Wolf Spider (Worm) (Complete)

[The Laurent]

Alright, and so this is the thread for the latest brain-fart of The Laurent. Stand by as I repost 1.1 and 1.2, and then in a little bit, 1.3.

Edit:

Adding Premise: Taylor Hebert, bullied here, does a few things differently and winds up meeting a very different Undersider, in rather different circumstances. Rachel is a main character, btw. Minor AU.

 

[The Laurent]

Ruff 1.1

The worst part of having a friend had to be that, once you stopped being friends and they turned against you and spent all their time bullying you, they knew all of your secrets.

At least, I have to say that it was the worst, most aggravating part of my day. It was weird, because she mixed truth and lies, or at least things that could be true, might be true, with made up nonsense. Just a constant stream from Emma Barnes, my best friend, and all of her cronies and friends and people who just liked gossiping.

"I heard that Taylor blows guys for money," one of them whispered almost under their breath as I looked down at the math book and worked on copying out problems. This was a lie, of course, but they tried to make it real, or rather, make it seem real. Madison or one of them had written my name and phone number in several different guy's bathroom stalls. And one of those 'for a good time' things.

I'd had to change my number.

"Well I heard that the only reason she's not failing math is because she's kissing the teacher. You know what Emma said, after all--"

The teacher was Mrs. Yvette, a forty year old woman who, no, I was not in fact kissing or anything like that. I had confessed to Emma once that I'd had a crush on another girl once. I had no idea if that made me bisexual or not, but the Emma that I'd thought was my friend had been sympathetic and understanding and nice.

And then, this Emma, the one that had replaced her, had used it. Had used the confessed crushes on guys I'd had (far more numerous) to set me up, had done everything in her power to make the past few years miserable.

I wrote as hard as I could, gritting my teeth and telling myself I had ways out, that I had ways to get out of here.

Two of them, in fact, I thought miserably.

The first was obvious, because I got decent grades despite the bullying and harssment campaign that Emma, Sophia, and Madison were leading. If I went off to college, I could make my own way, figure out things on my own. I hoped I could, at least. My mom and Dad had both gone to college, and it was the Hebert way by now, even if it didn't always pay off.

Second, I had superpowers. I was a parahuman, in common parlance. Someone who had gone through an experience so traumatic I'd gotten superpowers. It sucked in some ways, that the only people who got powers were those who were victims, but I could be a hero. I could stop people like Emma, I could--

I dunno. I could do something. I hadn't ever gone out, I'd spent way too long planning and thinking and dreaming of it. I was doing that even now, when I wasn't thinking through quadratic equations. Math wasn't hard, it was something I could mostly just do off to the side. It didn't capture me like literature did--my Mom was an English Professor, after all--but I can't say I had any problems with it.

The problems I had were that it really didn't help, thinking long term. Thinking that someday, in the distant future, I would be happy didn't help when my hand hurt and I felt awkward and gawky and the girls behind me were making up worse and worse rumors. When my Dad was barely making ends meet paying for the house and the car and all sorts of other problems, when my school life was a living hell, I had no friends, and nothing to really distract me.

Sure, I could browse PHO or play one of the handheld games I'd gotten on the cheap as something, anything, to pass the time. I sometimes talked to this kid named Greg about it. He was alright, and considering that everyone else acted like I had the plague, I appreciated one person who occasionally talked to me. But that's all it was, really.

It felt like, even with the future stretched out, that I was treading in place. Waiting and waiting some more to get everything ready. I'd even finished my costume a little bit ago. I'd made it myself, and not in the way most independent heroes did.

You see, there were five or six flies in that room, and a few ants that I'd had follow me in. I had the power to control bugs, or at least, that's mostly what I could control. I'd been working on my range and all sorts of other details about fine control, trying to imagine ways I could use my power, but I'd never gotten into a fight.

One of the things I'd done was make a costume. It involved using spiders. I'd gathered them up, looking up which spiders were best for it (black widows) online, and then controlling them through the process of making the silk and then turning it all into a costume, which I'd finished not all that long ago. I'd even tried it on, realized that it needed some more color, and tried to put together a little bit of cloth or something. The idea I had was, like, the symbol of a spider, but somehow make it heroic? Apparently in Earth Aleph (another earth, with far fewer Parahumans) they had someone called Spider Man, so clearly I could do it.

So now I looked like a proper hero.

If I went out. I felt like I was circling the drain, holding off on acting when I should have. It was already right in the middle of April, and I wasn't sure if I'd make it to the end of the school year without tearing my hair out.

A spitball hit the back of my head. I growled, turning around, but I knew who it came from. That was just acting. It was always Madison who did these petty, stupid things like that.

I could have used my bugs to go Carrie, I knew that. But I wasn't going to do something like that. I was above it. Though I could sometimes feel my resolve slipping. The idea of giving Emma bedbugs was the sort of childish fantasy that sometimes helped me get through a really, really bad day.

But that's all it was. A fantasy.

Reality was much harder and more stressful than that.

*******

My home wasn't bad. Just run down.

It wasn't even a bad neighborhood. Just run down.

My Dad wasn't a bad Dad either. Danny Hebert worked hard, he loved me, he watched his temper and if he knew how hard things were for me, he would have sprung into action, as he had when I'd wound up getting powers, though he didn't know that I'd triggered yet. Just run down.

Ever since Mom died, I'd taken on my fair share of the cooking, which was to say I'd learned a lot and also probably not as much as you'd think. Dad was an uncomplicated eater, and I wasn't much better. We saw food, we ate it. So I made chicken and potatoes and some vegetables, and then waited for Dad to get home.

He stepped in, looking tired and rubbing at his eyes behind his glasses. Dad looked more than a little like me. He was tall, and skinny, his hair darker, and just like me he had to wear glasses. He always looked a little uncertain behind the glasses, they made his green eyes look just a little too large.

"Hey Dad, how was work?" I asked, trying to sound a little happier than I was.

"Fine." Dad shuffled over to the fridge and opened it up. Dad didn't drink that much, but I swear he drank more than he had before Mom died. He grabbed a beer and then headed for the kitchen table. "School?"

"Got the lit test back. Did alright at it," I said, even though someone had dunked my book in the toilet so I'd had to read an online version of the last two chapters.

"Good. How's Greg?" Dad asked, clearly fishing for a topic.

Not awkward at all.

"Uh, good. He started this new game, last time I talked to him. So he's talking about that," I said.

"Oh. Right." Dad wasn't so old he didn't have some experience with old video games, but he never really was the type. He was smart, but I got most of my geekery from my Mom. That and just my own personality, as far as it went. "So, what are you going to do this weekend?"

"I don't know. I suppose I'll see what comes up," I said, "unless there's anything you want to do?"

"I'm going to go down to the docks to see if there's anything we can do. There's rumors that this summer will be better--"

There were always rumors. There were rumors every season that the next seasons of working on the docks unloading ships that bothered to come to Brockton Bay would be better, except in the fall, because not even the desperate would believe that winter was going to be a great season for unloading ships. My Dad had devoted his life to the Dockworker's Union, and it wasn't really--

Well, it hadn't given him back nearly as much as he'd given it.

I hated that about the city. But even with my superpowers, even if I became a real hero, which is what I wanted more than anything. Even with all of that, there were some things I couldn't possibly fix.

I just had to endure them. And hope that I came out the other side alright.

******

As soon as my Dad was on the couch watching television and drinking and looking over some papers and files, I went up to my room to put on my costume. People online said it would stop bullets, but even if it didn't, I knew it'd make pretty decent armor, all things considering. I'd then hung or stitched this blue circle on the back of my costume and drawn, sort of roughly, a spider on the back. I had no idea how else to note down 'I am a hero', so I went with the crudest possible way to do that.

Blue made it look better, right?

My costume otherwise was pretty simple. A black and grey silken bodysuit, with some armor panels that I know didn't help my attempt to look non-villainous, and a mask that similarly made me look just a little too sinister. They at least meant I wouldn't have to fiddle with glasses, at least, because the lenses dealt with that. I'd left the back free, after thinking about it for a bit, because having my long, curly hair coming out the back at least made me look slightly less threatening.

It was an uphill battle, but I'd done as best as I could. Now all I had to do was actually go out on patrol.

I didn't have a fast way to move around, so I'd be hoofing it, which meant that where I could go was pretty limited.

So, I thought about it. And I thought about the E88. They were a neo-nazi gang that recruited a lot from the kids of dockworkers and other poor people (the white ones, at least), and so I knew they were right around this area, more or less.

They had a lot of territory, and a lot of capes, but I thought there were at least some of their capes I could deal with, and parahumans were too rare for them to be everywhere. With enough bugs, I was pretty sure I could overwhelm a few thugs. Hide out of the way and have flies crawl down their throat, or a swarm of bugs just swallow them up.

And I'd had this idea for creating clumps of bugs in the shapes of people to distract them from the real target, me. I just hadn't tried it. I'd had a lot of ideas in the last week, but without a chance to practice, they all remained ideas.

So I set off, to see what I could see.

All the while, as I walked the streets, having found the nearest alley to change into the costume, I'd gather bugs. You wouldn't believe how many bugs there are, once you actually start paying attention. They're just everywhere, and I could control them.

It'd felt a little creepy and weird at first, but the more I got used to them, the more normal it was. Bugs weren't always cute, many of them were gross, but--

Well, you either learn to tolerate and even like them or you just never use your power, and of the options, I'd chosen the only one I could.

And spiders? Spiders were cute as heck.

Then again, I was the girl who used Black Widow spiders to make my costume. So maybe I was just weird.

Or maybe it was the world that was weird!

I continued along, until I saw it. A trio of tattooed punks were going somewhere. Normally that'd not be a big deal, except one of the tattoos was of a swastika, and so I assumed that wherever they were going, it wasn't good news. So I backed up a little and used my bugs to follow them. My range was several blocks, give or take, and seemed to change based on factors I couldn't even quite understand.

But it meant I could follow them well, as long as they didn't look back. And they seemed to be heading towards an area filled with old warehouses.

This was the kind of area where the streets were bumpy because nobody lived there to complain, and few enough people worked there either. Where the lamps flickered and the buildings themselves seemed cast in shadows, even during the days.

They were headed towards a somewhat small, squat warehouse, with a fading logo on the sign outside.

One of them scratched at where I'd put the fly, but it just moved off and then went back to its task, and as I got closer, I could see that there were sounds coming from the warehouse, and out front was a large, bald man. He had tattoos covering almost his entire face. White, of course, with hands like ham hocks and a glare that even from a distance felt accusatory.

Nervously, I checked what bugs were in the area. And felt it.

A lot of fleas. Just so many fleas it wasn't even funny. And there were other squirming, strange things beyond. The fleas were moving a lot, or rather, whatever they were--

I frowned for a moment, concentrating on trying to figure out just what was going on here. It was all fuzzy, but I felt this vibration every so often from the fleas, as if…

I started trying to add up the pieces. A lot of fleas in a warehouse, and then maybe worms? And a bunch of Empire Eighty-Eight Neo-nazis were heading for a door and it was guarded.

I inched around. There were a number of run-down businesses nearby, which had once catered to, say, hungry working men, and standing in the shadows of one alley as I made my way as close as I could while I tried to think about what I'd do, I saw someone.

I couldn't actually make out a lot about him. He was not quite as tall as me, but at least not below average, with the sort of blocky frame I associated with pretty impressive athletes. At least, I think that's what he looked like, because he was wearing a dark brown jacket with a hood, and a fur collar around the hood that looked a little odd. As did their features behind the hood. Or lack thereof.

It looked like the side of an animal. No, a dog, I thought, as I had a few flies head his way. He was wearing a dog mask?

And near him was a german shepherd and a rottweiler, or something like that--oh! The mask, it had to be shaped like a rottweiler. So, some sort of hero or--

I tried to remember, I'd looked up a number of capes. There was one called Hellhound. I can't remember looking at the profile, or at least, I hadn't lingered over it, just had read the name.

Could this be him?

I also realized a few other things. First, that had to be a dog-fighting ring, or something like that. Either that or an Aryan Dog-and-pony show. And if a member of the Undersiders, this minor heist sort of group or something like that, was here, it probably wasn't for a good purpose. Or at least, not good for the E88.

Which wasn't the same thing as bad at all. I made my way a little closer to him. He was resting a hand on both of the dogs. A gloved hand. When I got closer, I began to have a better impression of his solidity, and yet I knew that one wrong glance and he'd see me.

My bugs began to crawl over him, and he shook a little, as if trying to dislodge them. A fly flew into his mask, and then down his collar, and he stopped to work with it as the fly sent vague impressions back. And then it was squished.

The dogs, though, when I got slightly closer, I could see that they were growing larger and, frankly, a little less dog like. They weren't growing fast, though. This wasn't attack of the fifty-foot dog, at least.

Okay, so, attack dogs? Some sort of attack dog power? Either way, if I attacked the E88, perhaps he'd join in and help out.

I began gathering bugs. The people were talking to the bouncer. I couldn't make out words, but I could get a vague impression of sound from the bugs, and it sounded frustrated and angry. He finally gestured and then looked right in my direction.

A fly through straight into his throat, and he let out a cough as the three punks turned around. Two of them were shaved bald, and the third had shaggy, thick hair on his head that went down almost to his neck, and all of them looked very, very mean.

But I'd been gathering insects. I wasn't very subtle with it, all things considered, but people don't really look beneath their feet, and this place was crawling with bugs. A tidal wave of chittering insects leapt from the corner of the warehouse, and one of the men screamed, reaching for his pocket as the bugs hit him.

They scratched and bite and gnawed, and I had a black widow somewhere there, crawling up his leg, trying to find flesh to bite. Black Widow bites weren't fatal all that often, but they weren't nice, either, and I half-charged forward, hoping that as they fought against the biting, kicking and scratching insects they wouldn't pay too much attention to me. I'd drawn out a secret weapon, pepper spray, and I was going to hit them even worse. They were already being bitten and stung (I had brought along bees) and that meant they were already in pain and confused, but I needed to take them down. So, I sprayed away, and the screams would draw people. By then, hopefully, more of my bugs would take out more of their men, and then--

Okay, maybe I hadn't planned ahead, but the first step was really impressive. Four men, including one that could have crushed me like a grape, were screaming. Two of them were down on the ground covering their eyes, as a bee stung them all over. I wouldn't have ordered it to go for the eyes, but they didn't know that, did they?

Then there was a sound. It was loud, like someone slamming down a hardback copy of Lord of the Rings as hard as they can. I blinked, stepping back, and realizing after a moment that there was a ragged, short-haired woman standing in front of me with a gun, having started by shooting at random before she even saw me.

My ears were ringing as I sent the bugs after her, but she fired again and almost hit me. If she had any training, I'd have been hit, but as it was, she went down.

Then I heard a loud bark, and a large dog hurtled past me to catch one of the goons coming up, tackling him down. It was larger than any dog I'd ever seen, though not as large as I'd feared, and I smiled. Good, he was--

"Get out of the way," a voice growled, and I turned to see him…

No, not him. This close, and hearing the voice. It was a gruff, somewhat masculine voice, but it was also a woman's voice. I think.

"This is a dog fighting ring," I said, "I'm going to break it up."

"I can do that myself," she grunted, shaking her head. "Out of the way."

"A little help never hurt. There are a bunch of dogs in there, and they all have fleas. Pretty badly cared for, I'd bet," I said.

I wasn't even thinking about the fight for a moment. I just directed my bugs to keep on attacking everything that wasn't the dogs, me, or Hellhound.

She shook her head, angrily. It was the way she walked. There was confidence and an odd sort of brutality to it. Tensed up and ready for an attack. I didn't know whether that was a yes or not, but I decided to wait until she was through the door to actually follow her in.

What I saw inside probably didn't do much for my faith in humanity. There was a pit of sorts, and cages everywhere, and the place stank of dog and blood and sweat and all sorts of other things, just a pungent scent that almost knocked me out as I stepped in, behind her. She seemed to be willing to tolerate me if I kept out of her way. Or maybe it was the way I kept behind her. I didn't know.

I couldn't make out much of her even this close up, which probably made it a decent costume, but she looked strong, and the way she kept on whistling and giving orders to her dogs as they mauled people was impressive.

If violent.

In the pit, a pair of dogs were circling, and from the way that people were spilled over, screaming as my bugs bit at them or as Hellhound's dogs did rather worse than what a few bugs could do. Or even all the bugs I could gather. There were probably a dozen dogs, if not more, most of them in crates or cages.

I didn't have to be a dog lover to stare at the ribs and the generally poor condition of the dogs, the torn off ears and the angry snarls, to guess that what had been done to them wasn't right.

"It isn't right," I muttered to myself.

The E88 tried to fight back, and if they'd had a cape, well, who knows. But as it was, few of them had guns on them, a polite society not being an armed one despite what everyone said, and those that did were very terrible shots.

Especially when flies kept on landing on their eyes before they could make a shot. Soon, they were fleeing in terror, and Hellhound's shoulders lost a little tension as she began called out, "Brutus" and one of the dogs came to her side, as she marched towards the two dogs that had been fighting, who were now eyeing each other warily, scared of what was going on.

I watched her as she moved, effortlessly separating the dogs and dodging when they bit at her with their sharp, honed teeth.

Then she took out a cell-phone, dialing a number rapidly.

"You… that was impressive, Hellhound."

"Bitch," she said.

"Excuse me?" I asked, trying not to sound as offended as I did.

"I'm called Bitch," she repeated, sounding annoyed and frustrated as she waited for someone to pick up the phone. "Got them. Get them. It's the deal. What? How did you--"

She tensed and shut off the phone. "How the fuck," she muttered.

"Alright, then, Bitch…" I said, stepping closer to her carefully. She was moving around, cleaning up the place and making sure all the dogs were in the cages. "What are you going to do here?"

I stepped past a groaning, bleeding member of the E88.

"Take these dogs. They deserve better than this shit," she said, her voice hard. Hard and firm. Now that she wasn't in the middle of a fight, she moved a little differently. Still closed up, but a little less ready to attack. The dogs close to her, her dogs that was, they looked like they could be very vicious, and I knew if I crossed her she'd attack me.

She was a villain, after all.

"You gonna care for them?" I asked, frowning. Saving dogs wasn't what I imagined doing tonight, but at least I was helping something.

"Yes."

"That's a lot of dogs to care for yourself. Do you need help?"

"I'm fine," she said, clearly distracted.

A part of me wanted to give up. After all, she was a villain anyways, while I was an aspiring hero, but I dunno. The first thing I'd seen her do is break up a dog-fighting ring, and I looked at the dogs and, I dunno.

Something about me had sympathy for beaten, ill-treated dogs. I wondered what.

"I'm… a new cape. Bug? I'm not sure what to call myself. This is my first night out," I said, hoping that talking to her would help to lower her guard. I wasn't sure whether there was any chance. "I just saw, well. I saw the Nazis and--"

Bitch nodded, "Fucking Nazis." She hesitated, and I saw her looking me up and down, probably wondering whether I'd be any help, on top of whether or not she trusted me. She was big for a girl, and just from what I could see, I bet she was pretty strong. She was able to lift the dog crates, with the dogs in them, one-handed without straining, and I had to imagine that looking at me, the skinny girl whose only real exercise was running, she didn't think great things.

We'd worked together, and I kind of liked that, even if it had been quiet. I'd helped her a few times, without even thinking about it, and I admit that wasn't much of a basis for trying to get to know her more, but considering that 'we both play video games' was enough to wind up talking a ton to Greg, there were worse reasons to want to help.

"So, I mean. I could give you a phone number, if you wanted help. I mean, if you don't, you could drive me off. I don't know what my bugs would do against your dogs, really," I admitted. "I'm not going to sell you out or anything, I just want to help."

Bitch hesitated for a moment. "Number."

I blinked and rattled off the number for a cell phone I'd just gotten for calling in crimes and the like. Except I'd forgotten to bring it along with me.

She nodded, and I asked, "Do you need any help now? Lifting all of these?"

"Sure. Got people coming, though."

"For what?"

"Help me load them," Bitch said. "Van."

"Oh… okay," I said, hesitantly, and tried to follow her lead, lifting up crates and putting them closer to the entrances. They were heavy, and I had to use both hands to carry some of the dogs, which snapped and bit at me, even when they couldn't reach me. I had no idea how she was going to train them.

The ones she was carrying seemed to be the ones who were cowering, at least, and when she set each crate down she'd lean in to talk to them. I couldn't hear what she was saying. I could have tried with my bugs, but it didn't feel right.

It was hard work, but soon all of the crates were by the door, and I moved towards it. "Bitch, I'm out of here."

She shrugged, and I left, arms aching, and smelling a little of dog.

Outside, a van had parked, and I passed them by, noting the wary way the men looked at me.

I headed off, not sure of whether I'd done good, or done bad, or just done something. But I'd faced people, and I hadn't panicked or freaked out. It wasn't the same as facing down capes, I knew, but it was something, right? I kept on warring with myself whether I'd made the right move or whether I was doing any good, and I'd gotten myself worked up by the time I slipped into the house, glad that Dad was already asleep.

Honestly, I expected she'd just decide not to call me and I'd never seen her again. She was weird, and her dogs were violent, and yet she'd just… saved dogs. Not the same as saving people, but it made me think.

What was her plan, her goal? I could obviously look up Bitch online if I got a chance, and now wasn't there a name that it felt horrible to say. Maybe I'd learn more about her. I knew that the Undersiders were pretty small-time, but that didn't mean anything. I was small time. Maybe I could, I dunno, figure out more about them?

I didn't have a specific plan, but maybe if I could…

No, I didn't have a plan. But I needed to make a mark as a hero somehow, and taking down a bunch of nazis was a start, right? And without Bitch, it would have been a lot harder for me. A lot harder, really, because there were a lot of people in there, but the combination of bugs and her dogs had been surprisingly powerful.

I was still thinking about that strange girl when I finally drifted off to sleep. I dreamt of mad dogs and cheap dog-masks.

******

A/N: So this is a slight AU, in ways, and I know there's not much to go on so far, but eh. Tell me what you think, all?

Thanks to @NemoMarx for looking through this.

 

[The Laurent]

Ruff 1.2

I woke up remembering that I hadn't had a shower at all before going to bed. I knew this because I had a working nose. You didn't need to be a dog to notice. I'd been walking this way and that, and then I'd been stressed during the fight, and I'd had a decent day at school (Emma hadn't come after me, or Sophia, and that was enough to make it decent) but even the best day was stressful… and then there were all the dog crates I lifted and helped move out of the way.

So in conclusion, I stank.

Emma made up rumors that I was some sort of cave troll, because I dressed in concealing clothes after all sorts of things including her comments, but I wasn't. So even though my plans included going for a run, I hurried into the bathroom for a quick shower. I turned it on, let out a surprised shout at the cold water, and then bathed as quickly as I could.

By the time the shower was steaming, I was deep in thought. Things had gone well with… Bitch, and in the light of the morning, I felt even better about it, even though I hadn't even seen her face. Then again, she hadn't seen mine. Neither of us had seen much of each other, and I couldn't actually have described her well enough for someone else to pick her up out of a lineup.

I was assuming the jacket was not so thick that it was throwing things off, which was probably a silly assumption. She'd certainly seen more of my appearance, of course. The hair, the general frame, thin and too tall, enough I supposed.

Okay, so, I thought, toweling myself off and hurrying into my room, I'd go to the library after I went for a run and look them all up. If she turned out to be sketchy, some kind of evil psycho-killer who just happened to like dogs, I'd just not respond to her calls. I didn't know why I was even thinking about it anyways. Was I that desperate? Yes. Yes I was. It frustrated me, sometimes, how needy I felt. Grateful for any talk, even if it was just Greg talking about video game levels when we occasionally chatted.

Even that sometimes made him the target for Emma's wrath, and that he hadn't shunned me like everyone else was enough to win a little bit of grace in my book, even if he was often sort of awkward. After all, so was I.

I'd gotten up earlier than usual, though I wasn't sure why, so I still had time to get dressed and quickly and clumsily brush my hair just enough for it to look a lot worse, and still have time to go out for a jog.

Ever since I'd gotten my powers, I'd taken up exercise because the time would come when it'd pay off. If I was out of shape it'd make getting around the city hard, and getting away from trouble harder.

So I'd pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans, and then went over to the calendar I'd set up on the wall of my room as an encouragement to keep with the program It was a calendar of female athletes, meant to inspire people to perspire, or the like, I assumed. This month wasn't all that appropriate for my own task, this female mixed martial artist who had won a ton of fights, but the one before had been a marathonist, which certainly felt more fitting. Either way, I checked the box for today's date, Saturday, April 16th, and then flipped through it for a moment.

Still most of the year to go. I glanced around my room one last time and then put on my sneakers and headed downstairs, apologizing to Dad for skipping out on breakfast first. I'd eat when I got back.

So I started out for a jog, just a little bit past six, the air still cool and the world still empty. Sometimes that felt like a bad thing, of course. I was lonely enough sometimes, but today I liked it. The crisp air, the routine. I didn't have an amount I ran, I just kept on ramping up, going faster and faster until I started to get tired, and then I'd slow down, allowing my body and my feet to take me where I wanted to go.

I wound up going along the Boardwalk part of the way, and then looping around. If I wanted to go get breakfast, I could have stopped at one of the fast food places on the way, I thought. I had my phone on me, and I stopped near a bus stop to call my Dad. I decided I could just call him, use the money I'd brought in my sweatshirt (I had a twenty and a five that I'd shoved there a few weeks ago, and then forgotten to use), and eat some sort of sausage and muffin sandwich or something. Of course, that'd cancel out some of the good I'd done with all this running, but I was really starting to get hungry.

Which was when the phone rang. I looked at the number, which I didn't recognize.

"Hey," a voice said. A very familiar one. "Come down. Need your help."

"Where?" I asked, frowning, annoyed. I wasn't in the mood to come, even if I had said I would, but--

I sighed. "Don't know where you are."

"Go on Thompson street, I'll meet you there."

"Fine, fine."

"You asked," Bitch said, her voice hard, as if she expected that of me.

"Sorry, just hadn't had breakfast yet. Was out for a run," I explained, as if she cared. "I'll just jog over there. See you then."

"Okay," Bitch said, not sounding interested.

*******

I'd like to think I made decent time, actually. I jogged most of the way, walking only when I got tired, and then finally I reached the street. I looked around, and that's when I spotted Bitch for the first time.

She was looking at me, her eyes dark and a little bit big for her face, which was square and blunt, with a strong jaw. Her lips were shut, not smiling or anything, and she had a nose that looked like it had seen its share of fights. The brows above her eyes were thick and dark, and red-brown hair cut very short, though with at least a little care.

My impression of her was right. She was big and thick, though not at all fat. Strong arms ended in short, blunt looking fingers, and she was dressed in a shapeless sort of T-shirt and a torn pair of jeans, as well as some well-used looking boots. She looked like someone who could get into a fight with one of the punks from the other day and win, her form blocky and solid.

She started forward, holding something in her hands. I'd been using my bugs the whole time, to make sure that this wasn't a trap with a dozen people around ready to leap on me, and as far as my bugs could tell, everything was normal. Then she thrust out her hand.

It was a protein bar.

"Eat. It'll be hard work."

"Oh," I said, startled as I looked at her closer, surprised at her kindness. "Thanks."

She grunted, annoyed as I smiled at her. Oddly, she seemed to tense up for whatever reason until my smile dimmed. "Whatever," she said. "Dogs need to eat. Gonna work with the ones I rescued, they need baths, and we need to clean out the cages."

She turned and began to walk, and I followed her, close behind. It seemed like it made sense. Those dogs were in no good condition, so of course she'd pay the most attention to them. I didn't know how many other dogs she had, though. That was certainly something to consider. Speaking of considering, "I have control of bugs, B… can I call you something else? I'm Taylor."

She walked for a little while, as if she hadn't heard me.

"Anyways," I said, pressing on, "I can control bugs. That means I could get rid of fleas on the dogs without any powder or anything, and… you know, I wonder, if they had worms, would that count as a type of bug?"

Bitch slowed down a little bit. She didn't really have a runner's build, but she was pretty steady all the same. "Rachel. Call me Rachel." And then she sped up a lot, as if she were trying to leave me in the dust.

I hurried to catch up when my phone started ringing again just as she started to round a corner. "One sec," I called out, checking the number. Another one I didn't know. I frowned, and decided not to take it at the moment. If Rachel had as much to do as I thought, she wouldn't like to wait, and so I sped up, and left it to go to voice message.

Which it did. I'd listen to it later, I supposed. I opened the protein bar and took a bite. Horrible, absolutely horrible. But I kept on eating, and while I walked, I thought. It was odd, the way she'd gotten more tense when I smiled. Did she not like friendliness, or not trust it? Or did she not like smiles. But why would she--

I frowned to myself, not sure what kind of read to get on her.

Or the building she was coming towards. At the moment it was quiet, but as she got closer dogs started to bark. Some poor sap had started to build in this area, and had apparently realized just how horrible an idea it was. There was a small crane, and the building had literally been left half-finished.

Rachel walked up to the door, opening it and gesturing for me to get inside before quickly locking it and striding forward through a run-down looking hallway towards a second door. And when she opened it up, a handful of dogs almost knocked me over when they overshot Bitch. Licking, barking, most of them obviously happy.

And then, angry and far less certain, were the Fighting Dogs, still kept in their cages, which were pushed in a corner of the strangest room I'd ever seen. It was half build, cement up to one point, and then grass and dirt in the other half, mixed with a bunch of stone, as if someone had been preparing for cement. Three of the walls were finished, leaving a fourth completely open, bizarrely. Someone, or a dog in general, could just walk outside at any time.

There might have been a second floor, except it'd never been built, but what had been built was enough of it to create a decent overhang, so that despite the lack of roof, it probably kept off the rain decently enough.

Man it was odd, though. There were pallets lying everywhere, toys here and there, and most of the dogs seemed to only have eyes for her, though one ugly looking mutt rolled over and demanded attention from me. I rubbed his belly for a moment, looking over at Rachel as she walked over towards a pallet with several different kinds of dog food. She frowned and then picked up one of the larger bags.

Some of the dogs, especially the new ones, had fleas, I noted, as I read the bag. It was a very general issue sort of dog food, since these dogs came in all shapes and sizes. I didn't know exactly how her power worked. She'd been giving commands to them, and they'd been obeying, but was that because she trained them or because she was the dog whisperer?

Or both, I supposed.

She gestured over to me and tossed me a pocket knife that she'd apparently just carried around. In a firm voice, she said, "Pour half of it out. The fighter dogs will eat after the others."

I clumsily cut a hole in the bag and began to pour it out while she watched for a moment and then, once she'd decided I wouldn't somehow kill the dogs by incompetence, she walked off. As soon as the food hit the trough, the dogs swarmed on it, eating as fast as they could.

Wolfing it down wasn't even the start of it, and I watched it, a little amused.

The dogs in the cages were whining, and I looked at them. Most were larger, and rather rough looking in one way or another. Scrappy. Survivors, which was another way to say that they were hurt and yet had gotten very good at hurting. One of them seemed a little less imposing, a white dog with brown patches here and there, and a shoulder that even from here looked off.

He or she had been used hard. All of them had. Rachel returned a little bit later with a large carton of water that she poured into several very large bowls. And even then, it wasn't enough, because once they'd drank all the water, she had to put out more.

She whistled, and the german shepherd she'd trained before came up, walking with her as she began opening the cages for the other dogs. They leapt out of them, and one of them looked like it was going to run before the shepherd growled at it. "There, Judas. Keep the other dogs off of them." She whistled, and then walked over to me. "Pour the food," she said, impatiently, and I did.

A few of the dogs that had already eaten moved forward to get more of their fill, only for Judas to get in their way and growl. I'd have gotten out of the way. And the Rottweiler was there as well, doing his job as well, without even being told. Whenever a dog snapped at the other, Rachel would growl and Judas or the Rottweiler would come forward to deal with it. After a while, the dogs had eaten and drank their fill, and Rachel nodded at me and said, "Any of them got worms?"

"That dog," I said, pointing to a black lab that hadn't been part of the fighting dogs, "has… heartworms?"

It felt really, really weird. But yeah. "And, that one," I said, pointing to a pit bull, "has a worm in its stomach."

"His. his stomach," Rachel corrected.

"Didn't know," I said, shrugging. "The others are fine, thankfully. I bet that they didn't want any of their dogs to be too sick, or else they couldn't fight and suffer for their amusement."

Rachel looked at me. "That so?"

"People are like that." I once thought that Emma liked me, and even now, I think she'd be grieved if I died. Grieved that I'd robbed her of her fun and her chance to prove whatever sick, horrible point she was trying to make by bullying me relentlessly.

"Yeah," Rachel said, and she nodded, in a way I couldn't quite place. "I can bulk Sirius up, it might hurt the worm. It's worked before."

"Maybe, but when they die, I think they release toxins?"

"Heard that too," Rachel said, "somewhere. Could you stop the worm from doing it?"

"Not sure," I admitted, "um, how does bulking up the dogs work?"

"Why?" Rachel asked, suspiciously.

"I'm just trying to think," I admitted.

"They bulk up when I touch them and concentrate. Once they get large enough, they're actually in a… meat shell."

"A meat shell?" I asked, baffled. "Like a dog piloting a Gundam?"

"What's a Gundam?" Rachel said. Her suspicion seemed to redouble, and I realized, or thought I realized, that she thought I was mocking her.

"Giant robot that people get into, shaped like a person."

"Oh," Rachel said, sounding a little incredulous. "Yes, I guess."

"Cool. So if the shell is different, I could have the worm sort of crawl into it? If it doesn't work," I added. It might, after all.

"Sure."

*******

It wasn't that easy, though. As Rachel explained it, tersely, when they first got empowered, the dogs were startled and angry. So she couldn't control them. So she had to bulk up the three dogs she knew how to 'use' and have them at the ready before she even touched the dog, who she called Sirius. The stomach worm I'd dealt with on my own, it was actually pretty easy, all things considered. It committed what, for a stomach worm, was suicide. And now it should just pass through, ultimately.

Sirius, though, that involved gripping him tight, and I was there as well and the dogs were there if he did anything.

I was watching to see if it worked. I had no idea how her power worked, and I wasn't sure if she knew all of the specifics either.

As she touched him, he began to change. The power flushed through him, and it felt like the worm was dissolving. And that should have meant that the simple thing released highly dangerous toxins that seriously hurt the dog. As bad as the heartworms had felt, that was the result that should have happened.

Instead, other than struggling and trying to bite at Bitch in surprised anger, he was fine.

"Oh," I said, faintly impressed. "It seems like it's dead. But… no poison."

"Huh," Rachel said, with a shrug. "Next, we need to look over the animals. You'll need to help hold them," she said, and I could just picture the checklist in her head.

I nodded, trying not to smile just to see how that went.

*******

Rachel was strong, and she knew what she was doing. She'd hold the dog and quickly check over him or her. Teeth, muzzle, ribs, moving them all over, and whispering them the whole time. I held their head, or their body when she was looking at the mouth, and when one of them tried to bolt, one of the fighting dogs who had taken into a panic, she easily kept it from moving. Her arms were a little tanned at places, and it was clear she spent a lot of time outside.

From the way this place was set up, there was probably a lot of outside time.

"What are you going to do with the cages?" I asked, in the middle of the sixth examination.

"Save 'em. Just in case," Rachel said.

"The dogs don't sleep in them?"

"No. I have plenty of floor," she said, as if it were a stupid question, "and blankets."

I blinked, looking around, "Where do you sleep?"

She tensed a little at the question. Her whole body seemed built for tensing up before an attack, the way it was made of strong lines. This close she smelled strongly of dog, and this only added to the faint sense of discomfort I felt. It was hard to place, just this feeling like I was on thin ice, that every word I was saying mattered and that I didn't want to say anything wrong.

I was afraid of her and couldn't even quite feel it right, I decided.

"I have a room. Don't wanna talk about that."

Oh, the Undersiders. Some sort of hidden villain lair.

"Sometimes just sleep here," Rachel said, "nicer here."

"Do you have blankets?"

"Blankets and pillows. I just find a spot on the floor," Rachel said. Just like the dogs.

I imagined that some of them would have cuddled up to her, or tried to bother her, but I don't think that would have troubled her. It was such an oddly peaceful thing to imagine, her sprawled out on the ground in a mound of pillows and blankets, the dogs next to her or even on top of her. I had to keep from smiling, my face almost demanding to turn upward.

"What," she asked, her voice harsh.

"Nothing. Just thinking," I said. "I can get all of their fleas and all of the ticks and the like out of here, if you want."

"Sure. They don't like them none," Rachel said, as she kept up the work, not slowing down just because I was gabbing at them. "They'd appreciate it."

The cynic in me wondered if that was a difference between dogs and people. Appreciating when someone did something nice for you. But I knew that was just another dark, angry thought, the kind of thing that didn't help, but felt good to think.

*******

It took a long time to look through all the dogs and make sure we knew what was wrong with them, and even longer for me to do a Pied Piper and escort all of the fleas to the nearest storm drain.

By the time all of that was done, and looking over the other dogs, and cleaning up when one of the new dogs had peed on the concrete floor, it was well past eight o'clock, and felt like it'd been way longer.

It was a lot of work, really, but it did feel oddly purposeful. I didn't have a maternal bone in my body, not that I could tell, but there was a certain feeling like when the efforts were directed towards another living being, it made them feel better? Maybe that was the other side of the coin from the cynicism. Either way, I could see why she enjoyed doing this, and the thing was, when I watched her move from dog to dog, rubbing them, throwing sticks for them, going outside barefoot to watch as they went around the large, fenced in yard, she was good at it.

If I had to hire a dog sitter and she was charging anything short of "Dog Sitter for the Stars" rates, she'd be the one I chose, I thought to myself as I mostly just hung around and got curious sniffs from dog after dog. I patted them, rubbed a few bellies, and once the main work was done mostly I did things that weren't work so much as relaxation.

And when she wasn't playing with them, she was watching them. She eventually made her way over to the pallet I'd been sitting on, and sat down next to me. She smelled of sweat and dog, but she felt more friendly than she had earlier. As if I'd passed some kind of test.

"They're circling. They think they should fight because that's what they were told to do," Rachel said, pointing to two dogs.

I frowned, thinking back, "Are those the two dogs that were fighting?" They looked in pretty rough shape, really, and yet evenly matched in an odd way. Both big dogs with tears and rips in them. A missing ear on one of them, a somewhat wobbly shoulder with another. They moved slowly, this way and that.

"Yeah. Trained to hate," Rachel said, and she said it in this way like she'd said it before, like she'd memorized it.

"Hurt," I muttered, "like anyone who triggers."

She started, as if she hadn't quite thought about it like that. "Dogs can't trigger. If they could, maybe people would think twice--"

I began to nod, and then thought about it. No. No they wouldn't. "I wish they would, but I'm not sure. The possibility that I might trigger if pushed too far didn't help me any."

"You could sting them with your bugs or whatever," Rachel said, as if that was the logical thing to do. Just hurt people.

"I could. But I want to be a hero. I… fuck," I said, shaking my head, "I don't want to talk about this."

"Sure," Rachel said, as if she had had no investment at all in the answer. "The yard needs work."

"Huh?" I asked.

"Shit everywhere. Could you shovel it."

"If you join in," I said, sharply, then added, "two sets of hands are better than one."

She was looking at me, now, standing there stocky and sure, and then finally she gave a shrug and gestured over towards a corner where there were a few shovels.

So we shoveled shit for a while. It wasn't enjoyable, not in the last, and yet at least it was a decent day. I had to step carefully, and I wished I'd brought boots or something like she had, but there were worse jobs. I could be working retail, after all. Of course, I wasn't getting paid for this.

Rachel had rolled up her sleeves as far as they could go and then immediately set to work, her dark hair eventually glistening with sweat from the heat, doing twice as much work as I was doing.

"Well," I muttered to myself, "there is worse exercise."

"What?" Rachel asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh, I said that there was worse exercise. I've been working out some ever since I got my powers. Running, I mean," I added.

"Sure."

"Do you do any exercise, or is it all looking after these dogs?" I asked.

"There's weights somewhere," she said, a little vaguely, "but I don't need them."

Her arms had real definition, on top of being rather tanned. "I can see that," I said, flushing a little at how silly my question was.

Rachel looked at me for a moment and said, "Good job." She said it grudgingly.

I couldn't help but react, "At shoveling the shit? Yeah. I have to say that I was born for this work."

Rachel almost growled, "That's not what I meant."

"Oh," I said, a little weakly. "But it's no problem. I mean, I'm sure that you sometimes get help, your teammates."

"No," she said, and that was a very final sort of word. "Not more than once."

"Well, I liked the work. Sort of," I said, "dogs are nice." Which was a nice noncommittal statement that she couldn't disagree with. "And if I had brought a book or a game, I could do that if there was any spare time, and still watch the dogs."

"A game?"

"Yeah, I play video games a little. My mom was a literature professor, so I kinda picked up a love of books," I said, wondering if I was sharing too much. There was something about the seeming apathy and yet attention that just made me keep on wanting to talk, though.

I don't know how well I'd have reacted to pity, and even sympathy seemed like it might be too much, if it came on too fast. But she was just listening. Maybe she was judging, but who knew? "So, if you wanted me to come around, say, tomorrow or after school later in the week, I could. If I haven't gotten in the way too much."

I don't know why I was talking so fast, but it felt like I had to get it out, the same way you tried to slam your foot into a door before it closed.

"Sure. Why not," Rachel said, as she walked towards the inside.

I followed her close behind and saw she was moving around a little, aiming for a closed door. "So, are we done?"

"We've done enough," Rachel said, which went to show that she could get sick of shoveling like anyone else.

She opened the door, and beyond was a room. Blankets, chew toys, an actual cabinet just screwed onto the thin wooden wall. It was an entire room, and I guessed at once that she used it as a back room. I looked around, but there was nothing especially personal to it all. Or rather, nothing hidden. She didn't secretly have a romance novel lying around, she didn't hide the bodies of the last four people who had helped out her dogs here, it was just a place to store stuff like blankets and extra food and the pillows.

I stepped towards the cabinet, as she moved towards a door in the far wall. I quickly opened the cabinet. Protein bars, granola bars, pop tarts, a box of cereal, it seemed I'd found the food cabinet. There was also a lot of jerky just piled up here and there, some of it in packages, and some of it clearly bought and just tossed in, which couldn't be hygienic. I assumed she ate out a lot, because there was no room for anything cold, and there weren't any fruits or vegetables, either.

She opened the door and gestured for me to get in. I stepped in to see tiles, a toilet, and a sink. It was a bathroom, which meant that this was probably meant to be some sort of small business. The bathroom had the look of one of those 'all genders' ones, for places too small to have two separate facilities.

She went over to the water and turned the faucets, splashing her face and even drinking some of it. This must be where she got the water for the dogs, I thought, waiting my turn. As I drank a little of the water and looked at myself in the mirror, wondering just what I was doing, Rachel stood behind me, still watching, obviously still thinking.

"Hey, go pick up lunch," Rachel said.

"Pardon?" I asked, distractedly, having taken a moment to just look at myself in the mirror, and seeing as many things wrong as I usually did.

"There's a greek cart around here, I can give directions. You'll smell it before you see it. Pick something up with a lot of meat. I have money--"

"N-no," I said, "I can pay for it. I mean, you have let me in on a lot, and it doesn't hurt anything."

Rachel just stared for a moment, as if she was trying to get me to back down. Which was weird. "Fine. Hurry, I'm hungry."

"And I'm starving," I added.

"No. You aren't," Rachel said, her voice hard, in a tone that felt almost foreign. It was how she'd talked to me last night, and I'd apparently already gotten used to how she was talking now, even at her most disinterested or even mildly hostile.

"No, no I'm not," I said, reminded for a brief moment of The Giver. "Anyways, I'll go and grab it, then we can eat lunch and I guess I'll… go from there?"

"Works," she said.

********

Once I was out of her lair, I took stock of things. Things were going well. I'd keep on interacting with her and… I dunno. Maybe I'd learn about the Undersiders? Maybe I could.bring her around to the light side? I didn't have a plan, I was just doing it because, because.

I didn't know why I was doing this. I checked the phone message on the way to the cart.

"Hey, I know you don't know me, but this is Tattletale. Bitch's teammate," a girl said, in a voice that sounded vaguely posh. Slightly upper-class. "I was just going to give you some advice about talking to her, because there are a few things that might trip you up. She can be very hostile, and she'll probably force you to shovel dog poop, and if you're not ready for it, she might attack you just to see how you reacted."

There was a pause, "She's very prickly, and don't talk to her as if she's stupid or she'll react badly, and she sometimes thinks people are making fun of her if they talk about education. I have other advice, but I'm not sure how much would really fit on the message, and so please call me back, ASAP."

Well, that was weird advice. She hadn't attacked me, and she hadn't made me shovel poop until after we'd done everything else together. I didn't know what sort of Rachel she was talking about, but it wasn't quite the same girl I'd met. I could imagine her doing all of that but wasn't Tattletale a teammate?

If anything, I should have gotten the worse treatment. It was sort of weird, and I put it out of my mind for a moment, and then decided to just text her.

'Weird advice. I'm doing fine. Whoever you are.'

There, sent.

******

I had a gyro and a little bowl of lentil soup, and ate slowly and carefully. It was delicious, so much so I had to keep from pigging out.

Rachel, on the other hand, ate like a dog. Or, I corrected myself, like someone who was afraid that her food was going to be taken away from her. Combined with her earlier statement, it created a certain impression. I watched her eat for a moment, and then got back to eating myself.

The dogs crowded around, begging for food, and with Rachel's permission I'd gotten another Gyro, just about running out of money to do so, and I occasionally threw bits of greenery or the lamb itself to the dogs, who of course kept on coming back for more. Rachel even shared a little of hers occasionally, sitting there on a pallet, just being there.

I didn't know what to talk about, and if Tattletale's advice was right, if I talked too much about science fiction, she might think I was laughing at her if she didn't know about it. So I just let the silence work for me. It sort of did. By the time we were finished, it was somewhat past noon.

"I should get going, Rachel," I said. "But I'll be back tomorrow. How about seven?"

Rachel frowned, and then shrugged. "Okay. Or earlier. Just knock on the door. The dogs will bark."

"I could try for six, though I normally don't wake up that early," I admitted.

Rachel nodded, and there was that focus in her eyes, as if she was noting something down. Her eyes were dark, and very intense looking when she was frowning like she was. "Got it."

I left to the barking of dogs who seemed sad to see me go. I didn't know all of their names, but maybe if I had enough time, I'd learn them.

******

Rachel Lindt's name was known to the world, oddly enough. Her trigger or perhaps her attitude, I thought as I read what there was online, had let to her unmasking pretty early on. The Protectorate called her Hellhound, she called herself Bitch. She'd done a lot of petty crime. Smashing and grabbing, living on the streets, and then suddenly she'd shown up in Brockton Bay, part of a team that did a lot of the same sorts of things. Heists, attacks on gang-bangers to steal their money, all of it pretty simple. They were a minor team, consisting of a Thinker with unknown powers (Tattletale), someone who could summon darkness, Grue, and Regent, who had… the ability to make people trip? Something with the nervous system, people on PHO speculated. That and Bitch, who was the muscle of the group.

It was not a description made to inspire confidence. They seemed small time, which was better than them being a big street gang beating up minorities in the street, but did make me wonder. They'd mixed things up, stealing things from Lung's Casino, and then immediately turning on the E88.

That was the latest news, that they'd been hitting the E88 hard at several places, and the Dog fighting ring was actually in the online news, sort of. The insect bites were causing speculation, but I thought about the attack.

It seemed too personal. It seemed like something Bitch was doing for herself. But if it happened to hit the E88, maybe that was the point? Either way, I wasn't sure if I could trust the Undersiders, and if I'd learned all of this before my morning with Rachel, then I might have stayed away.

As it was, nothing was new enough or threatening enough to make it seem like a bad idea.

Speaking of bad ideas, I should go out on patrol again, so that everyone knew I was a hero, rather than some sort of new Undersider, as a few people speculated considering how many people had eventually been found with insect bites when the police had rolled in… huh.

That was impressive timing, I thought, distractedly. Someone must have tipped off the police.

It wasn't my problem now. So I tried to put Rachel out of my mind as I began to plan for my second excursion out into the night of Brockton Bay.

Hopefully it'd go just as well as last night had.

*******

A/N: Thanks to @NemoMarx .

 

[The Laurent]

Ruff 1.3

Dad was waiting for me when I got home. He'd probably been busy, but he had to have noticed when I hadn't shown up. He wasn't crossing his arms or looking like I was about to be in big trouble, but he was sitting on the couch, going through some papers, and as soon as I opened the door, he stood up. "Taylor, where were you?"

"Well, things happened," I began, carefully. "I decided I'd just go to a fast food place, and I met someone there. Another girl, my age." I didn't actually know how old she was, but she did look roughly my age. "We started talking, and then we wound up hanging out."

"Oh?" Dad said, and I heard the interest. Obviously, I'd managed to hide what was happening at school from him partially, until the… incident, and even then he'd raged but not known that it was Emma that had done it. He was distracted, but that didn't mean he didn't care. It just meant it was hard to pull everything together. He still worried.

"Well, yeah. Her name is Rachel. She was actually dog-sitting for someone," I lied, trying to throw together something fast. "So I wound up hanging around dogs. Which is why I smell like I do."

I stank, even worse than I did when I woke up. If I was going to spend a lot of time around Rachel, I'd need to take a lot of showers.

"Ah," Dad said, "she nice?"

"Well… yeah," I said, after a moment of thinking. "She's really strong. Sort of blunt, straightforward. Doesn't go to my school," I added, to cut off the question. I didn't know if she went to any school at all, actually. Maybe I'd ask her sometime. I thought about her a little more, trying to figure out what else I could say, "Striking. Likes dogs a lot."

"Striking?"

"I meant," I said, "you'd known her when you saw her. It's like Lacey."

Lacey was one of my Dad's coworkers, married to Kurt. She was built pretty strongly, sorta similar to Rachel, actually. She and Kurt were close to Dad, and I knew that when he'd lost Mom he'd needed people like them to help him. I hadn't been much help, that was for sure.

"Ah," Dad said, nodding. "Did you have lunch?"

"Yeah, I did," I said, "if you wanted to hang out for a little while, I could." I couldn't go out on patrol now, not with him at home, and not if he was going to be watching, and so I thought I'd just wait and wait some more. After I got cleaned up. Actually, now that I was thinking about it, maybe I should get some boots or clothes I was willing to get a little dirty? So that I didn't ruin anything good.

"Sure, Taylor. Anything you wanna do?"

"Well, it's been a little while since I've been shopping, and I thought, if I was going to hang out around her and the dogs she's sitting, I might need to get some clothes that are a little more…"

"Disposable?" Dad asked, smiling. Of course he believed that Rachel was just some girl. Who'd believe otherwise, all things considered? It was what made most sense, and really, I'd mostly interacted with her as if we were just two teens. Me the tall, skinny one, her the blunt one with impressive biceps.

...okay, not as seen on TV, but whatever. "Yeah, that's what I meant."

*******

Shirts. Jeans. A pair of boots. It wasn't really thrilling, but then again, I hadn't really done thrilling in fashion since Emma had been my friend, and of course those days were over, never to return again, so I almost felt more comfortable shying away from that, even if I didn't also know that my body was something to hide or not talk about or else Emma would gossip about me even more than she already did.

It was fast and easy, and I hoped that Rachel would appreciate the effort I was going through. I almost wished I had her number, so I could call her. Or text her. Not that I approved of texting, but anything would be better than nothing. I didn't know if she had a phone. I wondered if I could just buy her a cheapo one if she didn't. Though everyone had a phone, didn't they?

I found myself wondering what she was doing right about now. Probably not anything nefarious. I could almost picture her, lifting another thing of dog food effortlessly, barely straining herself, and cutting it open to pour it out for dinner. Dogs were hungry things. They needed care and attention and love.

I guess they weren't all that different from people, then.

Either way, I made dinner again, meatloaf this time, and wondered if I could look up some books on dogs. Or go to the library and get some. I could always just give her some. Oddly, I hadn't seen a single book in her whole room, so maybe she wasn't much of a reader?

Still, in the optimistic mood I was in, I thought it was maybe worth a try. Or at least, I could see if she liked anything I brought and go from there?

Then there was the patrolling. I didn't really want to run into anything too rough, so maybe I'd go a little north? I knew that there were some areas where the drug dealers mostly worked. Scare a few drug dealers, make them regret annoying someone who could control bees, and then go home.

Yeah, it sounded kinda pathetic, but it was a start, and once people started knowing who I was, then maybe I could figure out what else to do. I knew that plenty of independent heroes spent most of their time going up against goons. Shadow Stalker, at least from what I'd read online, had mostly kept away from cape fights since she was on her own. That changed once she joined the Protectorate, but it did make a model of sorts.

Stay out of the way of trouble unless I was strong enough to be trouble myself.

Dad always drank a little more on a Saturday night, and so I was able to slip away before too long, and change in an alley. It was a skill I didn't have yet, to be able to do it comfortably. It always felt exposed and vulnerable and weird, like I was just about to get attacked by someone in the middle of it.

But that didn't happen, not this time at least. Plus, I knew it was paranoia, because I already had my bugs spread out here, there, and everywhere in order to check for that sort of thing. So I walked along, thinking that I really did need a way to carry them, or at least, worrying about whether people would notice all of the bugs I was controlling, moving as I walked along.

People moved out of my way when they saw me, and I allowed flies to go on ahead as far as I could. Strangely, my range seemed down tonight, and I didn't know why. I continued on my way, until I saw it. A cluster of people in an alley. I couldn't make out specifics, my bugs were still as they ever were, hard to read sensory information from.

But I guessed it was nothing good, because this part of town wasn't really a place where people gathered together at night for any good purpose.

I moved cautiously, and as slowly as I could, drawing insects to me, and allowing them to crawl up all around me. I needed as many of them on me as I could.

"What's the take?" someone asked.

"Not enough," a guy said. "Damn, Kaiser's going to be pissed, sweetie."

"He'll have to learn to deal, or not," a woman's voice said. "Now all of you. We should get out of here. We've done what we came here for, and--"

I inched around the corner, allowing myself to get a peek at what it was.

So, six Nazis, and two capes.

This was known as the exact sort of odds that I ran away against because I wasn't a moron. I actually recognized the capes, because I'd done a lot more research ahead of time on the E88 than I did on a far more minor team that hadn't done that much that was notable.

So that was Victor and Othala. Victor was a blond man wearing a black breastplate and a blood red shirt, and a black domino mask that hid surprisingly little of his face. A handsome face, relatively speaking, though the red and black didn't work all that well.

Still, everyone knew what it meant: red, black and white. Germany, or some versions of Germany. His power was only partially known, but seemed to involve stealing abilities from other people.

Othala was similarly dressed in red and black. She had on a skintight red bodysuit that hugged every impressive curve the nazi jerk had. In the center of her chest was what looked like a diamond with two small v-shaped legs. It probably had a name, and probably meant something important. A rune, maybe? But either way, her power was more interesting. She gave powers to other people. She could heal them, could make them stronger, could make them invincible. And that meant that she was the first target I should go after.

If I did this. I shouldn't, because it was stupid.

If I got hurt my Dad would notice, and then--

A dozen bees went straight for her before I could even think, right towards her head.

She screamed in shock, as one of the men pointed at me. Victor drew and fired, and I barely managed to get around the edge of the alley in time. He was a quick draw, and if he'd hit, well then that was it.

As it was, I gathered bugs, aiming mostly for her. I had a spider of mine leap off of my body, as others swarmed on and around my costume, and then begin to crawl towards the men.

One of them who had been about to run around the corner to go after me gave a surprisingly high pitched scream and backed up. Victor, though, ran right to Othala, batting at the bugs.

Ah, that was something I could use, I thought, as the bees stung her again and again. She couldn't heal herself, so in theory anything I did to her that messed her up would stick, and that'd be a good thing.

In reality, though, I really needed to get out of here. The tide of insects would only hold them so long, and I didn't really have a finishing move. Bugs, and then more bugs, and then when I ran out of those, bugs. If Rachel was here, then I could have cleared both of them out, I thought, but then again, I might as well ask for a Protectorate team to show up right now.

Instead, I backed up again, going for a corner, as I let the bugs swarm out. They bit at and flew in the mouth and eyes of as many people as they could, and then they started dying. Fire. Victor was using fire.

That's when I knew it was definitely time to retreat. I could feel him stalking around the corner, ready to go after me. He was angry, I could tell from the swearing, and I thought for a moment. I had a lot of flying, buzzing insects around, on top of the spiders and the few bees I had. Nothing that could stop him, but perhaps I could distract him.

I continued to flee, while focusing on the cloud of insects, trying to get them to vaguely resemble my head, and as he got closer I had it pop out at head height. He threw himself back, ready for an attack, and then I felt my insects dying as he threw fireball after fireball into them.

They died like bugs. But in the meantime, I was running as fast as I could, ducking around an alley and then continued onward through the other alley, glad that I'd been exercising as much as I had. I'd done nothing more than inconvenience them, and I could have died.

I ran like a dog with her tail between her legs.

********

I tried to think about what I wanted to do to fix it. Now the E88 probably knew someone was out there attacking them, though I bet they'd hear it from some of their guys that sprung bail. I didn't know what they'd think I was, but the retreat definitely wouldn't scream 'dangerous threat' to them. If I had a bunch of beehives, maybe I could have done more. A swarm of hundreds of bees could have changed things. As it was, I'd just…

Bugged them.

I could join the Wards, but I didn't want to have to deal with teen drama. Rachel was the farthest thing from teen drama I could imagine, so she didn't count. Maybe once I built up more of a reputation, I could join the Wards on my own terms, or something? I know that Shadow Stalker had wound up joining them eventually, so who knew.

I drifted off to sleep, and woke up early. Five o'clock early. I groaned, and got a quick shower in, before going downstairs and writing a note for Dad.

'Out running. Might visit that friend of mine after that. Will be back for dinner. Love, Taylor.'

Well, that wouldn't stop him from worrying, but I didn't care that much about that. I rifled around upstairs for a moment, being as quiet as I could.

So, what to bring along? I grabbed the Microsoft Game Machine, four different books, and made sure to put the boots and heavier clothes in the backpack. I was going to run with sneakers, but I was going to work in boots.

There was an alternate reality, where there were few Parahumans that we called Earth Aleph, and apparently they found the idea that the foremost maker of handheld games was Microsoft to be bizarre. Also, they thought our graphics were dated. But the Game Machine was an old workhorse, nine years old now, and still getting games released on it. It was part of some weird strategy, and I knew that they were phasing in a new system, but in the meantime, I enjoyed my used, cruddy, blue and secondhand Game Machine.

I also enjoyed my jog, as I passed by with some money I'd saved up and bought a few things.

A lot of meat, huh?

********

I jogged up with several bags in my hand. The dogs were barking even before I'd reached the door and knocked, and Rachel opened it, looking at me for a moment.

She clearly hadn't been expecting me as early as I'd gotten there, because she was in a pair of jeans that were in fact unzipped. Which made me imagine her springing out from wherever she was and throwing them on. Her shirt looked rumpled too, and I wondered if I'd almost caught her in bed.

"What's that?" she asked.

"Food. For you and me. I figured you might like some more breakfast," I said, "my treat." I didn't think I could keep on buying that much every day, though the fact that it was from the dollar menu certainly helped. Bacon, sausage patties, chicken nuggets, just simple, pretty unhealthy stuff honestly.

"Got anything good?" Rachel asked.

"I'd think so. I'll go change in the bathroom," I said, "I brought some boots and some sturdier clothes."

"Sure. What can I eat?" she asked.

"As much as you want, just save some for me," I said, casually. She definitely ate a lot more than me, though looking at her she used all of those calories up. She nodded, and I couldn't tell what the look in her eyes meant.

When we opened the door, the dogs all but sprang on me, and this time I did have a little to give them. Just a bit of meat, pulling it out of the bag and tossing it here and there. In the corner, I could see a pile of pillows and blankets, and I realized that Rachel must have decided to sleep here this time. Did she sleep in her clothes, or had she thrown them off and then thrown them on later?

I made my way to the bathroom, this time noting a new addition. She had a toothbrush here, which she hadn't before. Again, another minor mystery about her. She had good teeth, so it was clear she brushed them, or maybe she just didn't eat anything that'd give her bad teeth? Not that I'd seen them that often, since even when she was happy she didn't smile.

I both did and didn't want to see her teeth. It was easy to change, and I hurried out to see that she had already fed the dogs, all of them in fact. The new arrivals already seemed to be getting used to the new status quo, or at least coping well enough to be able to eat without fighting, though one or two snapped at each other.

Rachel was eating a sausage burrito when I came in, wearing new boots that were just a little uncomfortable.

"Hey, I hope I didn't wake you up or anything," I said, making sure not to show my teeth as I made my way over to her. "I just woke up earlier than expected." I was sweating a little, because I had gone on a full jog and run before getting the food. I'd walked the rest of the way, but my legs definitely were tired.

So, I probably smelled pretty bad. Then again, there were all of those dogs, and Rachel had just woken up. Though I was already starting to get used to the smells, really.

"It's fine," she said, which was more tactful than I expected. "We should work after this."

"Sure," I said. "I have the whole day free. I told Dad I was going to be out, but that I'd be back for dinner."

"Makes sense," she said with a shrug, taking a bite into that cheesy, egg and sausage goodness. The bane of every diet was that the good foods had a lot of calories, though I'd managed decently, all things considered.

"Are things going well with you? If you don't mind asking."

A pause. Rachel shrugged. I waited, carefully, watching her for a moment, her dark eyes meeting mine. "Sure."

"Do you get along with your teammates?" I asked.

"No," she said, without even hesitating.

I pulled out an egg sandwich and took a bite of it, pausing to let it all soak in. "So, what are they like? If you don't mind me asking?"

"Tattletale. She's blonde. Pretty," Rachel said, as if this were the greatest insult imaginable, "annoying. Bares her teeth all the time, thinks she's so smart, the bitch."

"I got a message from her, actually," I said.

"You did?" Rachel asked, suspiciously.

"She was going to try to give me advice on how to talk to you. Though, I suppose it's good that she didn't?" I didn't smile, though now I thought about it. Bares her teeth all the time? Also known as grinning.

"Yeah," Rachel said.

"Then there's Regent and Grue?"

Rachel finished her wrap, and stood up, stretching a little as she did.

"Ah," I said. "So why are you with them?"

Rachel just gestured around, a little brusquely, and I realized. The money and the support for the men with the van. It came from the heists and other actions she did. She definitely wasn't living the high life with whatever she got. It was going straight back into dog food and other such things. And they were cheap.

"Got it. I get that, I really do," I said. "So, thanks for letting me back here."

"It's nothing. You helped," Rachel admitted, again as if she didn't care. But there was something about the way she said it.

Once we were done eating, I threw myself into the tasks she set. She wanted to give each of the dogs at least a bit of a washing today, because she hadn't done that yesterday. In this case it meant mostly pouring water and scrubbing, which meant I had to deal with the joys of a lot of wet, frustrated, angry dogs. I hadn't really prepared for that, and my T-shirt was soaked to the bone.

It reminded me of this one time the trio had dumped water on my head, when I was in the bathroom. And then when I came out to confront them, they'd made fun of how they could see the outline of my bra.

Rachel, though, didn't say anything, just kept on working, and once they were washed, it was socialization time. I knew that she had to train the dogs, and I almost wanted to see that. It'd be impressive to watch, at least.

But mostly, I just played with the dogs, and watched Rachel. Trying to get to understand her, without being able to really ask her questions. I couldn't trust that she'd answer more than a minimum.

Though I could talk to her about dogs. Or something.

Once the work died down, I moved over towards a pallet and sat down, patting at a dog and pulling out my game system.

To my surprise, Rachel went right for me. "What's that?"

"A Game Machine," I said, "have you ever played?"

She shook her head, her face hard. "It fun?"

"Yeah. I mean, it requires quick reflexes, some of the games, so I guess I like the RPG sort of things more, y'know? But I'm good at a lot of games." I saw that she was looking at me blankly. "I also like how it feels like I have control?"

I blinked, those words having slipped out. She stopped staring and sat down next to me, leaning in. My shirt was still damp, but she didn't seem to care, and I could feel the warmth of her body as she looked down at the tiny screen. Practically hugging me to see it.

"I mean, it's, like. In my life, there's a lot of things I can't control and they go to hell, but then there's a game, and even if there's RNG, it's easier, you know?"

Rachel paused, and I could see her thinking, see the way she'd somehow actually cared about what I said, and I was startled. "Sort of. What game is this?"

"Ah, well, Stolen Hearts, it's an RPG, but if you wanted to try out one of the games, you could? I mean--"

"Not an RPG," Rachel said, after a moment. She was squinting a little as she looked at the text. One of the characters was telling another off, and it was one of those interactive cutscenes they did. It was a weird game, a sort of Japanese-American RPG hybrid. Really, really hard to describe.

"Well, I have a Bullet hell, but that'd just make you hate me," I joked, "since it's hard even for people who have tons of experience. I also have books--"

"Don't read," Rachel said, and then she glared at me as if waiting for me to laugh at her. I knew that feeling.

"That's fine," I said, with a shrug. "I could also read to you if you wanted, sometime." The glare didn't go away, and I held up a hand, "Okay, it was just a suggestion."

"Maybe," Rachel said, in the way people say 'no'.

"Anyways, so no on games? That's fine. Didn't mean to waste your time," I said, voice a little too chipper.

"You don't," Rachel said. "Yet."

I played the game to the next save point, and then began to read part of a book for school, before Rachel dragged me away to help with cleaning up something. One of the dogs had peed on the concrete part of the floor, and then we had to break up two dogs growling each other like it was going to wind up a fight.

I wound up getting my shirt dirty, and when I went to wash it, I saw that she'd moved more stuff into this place. I had passed through the back storage room without looking, but I could now see some hand-weights, and what looked like a tackle box. I guess she was liking the whole 'spend time with the dogs' thing. I paused to playfully lift one of them up. They got pretty heavy, actually.

When I looked up, Rachel was staring at me. No, more like glaring.

"What?" I asked, a little confused.

She didn't say anything, walking over to them. "That's my stuff," she said.

"Sorry, I was just looking, that's all. It's cool that you can lift all of that. I remember, my father's friend Lacey once showed off. Apparently she'd been an athlete in college," I babbled, nervously, feeling an odd desperation not to get on her bad side, "so she had a bunch of weights and stuff."

"Your Dad's friend?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah. She's married to his friend, Kurt. Both of them are Dockworkers. It's hard work," I said, sorta rattling about, "Dad's a dockworker too. Though it's not a profession you'd send your kids into." I paused, and she seemed to be relenting slightly. Or maybe just losing interest.

"I mean," I said, "I know you don't care, so I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. But it's cool," I added.

"Cool," Rachel said, with dry skepticism.

"Y-yeah. I mean, it is," I insisted. "I mean, we only just sorta met, but if I didn't want to hang out with you, I wouldn't. And being an athlete isn't exactly unpopular if you cared about that…"

Rachel just snorted, but after a moment she shrugged.

"I wouldn't be able to work up to some of these," I said, holding out my own scrawny, somewhat pale despite the sun I'd gotten, arm. "I'm more of a runner, and that's just because I forced myself. I'm no kind of athlete."

"You look fine," Rachel grunted. "You have bugs, anyways."

"Yeah, I do admit that it seems like my power isn't one that requires me to go up close and personal. Though I do sorta want to be able to? Because people are going to get to me. The other night, I was almost shot--"

Rachel all but burst forward, her eyes intent, and I was shocked by the hard look on her face, "Who?"

"E88. I interrupted Victor and Othala, and stung her with a bunch of bees…"

I almost smiled, because it was a habit when trying to pretend things were better than they were, like now.

"And…"

"And Victor shot at me several times. And threw fireballs," I said. "But I got away. I wish I didn't have to run away." I had thought I'd be braver than that, that I'd be more willing to… but it was the smart thing to do, right?

"Then don't run," Rachel said, after a moment. "Fight."

"Not strong enough. Not yet." I looked down at the weights. "And those aren't going to help. I need more practice with my bugs. Or I need to find a partner, but I don't want to join the Wards?"

"Why?"

"All the drama, I'd hate it. I mean, I get enough of it at school from the trio."

Rachel looked at me, and then nodded. "I get it. Can't be your partner," she said, her voice hard, as if I were about to try to convince her.

"I know you can't. It's fine. I wasn't asking that. You have the Undersiders. I was just frustrated that I can't do enough. That's the only thing I have going for…"

I stopped, and shook my head, "Well, there's you. I mean, a new friend's nothing to complain about."

Rachel grunted. "Thanks."

"No problem at all," I said, "I'm just telling the truth. Wow, though," I said, looking at a forty pound dumbbell. I lifted it up, struggling a little bit. Forty pounds was a lot, and I knew that I couldn't do even one proper curl with something that heavy. Noodle arms and all of that.

Rachel took it from me, and then did one rep, the muscles in her arm moving along with the moderate effort, as she then did another, and then another. I stared at her arm.

...Geeze, she was strong, I thought, after a moment, shaking my head.

"Impressive," I said, stumbling a little on my words.

"Thanks," Rachel said, seeming a little baffled about the whole thing. Or maybe she wasn't. I only just knew her, and I was still trying to get a read on her.

"So, what I was thinking is that I could show up for an hour, maybe two, after dinner on the weekdays. If you have a cellphone, I could call you on that if I can't make it," I said. "I can help with anything you need, or if you want to just… hang out."

I didn't want to sound too eager. I think I failed.
'
But she nodded, "Yeah, that'd be nice."

I smiled for a moment, and then stopped myself, as fast as I could. I didn't know whether a toothless smile would be any better, but I was still trying not to make any mistakes.

"Good, good. Do you have flashlights or anything?" I asked.

"A few," she said, "mostly when it gets dark I just do less."

I nodded, thinking about that. Without electricity, she'd go to bed earlier, probably, and I bet she woke up earlier, too. No burning the midnight oil for her. "Sure," I said, already getting an idea of what to do, though first I had another patrol to try, and maybe the third time would be the charm.

******

It was the charm, really. It was not a big thing, but I'd met some Merchants dealing drugs near the end of the night, and they'd fallen to a swarm of bugs. Then I'd called it in. "Hello? This is… a new cape. A hero. I've caught some Merchants, and I think they have drugs on them, could you--"

"Where are you currently, ma'am," the operator asked, "how many of them?"

"Well, four," I said.

"And what is your name?"

"I… don't know."

I hadn't actually thought of a good name, even with an extra week. "I'm working on that," I said, to cover up the brief moment of silence.

"Alright, ma'am, we'll send someone down to check."

Close enough. It wasn't much, but it was something.

*******

Then came the school week.

*******

Monday, usually the worst day of a week. And it was true I was pretty tired.

******

"Morning, Taylor," Greg said. "You finish Hero Commander?"

"No," I said, "didn't have time, sorry. I'll give it back to you as soon as I finish."

"You seem in a good mood, though. Oh, did you figure out that combo thing I was talking about for, with Orasmus and Helios?"

"No," I said, "I did get to play a little, but I wound up distracted." I yawned a little, covering my mouth.

"Oh. Well, uh, I hope you check it out soon, it's pretty cool and I think you'll like it and there's this secret entranceway to a bonus boss!"

"I will," I said. Greg always sounded as if he had been told he had five seconds to speak and was using the most of it. He was blond, with a bowl cut, and was dressed in a thrown-together way, at least today.

He was nice enough, though also pretty obvious about some things, and oblivious about others?

"Okay, good. I really gotta hurry, though, my class is on the other side of school!" Yes. He'd gone out of his way to talk to me, which made one person at school.

******

Our school has a library, and even library computers, despite them being ancient, and if it wasn't for the fact that they close an hour after school finishes, I probably would just use that rather than going to the local library as much.

It wasn't really a safe haven, because I'd been ambushed in here before by the trio, but I did like it, and it had a pretty good selection. I wasn't at my limit, and I didn't owe any money I hadn't paid off, so I got a few books. A book of dog breeds and pictures, one on caring for dogs, and then three different books that had dogs in it. Including one that was about a dog and Christmas, so I was sure it'd be alright, though it seemed a little basic. More a middle-school or even grade school book, just from flipping through it.

Eh, why not give it a try? I could ask her what kinds of stories she'd like later. The idea was simple: maybe she wanted to hear a story? Or something. I wasn't sure, but it seemed like a good idea.

********

In the late afternoon light, Rachel glared at me as I held out the book.

"I just thought, maybe you'd like to listen? I mean, I love to listen to books on CD," I said, trying to be firm and not back down. Her toned arms were crossed, her whole strong expression now turned to one of startling hostility as she glanced down at the book and then up at me, and then back down at the book again.

I didn't smile. I wasn't very happy, anyways. Instead I was frustrated. I'd come, and it'd started normally. By now I knew the name of all of the dogs, and they knew my smell or whatever, because they were very excited to see me, and the food I'd brought. Then we'd snacked, and I'd tested out her taste in food by offering her a candy bar. She accepted, and I made a note to ask her what she thought about it later.

So far, so good.

Then out came the book.

"If I wanted to read--" Rachel began, "I'd read."

"Rachel, I mean. I thought it'd be fun to give it a try in a very… like. This book is probably really wrong about what dogs are like, and so I'd read and you'd point out how silly it was and we'd both sm… chat about it or whatnot? I mean, if you don't want to, that's fine."

I have to admit, I sounded hurt.

Rachel finally stopped glaring, but she didn't say yes. Instead, she just sat down next to me, close and yet distant, her body radiating warmth.

Even though she already felt familiar, she wasn't. I couldn't expect to know her already, and I hoped I hadn't ruined everything.

*******

Tuesday is officially the worst day of the week. Maybe month.

*******

The trio kept it up, and I tried not to care. I had homework I'd fallen behind on, and so I tried to throw myself into it on the bus, and in between class, but I kept on thinking about it. What was I supposed to do? If she didn't want to read, then that was that. But what if she did and she was just too stubborn? I knew stubbornness, it ran in the family, in different ways.

Maybe I'd try the games? Either way, I checked out another book, and tried to endure. I was planning on going out on patrol on Tuesday night, if all went well.

******

Rachel seemed surprised to see me, but still no less annoyed than she had been, and when I followed her in, after I'd said hello to all of the dogs, she gestured to the shovel.

"The shit's been building up. Get it out of the short grass."

"I'll say what I said before," I said, "and that is that if you want to go out there with me, two hands make lighter work. If not, then no. I'll do plenty of things if you want, tonight."

She looked at me, her eyes hard, and then she said, "Yes."

"Yes?" I asked, confused.

"Read the book out loud if you want. I'll listen I guess."

"So, there's a book about a homeless dog during Christmas--"

"Does it die?" Rachel asked.

"No. Though I get why you'd think that," I said, drily. "People are pretty obvious with that sort of thing."

"I saw a movie once," Rachel said, "about some dog that died. It sucked."

"Oh? Well. The dog doesn't die. The other one I have, The Call of the Wild, has a dog that lives too. Though I'm not sure how realistic it is. And then I have a short story about an idiot who dies because he doesn't know anything, and his dog survives."

"Christmas dog, I guess."

And so I began reading it, wishing that I'd looked over the book earlier in more detail to figure out how to read it. But I decided to just wing it.

She sat opposite of me, on another pallet entirely, and didn't really seem to be paying attention. I read anyways.

********

Wednesday was a day I never liked. The trio tended to have patterns if you watched them long enough. I was tired from a patrol, this one having turned up nothing, and they were often bored, having gotten back into the swing of the week, but not yet looking forward to a weekend that didn't involve tormenting me.

They seemed to be holding back, as if they were waiting to pounce, and I instinctively kept an eye out, just trying to get through the day.

*******

On PHO, it was clear that Lung was after the Undersiders. There was a locked thread filled with threats from some random ABB fan, who said that the Undersiders were going to get it. Some other user who got infracted egged him on, making fun of him as he spiraled out into rather obscene ranting. It would have almost been funny, except that my chest hurt when I thought of someone after Rachel.

I couldn't even tell her about it, because surely she knew already.

********

This time, she sat next to me. Not that close, really, on the other side of the pallet, but even though it was not an adult book, she seemed to be listening. Not closely, and eventually she declared that she was done and went to play with the dogs and check up on what they were doing, but it felt like a sort of progress.

Her face seemed softer too. There was a harshness about it, even at the best of times, but that didn't mean anything.

Not really.

*******

Thursday. This time, she was right up next to me, looking over my shoulder, pressed up right against me, like a dog trying for a treat. I flushed at the closeness, but I didn't want to tell her to stop because it was reassuring, the intent way she was clearly listening as I tried to read.

I wanted to finish the book tonight, however long it took. We were getting towards the end. The dog had accidentally saved the day a half-dozen times, warning people of a fire, all while running away and not realizing he was a hero, and now he was at death's door, exhausted and lonely and probably the unluckiest dog alive, and on Christmas day, too!

If I were younger, I probably would have been really moved by it, honestly, and it wasn't that badly written for a children's book.

Rachel sprang up when I said, "It's a little too dark to keep reading."

She brought me a flashlight, and I continued reading the last few chapters, the light barely illuminating both of our faces, as she pressed closer. Until at last the book was done.

"Huh," Rachel said.

"If you want, you can keep it, for a while, if you wanted to read it any more," I offered, "there are sequels, actually, though I have no idea where I'll find them. But yeah, there are other adventures. And of course, there are the other books… if you wanna continue this."

"Yes," Rachel said, and her voice was full of a strong, sturdy sort of enthusiasm. She wasn't jumping up and down like Greg did whenever he beat a video game. It was more meaningful than that. She was happy, and she was eager, and I could see it in the way she leaned in, pressing herself against me.

She was so warm, and there was a moment where I didn't know what I was doing. Where I just sat there, not even thinking, and not sure why I wasn't thinking.

Then I handed the book to her and stood up, checking my watch.

"Holy shit!" I said, "I'm really late. I gotta get home. Sorry for taking up all of your time, Rachel, it's probably bedtime for you. And me too."

I hurried home, and endured Dad's questions without giving real answers, and didn't even feel I had the time and energy to go out on patrol, let alone do my homework.

I'd do it on the bus.

I didn't really care about it. I was just thinking about the book, and what I'd read to her next.

********
Friday:

"Ew, she smells like dogs."

"Well, what do you expect?" one of the girls asks, "she's homeless, isn't she? Cause her Dad's some lazy good-for-nothing, and so she has to sleep with a bunch of dogs for warmth."

I gripped my pencil tighter, frowning. I wanted to turn my head, to tell them that they could go and shut up about me. But it was also because it seemed like it was almost about Rachel, and I didn't like that. But I knew what fighting back would get. 'I wasn't saying anything, sir, she just started insulting me.' They'd done it before.

I let out a long, angry breath, and resisted the urge to smell my shirt. . I'd woken up later than I expected, having forgotten to set an alarm, and so I'd had to just roll out of bed and throw on new clothes.

A little later, I hurried to a bathroom stall and gave a sniff. Yes. I smelled like dogs, though it didn't seem as strong as it should? I mean, I guess I was just getting used to what Rachel and her 'house' smelled like. If it'd smelled as totally overpowering as it had six days ago, I'd have just been late for the bus and tried to jog to school or something, rather than not take a shower.

Well, I knew what I'd do when I got home, but before I went out to see Rachel again.

*******

When I got to her shelter, the dogs didn't bark. That made me suspicious, and I knocked on the door carefully, letting my bugs slip in through the back. There were other people there, people besides Rachel. Actually, Rachel wasn't there, though maybe she was… oh, there she was.

My bugs knew Rachel by now, and she was walking with someone else. I got the impression of blonde hair just before the door opened.

I hadn't even knocked.

"Ah, Taylor, so good to finally meet you," the pretty blonde said, "I'm Tattletale. No, this isn't an ambush or anything, but we all have been missing Rachel, and so we thought we'd pay her a visit."

Rachel was glaring, her arms crossed. She was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and shorts, her hair looking like she'd mussed around with it. Or like she'd been busy with something else.

"A… visit? Missing?"

"She's only visited our evil lair once in the last week. All but living here," Tattletale said, with a wide, hostile looking grin.

Wait. No. Not hostile. Just really confident. But it felt like too many teeth.

"Really?" I asked, stepping forward, "well, I wouldn't want to interrupt your get-together. Rachel, are we still on for hanging out on Saturday if you want?" I still kept on waiting for her to get bored of me, as she surely had to be doing.

Or turn on me, like most of my other friends had.

"Nonsense!" Tattletale said, still grinning in that unnerving, weird way. "Rachel's mentioned you. It'd be interesting for you to meet everyone, and we aren't going to bite. I'm not, at least," she said, though her smile almost seemed to be saying otherwise.

She tugged onto my arm and, my stomach felt like it was dropping down to my knees.

But it was too late. I was swept up by her, and she closed the door behind her.

********

A/N: And so we move forward! Tattetale has arrived! Thanks to @NemoMarx for looking over it, I'm always nervous/wanting to make sure to characterize Rachel correctly.

 

[Kratez]

... I love this...
No further comment.

 

[Liquid Ink]

This is great. Really, really great.

 

[The Laurent]

This is great. Really, really great.

Click to shrink...

Thank you for the compliment.

Also, I'm partially summarizing a real book in the update. A like to anyone except NemoMarx who figures out which book it is.

 

[Philosoraptor31]

I hate to say it, but this feels really unpolished compared to Split and Covenant. Things like "Beg pardon?" Instead of "I beg your pardon?", or various little words like 'the', 'and', and 'or' being forgotten.

In addition a large part of this story feels more like someone talking about a series of events and summarizing them than it does actually being in someone's head. Many moments that could either be used as a character building scene are turned into "and I'd done this a week ago" while many unusual lines kept popping up that didn't sound very much like someone's stream of consciousness.

Maybe get your beta to go over this to touch it up, it seems promising, with key differences like the colour change and the location change being something that doesn't happen too often.

 

[The Laurent]

I hate to say it, but this feels really unpolished compared to Split and Covenant. Things like "Beg pardon?" Instead of "I beg your pardon?", or various little words like 'the', 'and', and 'or' being forgotten.

In addition a large part of this story feels more like someone talking about a series of events and summarizing them than it does actually being in someone's head. Many moments that could either be used as a character building scene are turned into "and I'd done this a week ago" while many unusual lines kept popping up that didn't sound very much like someone's stream of consciousness.

Maybe get your beta to go over this to touch it up, it seems promising, with key differences like the colour change and the location change being something that doesn't happen too often.

Click to shrink...

Hmm, alright then. Huh. Well shit. Though beg pardon is actually something people say as a shortening of "I beg your pardon."

I hate to say it, but this feels really unpolished compared to Split and Covenant. Things like "Beg pardon?" Instead of "I beg your pardon?", or various little words like 'the', 'and', and 'or' being forgotten.

In addition a large part of this story feels more like someone talking about a series of events and summarizing them than it does actually being in someone's head. Many moments that could either be used as a character building scene are turned into "and I'd done this a week ago" while many unusual lines kept popping up that didn't sound very much like someone's stream of consciousness.

Maybe get your beta to go over this to touch it up, it seems promising, with key differences like the colour change and the location change being something that doesn't happen too often.

Click to shrink...

Could you also be more specific as to what moments you're talking about?

 

[Philosoraptor31]

Hmm, alright then. Huh. Well shit. Though beg pardon is actually something people say as a shortening of "I beg your pardon."

Click to shrink...

Not much follow up I can do for you there. As for the "beg pardon" as a short form is that one of those American things? Like y'all, or fixin' to? Never heard anyone shorten it up here in Canada.

 

[The Laurent]

Not much follow up I can do for you there. As for the "beg pardon" as a short form is that one of those American things? Like y'all, or fixin' to? Never heard anyone shorten it up here in Canada.

Click to shrink...

Apparently both are in use. I changed it to, "I beg your pardon" because why not. I don't quite get the 'moments' thing. I mean, the 'week ago' stuff was her remembering the past.

For the 'summarizing' thing, are you talking about 1.3, with the 'going through highlights of the week' thing? That's meant to be a sort of impression feeling, things that stood out to her, things that mattered to her, rather than a strict recounting of everything that happened in every single time she visited Rachel, because that'd quickly drag.

I can work on adding a few little details to ground it a bit more, of course, but that was purposeful. If it's another part, though, that might be an error.

Also, what did you mean by 'unusual lines'?

 

[Twei]

Did ya mean to link this in the Wormfic ideas thread instead of Skitter Studies, boss?

 

[The Laurent]

Did ya mean to link this in the Wormfic ideas thread instead of Skitter Studies, boss?

Click to shrink...

*checks*

Also, did you notice a lot of missing words?

Edit: I don't quite get what you mean?

 

[Twei]

Edit: I don't quite get what you mean?

Click to shrink...

You posted a link in the Skitter Studies thread, and not in Wormfic ideas as far as I noticed. Might have just missed it in my early morning... morning-ness, though.

Getting around to reading, BTW. Gimme a bit.

 

[The Laurent]

You posted a link in the Skitter Studies thread, and not in Wormfic ideas as far as I noticed. Might have just missed it in my early morning... morning-ness, though.

Getting around to reading, BTW. Gimme a bit.

Click to shrink...

I did so in all of my threads? Just in case people who like what I've done in other fics wanna check this out.

And yeah, I am trying to take raptor's criticism seriously and examine it for problems and roughness. I don't want to be one of those people that shrugs off all criticism. Not that I'm asking for an in depth analysis, just that he mentioned places where words were just totally missing, which is at least the easiest point of his that I can address.

 

[Zeuseus]

Heh, interesting. Love the bit at the end with Tattletale, Taylor's really internalising that Doggie behaviour isn't she.

 

[Kolarthecool]

Nonsense!" Lisa said, still grinning in that unnerving, weird way. "Rachel's mentioned you. It'd be interesting for you to meet everyone, and we aren't going to bite. I'm not, at least," she said, though her smile almost seemed to be saying otherwise.

Click to shrink...

Typo there. That should be Tattletale. Unless I missed her using that name somewhere.

 

[The Laurent]

Typo there. That should be Tattletale. Unless I missed her using that name somewhere.

Click to shrink...

Thank you. Fixed.

 

[OrmusTheZeebra]

I really love the fact that Taylor is adapting to the dog behaivour, and even adopting some of it herself.

 

[magicdownunder]

Oooh Gawd its Lisa Ruuuuun~

I have to admit I was expecting a terrifying story filled with Wolf Spiders, instead I got one with Rachel and Taylor fluff which imo is just so much better.

 

[ScottotheUnwise]

Starts out controlling bugs/invertabrates. Practices having lots of bugs to control and around person.
Hangs out with lots of dogs. Starts to listen in on 'dog' frequency?
Sort of Khepri by osmosis?

If that isn't the case it would still be interesting if she started guiding the dogs around with beetles that hang on and grip the ears to the side to turn the dog --like reins on a horse. If those bugs are on the outside of the growing dog, they might not be consumed as part of the growth, giving her controllable _big_ dogs.

 

[Felius]

What's the premise of the fic?

 

[The Laurent]

What's the premise of the fic?

Click to shrink...

...what do you mean by that? I mean, I know what you mean by that in one sense, I'm just not sure what you're really asking.

Edit: If you mean, how does it start, it's a slight AU, a number of minor things changed, in which Taylor holds off on going out a little longer, and when she does, she runs across Rachel, busting up the dog-fighting ring a few days earlier than she did in canon, and then goes from there with them meeting and interacting.

 

[Gourd]

Like the fix so far, will probably reread when not severely sleep deprived. Given the premise, I'm expecting one heck of a incoming Datcord post.

 

[The Laurent]

Like the fix so far, will probably reread when not severely sleep deprived. Given the premise, I'm expecting one heck of a incoming Datcord post.

Click to shrink...

Huh. I've never actually seen one of those.