When Taylor Hebert suffers a fatal arrythmia before the Queen Administrator can reach her, a Queen of another kind greets her in the space between death and the grave, and makes Taylor into her Black Rose.
The Black Rose of Brockton Bay
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But Hold, No Tears Please
grommile
nasty-minded old cynic
- Location
- NERV-Mercia
- Pronouns
- Traditional/Animate
In a filth-filled locker, in a decaying school called Winslow High, in a decaying city called Brockton Bay, on a decaying planet called Earth Bet, a tall, slim girl with black hair took one last breath of foetid air and was still.
Overburdened by panic, Taylor Hebert's heart rested from its labours. No more would it pump in her chest and circulate the blood that sustained her. It would rest, and her blood would be still, and her thoughts would fade away forever.
In a graveyard that stretched away as far as the eye could see, Taylor Hebert's soul stood face to face with a woman not so much dressed as encompassed in layers upon layers of gauzy black silk.
"Welcome, Taylor daughter of Annette," said the woman, her tone warm but accompanied by some kind of buzzing undertone. "Thou facest an ending. Wouldst thou like it to lead to a beginning?"
"What's going on?"
"Thy body is dead. One of the petty frailties of the human form caused thy heart to stumble and fall. In a few minutes someone will find thee. Wouldst thou rather they find thee dead in that metal box, or alive and dreadful in thy beauty?"
"Beauty? I'm not—"
Taylor didn't see the woman move, but suddenly there was an insistently silencing finger pressed to Taylor's lips, its icy chill barely softened by the layers of silk.
"Hush." The woman's voice was suddenly cold and stern. "I see thy beauty, and thou'rt forbidden to deny it, even in thy heart where only thou and I may hear."
The finger withdrew as abruptly as it had arrived, and Taylor nodded.
"Good. Now, wouldst thou take my gift of a new beginning, and become my black rose, dreadful in thy beauty and graceful in thy strength?"
"Um, what's the catch? I mean, there has to be one."
"The gift itself is the catch. Thou shalt have grace and might and beauty in a world hell-bent on tearing itself asunder. Better, certes, to have them than not, but they shall bring their own burdens once they become known."
"You said something about being your 'black rose'. What's that about?"
"I may have tasks for thee to accomplish, to justify the gift of thy thorns and perfumed petals. They shall not be utterly beyond thee, neither shall they be abhorrent to thee, but they shall be a bloody-handed business."
That was about what Taylor expected. Probably better, even. "Fine. So do I sign something?"
"Takest thou me for the Devil? Thou needst only say, in plain words, that thou shalt be my black rose."
"I'll be your black rose."
"And I shall be thy Queen in Black Silk," replied the woman, her tone driving home that that was a title, not just a description.
An ice-cold palm slapped against Taylor's forehead, and the graveyard and its rustling trees gave way to the rose-scented interior of Taylor's locker and the sound of the first-period bell.
Thread started by Your Best Nightmare 12:30pm EST
Subject: New cape in town?
We've got a new cape here in BB.
Some girl got stuffed into a locker this morning, and when we were heading out of class after first period, this new cape appeared in the hallway, ripped the locker open, and helped the girl out.
[IMG:sevenhundredveils.jpg]
I'd call her "Seven Veils" but I think seven hundred might be closer. That cloth is crazy thin, but there's so much of it I couldn't see anything. Not even her eyes.
Those are rose petals on the floor, by the way. Black rose petals. Like, blacker than my gothic Brocktonite soul. They even feel and smell real.
- YBN
Reply by Void Cowboy 12:31 EST
Did anyone else get a better picture? Asking for a friend.
Reply by Lizard King 12:31 EST
Did VC just learn subtlety?
Reply by Your Best Nightmare 12:32 EST
Nobody wanted to get close. She took that door off with her hands and bent it in half.
Then she vanished after helping the girl out of her locker, like she teleported out or something.
Reply by Severina777 12:34 EST
700? y not 777, much better number
love is the law love under will
Reply by AllSeeingEye 12:35 EST
756 veils.
Reply by Your Best Nightmare 12:36 EST
That's really precise, Eye. And kind of out there. Care to explain?
Reply by AllSeeingEye 12:39 EST
Not just no but hell no.
And if you push, I will explain exactly why your username is terrible and you should feel terrible for using it.
Overburdened by panic, Taylor Hebert's heart rested from its labours. No more would it pump in her chest and circulate the blood that sustained her. It would rest, and her blood would be still, and her thoughts would fade away forever.
In a graveyard that stretched away as far as the eye could see, Taylor Hebert's soul stood face to face with a woman not so much dressed as encompassed in layers upon layers of gauzy black silk.
"Welcome, Taylor daughter of Annette," said the woman, her tone warm but accompanied by some kind of buzzing undertone. "Thou facest an ending. Wouldst thou like it to lead to a beginning?"
"What's going on?"
"Thy body is dead. One of the petty frailties of the human form caused thy heart to stumble and fall. In a few minutes someone will find thee. Wouldst thou rather they find thee dead in that metal box, or alive and dreadful in thy beauty?"
"Beauty? I'm not—"
Taylor didn't see the woman move, but suddenly there was an insistently silencing finger pressed to Taylor's lips, its icy chill barely softened by the layers of silk.
"Hush." The woman's voice was suddenly cold and stern. "I see thy beauty, and thou'rt forbidden to deny it, even in thy heart where only thou and I may hear."
The finger withdrew as abruptly as it had arrived, and Taylor nodded.
"Good. Now, wouldst thou take my gift of a new beginning, and become my black rose, dreadful in thy beauty and graceful in thy strength?"
"Um, what's the catch? I mean, there has to be one."
"The gift itself is the catch. Thou shalt have grace and might and beauty in a world hell-bent on tearing itself asunder. Better, certes, to have them than not, but they shall bring their own burdens once they become known."
"You said something about being your 'black rose'. What's that about?"
"I may have tasks for thee to accomplish, to justify the gift of thy thorns and perfumed petals. They shall not be utterly beyond thee, neither shall they be abhorrent to thee, but they shall be a bloody-handed business."
That was about what Taylor expected. Probably better, even. "Fine. So do I sign something?"
"Takest thou me for the Devil? Thou needst only say, in plain words, that thou shalt be my black rose."
"I'll be your black rose."
"And I shall be thy Queen in Black Silk," replied the woman, her tone driving home that that was a title, not just a description.
An ice-cold palm slapped against Taylor's forehead, and the graveyard and its rustling trees gave way to the rose-scented interior of Taylor's locker and the sound of the first-period bell.
Thread started by Your Best Nightmare 12:30pm EST
Subject: New cape in town?
We've got a new cape here in BB.
Some girl got stuffed into a locker this morning, and when we were heading out of class after first period, this new cape appeared in the hallway, ripped the locker open, and helped the girl out.
[IMG:sevenhundredveils.jpg]
I'd call her "Seven Veils" but I think seven hundred might be closer. That cloth is crazy thin, but there's so much of it I couldn't see anything. Not even her eyes.
Those are rose petals on the floor, by the way. Black rose petals. Like, blacker than my gothic Brocktonite soul. They even feel and smell real.
- YBN
Reply by Void Cowboy 12:31 EST
Did anyone else get a better picture? Asking for a friend.
Reply by Lizard King 12:31 EST
Did VC just learn subtlety?
Reply by Your Best Nightmare 12:32 EST
Nobody wanted to get close. She took that door off with her hands and bent it in half.
Then she vanished after helping the girl out of her locker, like she teleported out or something.
Reply by Severina777 12:34 EST
700? y not 777, much better number
love is the law love under will
Reply by AllSeeingEye 12:35 EST
756 veils.
Reply by Your Best Nightmare 12:36 EST
That's really precise, Eye. And kind of out there. Care to explain?
Reply by AllSeeingEye 12:39 EST
Not just no but hell no.
And if you push, I will explain exactly why your username is terrible and you should feel terrible for using it.
Last edited:
Seems interesting. Is this a crossover or something original?
grommile
nasty-minded old cynic
- Location
- NERV-Mercia
- Pronouns
- Traditional/Animate
The non-Worm elements are original.
(Subject to the caveat that "originality" just means "remembering to set the blender to 'puree' after putting your influences in it"
)
Hexcalibur
Not So Ordinary Sword
- Location
- Somewhere
- Pronouns
- It
Seems interesting. Follow for now.
- Location
- Usa
Now I have visions of Taylor getting out of the locker and gaining all the skills of the black rose from Ranma 1/2 Now with the poison and laugh of doom.
grommile
nasty-minded old cynic
- Location
- NERV-Mercia
- Pronouns
- Traditional/Animate
The Queen in Black Silk (or simply the Queen when Taylor isn't being formal) is an OC.
Elements of Taylor's new capabilities will become apparent in due course, once I've come up with a satisfactory start to the next chapter...
partial drafts and previews: chapter 2
grommile
nasty-minded old cynic
- Location
- NERV-Mercia
- Pronouns
- Traditional/Animate
So. Chapter two has been kicking my ass all week; what follows here as an apocrypha threadmark is a preview based on, like, the seventh or eighth attempt, and the first one I actually liked enough to get past 500 words.
Here, then, is the first small glimpse of what becoming the Queen's black rose unlocks.
Sitting in a tiny meeting room on the third floor of Winslow High, Taylor looked at the two PRT agents who'd turned up to interview her, and grimaced. The tall man with the crewcut and the world-weary air was fine, but the woman with the jaw-length bob and the flat expression and the too-watchful eyes had killed people. Definitely not just one. Taylor didn't want to know that, but she supposed it was better than not knowing.
"I'm Agent Dryer," said the man.
"Agent Kramer," said the woman. "Given the open parahuman involvement in this incident, we need to establish just what happened this morning. Do you feel up to talking about it?"
Taylor contemplated the question for a few moments. She probably shouldn't have been up to it, but she was. "Sure. My former best friend and her new best friend filled my locker with God knows what, and while I was puking from the stench after opening it, they bundled me into it and locked me in."
Dryer made some notes. "Thank you, Taylor. I notice you look pretty clean."
"Didn't you see the rose petals? I think that cape who ripped my locker open must have transformed all that gunk."
"Grab-bag capes," muttered Kramer.
"Have you ever met that parahuman before?" asked Dryer.
Taylor shook her head. "I never saw her before today," she said. Even if they had some kind of tinkertech lie detector, that was the truth. She wasn't stupid enough to tell them about the graveyard. Or about her heart stopping.
Kramer leaned across the table, her gaze intense. "You said it was your ex-best friend. Can we have a name?"
"Emma Barnes. And her new friend is Sophia Hess. Sophia's on the Winslow track team."
Agent Kramer's eyes widened for a moment. Taylor almost missed it. She was sure shewouldhave missed it, before, but it seemed like whatever had made her not need her glasses had made her much more alert.
Dryer scribbled down a few more notes. "Thank you. Could you just give us a description of those two? The basics will do fine."
"Uh, Sophia's black, about my height, athletic, with long hair. Emma's a redhead, shorter than me, curvy, the boys check her out a lot. I don't think they'd have involved Madison in this."
Kramer looked like she'd bitten a lemon. Dryer didn't exactly look happy, either. "Thank you, Taylor. How long has this been going on?"
"Since I started at Winslow."
Kramer and Dryer looked at each other. "Interesting," said Kramer through gritted teeth before turning back to Taylor and handing her a business car. "Thank you for humouring us. Let us know if you see that new cape again."
Taylor watched the two agents leave, and took a moment to reflect. She didn't like the implications of the PRT taking a sudden and intense interest in her situation as soon as she mentioned Sophia.
Was Sophia a cape? She had to be a villain, with a personality like hers.
"Gnosis." She whispered the word the Queen had spoken in her thoughts after ripping the locker open.
The scent of roses filled the air, and a cold breeze that didn't stir her hair blew through the room. "Thou hast a question, o black rose?" asked the Queen's voice in Taylor's head.
"Who did Agent Kramer kill?" It took a little effort to not say it out loud.
"Thou wouldst need to ask her thyself, if thou truly wishest to know. Thinkest thou the killings recent?"
"No." There had, she realized, been somethingdustyabout the impression. "Why is 'know people killed people' one of my powers?"
"I told thee, the life of my black rose is a bloody-handed business. Now, enough. Be about thine everyday affairs, and I shall speak to thee tonight."
The lunch bell rang, and the rose-scented breeze dissipated. Taylor sighed and walked out of the room. She'd missed the whole morning's classes, and she wasn't hungry, but there was nothing else to do. Reaching the main corridor on the first floor, Taylor froze in her tracks as she caught sight of Sophia walking into the cafeteria.
Sophia had killed someone.Much more recently than Agent Kramer. Did the PRT suspect? Was that why they were interested in her?
The voice of her history teacher, Mr Gladly, intruded on her thoughts. "Are you all right, Taylor?"
Taylor blinked and turned to face him. "I'm fine. Just thinking about this morning."
"You know, I'm sure the nurse would write a note letting you go home."
She didn't like it, but she had to admit it wasn't the worst idea. "You're right, I guess."
Here, then, is the first small glimpse of what becoming the Queen's black rose unlocks.
Sitting in a tiny meeting room on the third floor of Winslow High, Taylor looked at the two PRT agents who'd turned up to interview her, and grimaced. The tall man with the crewcut and the world-weary air was fine, but the woman with the jaw-length bob and the flat expression and the too-watchful eyes had killed people. Definitely not just one. Taylor didn't want to know that, but she supposed it was better than not knowing.
"I'm Agent Dryer," said the man.
"Agent Kramer," said the woman. "Given the open parahuman involvement in this incident, we need to establish just what happened this morning. Do you feel up to talking about it?"
Taylor contemplated the question for a few moments. She probably shouldn't have been up to it, but she was. "Sure. My former best friend and her new best friend filled my locker with God knows what, and while I was puking from the stench after opening it, they bundled me into it and locked me in."
Dryer made some notes. "Thank you, Taylor. I notice you look pretty clean."
"Didn't you see the rose petals? I think that cape who ripped my locker open must have transformed all that gunk."
"Grab-bag capes," muttered Kramer.
"Have you ever met that parahuman before?" asked Dryer.
Taylor shook her head. "I never saw her before today," she said. Even if they had some kind of tinkertech lie detector, that was the truth. She wasn't stupid enough to tell them about the graveyard. Or about her heart stopping.
Kramer leaned across the table, her gaze intense. "You said it was your ex-best friend. Can we have a name?"
"Emma Barnes. And her new friend is Sophia Hess. Sophia's on the Winslow track team."
Agent Kramer's eyes widened for a moment. Taylor almost missed it. She was sure shewouldhave missed it, before, but it seemed like whatever had made her not need her glasses had made her much more alert.
Dryer scribbled down a few more notes. "Thank you. Could you just give us a description of those two? The basics will do fine."
"Uh, Sophia's black, about my height, athletic, with long hair. Emma's a redhead, shorter than me, curvy, the boys check her out a lot. I don't think they'd have involved Madison in this."
Kramer looked like she'd bitten a lemon. Dryer didn't exactly look happy, either. "Thank you, Taylor. How long has this been going on?"
"Since I started at Winslow."
Kramer and Dryer looked at each other. "Interesting," said Kramer through gritted teeth before turning back to Taylor and handing her a business car. "Thank you for humouring us. Let us know if you see that new cape again."
Taylor watched the two agents leave, and took a moment to reflect. She didn't like the implications of the PRT taking a sudden and intense interest in her situation as soon as she mentioned Sophia.
Was Sophia a cape? She had to be a villain, with a personality like hers.
"Gnosis." She whispered the word the Queen had spoken in her thoughts after ripping the locker open.
The scent of roses filled the air, and a cold breeze that didn't stir her hair blew through the room. "Thou hast a question, o black rose?" asked the Queen's voice in Taylor's head.
"Who did Agent Kramer kill?" It took a little effort to not say it out loud.
"Thou wouldst need to ask her thyself, if thou truly wishest to know. Thinkest thou the killings recent?"
"No." There had, she realized, been somethingdustyabout the impression. "Why is 'know people killed people' one of my powers?"
"I told thee, the life of my black rose is a bloody-handed business. Now, enough. Be about thine everyday affairs, and I shall speak to thee tonight."
The lunch bell rang, and the rose-scented breeze dissipated. Taylor sighed and walked out of the room. She'd missed the whole morning's classes, and she wasn't hungry, but there was nothing else to do. Reaching the main corridor on the first floor, Taylor froze in her tracks as she caught sight of Sophia walking into the cafeteria.
Sophia had killed someone.Much more recently than Agent Kramer. Did the PRT suspect? Was that why they were interested in her?
The voice of her history teacher, Mr Gladly, intruded on her thoughts. "Are you all right, Taylor?"
Taylor blinked and turned to face him. "I'm fine. Just thinking about this morning."
"You know, I'm sure the nurse would write a note letting you go home."
She didn't like it, but she had to admit it wasn't the worst idea. "You're right, I guess."
MaimakteriAnn
(Verified Sleepy)
- Pronouns
- She/Her/Dr
I like it. new path through familiar territory.
cant wait to see some of taylor's duties.
cant wait to see some of taylor's duties.
- Location
- Germany
- Pronouns
- He/Him/They/Them
Not going to lie, I'm a bit torn. On the one hand, this is an interesting start, but I can't really say anything of more substance until I've read more.
But on the other hand:
View: https://youtu.be/FVeHKok4VCE?si=FqkkdEa2REtrbg7N
And then get a bit disappointed when I realize that we won't see Taylor roof hopping while laughing her head off 😅
But on the other hand:
Yeah, I can't help it. If I read "the Black Rose" I immediately start thinking of Kodachi:
View: https://youtu.be/FVeHKok4VCE?si=FqkkdEa2REtrbg7N
And then get a bit disappointed when I realize that we won't see Taylor roof hopping while laughing her head off 😅
Stark in Her Dark and White
grommile
nasty-minded old cynic
- Location
- NERV-Mercia
- Pronouns
- Traditional/Animate
Sitting in a tiny meeting room on the third floor of Winslow High, Taylor looked at the two PRT agents who'd turned up to interview her, and grimaced. The tall man with the crewcut and the world-weary air was fine, but the woman with the jaw-length bob and the flat expression and the too-watchful eyes had killed people. Definitely not just one. Taylor didn't want to know that, but she supposed it was better than not knowing.
"I'm Agent Dryer," said the man.
"Agent Kramer," said the woman. "Given the open parahuman involvement in this incident, we need to establish just what happened this morning. Do you feel up to talking about it?"
Taylor contemplated the question for a few moments. She probably shouldn't have been up to it, but she was. "Sure. My former best friend and her new best friend filled my locker with God knows what, and while I was puking from the stench after opening it, they bundled me into it and locked me in."
Dryer made some notes. "Thank you, Taylor. I notice you look pretty clean."
"Didn't you see the rose petals? I think that cape who ripped my locker open must have transformed all that gunk."
"Grab-bag capes," muttered Kramer.
"Have you ever met that parahuman before?" asked Dryer.
Taylor shook her head. "I never saw her before today," she said. Even if they had some kind of tinkertech lie detector, that was the truth. She wasn't stupid enough to tell them about the graveyard. Or about her heart stopping.
Kramer leaned across the table, her gaze intense. "You said it was your ex-best friend. Can we have a name?"
"Emma Barnes. And her new friend is Sophia Hess. Sophia's on the Winslow track team."
Agent Kramer's eyes widened for a moment. Taylor almost missed it. She was sure she would have missed it, before, but it seemed like whatever had made her not need her glasses had made her much more alert.
Dryer scribbled down a few more notes. "Thank you. Could you just give us a description of those two? The basics will do fine."
"Uh, Sophia's black, about my height, athletic, with long hair. Emma's a redhead, shorter than me, curvy, the boys check her out a lot. I don't think they'd have involved Madison in this."
Kramer looked like she'd bitten a lemon. Dryer didn't exactly look happy, either. "Thank you, Taylor. How long has this been going on?"
"Since I started at Winslow."
Kramer and Dryer looked at each other. "Interesting," said Kramer through gritted teeth before turning back to Taylor and handing her a business car. "Thank you for humouring us. Let us know if you see that new cape again."
Taylor watched the two agents leave, and took a moment to reflect. She didn't like the implications of the PRT taking a sudden and intense interest in her situation as soon as she mentioned Sophia.
Was Sophia a cape? She had to be a villain, with a personality like hers.
"Gnosis." She whispered the word the Queen had spoken in her thoughts after ripping the locker open.
The scent of roses filled the air, and a cold breeze that didn't stir her hair blew through the room. "Thou hast a question, o black rose?" asked the Queen's voice in Taylor's head.
"Who did Agent Kramer kill?" It took a little effort to not say it out loud.
"Thou wouldst need to ask her thyself, if thou truly wishest to know. Thinkest thou the killings recent?"
"No." There had, she realized, been something dusty about the impression. "Why is 'know people killed people' one of my powers?"
"I told thee, the life of my black rose is a bloody-handed business. Now, enough. Be about thine everyday affairs, and I shall speak to thee tonight."
The lunch bell rang, and the rose-scented breeze dissipated. Taylor sighed and walked out of the room. She'd missed the whole morning's classes, and she wasn't hungry, but there was nothing else to do. Reaching the main corridor on the first floor, Taylor froze in her tracks as she caught sight of Sophia walking into the cafeteria.
Sophia had killed someone. Much more recently than Agent Kramer. Did the PRT suspect? Was that why they were interested in her?
The voice of her history teacher, Mr Gladly, intruded on her thoughts. "Are you all right, Taylor?"
Taylor blinked and turned to face him. "I'm fine. Just thinking about this morning."
"You know, I'm sure the nurse would write a note letting you go home."
She didn't like it, but she had to admit it wasn't the worst idea. "You're right, I guess."
Standing in the bathroom at home, still in the clothes she'd worn to school, Taylor looked at herself in the mirror. There was beauty to be found. She wasn't allowed to deny it, even if face had gone so pale she looked sick.
The sweatshirt and jeans didn't help. They were safe. Comfortable. Inconspicuous. Easily washed clean of whatever someone decided to "spill" on them. Looking at them here and now, they somehow managed to be too drab and too colourful.
She wanted something better. Something that suited her. It was a strange feeling to be suddenly wanting clothes that caught the eye. She wasn't sure where to start, there wasn't anyone she could ask, and even if there was, money was tight.
She heard the front door open and close, and her dad's voice calling out. "Taylor? Are you there?"
"I'm in the bathroom!" she called back. Time enough to think about clothes later. For now, she had to decide what she should tell him.
Danny was waiting in the living room. "What happened? The school called to say the nurse sent you home."
Basic bombshell first. "Emma and her new best friend trapped me in my locker."
"Emma. That Emma?"
"The sister I never had, yes. She changed over the summer between eighth and ninth grade. She's been picking on me ever since, her and this girl she met that summer, Sophia Hess." She was surprised how easy it was to say. "Nobody listened when I reported it. The principal even told me to stop making things up."
"That's disgusting."
Taylor hadn't seen her dad angry about something, really angry, since before her mom had died. In a way, it was a relief. He'd been so distant, so closed off. "That's Winslow. Nobody cares about anything."
Danny's scowl deepened. "They should. And I should do something. I'll talk to Alan."
"I've got no actual proof, Dad. The teachers don't care and the other kids won't come forward."
"We can't just leave things as they are."
Strength and grace, Taylor thought to herself. She'd been standing up straighter all day since the Queen busted her out of her locker. "I might have an idea. I'll sleep on it, see how things go tomorrow."
"If you're thinking of anything drastic, run it by me first? I don't want you getting yourself in trouble."
"I promise I'll run anything drastic by you first if I can. And you promise you won't do anything drastic either."
"Done."
That night, as her slumbering body lay as still as the dead, Taylor dreamed of the graveyard.
The Queen was there, of course, and there was a full-length mirror next to her. "Let us speak of thy thorns and petals, o black rose," said the Queen. "The word is Mauranthos. Whisper it to the air beside thee, as if sharing a secret with a friend."
"Mauranthos," whispered Taylor, and she felt cloth rustle and shift against her skin as her pyjama-clad reflection changed.
The pallor her dad had remarked on deepened until her face was the colour of a fresh snowdrift. Patches of black surrounded her eyes like something a rock star would paint on, her lips were black and glossy, and the natural black of her hair seemed more like a fuzzy-edged hole in the universe, swallowing all the light that fell on it and reflecting nothing. If she didn't know she was looking in the mirror, she'd have been hard pressed to recognize herself.
Looking down, her pyjama top had been replaced with a voluminous black shirt with tight-cuffed sleeves, and her pyjama pants with a poofy black skirt that came down to the folded-over tops of a pair of black pirate boots. A rich purple sash knotted at her right hip, and a matching band holding her curly hair clear of her face, were the only concession to colour.
It wasn't very Taylor Hebert at all... and, skirt aside, it felt right in a way nothing she'd worn before ever did. "I'm not sure about the skirt," said Taylor. "And does it come with a coat in winter?"
The Queen smiled. "Frost and wind shall not trouble thee in thy petalled glory, for thou bearest the chill of thine own death within thee. If thou likest not the skirt, tell me what thou wouldst prefer."
"Uh, I like wearing pants. And I guess they need to be something I can move in, if I'm going to fight?"
Cloth rustled, and the poofy skirt became a pair of tight-waisted pants, flared out between hip and knee.
"Thy petals are set, then. Worthy of thy beauty and no hindrance to thy grace and strength. Now call akantha, and draw thy thorns from the air."
"Akantha!" called Taylor, and on instinct she grabbed something in mid-air that wasn't there and pulled.
The sword that appeared in her hand was... fancy. The single cutting edge of the curved blade gleamed like metal under the pale light of the graveyard's black sun, while the flat was the same impossible black as her hair, decorated with a rose picked out in silvery outlines. As she raised it in a salute, she saw the pommel and the ends of the crossguard were shaped like rosehips.
Taylor tilted the blade this way and that, trying to get a feel for it. She'd never used a sword, of course, or even pretended to. It wasn't like she'd ever attended the kind of school that had a fencing club, and she and Emma had found playing at capes to have an appeal that playing at pirates or knights didn't. After all, knights were men, and pirates mostly men, but capes? Plenty of brave, powerful women there for two little girls to pretend to be, and you could count the capes that used swords on one hand.
"Doth it please thee, o black rose?" asked the Queen.
"Yes," said Taylor. "But... I don't know how to use it."
"Thy thorns shall teach thee their uses, if thou lettest them guide thy hand." The Queen swept her arms out wide, and ghostly figures armed with an assortment of swords and spears and such rose up out of the graves. "Let us begin thy tuition. When thou strikest down ten more shades than have struck thee, then shalt thou return to thine earthly slumber."
Taylor was about to protest the terms when she heard gravel crunching behind her. Without thinking, she spun on her heel and lashed out at head height. A shade armed with a shorter blade than Taylor's disappeared in a flurry of black rose petals as its head left its shoulders.
"One, and none," said the Queen. "The rest will not be so easy."
A ghostly spear slid through Taylor's chest from behind.
"One, and one. Keep thy wits about thee, and do not tarry."
This, Taylor realized, was going to be a long night.
"I'm Agent Dryer," said the man.
"Agent Kramer," said the woman. "Given the open parahuman involvement in this incident, we need to establish just what happened this morning. Do you feel up to talking about it?"
Taylor contemplated the question for a few moments. She probably shouldn't have been up to it, but she was. "Sure. My former best friend and her new best friend filled my locker with God knows what, and while I was puking from the stench after opening it, they bundled me into it and locked me in."
Dryer made some notes. "Thank you, Taylor. I notice you look pretty clean."
"Didn't you see the rose petals? I think that cape who ripped my locker open must have transformed all that gunk."
"Grab-bag capes," muttered Kramer.
"Have you ever met that parahuman before?" asked Dryer.
Taylor shook her head. "I never saw her before today," she said. Even if they had some kind of tinkertech lie detector, that was the truth. She wasn't stupid enough to tell them about the graveyard. Or about her heart stopping.
Kramer leaned across the table, her gaze intense. "You said it was your ex-best friend. Can we have a name?"
"Emma Barnes. And her new friend is Sophia Hess. Sophia's on the Winslow track team."
Agent Kramer's eyes widened for a moment. Taylor almost missed it. She was sure she would have missed it, before, but it seemed like whatever had made her not need her glasses had made her much more alert.
Dryer scribbled down a few more notes. "Thank you. Could you just give us a description of those two? The basics will do fine."
"Uh, Sophia's black, about my height, athletic, with long hair. Emma's a redhead, shorter than me, curvy, the boys check her out a lot. I don't think they'd have involved Madison in this."
Kramer looked like she'd bitten a lemon. Dryer didn't exactly look happy, either. "Thank you, Taylor. How long has this been going on?"
"Since I started at Winslow."
Kramer and Dryer looked at each other. "Interesting," said Kramer through gritted teeth before turning back to Taylor and handing her a business car. "Thank you for humouring us. Let us know if you see that new cape again."
Taylor watched the two agents leave, and took a moment to reflect. She didn't like the implications of the PRT taking a sudden and intense interest in her situation as soon as she mentioned Sophia.
Was Sophia a cape? She had to be a villain, with a personality like hers.
"Gnosis." She whispered the word the Queen had spoken in her thoughts after ripping the locker open.
The scent of roses filled the air, and a cold breeze that didn't stir her hair blew through the room. "Thou hast a question, o black rose?" asked the Queen's voice in Taylor's head.
"Who did Agent Kramer kill?" It took a little effort to not say it out loud.
"Thou wouldst need to ask her thyself, if thou truly wishest to know. Thinkest thou the killings recent?"
"No." There had, she realized, been something dusty about the impression. "Why is 'know people killed people' one of my powers?"
"I told thee, the life of my black rose is a bloody-handed business. Now, enough. Be about thine everyday affairs, and I shall speak to thee tonight."
The lunch bell rang, and the rose-scented breeze dissipated. Taylor sighed and walked out of the room. She'd missed the whole morning's classes, and she wasn't hungry, but there was nothing else to do. Reaching the main corridor on the first floor, Taylor froze in her tracks as she caught sight of Sophia walking into the cafeteria.
Sophia had killed someone. Much more recently than Agent Kramer. Did the PRT suspect? Was that why they were interested in her?
The voice of her history teacher, Mr Gladly, intruded on her thoughts. "Are you all right, Taylor?"
Taylor blinked and turned to face him. "I'm fine. Just thinking about this morning."
"You know, I'm sure the nurse would write a note letting you go home."
She didn't like it, but she had to admit it wasn't the worst idea. "You're right, I guess."
Standing in the bathroom at home, still in the clothes she'd worn to school, Taylor looked at herself in the mirror. There was beauty to be found. She wasn't allowed to deny it, even if face had gone so pale she looked sick.
The sweatshirt and jeans didn't help. They were safe. Comfortable. Inconspicuous. Easily washed clean of whatever someone decided to "spill" on them. Looking at them here and now, they somehow managed to be too drab and too colourful.
She wanted something better. Something that suited her. It was a strange feeling to be suddenly wanting clothes that caught the eye. She wasn't sure where to start, there wasn't anyone she could ask, and even if there was, money was tight.
She heard the front door open and close, and her dad's voice calling out. "Taylor? Are you there?"
"I'm in the bathroom!" she called back. Time enough to think about clothes later. For now, she had to decide what she should tell him.
Danny was waiting in the living room. "What happened? The school called to say the nurse sent you home."
Basic bombshell first. "Emma and her new best friend trapped me in my locker."
"Emma. That Emma?"
"The sister I never had, yes. She changed over the summer between eighth and ninth grade. She's been picking on me ever since, her and this girl she met that summer, Sophia Hess." She was surprised how easy it was to say. "Nobody listened when I reported it. The principal even told me to stop making things up."
"That's disgusting."
Taylor hadn't seen her dad angry about something, really angry, since before her mom had died. In a way, it was a relief. He'd been so distant, so closed off. "That's Winslow. Nobody cares about anything."
Danny's scowl deepened. "They should. And I should do something. I'll talk to Alan."
"I've got no actual proof, Dad. The teachers don't care and the other kids won't come forward."
"We can't just leave things as they are."
Strength and grace, Taylor thought to herself. She'd been standing up straighter all day since the Queen busted her out of her locker. "I might have an idea. I'll sleep on it, see how things go tomorrow."
"If you're thinking of anything drastic, run it by me first? I don't want you getting yourself in trouble."
"I promise I'll run anything drastic by you first if I can. And you promise you won't do anything drastic either."
"Done."
That night, as her slumbering body lay as still as the dead, Taylor dreamed of the graveyard.
The Queen was there, of course, and there was a full-length mirror next to her. "Let us speak of thy thorns and petals, o black rose," said the Queen. "The word is Mauranthos. Whisper it to the air beside thee, as if sharing a secret with a friend."
"Mauranthos," whispered Taylor, and she felt cloth rustle and shift against her skin as her pyjama-clad reflection changed.
The pallor her dad had remarked on deepened until her face was the colour of a fresh snowdrift. Patches of black surrounded her eyes like something a rock star would paint on, her lips were black and glossy, and the natural black of her hair seemed more like a fuzzy-edged hole in the universe, swallowing all the light that fell on it and reflecting nothing. If she didn't know she was looking in the mirror, she'd have been hard pressed to recognize herself.
Looking down, her pyjama top had been replaced with a voluminous black shirt with tight-cuffed sleeves, and her pyjama pants with a poofy black skirt that came down to the folded-over tops of a pair of black pirate boots. A rich purple sash knotted at her right hip, and a matching band holding her curly hair clear of her face, were the only concession to colour.
It wasn't very Taylor Hebert at all... and, skirt aside, it felt right in a way nothing she'd worn before ever did. "I'm not sure about the skirt," said Taylor. "And does it come with a coat in winter?"
The Queen smiled. "Frost and wind shall not trouble thee in thy petalled glory, for thou bearest the chill of thine own death within thee. If thou likest not the skirt, tell me what thou wouldst prefer."
"Uh, I like wearing pants. And I guess they need to be something I can move in, if I'm going to fight?"
Cloth rustled, and the poofy skirt became a pair of tight-waisted pants, flared out between hip and knee.
"Thy petals are set, then. Worthy of thy beauty and no hindrance to thy grace and strength. Now call akantha, and draw thy thorns from the air."
"Akantha!" called Taylor, and on instinct she grabbed something in mid-air that wasn't there and pulled.
The sword that appeared in her hand was... fancy. The single cutting edge of the curved blade gleamed like metal under the pale light of the graveyard's black sun, while the flat was the same impossible black as her hair, decorated with a rose picked out in silvery outlines. As she raised it in a salute, she saw the pommel and the ends of the crossguard were shaped like rosehips.
Taylor tilted the blade this way and that, trying to get a feel for it. She'd never used a sword, of course, or even pretended to. It wasn't like she'd ever attended the kind of school that had a fencing club, and she and Emma had found playing at capes to have an appeal that playing at pirates or knights didn't. After all, knights were men, and pirates mostly men, but capes? Plenty of brave, powerful women there for two little girls to pretend to be, and you could count the capes that used swords on one hand.
"Doth it please thee, o black rose?" asked the Queen.
"Yes," said Taylor. "But... I don't know how to use it."
"Thy thorns shall teach thee their uses, if thou lettest them guide thy hand." The Queen swept her arms out wide, and ghostly figures armed with an assortment of swords and spears and such rose up out of the graves. "Let us begin thy tuition. When thou strikest down ten more shades than have struck thee, then shalt thou return to thine earthly slumber."
Taylor was about to protest the terms when she heard gravel crunching behind her. Without thinking, she spun on her heel and lashed out at head height. A shade armed with a shorter blade than Taylor's disappeared in a flurry of black rose petals as its head left its shoulders.
"One, and none," said the Queen. "The rest will not be so easy."
A ghostly spear slid through Taylor's chest from behind.
"One, and one. Keep thy wits about thee, and do not tarry."
This, Taylor realized, was going to be a long night.
grommile
nasty-minded old cynic
- Location
- NERV-Mercia
- Pronouns
- Traditional/Animate
Sadly, I've never watched the Ranma 1/2 anime, and I've only read a couple of volumes of the manga.
- Location
- Usa
Time for the much needed omake from heck......
Taylor's sponsors for powers never understand how the powers changed that much overnight. Everyone would learn to fear The Black Rose of the Bay.
Her uniform was many different types of leotards and no one would be able to understand she Taylor would pull out Robbins and other items used in rythem gymnastics from no where. They could not under her skill with all kinds of poisons that she would use on everyone. The other things is they would never understand where she got so many Japaneses school girls uniforms that she wear and then rip off to an ounce herself to her enemy's.
The one thing that everyone in the Bay would come to fear was the roof hoping and the laugh.....The evil and very mad laugh of insanity that she would use at the drop of a hat.....
Shadow Stakes would confess to any crime in the city in hopes that she would be sent back to jail or even anywhere....but no matter what happened she would be right back on the street and having to deal with The Black Rose.....every time the other wards and PRT would learn to vanish and look the other way.....
As for our dear Emma.....would find her face down crying and trying to fun bee to drown the laugh out of her ears and mind every week ANF it would haunt her even in sleep or being knocked out cold.
Taylor's sponsors for powers never understand how the powers changed that much overnight. Everyone would learn to fear The Black Rose of the Bay.
Her uniform was many different types of leotards and no one would be able to understand she Taylor would pull out Robbins and other items used in rythem gymnastics from no where. They could not under her skill with all kinds of poisons that she would use on everyone. The other things is they would never understand where she got so many Japaneses school girls uniforms that she wear and then rip off to an ounce herself to her enemy's.
The one thing that everyone in the Bay would come to fear was the roof hoping and the laugh.....The evil and very mad laugh of insanity that she would use at the drop of a hat.....
Shadow Stakes would confess to any crime in the city in hopes that she would be sent back to jail or even anywhere....but no matter what happened she would be right back on the street and having to deal with The Black Rose.....every time the other wards and PRT would learn to vanish and look the other way.....
As for our dear Emma.....would find her face down crying and trying to fun bee to drown the laugh out of her ears and mind every week ANF it would haunt her even in sleep or being knocked out cold.
XiaoYueMao
小月猫《🌙🐈》
- Pronouns
- She/Her/It
man, i know skirts just arent in taylors vocabulary, but its always a disappointment whenever she chooses not to wear one, im not a girly girl or anything but i despise pants myself, they also restrict movement more than skirts despite many people claiming to the contrary, most pants just dont bend and stretch well enough to move well whereas skirts restrict nothing at all.
if taylor looks different enough wearing her petals, is she going to go mask less? and will her queen show up in public with her occasionally? having a gothic noble with her gothic guard is kinda mood tbh and pho will wonder lol, tho the prt will probably put 2 and 2 together and guess its taylor, as the veiled lady is known to have only interacted with one person who isnt a cape, and well, why would she save a random kid unless said kid is her cape partner lol
if taylor looks different enough wearing her petals, is she going to go mask less? and will her queen show up in public with her occasionally? having a gothic noble with her gothic guard is kinda mood tbh and pho will wonder lol, tho the prt will probably put 2 and 2 together and guess its taylor, as the veiled lady is known to have only interacted with one person who isnt a cape, and well, why would she save a random kid unless said kid is her cape partner lol
grommile
nasty-minded old cynic
- Location
- NERV-Mercia
- Pronouns
- Traditional/Animate
I have worn skirts that would suffer structural failure if you tried to kick someone in the head, and also skirts that are a nuisance to wear in cluttered environments.
Most skirts that are pleasant to wear in a coastal New England winter have the latter issue.
Pain Looks Great on Other People
grommile
nasty-minded old cynic
- Location
- NERV-Mercia
- Pronouns
- Traditional/Animate
A few seconds previously, Madison Clements's impulse to "spill" her half-finished bottle of cherry soda on Taylor had seemed like such a good idea. Taylor had looked so laid-back, so detached from her surroundings, so far from her normal levels of twitchiness and paranoia. It screamed opportunity.
Madison didn't know how she'd missed.
Or how she'd missed the fact some Empire wannabe in a teal bomber jacket with a shaved head, a knife scar on his face, and a good foot of height on Madison, was walking past Taylor at just that moment.
"What the hell, bitch?" demanded the thuggish boy, lifting Madison by the front of her coat as sticky red soda soaked into his jeans.
"I was aiming for her!" protested Madison, looking around frantically to work out how Taylor had dodged.
Sure enough, Taylor was barely a couple of yards away, still looking unhealthily pale even for a white girl in winter... and not wearing her glasses.
"Well you fucking hit me!" said the Nazi to Madison, as Taylor turned and walked away with long, brisk strides, her head held high.
Mr Gladly was on front door duty, and he did a double take as Taylor walked in. "Are you sure you're alright to be here, Taylor? You still look very pale."
"I'm fine, Mr G." For once, the nickname he tried to get his students to use didn't make Taylor cringe. She flashed him a grin fuelled by the sight of Madison being terrorized by that asshole in a bomber jacket, and used her thumb to point back over her shoulder. "Just saw someone get what she deserved."
Mr Gladly's eyes widened as he looked past Taylor. Not really caring what happened next, Taylor stepped past her panicking history teacher and headed down the hall for her first-period math class with a spring in her step. Spending the night trying not to be turned into a pincushion by dead men's spears definitely had its advantages when it came to spotting an attack before it started.
"No bags or coats in class, Taylor," admonished Mr Quinlan as Taylor walked into the classroom.
"I haven't got a locker," replied Taylor. "That new cape ripped the door off yesterday."
He frowned at her, pulled the pad of hall passes out of his desk, and filled one out. "Here. Go down to the office and tell them you need a new locker. And go see the nurse to make sure you're not sick. You look like death warmed up."
Hall pass in hand, Taylor headed down to the office as ordered. The school secretary, Miss Brennan, looked up at Taylor. "Are you sure you should be here?"
"Yes, Miss Brennan. I feel fine."
"Fine. Don't go fainting and cracking your skull on the tiles. What do you want?"
"A new locker," replied Taylor. "A cape ripped mine open yesterday, and Mr Quinlan's a stickler for no coats or bags in class."
"Hmm. Let me see." Her fingers flicked across the keyboard of her terminal. "Hebert, Hebert... there we are. Taylor Hebert, tenth grade, Mrs Knott's class... huh. There are no spare lockers in that hallway. Seems yours wasn't the first locker mishap around there."
"Mishap is one word for it," said Taylor, a little disconcerted at how calm she still felt about the whole incident. "So what do I do with my coat and bag?"
"Have a seat, Taylor. I'll talk to the custodian and see if we can scrape something up for you."
Taylor sat down in one of the visitor chairs and waited, not really paying attention to what Miss Brennan was saying on the phone. After all, adults at Winslow might be useless a lot of the time, but they weren't going to try and hurt her.
She was kind of looking forward to that. There couldn't be anyone at Winslow harder to avoid than three ghosts armed with those weird Indian whip-swords coming from different directions, though in the Queen's Graveyard she didn't have to worry about outing herself.
"Taylor?" called Miss Brennan, breaking her cheerful contemplation of Emma or Sophia landing flat on their faces, or crashing into each other and getting concussions.
"Yes?"
"Apparently the school board were almost efficient for once. Thanks to your incident, we have a full round of locker repairs scheduled for spring break."
"Great. What about here and now?"
"I can give you a note to explain things to Mr Quinlan. Nothing else I can do."
As lunchtime arrived, Taylor had an Idea to get people to shut up about her looking sick. She wasn't sure it was the best idea she'd ever had – it would shrink the gap between her civilian guise and her "petals" – but it was worth a try.
She headed over to the table where the six goth girls at Winslow sat, taking a route that kept at least one person between her and Sophia at all times. She wasn't scared of Sophia, not any more, but she didn't want to start anything just yet.
"Hi," she said.
"What do you want, Locker Girl?" asked one of the goths.
"Where do you buy your lip gloss?" replied Taylor, gesturing to the girl with the darkest shade on her lips.
"Grave Compulsion. Couple of streets inland from the Boardwalk." The girl in question looked Taylor over. "You need to look less like a normie wallflower to make it work."
"Have to start somewhere," said Taylor. "Thanks."
One of the other girls, almost as slim as Taylor but probably a good few inches shorter so she looked petite instead of ski—willowy, had been scribbling something on a piece of paper, and now handed it to Taylor. "And listen to at least one of these bands if you don't want to look like a fucking poser."
"Uh, sure." Taylor scanned the list. The names were... certainly names. There were a couple she might have heard of, or seen on a poster or something.
"It's okay to hate 'em. Just have some kind of opinion."
"Right, right." Taylor smiled. "I'm Taylor, by the way."
"Severina," said the one who'd written the list of bands. Taylor had to wonder if that was what was on her birth certificate. "Say, can you get me in touch with that cape who rescued you? She was awesome and I want her autograph. I mean, that thing with the rose petals? Perfection."
"Sorry, she didn't give me her number," said Taylor, tucking Severina's note into her pocket. "Thanks again. I guess I'll see you around."
Any other day, Taylor would have been a nervous wreck if she got to the end of last period without anything really bad happening. Today, it just felt like an opportunity to unwind. Madison had tried something first thing in the morning, at least, so it wasn't a total lull in hostilities.
Emma was already at the gates when Taylor got there, accompanied by four boys. "There's the little waste of space, acting like she's worth something," said Emma, as Taylor walked by without trying to give the impromptu clique a wide berth. "Why don't you remind her who she is?"
Taylor swayed out of reach of a grabbing hand, then took off at a dead run, the sort of pace that would have left her panting for breath way too soon before. She'd made it what had to be at least a quarter-mile before she thought to check if anyone was pursuing.
Nobody. She'd lost them all. She ducked into a phone booth and lifted the handset to look like she was making a call. "Gnosis."
"Thou cravest wisdom?" asked the Queen's voice in her head."
"Uh, not exactly? A girl I talked to at lunch wanted your autograph."
The Queen's laughter seemed far cheerier than something that evoked church bells at a funeral should be. "O black rose, tell her she should not crave my attention so much. Only the misfortunate come to my notice."
"I don't think that would put her off, really."
"Think of her face."
Taylor brought Severina's face to mind.
"Intriguing. Now, thou shouldst be on thy way."
Taylor put the handset back on the hook and took a moment to consider what she'd just done. People weren't complete idiots, even at Winslow. Anyone really attentive might be able to put things together when a girl who'd never been in great shape could suddenly outrun a pack of chasing boys that easily while looking like she was about to faint.
She'd need to take up running as a hobby, or something like that, anything that would explain her getting fitter.
In a nearby coffee shop, a blonde-haired young woman named Lisa Wilbourn scratched her head at the results her power gave her on the tall girl with dark curly hair who'd dashed past the window and ducked into a phone booth.
The girl was alive, not a parahuman, and not biotinkered. She was mildly hypothermic. Her heart rate and blood pressure were more usually seen in people with ruptured femoral arteries. She wasn't using an electronic communication device (not even the payphone whose handset she'd very ostentatiously held to her ear), knowingly talking to herself, or unknowingly arguing with a delusion or hallucination.
Lisa popped a single ibuprofen from the packet in her bag and washed it down with the last of her hazelnut and cinnamon mochaccino. Her power giving her a regular-ass headache was not a development she was prepared for. She opened her diary and wrote "just another day in Brockton Bay", because she had the oddest feeling that whatever that girl's deal was, letting the boss know about her would cause mayhem.
Then she went to the counter and ordered another mochaccino, with a third shot and extra whipped cream.
Madison didn't know how she'd missed.
Or how she'd missed the fact some Empire wannabe in a teal bomber jacket with a shaved head, a knife scar on his face, and a good foot of height on Madison, was walking past Taylor at just that moment.
"What the hell, bitch?" demanded the thuggish boy, lifting Madison by the front of her coat as sticky red soda soaked into his jeans.
"I was aiming for her!" protested Madison, looking around frantically to work out how Taylor had dodged.
Sure enough, Taylor was barely a couple of yards away, still looking unhealthily pale even for a white girl in winter... and not wearing her glasses.
"Well you fucking hit me!" said the Nazi to Madison, as Taylor turned and walked away with long, brisk strides, her head held high.
Mr Gladly was on front door duty, and he did a double take as Taylor walked in. "Are you sure you're alright to be here, Taylor? You still look very pale."
"I'm fine, Mr G." For once, the nickname he tried to get his students to use didn't make Taylor cringe. She flashed him a grin fuelled by the sight of Madison being terrorized by that asshole in a bomber jacket, and used her thumb to point back over her shoulder. "Just saw someone get what she deserved."
Mr Gladly's eyes widened as he looked past Taylor. Not really caring what happened next, Taylor stepped past her panicking history teacher and headed down the hall for her first-period math class with a spring in her step. Spending the night trying not to be turned into a pincushion by dead men's spears definitely had its advantages when it came to spotting an attack before it started.
"No bags or coats in class, Taylor," admonished Mr Quinlan as Taylor walked into the classroom.
"I haven't got a locker," replied Taylor. "That new cape ripped the door off yesterday."
He frowned at her, pulled the pad of hall passes out of his desk, and filled one out. "Here. Go down to the office and tell them you need a new locker. And go see the nurse to make sure you're not sick. You look like death warmed up."
Hall pass in hand, Taylor headed down to the office as ordered. The school secretary, Miss Brennan, looked up at Taylor. "Are you sure you should be here?"
"Yes, Miss Brennan. I feel fine."
"Fine. Don't go fainting and cracking your skull on the tiles. What do you want?"
"A new locker," replied Taylor. "A cape ripped mine open yesterday, and Mr Quinlan's a stickler for no coats or bags in class."
"Hmm. Let me see." Her fingers flicked across the keyboard of her terminal. "Hebert, Hebert... there we are. Taylor Hebert, tenth grade, Mrs Knott's class... huh. There are no spare lockers in that hallway. Seems yours wasn't the first locker mishap around there."
"Mishap is one word for it," said Taylor, a little disconcerted at how calm she still felt about the whole incident. "So what do I do with my coat and bag?"
"Have a seat, Taylor. I'll talk to the custodian and see if we can scrape something up for you."
Taylor sat down in one of the visitor chairs and waited, not really paying attention to what Miss Brennan was saying on the phone. After all, adults at Winslow might be useless a lot of the time, but they weren't going to try and hurt her.
She was kind of looking forward to that. There couldn't be anyone at Winslow harder to avoid than three ghosts armed with those weird Indian whip-swords coming from different directions, though in the Queen's Graveyard she didn't have to worry about outing herself.
"Taylor?" called Miss Brennan, breaking her cheerful contemplation of Emma or Sophia landing flat on their faces, or crashing into each other and getting concussions.
"Yes?"
"Apparently the school board were almost efficient for once. Thanks to your incident, we have a full round of locker repairs scheduled for spring break."
"Great. What about here and now?"
"I can give you a note to explain things to Mr Quinlan. Nothing else I can do."
As lunchtime arrived, Taylor had an Idea to get people to shut up about her looking sick. She wasn't sure it was the best idea she'd ever had – it would shrink the gap between her civilian guise and her "petals" – but it was worth a try.
She headed over to the table where the six goth girls at Winslow sat, taking a route that kept at least one person between her and Sophia at all times. She wasn't scared of Sophia, not any more, but she didn't want to start anything just yet.
"Hi," she said.
"What do you want, Locker Girl?" asked one of the goths.
"Where do you buy your lip gloss?" replied Taylor, gesturing to the girl with the darkest shade on her lips.
"Grave Compulsion. Couple of streets inland from the Boardwalk." The girl in question looked Taylor over. "You need to look less like a normie wallflower to make it work."
"Have to start somewhere," said Taylor. "Thanks."
One of the other girls, almost as slim as Taylor but probably a good few inches shorter so she looked petite instead of ski—willowy, had been scribbling something on a piece of paper, and now handed it to Taylor. "And listen to at least one of these bands if you don't want to look like a fucking poser."
"Uh, sure." Taylor scanned the list. The names were... certainly names. There were a couple she might have heard of, or seen on a poster or something.
"It's okay to hate 'em. Just have some kind of opinion."
"Right, right." Taylor smiled. "I'm Taylor, by the way."
"Severina," said the one who'd written the list of bands. Taylor had to wonder if that was what was on her birth certificate. "Say, can you get me in touch with that cape who rescued you? She was awesome and I want her autograph. I mean, that thing with the rose petals? Perfection."
"Sorry, she didn't give me her number," said Taylor, tucking Severina's note into her pocket. "Thanks again. I guess I'll see you around."
Any other day, Taylor would have been a nervous wreck if she got to the end of last period without anything really bad happening. Today, it just felt like an opportunity to unwind. Madison had tried something first thing in the morning, at least, so it wasn't a total lull in hostilities.
Emma was already at the gates when Taylor got there, accompanied by four boys. "There's the little waste of space, acting like she's worth something," said Emma, as Taylor walked by without trying to give the impromptu clique a wide berth. "Why don't you remind her who she is?"
Taylor swayed out of reach of a grabbing hand, then took off at a dead run, the sort of pace that would have left her panting for breath way too soon before. She'd made it what had to be at least a quarter-mile before she thought to check if anyone was pursuing.
Nobody. She'd lost them all. She ducked into a phone booth and lifted the handset to look like she was making a call. "Gnosis."
"Thou cravest wisdom?" asked the Queen's voice in her head."
"Uh, not exactly? A girl I talked to at lunch wanted your autograph."
The Queen's laughter seemed far cheerier than something that evoked church bells at a funeral should be. "O black rose, tell her she should not crave my attention so much. Only the misfortunate come to my notice."
"I don't think that would put her off, really."
"Think of her face."
Taylor brought Severina's face to mind.
"Intriguing. Now, thou shouldst be on thy way."
Taylor put the handset back on the hook and took a moment to consider what she'd just done. People weren't complete idiots, even at Winslow. Anyone really attentive might be able to put things together when a girl who'd never been in great shape could suddenly outrun a pack of chasing boys that easily while looking like she was about to faint.
She'd need to take up running as a hobby, or something like that, anything that would explain her getting fitter.
In a nearby coffee shop, a blonde-haired young woman named Lisa Wilbourn scratched her head at the results her power gave her on the tall girl with dark curly hair who'd dashed past the window and ducked into a phone booth.
The girl was alive, not a parahuman, and not biotinkered. She was mildly hypothermic. Her heart rate and blood pressure were more usually seen in people with ruptured femoral arteries. She wasn't using an electronic communication device (not even the payphone whose handset she'd very ostentatiously held to her ear), knowingly talking to herself, or unknowingly arguing with a delusion or hallucination.
Lisa popped a single ibuprofen from the packet in her bag and washed it down with the last of her hazelnut and cinnamon mochaccino. Her power giving her a regular-ass headache was not a development she was prepared for. She opened her diary and wrote "just another day in Brockton Bay", because she had the oddest feeling that whatever that girl's deal was, letting the boss know about her would cause mayhem.
Then she went to the counter and ordered another mochaccino, with a third shot and extra whipped cream.
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grommile
nasty-minded old cynic
- Location
- NERV-Mercia
- Pronouns
- Traditional/Animate
Severina currently fails a non-negotiable eligibility criterion for being visited in person by the Queen in Black Silk, and fulfilling that criterion through one's own wilful action is also grounds for disqualification.
Were she to suddenly fulfil that criterion due to mishap or external malice, then she would certainly find herself visiting the Graveyard.
Were she to suddenly fulfil that criterion due to mishap or external malice, then she would certainly find herself visiting the Graveyard.
To be fair, Tats liked people watching, and her power is perfect for finding the best place to see the most people; it's not really surprising that she sees the MC, she probably sees half the capes in the bay most days.
The only surprise here is that she's found enough wisdom to not poke the new cape and to not mention a new cape to Coil, who has a really bad track record with teenage female capes.
grommile
nasty-minded old cynic
- Location
- NERV-Mercia
- Pronouns
- Traditional/Animate
Lisa generally seems reluctant in the fanfic I've read about OCP!Taylors to tell Coil about the girl that gives her Out of Cheese errors.
Really enjoying the story so far author super hyped for more. I like the power so this should be a fun read.
DoctorNobody
The Doctor is In(sane).
And now I have ideas, dammit.
Also, OP this is excellent. I hope to see more from you!