand, showing her a folded white handkerchief. "See?"
She stared, making no move to take it. Annoyance flared up inside her. Why couldn't he just leave her alone and mind his own business? She looked at him again. What was this about? People didn't just do stuff like this in Brockton Bay.
The man's age was indeterminate, older than thirty, maybe forty, from the fine lines at the corners of his dark eyes, but it was hard to say. He had a… vitality about him, something in the way he sat, and the calm, knowing smile on his face, that she hated at once. It was an ugly, basic feeling- jealousy that he was happier than her.
The man didn't lower his hand though. "I don't bite," he said, a note of laughter in his voice.
"What do you want?"
His smile widened just a bit. The man brushed a strand of his long, black hair back with his free hand, tucking it back into the loose ponytail he wore. "You looked like you needed to dry off."
"Don't worry about it." She knew she sounded rude, and didn't care. It wasn't his problem.
"Alright then." He pocketed the handkerchief, but didn't turn away. Taylor's annoyance grew into anger, her fists balling in her lap. Go away.
"How did that happen?"
"None of your business."
"Of course not." He shrugged lazily. "Doesn't mean I can't be curious."
She returned to looking out the window and didn't answer.
"I'm a bit of a people person," the man continued, his voice still calm and undaunted by her rejection. "And right now… I'd say you're having a bad time."
No shit.
"Teenage girl, alone on her own in the middle of a school day, all covered in… what is that- soda? Having trouble at school, darling?"
Taylor whipped around, all her frustration from the day boiling over, pushed past the breaking point by this man who just-wouldn't-go.
"Fuck off!" she hissed at him.
A few nearby passengers glanced back at her, and she lowered her voice even further, snarling her words at the man.
"Just leave me alone. What do you care, huh?!"
He only blinked slowly. "Like I said, kiddo, I'm just a curious observer. I saw someone in-" He paused. "Someone who needed someone else to talk to."
She curled her lip at him, uncaring of what he thought- he was a stranger. "Leave me alone."
"What does it cost you?"
That stopped her. She squinted at him through her smudged glasses. The man had an angular face, his chin lightly-stubbled; he looked vaguely familiar. She didn't know him from somewhere, did she? Was that why he was being so odd?
"What does what cost me?"
"To talk to me," he explained.
The bus came to a stop, and their conversation paused while passengers came on and off.
"Why would I want to talk to you?"
"Why not?"
She turned to fully face him for the first time. Her anger had ebbed, replaced with something more like incredulity at the man's sheer persistence.
"I'm a stranger," he said. "I don't want anything from you, and I thought you might like a friendly ear to ah- vent to." The man held up his hands as if to say 'why not?' "Besides, I'm only in town for a week or two, tops, for business."
Taylor didn't answer him. The red flags were still up; this whole thing felt eerie, but the man was just so earnest… and insistent. Was he maybe- was this a gang thing? Did gangs recruit like this? She bit her lip. What if it was some kind of weird sex thing? An older man trying to pick up a teenage girl.
She dismissed that thought as quickly as it came. Nobody was that desperate.
The bus rolled to a stop; the street outside well-known to her. Her stop. Taylor got up and moved toward the door.
She glanced back- was the man following her? No. He'd stayed sitting. As she stared, he looked up from his cell phone, smiled, and then nodded to her.
Her shoes squicking against the rubber floor mats, Taylor got off the bus and headed for home.
XXX
If she'd thought the next day of school was going to be better- and she hadn't, she'd have been wrong.
The trio had been emboldened by their success with the juice prank, and had come at her like a pack of wolves the second she walked through the door.
Taylor had promised herself- had promised her mother that she'd stick it out, school was more important, but it was a hollow thought.
She came back from lunch to find her locker ajar. The interior had been coated with a thick, tarry substance, globules of the stuff running down onto the floor. Pasted into the tar was a collage of words and letters cut from magazine pages.
Slut. Whore. Cancer. Bitch. Kill yourself. Cunt.
The centerpiece was four words orbited by a cloud of smaller expletives.
"HER DEATH. YOUR FAULT."
Taylor turned and ran.
She was in tears when the bus came, hating herself for them, but unable to stop.
Tired. She was so fucking tired of this.
The bus driver barely looked at her this time. She stumbled back to the seat she'd had the day before, and sank into it, her insides twisting with suppressed hate.
It was ten minutes before the next stop. She watched for the man this time, and was surprised at the relief she felt when he got on. He made his way to his seat, weaving through the other passengers with graceful ease.
Taylor took a deep breath. She had to tell someone. Journaling what they did wasn't enough. It didn't help. Telling dad would only make it worse.
"Do you-" She swallowed. "Do you still want to talk?"
"Of course." He held out a hand to her once again, empty this time. Not an offering, but a greeting. She reached out and shook it once, feeling smooth calluses against her palm.
"I'm Taylor."
The man's smile appeared once more.
"Call me Jacob."
XXX
This one came directly out of too many fics where Taylor runs into 'a really helpful blonde girl with freckles' in odd places around Brockton. I got tired of them and started thinking of other possibilities.
I came extremely close to getting another chapter of this one out, but when I went to finish the next one, I found out it had been lost when my last laptop died forever. I kind of lost momentum, and haven't really been able to catch the vibe I had when I was writing it.
The driver gave her a long stare as she got on the bus. He opened his mouth as if to tell her to go away, and then shut it again, shaking his head. She fumbled for her bus pass and withdrew it dripping from a pocket, the laminated surface smeared with congealing soda.
"Just get in," the driver said, jerking his thumb toward the back of the bus.
She nodded and walked away before he could reconsider. Her shoes squished with each step, and she agonized over the sounds- could anyone else hear them?
The bus was sparsely populated; it was midday, and most people were either at work already, or done with their errands. She passed a few older women with shopping bags, and gave a wide berth to a tattooed man sitting in one of the side-seats. A Latino girl glanced up at her, and then did a double-take. Taylor hurried by, her head down.
The back seats were occupied by a trio of young men in the rough jackets she associated with blue-collar workers. They all looked at her, but no remarks came her way. It was only that that made her sit down where she was, rather than retreating back to the front. She was roughly 3/4s of the way back, in a small gulf where no one else sat.
The bus revved into motion, and she stared out the window, watching as the scenery changed around her. It was a distraction from the sickly-sweet reek of juice that surrounded her, and the way her hair was drying into stiff, tacky clumps.
They made it a few blocks before her eyes unfocused and she turned away, her mind churning over what had happened.
Emma.
That bathroom was one more place she couldn't hide now. Little by little, she was being hunted down and driven like- like a stupid, frightened rabbit.
Taylor closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the back of the seat in front of her.
Five more months of school. Just five more, she promised herself. It didn't make her feel better. Every day felt like a war; not hours long, but weeks. Prolonged campaigns from the other girls with the sole purpose of breaking her down.
She sighed, and unbidden, a little voice in her head added, 'Two more years.' Not five months. Five months plus two years.
A sticky bead of liquid slid down her cheek. It felt like a tear, but she wasn't crying. Tears hadn't done anything. She'd dried up long ago.
The bus stopped, and a few of the passengers departed through the side door. Several more got on at the front, filing down the aisle. She noticed them only vaguely; glancing up, checking for threats, for anyone who might do something, and then returned to staring at the floor.
A man sat down in the seat across the aisle from her. Taylor turned away so he couldn't see what a mess she was. Hopefully, and she almost laughed bitterly at the thought, he'd think she was just another homeless person.
The bus started up again, turning down a side street as it headed for the next stop. There would be four more before hers.
"Excuse me."
The landscape outside blurred into a mélange of shapes and colors; all dirty buildings and concrete.
"Miss?"
Taylor blinked. She looked up.
The man in the other seat was eyeing her. He held out a hand, and she drew back reflexively.
"It's alright," he said. He opened his hand, showing her a folded white handkerchief. "See?"
She stared, making no move to take it. Annoyance flared up inside her. Why couldn't he just leave her alone and mind his own business? She looked at him again. What was this about? People didn't just do stuff like this in Brockton Bay.
The man's age was indeterminate, older than thirty, maybe forty, from the fine lines at the corners of his dark eyes, but it was hard to say. He had a… vitality about him, something in the way he sat, and the calm, knowing smile on his face, that she hated at once. It was an ugly, basic feeling- jealousy that he was happier than her.
The man didn't lower his hand though. "I don't bite," he said, a note of laughter in his voice.
"What do you want?"
His smile widened just a bit. The man brushed a strand of his long, black hair back with his free hand, tucking it back into the loose ponytail he wore. "You looked like you needed to dry off."
"Don't worry about it." She knew she sounded rude, and didn't care. It wasn't his problem.
"Alright then." He pocketed the handkerchief, but didn't turn away. Taylor's annoyance grew into anger, her fists balling in her lap. Go away.
"How did that happen?"
"None of your business."
"Of course not." He shrugged lazily. "Doesn't mean I can't be curious."
She returned to looking out the window and didn't answer.
"I'm a bit of a people person," the man continued, his voice still calm and undaunted by her rejection. "And right now… I'd say you're having a bad time."
No shit.
"Teenage girl, alone on her own in the middle of a school day, all covered in… what is that- soda? Having trouble at school, darling?"
Taylor whipped around, all her frustration from the day boiling over, pushed past the breaking point by this man who just-wouldn't-go.
"Fuck off!" she hissed at him.
A few nearby passengers glanced back at her, and she lowered her voice even further, snarling her words at the man.
"Just leave me alone. What do you care, huh?!"
He only blinked slowly. "Like I said, kiddo, I'm just a curious observer. I saw someone in-" He paused. "Someone who needed someone else to talk to."
She curled her lip at him, uncaring of what he thought- he was a stranger. "Leave me alone."
"What does it cost you?"
That stopped her. She squinted at him through her smudged glasses. The man had an angular face, his chin lightly-stubbled; he looked vaguely familiar. She didn't know him from somewhere, did she? Was that why he was being so odd?
"What does what cost me?"
"To talk to me," he explained.
The bus came to a stop, and their conversation paused while passengers came on and off.
"Why would I want to talk to you?"
"Why not?"
She turned to fully face him for the first time. Her anger had ebbed, replaced with something more like incredulity at the man's sheer persistence.
"I'm a stranger," he said. "I don't want anything from you, and I thought you might like a friendly ear to ah- vent to." The man held up his hands as if to say 'why not?' "Besides, I'm only in town for a week or two, tops, for business."
Taylor didn't answer him. The red flags were still up; this whole thing felt eerie, but the man was just so earnest… and insistent. Was he maybe- was this a gang thing? Did gangs recruit like this? She bit her lip. What if it was some kind of weird sex thing? An older man trying to pick up a teenage girl.
She dismissed that thought as quickly as it came. Nobody was that desperate.
The bus rolled to a stop; the street outside well-known to her. Her stop. Taylor got up and moved toward the door.
She glanced back- was the man following her? No. He'd stayed sitting. As she stared, he looked up from his cell phone, smiled, and then nodded to her.
Her shoes squicking against the rubber floor mats, Taylor got off the bus and headed for home.
XXX
If she'd thought the next day of school was going to be better- and she hadn't, she'd have been wrong.
The trio had been emboldened by their success with the juice prank, and had come at her like a pack of wolves the second she walked through the door.
Taylor had promised herself- had promised her mother that she'd stick it out, school was more important, but it was a hollow thought.
She came back from lunch to find her locker ajar. The interior had been coated with a thick, tarry substance, globules of the stuff running down onto the floor. Pasted into the tar was a collage of words and letters cut from magazine pages.
Slut. Whore. Cancer. Bitch. Kill yourself. Cunt.
The centerpiece was four words orbited by a cloud of smaller expletives.
"HER DEATH. YOUR FAULT."
Taylor turned and ran.
She was in tears when the bus came, hating herself for them, but unable to stop.
Tired. She was so fucking tired of this.
The bus driver barely looked at her this time. She stumbled back to the seat she'd had the day before, and sank into it, her insides twisting with suppressed hate.
It was ten minutes before the next stop. She watched for the man this time, and was surprised at the relief she felt when he got on. He made his way to his seat, weaving through the other passengers with graceful ease.
Taylor took a deep breath. She had to tell someone. Journaling what they did wasn't enough. It didn't help. Telling dad would only make it worse.
"Do you-" She swallowed. "Do you still want to talk?"
"Of course." He held out a hand to her once again, empty this time. Not an offering, but a greeting. She reached out and shook it once, feeling smooth calluses against her palm.
"I'm Taylor."
The man's smile appeared once more.
"Call me Jacob."
XXX
This one came directly out of too many fics where Taylor runs into 'a really helpful blonde girl with freckles' in odd places around Brockton. I got tired of them and started thinking of other possibilities.
I came extremely close to getting another chapter of this one out, but when I went to finish the next one, I found out it had been lost when my last laptop died forever. I kind of lost momentum, and haven't really been able to catch the vibe I had when I was writing it.