Chapter 11
- Location
- Ostia
11
On Monday, inspectors came in to assess the damage to Winslow's pipes.
No matter how crummy of a school it was, parents still took notice of the fact that about a quarter of the school was flooded, and accordingly, many an angry letter was written. The inspectors thought they were simply coming in to take a look at the burst pipe. What they found, however, were a litany of other safety violations in the school. Mold growing in the locker rooms, outdated fire systems, inadequate ventilation, the list went on.
Suddenly, scandal. The inspectors stayed longer, wrote down more things that needed to be fixed in order for the school to keep running, and the administration began to sweat at the price tags of such fixes. Winslow was being closed for a week or two while things were renovated up to code.
That worked just fine for Taylor. There was work to be done.
Plumbers and electricians and HVAC technicians came and went, tearing things down and building them back up. When possible, school administrators ordered corners to be cut (it wouldn't be Winslow if any of its facilities were too good), but it was still a pricy and lengthy process. And still, somehow, through all of that, not a single person noted the pulsating mass of plant matter growing in the girl's bathroom.
That also worked just fine for Taylor.
On Tuesday, Taylor set off parties on and around the Empire's turf.
Not the typical sort of frat-boy parties that occurred on gang soil, the ones where skinheads and would-be neo-Nazis congregated. These were wild parties, ones that collected more people the longer they went on and spilled into the city proper. These were the parties where drunkards wrecked property and urinated in the streets. All day and all night, Taylor made the parties happen. She rode in a wagon driven by a tiger, copious amounts of alcohol filling every available space in the vehicle. She would give out drinks to any and all who asked, and many who didn't. Kaiser's turf became nothing more than a ragged and wanton place of celebration.
Taylor knocked on Purity's apartment door at the end of that day. When Purity opened the door, she was instantly on alert, recognizing Taylor the moment she saw her. She gathered light in her hands, ready to start blasting if it came to a fight. Taylor did no such thing, however.
"Have you ever considered becoming a drunk mommy?"
On Wednesday, Taylor met a man dressed in red and black.
"You know who the fuck I am?" The man got in Taylor's face, "I'm Victor. Remember the name. It's me, not Hookwolf, not Purity, not anyone else, I'm Kaiser's nuclear option. You stepped over the goddamn line, and this is what you get. I can turn your bitch ass into a pasty little hollow shell, you hear me?"
Taylor smiled dreamily. Is that how he thought of himself? The nuclear option? He was almost as funny as Sophia was.
"You deaf or something?" Victor growled, "I can steal everything from you. You'll wake up the next morning, forget everything you've learned in class, forget how to take a shit in the morning—"
"You remind me, in some ways, of Prometheus," Taylor said, an abrupt non-sequitur, "The titan who stole fire from Olympus, who stole that which was rightly the property of the gods and gave it to mortals. You can argue all day about whether or not Prometheus was justified in that theft, but the point is, he was a thief, and he was punished."
"What—?"
"So try it. Try to steal what is mine. Do it," Taylor clapped her hands together, "I welcome it. Because if you do, your liver is mine."
He tried.
Later that day, Taylor stopped by the temple. She dropped off a stalk of fennel that smelled of sulfur and ash, as well as a small object wrapped in a dish-towel that was soaked through with red-black liquid. Taylor placed both of the items on top of the plastic folding table that served as the temple's rudimentary altar and tapped the offerings with her thyrsus. The entire thing immediately erupted into a wild white-hot conflagration. Taylor took a sip of wine while she sat back and watched the bonfire.
"The thing with the Nazis is going well, then?" Damien grunted at Taylor.
"As well as it can be, I suppose."
That night, Taylor sauntered into a nightclub.
She had the typical look of someone who attended raves: drunk, disconcertingly cheerful and dressed like garbage. She powerwalked across the dance floor, past the bar, and over to little shady corner. Faultline, seeing her walk in, and immediately knowing trouble when she saw it, gave a greeting with subtlely threatening undertones.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my club?"
"I need you and your crew to tangle with the Empire. Try to catch as many Empire capes in the crossfire as possible."
"You want me to hit the Empire?" Faultline scoffed, "Biggest gang in town, with the most parahumans to boot. They've got loads of heavy hitters on their team, you know. Not exactly a risk-free venture, even for us. Unless you've got loads of cash, there's no way—"
A loud thunk interrupted Faultline's tirade. A solid hunk of gold, so tall it nearly reached her thighs, was sitting on the floor in front of her, having appeared seemingly from nowhere. Faultline blinked and did a double-take, first looking at Taylor, then looking back at the chunk of solid gold, and then back at Taylor. She paused for a minute.
"Nice try, but you'll need—"
Another thunk. Another piece of gold, even larger this time, joined the first.
Faultline looked Taylor in the eyes, "Alright, when and where?"
Taylor's grin glinted in the light of the nightclub.
"Our territory's a mess because of all the parties," Kaiser, in his civilian guise as Max Anders, cradled his head in his hands at his desk at Medhall, "Faultline's crew has trashed a dozen of our facilities, Victor's gone, and Purity is throwing laser light shows on the streets! What the fuck is happening?"
Hookwolf, having been run ragged the whole day trying to do damage control, could only nod and grunt while he slouched in a chair next to Kaiser's desk. Kaiser, just about ready to explode from his incoming migraine, decided to work on something else for now, and sifted through his paperwork, trying to find something to do. As he did so, he noticed something that hadn't been there just a few minutes ago.
There, in his paperwork (and how the hell had it gotten there in the first place?) was a small note, written in familiar runny purple ink.
Dear Mr. Kaiser,
Who's your daddy?
XOXO
Kaiser screamed.
On Thursday, Taylor kept a promise.
"Hi, Miss Militia, how's about we pick up where we left off, yeah?"
Miss Militia could already feel a headache coming on. The Empire had been imploding in on itself the whole week because of Taylor's efforts, and while that was an unexpectedly pleasant outcome despite all of the chaos that it produced as a byproduct, it also meant that she'd been working longer and longer shifts trying to get everything under control, "Alright, first thing is that the PRT's assigned you an official cape name, like you asked. From now on, you'll be referred to as 'Silenus.'"
"Too much trouble just to call me Taylor, huh."
"And," Miss Militia tried to move things along, "We also need to talk about the, ah... less savory behavior that we've noticed from you."
"Like?" Taylor pushed her feet against the table, the only item of furniture other than two chairs in the not-interrogation room, and tilted her chair onto its two hind legs so that it balanced precariously as she slouched. She pulled out a bottle of wine and began to glug it down.
"Well, first thing, what exactly is happening between you and the Empire?" There were many, many others things that she wanted to discuss, but that was just the most recent and most urgent thing that the PRT had seen. A parahuman matching Taylor's description wreaking havoc on the gang.
"Me?" Taylor pointed at herself and offered a little wan smile, "I'm just taking out the trash. Little community service never hurt anybody."
On Monday, inspectors came in to assess the damage to Winslow's pipes.
No matter how crummy of a school it was, parents still took notice of the fact that about a quarter of the school was flooded, and accordingly, many an angry letter was written. The inspectors thought they were simply coming in to take a look at the burst pipe. What they found, however, were a litany of other safety violations in the school. Mold growing in the locker rooms, outdated fire systems, inadequate ventilation, the list went on.
Suddenly, scandal. The inspectors stayed longer, wrote down more things that needed to be fixed in order for the school to keep running, and the administration began to sweat at the price tags of such fixes. Winslow was being closed for a week or two while things were renovated up to code.
That worked just fine for Taylor. There was work to be done.
Plumbers and electricians and HVAC technicians came and went, tearing things down and building them back up. When possible, school administrators ordered corners to be cut (it wouldn't be Winslow if any of its facilities were too good), but it was still a pricy and lengthy process. And still, somehow, through all of that, not a single person noted the pulsating mass of plant matter growing in the girl's bathroom.
That also worked just fine for Taylor.
* * *
On Tuesday, Taylor set off parties on and around the Empire's turf.
Not the typical sort of frat-boy parties that occurred on gang soil, the ones where skinheads and would-be neo-Nazis congregated. These were wild parties, ones that collected more people the longer they went on and spilled into the city proper. These were the parties where drunkards wrecked property and urinated in the streets. All day and all night, Taylor made the parties happen. She rode in a wagon driven by a tiger, copious amounts of alcohol filling every available space in the vehicle. She would give out drinks to any and all who asked, and many who didn't. Kaiser's turf became nothing more than a ragged and wanton place of celebration.
Taylor knocked on Purity's apartment door at the end of that day. When Purity opened the door, she was instantly on alert, recognizing Taylor the moment she saw her. She gathered light in her hands, ready to start blasting if it came to a fight. Taylor did no such thing, however.
"Have you ever considered becoming a drunk mommy?"
* * *
On Wednesday, Taylor met a man dressed in red and black.
"You know who the fuck I am?" The man got in Taylor's face, "I'm Victor. Remember the name. It's me, not Hookwolf, not Purity, not anyone else, I'm Kaiser's nuclear option. You stepped over the goddamn line, and this is what you get. I can turn your bitch ass into a pasty little hollow shell, you hear me?"
Taylor smiled dreamily. Is that how he thought of himself? The nuclear option? He was almost as funny as Sophia was.
"You deaf or something?" Victor growled, "I can steal everything from you. You'll wake up the next morning, forget everything you've learned in class, forget how to take a shit in the morning—"
"You remind me, in some ways, of Prometheus," Taylor said, an abrupt non-sequitur, "The titan who stole fire from Olympus, who stole that which was rightly the property of the gods and gave it to mortals. You can argue all day about whether or not Prometheus was justified in that theft, but the point is, he was a thief, and he was punished."
"What—?"
"So try it. Try to steal what is mine. Do it," Taylor clapped her hands together, "I welcome it. Because if you do, your liver is mine."
He tried.
Later that day, Taylor stopped by the temple. She dropped off a stalk of fennel that smelled of sulfur and ash, as well as a small object wrapped in a dish-towel that was soaked through with red-black liquid. Taylor placed both of the items on top of the plastic folding table that served as the temple's rudimentary altar and tapped the offerings with her thyrsus. The entire thing immediately erupted into a wild white-hot conflagration. Taylor took a sip of wine while she sat back and watched the bonfire.
"The thing with the Nazis is going well, then?" Damien grunted at Taylor.
"As well as it can be, I suppose."
That night, Taylor sauntered into a nightclub.
She had the typical look of someone who attended raves: drunk, disconcertingly cheerful and dressed like garbage. She powerwalked across the dance floor, past the bar, and over to little shady corner. Faultline, seeing her walk in, and immediately knowing trouble when she saw it, gave a greeting with subtlely threatening undertones.
"Who are you and what are you doing in my club?"
"I need you and your crew to tangle with the Empire. Try to catch as many Empire capes in the crossfire as possible."
"You want me to hit the Empire?" Faultline scoffed, "Biggest gang in town, with the most parahumans to boot. They've got loads of heavy hitters on their team, you know. Not exactly a risk-free venture, even for us. Unless you've got loads of cash, there's no way—"
A loud thunk interrupted Faultline's tirade. A solid hunk of gold, so tall it nearly reached her thighs, was sitting on the floor in front of her, having appeared seemingly from nowhere. Faultline blinked and did a double-take, first looking at Taylor, then looking back at the chunk of solid gold, and then back at Taylor. She paused for a minute.
"Nice try, but you'll need—"
Another thunk. Another piece of gold, even larger this time, joined the first.
Faultline looked Taylor in the eyes, "Alright, when and where?"
Taylor's grin glinted in the light of the nightclub.
* * *
"Our territory's a mess because of all the parties," Kaiser, in his civilian guise as Max Anders, cradled his head in his hands at his desk at Medhall, "Faultline's crew has trashed a dozen of our facilities, Victor's gone, and Purity is throwing laser light shows on the streets! What the fuck is happening?"
Hookwolf, having been run ragged the whole day trying to do damage control, could only nod and grunt while he slouched in a chair next to Kaiser's desk. Kaiser, just about ready to explode from his incoming migraine, decided to work on something else for now, and sifted through his paperwork, trying to find something to do. As he did so, he noticed something that hadn't been there just a few minutes ago.
There, in his paperwork (and how the hell had it gotten there in the first place?) was a small note, written in familiar runny purple ink.
Dear Mr. Kaiser,
Who's your daddy?
XOXO
Kaiser screamed.
* * *
On Thursday, Taylor kept a promise.
"Hi, Miss Militia, how's about we pick up where we left off, yeah?"
Miss Militia could already feel a headache coming on. The Empire had been imploding in on itself the whole week because of Taylor's efforts, and while that was an unexpectedly pleasant outcome despite all of the chaos that it produced as a byproduct, it also meant that she'd been working longer and longer shifts trying to get everything under control, "Alright, first thing is that the PRT's assigned you an official cape name, like you asked. From now on, you'll be referred to as 'Silenus.'"
"Too much trouble just to call me Taylor, huh."
"And," Miss Militia tried to move things along, "We also need to talk about the, ah... less savory behavior that we've noticed from you."
"Like?" Taylor pushed her feet against the table, the only item of furniture other than two chairs in the not-interrogation room, and tilted her chair onto its two hind legs so that it balanced precariously as she slouched. She pulled out a bottle of wine and began to glug it down.
"Well, first thing, what exactly is happening between you and the Empire?" There were many, many others things that she wanted to discuss, but that was just the most recent and most urgent thing that the PRT had seen. A parahuman matching Taylor's description wreaking havoc on the gang.
"Me?" Taylor pointed at herself and offered a little wan smile, "I'm just taking out the trash. Little community service never hurt anybody."
