Accord: No, I'm the one with the plans. Your line is "Path complete".
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Wormverse ideas, recs, and fic discussion thread 1
- Thread starter Yog
- Start date
Overt Concerns
Repeated Fractals
- Location
- Internalised
So so glad to see more of this
Seeing people mess up our two snips does make me laugh though. Nice to be compared to an author like you
Sorain
The eternal DM
- Location
- Nexus, looking down over all there is.
*sigh*
That's not fair. It's just not fair!
Overt. Words can not express how much that confuses me.So so glad to see more of this
Mostly because my thought was 'Wait, why would someone think my random, unbeta'ed writing on this is up to Overt's standards? Like, really?' I mean, It just didn't add up to me. You write lovely stuff with fun ideas in them. I like to think Fly had a simple fun idea behind it, but I dinna' think it was up to your quality standard.
Edit:
Damn I need a good context to deliver this line to Velocity in.
"Your speed means nothing if it's death that your running from."
Last edited:
A short and sweet snip. A power swap between Taylor and another cape. We see Taylor's side of it here.
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Number Girl
Part 1 - Taylor
I know the precise moment when I realized that I was losing my mind. It was when I stopped calling for help. When I stopped hoping to escape. When I accepted my fate as inevitable.
I was trapped in my locker face-first, my face mashed into a pile of filth. I might have had a chance at withstanding it if only I could do something to center myself, something to release my emotions. But I couldn't move. I had barely enough room to bang my elbows against the door. I couldn't even scream. I couldn't even open my mouth without letting the bloody offal mash against my lips and flood into my throat. Every breath I took worked the scent of rot deeper into my nostrils and sinuses.
After my first ten minutes trapped in that cramped space the raw physical sensations began to fade. I had accepted my fate. I wasn't any calmer, though. It left me free to concentrate on the mental dimension of my torment, and my revulsion and disgust only grew.
It was Emma who did this to me. It had to be her. She must have plotted it with her hangers-on Sophia and Madison. They had been going easy on me for the last few months and I had taken that as a sign that they had finally gotten bored with bullying me and were moving to other targets. Instead it turned out to be a sign that they had been plotting, waiting for the right moment to bury me in a bigger pile of shit than ever.
Stupid of me. But how could I have expected them to keep going? To be so goddamned persistent in hurting me for no reason whatsoever? Her betrayal was so fucking senseless that I had always, deep in my heart, held out a thin strand of hope that she'd come to her senses. That one day she'd realize how stupid she'd been and beg for my forgiveness, that she'd tearfully plead with me to go back to the happy world we'd shared a few short years ago.
I screamed out in my mind. Why? Why did she turn against me?
I received no answer.
Why can't she be my friend again? What would it take to make this shit stop forever?
I received no answer.
I squeezed my eyes shut, squeezed my mouth and nostrils shut, squeezed my mind shut, tried to block out the world and cruel indifference of those around me and tried to send myself back to happier times through sheer force of will. Images flashed to the front of my mind. Sleeping over at Emma's house, playing board games with her on my birthday, chasing each other in the park under the watchful eyes of our mothers.
Why couldn't we go back to those happy times again? Why-
...
My eyes shot wide open. I got an answer, this time!
The images from the past were joined by images of futures. Sleeping over at Emma's house, playing computer games with her at her house, talking a walk together in the park and joking about the boys we liked in class. I could hear the laughter of children in the park, smell the scent of greasy food from the food carts we passed, taste the ice cream we ordered from the jolly old man behind the counter. Stronger were the inner sensations, the feelings and emotions that swelled within me. Joy. Tranquility. The sense of playful cheer behind the arch of an eyebrow and the curve of a smile. The simple delight in the company of my favorite companion and confidante.
The sensations were intoxicating. Overwhelming. Replacing the disgusting world of the now with the wonderful world that could be. And most intoxicating of all was the sense of absolute certainty they carried. I instantly knew I could trust the visions. These weren't mere conjectures, mere wishful thinking. They were possible worlds.
It was possible. It was certainly, definitely possible. We could do it. It was right there, before my eyes, so close I could reach out and touch it.
Emma and I could be friends again.
Then the world in my mind shivered, split, and multiplied. Then multiplied again, and again, and again, in the span of seconds dividing exponentially into a great tree of futures, branching, twisting, tangling, forming a vast mosaic of worlds spread across more dimensions than I could perceive.
And as my vision grew...I lost sight of that shining golden path. I could see everything, and yet I could see nothing. The raw sensations were crystal clear as ever but I couldn't understand them. Far too much information for my mind to handle. A deluge from a firehose, if the 'firehose' was the size of continents, worlds, entire dimensions.
I desperately searched for that golden path but it was futile. The best I could do was look for patterns, similarities, hints of motion or objects or emotions that were common enough to be shared among vast segments of the billions upon billons of worlds. As I tried to make sense of the mosaic I demanded that it show me the futures I wanted.
Where is Emma my friend?
The mosaic of futures heard my call and shifted. The great bulk of them stayed in place but a small fraction of them shuffled around the others in a delicate dance and gathered together to form a small, barely perceptible cluster split off from the whole. Their joyous sights and sounds and emotions set them off in contrast to the rest of the mosaic, a thin sliver of shining light set off against the great bulk of darkness. The light weighed its mass against the darkness and gave me the answer. The precise, pristine, and absolute truth.
0.0165479017645719% chance that Emma would be my friend again.
...and with that...my heart shattered. My exhilaration dissipated like a dream exposed to the sunlight.
I didn't truly understand the overwhelming sea of visions before my eyes. I didn't know what had granted me this instant of insight into my fate. But I knew it was the truth. The truth of my existence in the now. The truth of my existence in the future. The truth of what my best friend had done to me, the true and absolute extent of her betrayal.
Was my fate determined from the start? Had my visions of hope been a cruel joke, designed to rub my face into the fact that their likelihood was infinitesimal? Was I going to be a victim forever?
As if in reply, the master mosaic of futures in my mind was joined by a window beside it, like a viewing pane of translucent, smoky glass. The window gave me a second view of the futures within the mosaic, a blurry view that left the universes shadowy and indistinct.
I peered through the window and found that its view was rigid, inflexible. Its focus in time was set to a fixed distance in the future and it sorted the worlds into a pair of categories that I couldn't change, that wouldn't bend to my will. On one side were the futures where I was a victim. Blurry worlds of darkness and panic, worlds where I was trapped and confined, or running or hiding from pursuers. On the other side were the futures where I was free. Going about my daily affairs unmolested, where the bullies left me alone, even a small sliver of worlds where I was chasing them, making Emma scurry through the school hallways in fear of me.
92.4% chance of being free from attack in one hour's time.
I watched the number tick up slowly with each passing second. 92.5%. 92.6%. That was good. I wouldn't be trapped forever. I wouldn't die. Someone would come to save me.
But ending today's torment wasn't enough. I had been suffering for more than a year, dying a death by slow degrees. If Emma and her gang kept going, if this happened again tomorrow, and tomorrow, and the week after that-
The master mosaic heard my demand. The futures shifted in place, merging into a whole and then dividing once more into two clusters, the first cluster far larger than the second. The worlds seemed to pulse and shiver as they settled into place, and a sharp wave of pain shot through my skull, striking me with the force of a physical blow.
91.815012855012692% chance of Emma bullying me again.
I reeled, tears forming in my eyes, and let out a wail of despair. No! I had known it for months, but seeing my fate with my new certainty was, was...I sobbed. No. No. I don't want to be saved by someone who doesn't care for me. By a teacher or a janitor who sees me as a burden, as a waste of space who makes trouble for them by letting myself get bullied and shoved into lockers.
I wanted Emma to care for me again. To realize that she'd betrayed me, how she'd hurt me, and to want to make it better again. I wanted Emma to let me out of the locker, to admit she was wrong, to apologize, to beg for my forgiveness and stop the bullying and promise me that she'd do whatever it took to earn my trust and bring the good times back and be my friend again and-
The master mosaic shifted in place once more. The worlds moved more slowly this time, more roughly, and didn't slot into place as elegantly as before. As if they were angry at being disturbed and forced to move again. As they shifted in place they grated against each other, sending sparks of pain flickering through my skull. I gritted my teeth and forced them to keep moving, pushed them into the two clusters of futures I demanded. One cluster was vast and all-encompassing. The other consisted of mere tens of billions of worlds, so thin a sliver of fates that it barely existed at all.
0.0000016547901764% chance of Emma freeing me from the locker and apologizing and ending the bullying and becoming my friend again.
A near impossibility. My new sight told me that it was a worse chance than winning the lottery.
But...but at the same time, my sight gave me the absolute certainty that those futures were real. They were possible. As small of a chance as it was, there was some action I could take, some lucky break I could catch, that would surely, suely, surely lead me to the shining, golden future that would free me from my torment and give me back everything that I had lost.
I wanted to see it. Even if I couldn't have it for myself, even if I would only get a glimpse that I couldn't hold in my sight long enough to use...at that moment, I wanted to see it more than anything. I would give anything to cling to that hope, to keep it within my grasp, to watch my future self end my suffering once and for all.
Show me, I demanded.
The mosaic didn't move.
Show me!
Show me!
Show me!
I pushed, and the mosaic slowly began to shift, to distort. The infinitesimal sliver of golden futures drew closer to my eyes, the individual worlds becoming more distinct from each other. Their chaotic whirlpool of color and motion grew slightly more ordered, their cacophany of sounds grew slightly more understandable.
But the futures resisted me. As they shifted they struggled to stay in place, ground against each other, refused to part ranks. Every touch sent new sparks of pain shooting through my skull.
I resolved to push harder. Whatever pain it cost me couldn't be worse than the suffering I knew was waiting for me in the future if I failed. With every push the mosaic ripped, tore apart, shattered, and that shattering was pain but it was what I wanted because the golden futures were drawing nearer until I could almost taste them again.
I pushed harder, felt the pain blossom in my head until my eyes watered, pushed harder, felt a wail burst from my lips and bile rise in my throat, pushed harder, screamed and barely noticed the refuse in the locker spill into my throat because God I was wrong it the pain was so much worse than anything I could have imagined, pushed harder, felt the pain of shoving a red hot poker through the back of my skull, pushed harder, and-
And then, for a single, shining moment, I had my answer.
...
...
Part 2 - Emma
"Ems, hey Ems! Guess what?" whispered Madison.
"What is it, Mads?" said Emma.
"Jake told me he just heard the loser girl's voice from inside the locker. You know what that means?"
Emma's eyes widened. "She's still in there?"
Madison nodded, her expression a mix of awe and fear. "I told you that was a dirty trick, what you told everyone, but holy shit. I think nobody reported it yet. Not a single one. It's like you have a superpower Emma."
"Oh God." gasped Emma. Then she laughed. "I am pretty spectacular aren't I? Good. This is proof that everyone gets it. They know who's the queen and who's the peasant here. Right Sophia?...Sophia? Sophia, are you okay?"
Sophia was leaning against the wall, bracing herself with her hands to keep herself from falling to the floor. She blinked, squinted up at Emma and pushed herself upright. "Agh. Thought I saw...nevermind. Must have pushed myself too hard on my morning run."
"Hey, don't push yourself too hard." said Emma, putting a hand on Sophia's shoulder. "I know track team is serious business for you, but you don't want to be worn out when it's time to take care of real business."
"Touched that you care, Ems." said Sophia. "Don't worry about me. I've got it handled."
"If you say so." said Emma.
"Um." said Madison. "Listen. Do you guys think we should get her out of there?" She leaned forward and spoke in an urgent whisper. "We could get in so much trouble. What if she gets crippled? My mom told me what happens to people who get trapped in confined places. What if loser girl goes crazy and twisted in there. Like what if she scratches her eyes out or something, or tries to claw her way out and tears off her fingernails and gets an infection, or-"
"Whoa whoa whoa." said Sophia with a chuckle. "Scraches her eyes out? You're twisted too, Mads."
"Says you." said Madison. "Look, let's tell a teacher she's in there. We'll get credit for reporting it. Take off some of the heat."
"It sounds to me like you're chickening out." said Sophia. "Such a bad idea. That's how criminals get caught. Getting a case of the nerves and returning to the scene of the crime."
"Hmm..." said Emma. She looked between Madison and Sophia's faces. Then a smile came to her lips. "No, it's fine. There's no point in going to all this trouble if we don't get to see her face at the end. Can you imagine her expression? When she realizes that no one came to help her? That she only got out because of our mercy?"
Sophia chuckled and shook her head wonderingly. "Holy shit. You're a real piece of work, Ems."
"I try my best." said Emma with a wink. "I'll do the honors."
Emma made her way through the crowds of students in the hallways. As she drew near to Taylor's locker, she heard a series of loud bangs. Impacts against metal. There was a thin trickle of blood leaking from the ventilation slits near the top of the locker.
Shit, had Taylor been banging the back of her head against the locker door until it bled? It was just like Madison had said, she was going crazy in there. She was glad she had taken Madison's advice to end Taylor's ordeal. As decisive a display of power as it would have been, to drive Taylor insane in plain sight of the rest of the school, she didn't want it to end like that, for...she sighed. For a number of reasons.
Emma put a confident stride in her step as she walked up to the locker. She didn't have to worry about observers. The students passing by were doing their best to ignore the spectacle. Victims. The ones who were afraid of being next. They didn't want to get involved.
She peered in through the ventilation slits. It was dark inside the locker but she could make out a tangle of dark hair, matted with trickles of blood. The banging stopped. Taylor must have sensed that she was there, somehow. She put a smirk on her face.
"Taylor. Looks like you've gotten yourself into a tight spot."
There was no answer.
"It's so sad. So cruel." said Emma. Her voice was sickly sweet. "Someone stuffed an ugly smelly mess in your locker. And then they stuffed some bloody trash in there along with you. It's hard to tell the difference between the two by now. The resemblance is uncanny." She paused. "But don't worry, Tay. I'm sure one of your friends will be right along to let you out."
There was no answer.
"If you're such a loser you don't have any friends, though, you'll probably be stuck in there until lunch time." She paused, then gave a fake gasp. "Gee, Tay, do you think the kids in this school might leave you in there for an entire day?"
"Emma." came Taylor's muffled voice. It was hard, tight, and pained. Almost unrecognizable.
"Yes, Tay?" said Emma sweetly.
"I know what you did." said Taylor.
Emma made herself laugh. "Oh, but I haven't done anything wrong. I've come to save my poor best friend Taylor from the cruel bullies. If you beg-"
"I know all about your murderer friend. You saw the kills, you covered up the crimes. You and your lawyer dad! Bet you twisted it around in your head so you thought your lies made you a hero. What do you think the police will do to you when they find out? What do you think the bar association will do to your dad?"
Emma's jaw dropped. Taylor knew about Sophia? About Shadow Stalker? How? She spoke, as much a matter of reflex as anything else. "You, don't know what you're talking about, you don't have-"
"Shut up! I have proof, I have everything on you and your friends! I've had it for months!" Taylor's heavy breathing came from inside the locker. "Fuck you. I put up with your shit for so long. I didn't rat you out. You'll be charged as an adult. I wanted to spare you from that shit. Maybe I believed you'd see the light and be my friend again. But you just burned that fucking bridge!
"Now you listen to me, best friend. You and your dad want to stay out of jail? You're going to stop this pointless bullying shit. You and your 'friends' don't lay a finger on me or my stuff, you don't talk to the teachers, you don't talk to me, you don't fucking look at me. And you're going to let me out of this locker right fucking now!"
Emma couldn't move. She could barely breathe. No. This was impossible. It was a secret, Taylor couldn't know, no one knew. No one could ever know.
Taylor must have taken her silence as a refusal. She continued on her tirade, her voice growing louder, harsher, unstable. "You think you have protection? They'll throw you under the bus when they know what shit you've pulled! I don't care who's a murderer. I'm not stupid. If anything happens to me or my dad, a certain lawyer is going to put certain proof online for the public to see and you'll be fucking ruined by that limelight you love so much. Now you have five seconds to let me out and apologize on your knees or I'll stop being merciful!"
Emma's heart was hammering, her eyes wide. She wanted to talk to her dad, to Sophia, but they weren't there for her. This wasn't supposed to be happen. When Taylor pushed she was supposed to step up and push back. Harder, stronger. Taylor was the weak one, the victim, and she was the strong one. But Taylor's impossible words told her that she wasn't on firm ground anymore. That she had never been on firm ground, that for months she had been standing on a tall cliff stepping closer and closer to the edge, and that pushing back one more time would mean stepping off and falling into a bottomless abyss...
The only thing that broke her paralysis was the fact that she had intended to let Taylor out of the locker from the start. She put a trembling hand onto the lock and entered Taylor's combination to open the door. The numbers a boy had witnessed in secret and told her a month ago in exchange for her favor.
Taylor's back was stained with blood trickling from the wounds on the back of her head, covered by her blood matted hair. She toppled backward and Emma caught her in her arms. Emma lowered herself to her knees to let Taylor's body lie on the floor, supporting Taylor's head on her lap. More blood was running down Taylor's face, covering her eyes and staining her lips.
"Taylor. Uh, shit." Emma stammered. "I, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-, uh, I mean. How did you-"
Taylor's face was twisted into an inhuman rictus grin, of pain or triumph or something in between. She forced words out of her mouth one by one, syllable by syllable.
"Better." she said. "Eight. Teen. Point. Six. Two. Three. Six..."
Taylor's voice trailed off.
"Eighteen? I don't get it." said Emma.
Taylor rolled over and tried to support herself with her hands. She made it halfway to her feet before she collapsed, her arms draped over Emma's shoulders and her face buried against her chest.
"T-talk about it later." gasped Taylor. "Going to puke now."
Emma's eyes went wide. "Wait, what do you-aaagh!"
Thirty seconds later, Taylor fell unconscious and limp in her arms.
...
It was two days before Taylor woke up in her hospital bed.
Her eyes were glassy, and she screwed them shut to hide from the daylight shining through the window. She complained of a migrane that made it impossible to think or move out of bed. The headache didn't respond to conventional treatments and only relented after a dose of heavy-duty opiates that left her nearly out of touch with the world.
But for all that, she woke up smiling.
Next Part -->
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Number Girl
Part 1 - Taylor
I know the precise moment when I realized that I was losing my mind. It was when I stopped calling for help. When I stopped hoping to escape. When I accepted my fate as inevitable.
I was trapped in my locker face-first, my face mashed into a pile of filth. I might have had a chance at withstanding it if only I could do something to center myself, something to release my emotions. But I couldn't move. I had barely enough room to bang my elbows against the door. I couldn't even scream. I couldn't even open my mouth without letting the bloody offal mash against my lips and flood into my throat. Every breath I took worked the scent of rot deeper into my nostrils and sinuses.
After my first ten minutes trapped in that cramped space the raw physical sensations began to fade. I had accepted my fate. I wasn't any calmer, though. It left me free to concentrate on the mental dimension of my torment, and my revulsion and disgust only grew.
It was Emma who did this to me. It had to be her. She must have plotted it with her hangers-on Sophia and Madison. They had been going easy on me for the last few months and I had taken that as a sign that they had finally gotten bored with bullying me and were moving to other targets. Instead it turned out to be a sign that they had been plotting, waiting for the right moment to bury me in a bigger pile of shit than ever.
Stupid of me. But how could I have expected them to keep going? To be so goddamned persistent in hurting me for no reason whatsoever? Her betrayal was so fucking senseless that I had always, deep in my heart, held out a thin strand of hope that she'd come to her senses. That one day she'd realize how stupid she'd been and beg for my forgiveness, that she'd tearfully plead with me to go back to the happy world we'd shared a few short years ago.
I screamed out in my mind. Why? Why did she turn against me?
I received no answer.
Why can't she be my friend again? What would it take to make this shit stop forever?
I received no answer.
I squeezed my eyes shut, squeezed my mouth and nostrils shut, squeezed my mind shut, tried to block out the world and cruel indifference of those around me and tried to send myself back to happier times through sheer force of will. Images flashed to the front of my mind. Sleeping over at Emma's house, playing board games with her on my birthday, chasing each other in the park under the watchful eyes of our mothers.
Why couldn't we go back to those happy times again? Why-
...
My eyes shot wide open. I got an answer, this time!
The images from the past were joined by images of futures. Sleeping over at Emma's house, playing computer games with her at her house, talking a walk together in the park and joking about the boys we liked in class. I could hear the laughter of children in the park, smell the scent of greasy food from the food carts we passed, taste the ice cream we ordered from the jolly old man behind the counter. Stronger were the inner sensations, the feelings and emotions that swelled within me. Joy. Tranquility. The sense of playful cheer behind the arch of an eyebrow and the curve of a smile. The simple delight in the company of my favorite companion and confidante.
The sensations were intoxicating. Overwhelming. Replacing the disgusting world of the now with the wonderful world that could be. And most intoxicating of all was the sense of absolute certainty they carried. I instantly knew I could trust the visions. These weren't mere conjectures, mere wishful thinking. They were possible worlds.
It was possible. It was certainly, definitely possible. We could do it. It was right there, before my eyes, so close I could reach out and touch it.
Emma and I could be friends again.
Then the world in my mind shivered, split, and multiplied. Then multiplied again, and again, and again, in the span of seconds dividing exponentially into a great tree of futures, branching, twisting, tangling, forming a vast mosaic of worlds spread across more dimensions than I could perceive.
And as my vision grew...I lost sight of that shining golden path. I could see everything, and yet I could see nothing. The raw sensations were crystal clear as ever but I couldn't understand them. Far too much information for my mind to handle. A deluge from a firehose, if the 'firehose' was the size of continents, worlds, entire dimensions.
I desperately searched for that golden path but it was futile. The best I could do was look for patterns, similarities, hints of motion or objects or emotions that were common enough to be shared among vast segments of the billions upon billons of worlds. As I tried to make sense of the mosaic I demanded that it show me the futures I wanted.
Where is Emma my friend?
The mosaic of futures heard my call and shifted. The great bulk of them stayed in place but a small fraction of them shuffled around the others in a delicate dance and gathered together to form a small, barely perceptible cluster split off from the whole. Their joyous sights and sounds and emotions set them off in contrast to the rest of the mosaic, a thin sliver of shining light set off against the great bulk of darkness. The light weighed its mass against the darkness and gave me the answer. The precise, pristine, and absolute truth.
0.0165479017645719% chance that Emma would be my friend again.
...and with that...my heart shattered. My exhilaration dissipated like a dream exposed to the sunlight.
I didn't truly understand the overwhelming sea of visions before my eyes. I didn't know what had granted me this instant of insight into my fate. But I knew it was the truth. The truth of my existence in the now. The truth of my existence in the future. The truth of what my best friend had done to me, the true and absolute extent of her betrayal.
Was my fate determined from the start? Had my visions of hope been a cruel joke, designed to rub my face into the fact that their likelihood was infinitesimal? Was I going to be a victim forever?
As if in reply, the master mosaic of futures in my mind was joined by a window beside it, like a viewing pane of translucent, smoky glass. The window gave me a second view of the futures within the mosaic, a blurry view that left the universes shadowy and indistinct.
I peered through the window and found that its view was rigid, inflexible. Its focus in time was set to a fixed distance in the future and it sorted the worlds into a pair of categories that I couldn't change, that wouldn't bend to my will. On one side were the futures where I was a victim. Blurry worlds of darkness and panic, worlds where I was trapped and confined, or running or hiding from pursuers. On the other side were the futures where I was free. Going about my daily affairs unmolested, where the bullies left me alone, even a small sliver of worlds where I was chasing them, making Emma scurry through the school hallways in fear of me.
92.4% chance of being free from attack in one hour's time.
I watched the number tick up slowly with each passing second. 92.5%. 92.6%. That was good. I wouldn't be trapped forever. I wouldn't die. Someone would come to save me.
But ending today's torment wasn't enough. I had been suffering for more than a year, dying a death by slow degrees. If Emma and her gang kept going, if this happened again tomorrow, and tomorrow, and the week after that-
The master mosaic heard my demand. The futures shifted in place, merging into a whole and then dividing once more into two clusters, the first cluster far larger than the second. The worlds seemed to pulse and shiver as they settled into place, and a sharp wave of pain shot through my skull, striking me with the force of a physical blow.
91.815012855012692% chance of Emma bullying me again.
I reeled, tears forming in my eyes, and let out a wail of despair. No! I had known it for months, but seeing my fate with my new certainty was, was...I sobbed. No. No. I don't want to be saved by someone who doesn't care for me. By a teacher or a janitor who sees me as a burden, as a waste of space who makes trouble for them by letting myself get bullied and shoved into lockers.
I wanted Emma to care for me again. To realize that she'd betrayed me, how she'd hurt me, and to want to make it better again. I wanted Emma to let me out of the locker, to admit she was wrong, to apologize, to beg for my forgiveness and stop the bullying and promise me that she'd do whatever it took to earn my trust and bring the good times back and be my friend again and-
The master mosaic shifted in place once more. The worlds moved more slowly this time, more roughly, and didn't slot into place as elegantly as before. As if they were angry at being disturbed and forced to move again. As they shifted in place they grated against each other, sending sparks of pain flickering through my skull. I gritted my teeth and forced them to keep moving, pushed them into the two clusters of futures I demanded. One cluster was vast and all-encompassing. The other consisted of mere tens of billions of worlds, so thin a sliver of fates that it barely existed at all.
0.0000016547901764% chance of Emma freeing me from the locker and apologizing and ending the bullying and becoming my friend again.
A near impossibility. My new sight told me that it was a worse chance than winning the lottery.
But...but at the same time, my sight gave me the absolute certainty that those futures were real. They were possible. As small of a chance as it was, there was some action I could take, some lucky break I could catch, that would surely, suely, surely lead me to the shining, golden future that would free me from my torment and give me back everything that I had lost.
I wanted to see it. Even if I couldn't have it for myself, even if I would only get a glimpse that I couldn't hold in my sight long enough to use...at that moment, I wanted to see it more than anything. I would give anything to cling to that hope, to keep it within my grasp, to watch my future self end my suffering once and for all.
Show me, I demanded.
The mosaic didn't move.
Show me!
Show me!
Show me!
I pushed, and the mosaic slowly began to shift, to distort. The infinitesimal sliver of golden futures drew closer to my eyes, the individual worlds becoming more distinct from each other. Their chaotic whirlpool of color and motion grew slightly more ordered, their cacophany of sounds grew slightly more understandable.
But the futures resisted me. As they shifted they struggled to stay in place, ground against each other, refused to part ranks. Every touch sent new sparks of pain shooting through my skull.
I resolved to push harder. Whatever pain it cost me couldn't be worse than the suffering I knew was waiting for me in the future if I failed. With every push the mosaic ripped, tore apart, shattered, and that shattering was pain but it was what I wanted because the golden futures were drawing nearer until I could almost taste them again.
I pushed harder, felt the pain blossom in my head until my eyes watered, pushed harder, felt a wail burst from my lips and bile rise in my throat, pushed harder, screamed and barely noticed the refuse in the locker spill into my throat because God I was wrong it the pain was so much worse than anything I could have imagined, pushed harder, felt the pain of shoving a red hot poker through the back of my skull, pushed harder, and-
And then, for a single, shining moment, I had my answer.
...
...
Part 2 - Emma
"Ems, hey Ems! Guess what?" whispered Madison.
"What is it, Mads?" said Emma.
"Jake told me he just heard the loser girl's voice from inside the locker. You know what that means?"
Emma's eyes widened. "She's still in there?"
Madison nodded, her expression a mix of awe and fear. "I told you that was a dirty trick, what you told everyone, but holy shit. I think nobody reported it yet. Not a single one. It's like you have a superpower Emma."
"Oh God." gasped Emma. Then she laughed. "I am pretty spectacular aren't I? Good. This is proof that everyone gets it. They know who's the queen and who's the peasant here. Right Sophia?...Sophia? Sophia, are you okay?"
Sophia was leaning against the wall, bracing herself with her hands to keep herself from falling to the floor. She blinked, squinted up at Emma and pushed herself upright. "Agh. Thought I saw...nevermind. Must have pushed myself too hard on my morning run."
"Hey, don't push yourself too hard." said Emma, putting a hand on Sophia's shoulder. "I know track team is serious business for you, but you don't want to be worn out when it's time to take care of real business."
"Touched that you care, Ems." said Sophia. "Don't worry about me. I've got it handled."
"If you say so." said Emma.
"Um." said Madison. "Listen. Do you guys think we should get her out of there?" She leaned forward and spoke in an urgent whisper. "We could get in so much trouble. What if she gets crippled? My mom told me what happens to people who get trapped in confined places. What if loser girl goes crazy and twisted in there. Like what if she scratches her eyes out or something, or tries to claw her way out and tears off her fingernails and gets an infection, or-"
"Whoa whoa whoa." said Sophia with a chuckle. "Scraches her eyes out? You're twisted too, Mads."
"Says you." said Madison. "Look, let's tell a teacher she's in there. We'll get credit for reporting it. Take off some of the heat."
"It sounds to me like you're chickening out." said Sophia. "Such a bad idea. That's how criminals get caught. Getting a case of the nerves and returning to the scene of the crime."
"Hmm..." said Emma. She looked between Madison and Sophia's faces. Then a smile came to her lips. "No, it's fine. There's no point in going to all this trouble if we don't get to see her face at the end. Can you imagine her expression? When she realizes that no one came to help her? That she only got out because of our mercy?"
Sophia chuckled and shook her head wonderingly. "Holy shit. You're a real piece of work, Ems."
"I try my best." said Emma with a wink. "I'll do the honors."
Emma made her way through the crowds of students in the hallways. As she drew near to Taylor's locker, she heard a series of loud bangs. Impacts against metal. There was a thin trickle of blood leaking from the ventilation slits near the top of the locker.
Shit, had Taylor been banging the back of her head against the locker door until it bled? It was just like Madison had said, she was going crazy in there. She was glad she had taken Madison's advice to end Taylor's ordeal. As decisive a display of power as it would have been, to drive Taylor insane in plain sight of the rest of the school, she didn't want it to end like that, for...she sighed. For a number of reasons.
Emma put a confident stride in her step as she walked up to the locker. She didn't have to worry about observers. The students passing by were doing their best to ignore the spectacle. Victims. The ones who were afraid of being next. They didn't want to get involved.
She peered in through the ventilation slits. It was dark inside the locker but she could make out a tangle of dark hair, matted with trickles of blood. The banging stopped. Taylor must have sensed that she was there, somehow. She put a smirk on her face.
"Taylor. Looks like you've gotten yourself into a tight spot."
There was no answer.
"It's so sad. So cruel." said Emma. Her voice was sickly sweet. "Someone stuffed an ugly smelly mess in your locker. And then they stuffed some bloody trash in there along with you. It's hard to tell the difference between the two by now. The resemblance is uncanny." She paused. "But don't worry, Tay. I'm sure one of your friends will be right along to let you out."
There was no answer.
"If you're such a loser you don't have any friends, though, you'll probably be stuck in there until lunch time." She paused, then gave a fake gasp. "Gee, Tay, do you think the kids in this school might leave you in there for an entire day?"
"Emma." came Taylor's muffled voice. It was hard, tight, and pained. Almost unrecognizable.
"Yes, Tay?" said Emma sweetly.
"I know what you did." said Taylor.
Emma made herself laugh. "Oh, but I haven't done anything wrong. I've come to save my poor best friend Taylor from the cruel bullies. If you beg-"
"I know all about your murderer friend. You saw the kills, you covered up the crimes. You and your lawyer dad! Bet you twisted it around in your head so you thought your lies made you a hero. What do you think the police will do to you when they find out? What do you think the bar association will do to your dad?"
Emma's jaw dropped. Taylor knew about Sophia? About Shadow Stalker? How? She spoke, as much a matter of reflex as anything else. "You, don't know what you're talking about, you don't have-"
"Shut up! I have proof, I have everything on you and your friends! I've had it for months!" Taylor's heavy breathing came from inside the locker. "Fuck you. I put up with your shit for so long. I didn't rat you out. You'll be charged as an adult. I wanted to spare you from that shit. Maybe I believed you'd see the light and be my friend again. But you just burned that fucking bridge!
"Now you listen to me, best friend. You and your dad want to stay out of jail? You're going to stop this pointless bullying shit. You and your 'friends' don't lay a finger on me or my stuff, you don't talk to the teachers, you don't talk to me, you don't fucking look at me. And you're going to let me out of this locker right fucking now!"
Emma couldn't move. She could barely breathe. No. This was impossible. It was a secret, Taylor couldn't know, no one knew. No one could ever know.
Taylor must have taken her silence as a refusal. She continued on her tirade, her voice growing louder, harsher, unstable. "You think you have protection? They'll throw you under the bus when they know what shit you've pulled! I don't care who's a murderer. I'm not stupid. If anything happens to me or my dad, a certain lawyer is going to put certain proof online for the public to see and you'll be fucking ruined by that limelight you love so much. Now you have five seconds to let me out and apologize on your knees or I'll stop being merciful!"
Emma's heart was hammering, her eyes wide. She wanted to talk to her dad, to Sophia, but they weren't there for her. This wasn't supposed to be happen. When Taylor pushed she was supposed to step up and push back. Harder, stronger. Taylor was the weak one, the victim, and she was the strong one. But Taylor's impossible words told her that she wasn't on firm ground anymore. That she had never been on firm ground, that for months she had been standing on a tall cliff stepping closer and closer to the edge, and that pushing back one more time would mean stepping off and falling into a bottomless abyss...
The only thing that broke her paralysis was the fact that she had intended to let Taylor out of the locker from the start. She put a trembling hand onto the lock and entered Taylor's combination to open the door. The numbers a boy had witnessed in secret and told her a month ago in exchange for her favor.
Taylor's back was stained with blood trickling from the wounds on the back of her head, covered by her blood matted hair. She toppled backward and Emma caught her in her arms. Emma lowered herself to her knees to let Taylor's body lie on the floor, supporting Taylor's head on her lap. More blood was running down Taylor's face, covering her eyes and staining her lips.
"Taylor. Uh, shit." Emma stammered. "I, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-, uh, I mean. How did you-"
Taylor's face was twisted into an inhuman rictus grin, of pain or triumph or something in between. She forced words out of her mouth one by one, syllable by syllable.
"Better." she said. "Eight. Teen. Point. Six. Two. Three. Six..."
Taylor's voice trailed off.
"Eighteen? I don't get it." said Emma.
Taylor rolled over and tried to support herself with her hands. She made it halfway to her feet before she collapsed, her arms draped over Emma's shoulders and her face buried against her chest.
"T-talk about it later." gasped Taylor. "Going to puke now."
Emma's eyes went wide. "Wait, what do you-aaagh!"
Thirty seconds later, Taylor fell unconscious and limp in her arms.
...
It was two days before Taylor woke up in her hospital bed.
Her eyes were glassy, and she screwed them shut to hide from the daylight shining through the window. She complained of a migrane that made it impossible to think or move out of bed. The headache didn't respond to conventional treatments and only relented after a dose of heavy-duty opiates that left her nearly out of touch with the world.
But for all that, she woke up smiling.
Next Part -->
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Sorry?
You write a lot of good things and its hard to keep track of them all.
But oh man, Scion just straight up botched trying to restrict the QA didn't he?
VolantRedX
Official Conscience of Worm Fanfiction!
You have a gift for things that both really touching and really sad.
- Location
- Crackship Space!
One thing that I think breaks the fic a bit...
What were Sophia and Madison doing when Taylor was making her little speech through the locker door?
Madison I could expect to maybe be confused and perhaps even conflicted but Sophia?
There is no fucking way she would stand there as Taylor threatens them.
Sorain
The eternal DM
- Location
- Nexus, looking down over all there is.
Well I can't stay mad at you now can I?
How far can you mutilate your wife's corpse before you can't bring yourself to keep going @Nervaqus987 ?
They weren't there, Emma went to the locker alone as far as I can tell.
You know, in addition to how much I enjoyed that, it brings up an interesting question that's had me stalled on something I've been working on.
Assuming that after the locker (think on that same day, but after Taylor was hauled away to the hospital) Emma realized how horrible she was being and tried to repent, would Taylor even be willing to take her back? How hard would that be for her? Not to trust her again, because I can't see that truly happening, potentially ever, but to be willing to be around her again.
Assume that Sophia and Madison aren't relevant, but that Emma won't try to mend the fences on those counts.
Because I can't help but want to double check my logic before I have two chapters written.
One time my (at the time) best friend spread a few ill advised lies about me. Its been more than a decade and I still haven't spoken to her. What I'm saying is that I'm a grudge holding bastard and even the thought of Taylor 'forgiving' Emma enrages me. Taylor moving past Emma and understanding she's utterly irrelevant was the best 'revenge' Wildbow could have written.
Erm...so no input from me I guess ><
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Sorain
The eternal DM
- Location
- Nexus, looking down over all there is.
Well that's sad.
That being said, I think there's a reasonably good argument for that, for Taylor just not wanting to interact with her at all no matter how badly Emma might be trying that is.
Meanwhile I just had the most silly idea I've had in quite a while.
due to butterfly's (always a good excuse to me!) the fact Sophia is friends with Emma is known to the wards, so when they hear about Emma's other friend, Taylor, being put into a locker like that and Sophia suddenly starts pushing herself way harder in training soon after. The wards leadership feels they need to talk with Sophia about it. Because they're concerned that Sophia might try to investigate this herself and lash out.
To put in perspective the level of shift involved, her combat ability jumps so much that Armsmaster theorizes she got a second trigger out of it. Given the small amount of data on second triggers, they aren't well understood I imagine, making her sudden jump in capability seem reasonable despite not really improving her power directly in any way they see.
She goes from the effective vigilante we know, to reaching into Thinker/Brute/Striker 3 territory on account of a sudden leap in physical endurance, speed, strength, sensory acuity and the precision of her strikes/shots. (remember that 3 is 'a full squad of PRT can handle this, but half a squad won't cut it.') They're wrong about the cause, but something clearly happened.
OverReactionGuy
Verified Sanity
Rather interesting.
That seems more like Dinah then number man. Btw, Taylor would not want Emma as her friend again at this point in time.
-edit-
Though, numbermans powers does give him some sort of precog. Plus, Taylor seemed to have obsessed about Emma while she triggered, Which could lead to why she wants her friend back, and anyone who gets in her way will burn.
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Whether this is Dinah's power or Number Man's she definitely is not shy about those Thinker headaches. Was there ever any info on whether or not those headaches were symptomatic of any kind of damage?
Because if they are just some kind of power limit, and you were ruthless enough and willing to take the pain you could push a Thinker power hard.
Actually, that's an important question for my upcoming splatterpunk!Dinah story. Do the headaches represent an actual threat to the Thinker's health or not?
You know, I need to get my fanfic groove back.
So, something easy, a crossover rewrite with Taylor written into a role that doesn't suit her at all (and due to the fact that it's Taylor, infinitely lighter and less squicky than the low bar of the source material):
A Flower Amidst The Swarm
-----------------
Long ago, in an age of unending conflict, five champions arose.
To the world, these fair champions sang mystical songs that became hymns of prosperity and lullabies to conflict. Soon, the era of the villain, the warmonger, and the Endbringer became as a distant memory.
The people were awed by these champions, and made them queens and gods, the choir who saved the world and brought it to a golden age of peace, the likes of which humanity thought they would never see again.
War became as a distant memory, and humanity entered a sweet reverie, basking in the-
"They aren't very good writers, are they?"
Gah!
-------------------
Part of me, an increasingly large part I had to admit, reveled in the look on the historian's face. Funny how thought is derailed by a knife to the throat.
"D...demon..."
"That's not very nice, you know. Especially after you failed to mention there was six champions? I think I deserve a little more respect, don't you?" I trailed the knife along my hostage's neck. "Now then, the organization known formerly as the PRT is currently right outside this building, and if they shoot, this thing under my eye will sprout. You've seen what happens when that does, right?"
A sharp intake of breath. Opposing propaganda was great if you actually were the bad guy, it seemed.
"Good. Now, if you'll just dial this number..."
-------------------
"Mu! Come out with your hands up and the hostage unharmed!"
"You know that leaves a giant loophole in the default view of arresting someone, yes?" the million bodies of Ariel conveyed to the Temple Acolytes outside. "The Watcher I bullied can easily sting all of you to death even without my input."
There was a slight tremble to the next proclamation from the speaker. Please let these guys not be stupid, I prayed. A guy with only a slight tremble to his voice when meeting me, the so-called Traitor Champion, deserved to at least survive for his bravery. "C-come out quietly and w-without violence, and your s-s-siblings will forgive you. Please, Mu, do you-"
"I have professed the desire, very publicly, to kill my siblings," I replied, as gently as I could through Ariel's swarm-voice. "I respect the fact that Unity still thinks I can be Hebert the Merciful again, but as far as I can remember that woman never lived. I just want to get out without adding innocent blood to my hands, as much as I can. Okay?"
"Um...ah..."
"Argh. Get out you idiot."
My heart plummeted. A Disciple, and not just any Disciple, but Aves the Mad himself. I mean, I felt kind of sorry for the bastard (he had a combination of me and Emma as his Intoner for a parent/master), but that didn't change the fact he was still a bastard. And an aggressive one.
I dropped the knife from my hostage, careful that the Acolytes outside the window didn't see. "The safe", I whispered to him. "Hide in it."
The historian, not one to question the fact that a mass-murderess had arbitrarily decided to spare him in the immediate future, did so. Good, he didn't need to be around when Aves awoke...that.
I waited a couple seconds to pretend to be more unsettled than I was (and to quash the realization that I was increasingly less unsettled by the prospect of yet more bodies on my conscience, that breakdown could be saved for later-working up the bravery to confront the end of this quest, for example). "Aves?" I said, faking surprise rather than dread. "I didn't know Shin was here."
"Ugh, this line of questioning again, Mu?", the voice of the Bloody Disciple came through the megaphone. "You were here precisely because all of your...lovely family was, and thus you could take advantage of the bickering to drive a few more wedges. In your wisdom, you failed. Utterly. It would behoove you to just give up now and spare the world your future bloody Pyrrhic victories."
True, of course. I just wanted to help the Disciple hear himself talk long enough for me to slip out before he opened fire. "Perhaps," I transmitted. "Or perhaps I have other plans? Ones that involve me drawing you out while my own agents complete plans?" Complete bullshit, but one I felt could trip his paranoia about being played long enough to slip out.
What vision I saw of Ariel's many eyes showed that trick seemed to actually work. Aves' thin, boyish eyebrows had furrowed, and he seemed to be lost in thought-
A soldier, presumably the wavery brave one held up a hand. Oh god please don't you brave dumbass please don't contradict-
"Sir?", a million ears heard. "Can we, um, think about the-"
Aves' eyes narrowed. "Are you questioning the voice of Shin, Lieutenant?"
Oh, crap.
"No, no, I just thought that since it's my job to protect the men-"
"Is it, now?"
A wicked smile came to Aves' face as he gave the motion to fire-
A blast rocked the building, and shrapnel penetrated my body in several places I knew would be normally fatal. And it knew too.
I felt the beginnings of petals push against the back of my eye, and an all too familiar stirring of alien anger at the impurity of those who would harm a goddess.
Already, as the wall fell away, sensations of thorns forced my body into a fighting stance, walking towards the threat. I somehow managed to grab hold of the communicator long enough to press a red button on it, a specially dedicated one to the most vital and frequent message to the living Undersiders I could relay.
It's waking up. Run.
I was never sure if the stinging of tears was due to the pain of a flower displacing your eye or knowing what it was going to do to punish transgressors.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to everyone nearby.
Those were my usually last words before I began to sing.
Today was no different, and neither was the sudden explosion of red.
-------------------
Worm/Drakengard 3
So, something easy, a crossover rewrite with Taylor written into a role that doesn't suit her at all (and due to the fact that it's Taylor, infinitely lighter and less squicky than the low bar of the source material):
A Flower Amidst The Swarm
-----------------
Long ago, in an age of unending conflict, five champions arose.
To the world, these fair champions sang mystical songs that became hymns of prosperity and lullabies to conflict. Soon, the era of the villain, the warmonger, and the Endbringer became as a distant memory.
The people were awed by these champions, and made them queens and gods, the choir who saved the world and brought it to a golden age of peace, the likes of which humanity thought they would never see again.
War became as a distant memory, and humanity entered a sweet reverie, basking in the-
"They aren't very good writers, are they?"
Gah!
-------------------
Part of me, an increasingly large part I had to admit, reveled in the look on the historian's face. Funny how thought is derailed by a knife to the throat.
"D...demon..."
"That's not very nice, you know. Especially after you failed to mention there was six champions? I think I deserve a little more respect, don't you?" I trailed the knife along my hostage's neck. "Now then, the organization known formerly as the PRT is currently right outside this building, and if they shoot, this thing under my eye will sprout. You've seen what happens when that does, right?"
A sharp intake of breath. Opposing propaganda was great if you actually were the bad guy, it seemed.
"Good. Now, if you'll just dial this number..."
-------------------
"Mu! Come out with your hands up and the hostage unharmed!"
"You know that leaves a giant loophole in the default view of arresting someone, yes?" the million bodies of Ariel conveyed to the Temple Acolytes outside. "The Watcher I bullied can easily sting all of you to death even without my input."
There was a slight tremble to the next proclamation from the speaker. Please let these guys not be stupid, I prayed. A guy with only a slight tremble to his voice when meeting me, the so-called Traitor Champion, deserved to at least survive for his bravery. "C-come out quietly and w-without violence, and your s-s-siblings will forgive you. Please, Mu, do you-"
"I have professed the desire, very publicly, to kill my siblings," I replied, as gently as I could through Ariel's swarm-voice. "I respect the fact that Unity still thinks I can be Hebert the Merciful again, but as far as I can remember that woman never lived. I just want to get out without adding innocent blood to my hands, as much as I can. Okay?"
"Um...ah..."
"Argh. Get out you idiot."
My heart plummeted. A Disciple, and not just any Disciple, but Aves the Mad himself. I mean, I felt kind of sorry for the bastard (he had a combination of me and Emma as his Intoner for a parent/master), but that didn't change the fact he was still a bastard. And an aggressive one.
I dropped the knife from my hostage, careful that the Acolytes outside the window didn't see. "The safe", I whispered to him. "Hide in it."
The historian, not one to question the fact that a mass-murderess had arbitrarily decided to spare him in the immediate future, did so. Good, he didn't need to be around when Aves awoke...that.
I waited a couple seconds to pretend to be more unsettled than I was (and to quash the realization that I was increasingly less unsettled by the prospect of yet more bodies on my conscience, that breakdown could be saved for later-working up the bravery to confront the end of this quest, for example). "Aves?" I said, faking surprise rather than dread. "I didn't know Shin was here."
"Ugh, this line of questioning again, Mu?", the voice of the Bloody Disciple came through the megaphone. "You were here precisely because all of your...lovely family was, and thus you could take advantage of the bickering to drive a few more wedges. In your wisdom, you failed. Utterly. It would behoove you to just give up now and spare the world your future bloody Pyrrhic victories."
True, of course. I just wanted to help the Disciple hear himself talk long enough for me to slip out before he opened fire. "Perhaps," I transmitted. "Or perhaps I have other plans? Ones that involve me drawing you out while my own agents complete plans?" Complete bullshit, but one I felt could trip his paranoia about being played long enough to slip out.
What vision I saw of Ariel's many eyes showed that trick seemed to actually work. Aves' thin, boyish eyebrows had furrowed, and he seemed to be lost in thought-
A soldier, presumably the wavery brave one held up a hand. Oh god please don't you brave dumbass please don't contradict-
"Sir?", a million ears heard. "Can we, um, think about the-"
Aves' eyes narrowed. "Are you questioning the voice of Shin, Lieutenant?"
Oh, crap.
"No, no, I just thought that since it's my job to protect the men-"
"Is it, now?"
A wicked smile came to Aves' face as he gave the motion to fire-
A blast rocked the building, and shrapnel penetrated my body in several places I knew would be normally fatal. And it knew too.
I felt the beginnings of petals push against the back of my eye, and an all too familiar stirring of alien anger at the impurity of those who would harm a goddess.
Already, as the wall fell away, sensations of thorns forced my body into a fighting stance, walking towards the threat. I somehow managed to grab hold of the communicator long enough to press a red button on it, a specially dedicated one to the most vital and frequent message to the living Undersiders I could relay.
It's waking up. Run.
I was never sure if the stinging of tears was due to the pain of a flower displacing your eye or knowing what it was going to do to punish transgressors.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to everyone nearby.
Those were my usually last words before I began to sing.
Today was no different, and neither was the sudden explosion of red.
-------------------
Worm/Drakengard 3
For those of you who don't know, Taylor's become the host of a flower of the gods...who collectively think humanity needs to go and created the flower as a method to bring destroying angels into the world through a human host. As in Drakengard, the host it found was Taylor, and when she didn't seem that interested in becoming a human-scale Endbringer in the key of suicide, it germinated into the corpses of five other people, creating her Intoner "siblings" who all share similar powers and (unknowingly) a clone of the flower to fully possess and transform them later-Unity was made from Tattletale, Shin, Emma. Unlike the er, protagonist of Drakengard 3 (Zero), Taylor's a pretty sweet person, so being a host to the flower results in Intoners a lot less squicky than Zero's (see, Zero is and always was homicidal and mean-spirited, and the flower drew on her stint as a prostitute when creating the other Intoners...yeah, they're all pretty crazy in pretty unfun and NSFW ways not permitted on this site. Besides, it's more interesting writing in actual writing if I have villains who are warped reflections of a generally good person, rather than warped reflections of Lady Belkar Bitterleaf).
...
...
Like Worm wasn't fucked before.
But now I want more. If only because Drakengard is a strange gift to humanity.
Daycare
The first thing Alain Lavere experienced when he felt the Birdcage shake was a slim vestige of curiosity. For all that it contained over four hundred of the most uncontrollable parahumans alive, the prison was a rather orderly place, if only so the inmates didn't kill themselves. As such, while there was always the individual spats to briefly liven things up, most days were the same tired affair. This was something new.
"One of the new arrivals?" he postulated, turning towards his guest. Known throughout the world as the Faerie Queen, the youthful villain shook her head.
"No," she answered, her voice a susurrus of echoes. "One of the three beasts has come."
It took him an unforgivable moment to realize what she meant. "...An Endbringer?!" he replied, raising himself from his chair? "That's..." He trailed off, unable to articulate the catastrophe which was about to occur.
"Indeed," the child returned, unworried, despite her grim pronouncement. "It is the one known as the Behemoth; he is overcoming the dragon's preparations."
"To what ends?" Marquis asked, forcing his voice flat. "More importantly, will we survive the process?"
The girl who was once whispered to be Eidolon's equal met his stare unflinchingly, while she summoned two more ghosts to her side. "With regard to the former, I cannot say; however, as to your second question..." The shadow of a grin graced her face. "Indubitably."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Brockton Bay had changed in the years he had been away. It was failing; sickly; run-down. Part of this was due to the collapse of the local shipping industry; however, such small things could be recovered from, if not very easily. No, the problem stemmed from a cause he had long since grown familiar with: Parahumans.
Walking through some of the poorer sections of the city, he paused in his tracks as a Japanese man in red and green struck a woman across the face. The lady was young, closer to his daughter's age than his own, and though he tried to be charitable about it, calling her a 'lady' was perhaps a bit duplicitous. She was a whore. Bearing her stomach and the underside of her breasts, he knew this without a doubt. The Empire; the Teeth; the countless second stringers who had lived beneath their shadow - of all the gangs which had called the Bay their home, it was only he who disdained the crime of prostitution. Alain Lavere had done horrible things in his career - terrible things, but no one could count that among his sins. He decided to remind the youth why that was.
"Excuse me," he began, drawing the man's attention. "Could you look this way for a moment?"
"The hell?" the man replied, glancing away from the woman. "Get the-" His words cut off along with his head, as Marquis withdrew the bone spur, sprouting from the center of his palm. Breaking off the extension, he ignored the familiar, mind-numbing stab of pain and turned towards the shocked young woman.
"Miss," he said, while she gazed with horror at her pimp. "Miss, I know this is a touch traumatizing, but if you could focus for a moment?" Seeing her shakily look his way, he tried to smile comfortingly. "I know things appear bleak, but I assure you it will all work out. Do you have any friends you could stay with? Family, maybe?"
Watching her stand there stiffly, he shook his head. "Nevermind," he continued, pity staining his voice. "If necessary, turn around and just start walking. I assure you, that before this week is over, your assailants will no longer be an issue."
Raising his hand, he thought about laying it on her shoulder, but given the way she was staring at him, he figured that'd be too much. Instead, he dipped his head in a bow, spun on his heel and slowly walked away. Yes, he reiterated, frowning faintly at the reminder: it'd been far too long, since he'd been home.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The streets grew nicer, as he made his way from the slums. Gang signs faded from the walls and the people lost their furtive looks. The city was still awash with signs of struggle and desperation, but these were more existential concerns that came without the threat of violence.
Smiling a bit at the irony of flipping the table on his old foes, he walked to the small, brownstone house, he'd been dreaming of for almost ten years. Practically dancing up the steps, he raised his hand to the door bell and brushed passed it to rap against the wood.
"One second?" a voice called out, from behind the tiny, glass windows. "Kind of in the middle of something."
Young, it replied with the thin illusion of politeness, known only to the subset called 'teenagers.' Arguing with someone behind the frame, the Marquis heard a quiet set of footsteps, before a girl emerged on the landing.
"Hello?" the youth began, likely the first speaker's sister. "Can I help you?"
He took in the girl's face; her eyes; the nose and recalled a vague memory from a time long before. Glancing over the hair, he noticed it almost as an after-thought and considered it unnecessary, besides. "Yes," he answered frankly. "Is Mrs. Dallon in? A number of years ago, I left something in trust with her, and I'd dearly like it back."
Smiling at his daughter, he waited for Brandish to arrive.
AN: First off, shout out goes to Beacon Hill for Marquis civilian name, who I'm desperately hoping pulled it from the abyss which is Worm and did not made it up wholesale. If you did, here's to you and my own general laziness: cheers. That being said, I figured I'd do a quick outline when I woke up with this in my head. Might do some more with it; not sure yet Hope you all enjoy.
The first thing Alain Lavere experienced when he felt the Birdcage shake was a slim vestige of curiosity. For all that it contained over four hundred of the most uncontrollable parahumans alive, the prison was a rather orderly place, if only so the inmates didn't kill themselves. As such, while there was always the individual spats to briefly liven things up, most days were the same tired affair. This was something new.
"One of the new arrivals?" he postulated, turning towards his guest. Known throughout the world as the Faerie Queen, the youthful villain shook her head.
"No," she answered, her voice a susurrus of echoes. "One of the three beasts has come."
It took him an unforgivable moment to realize what she meant. "...An Endbringer?!" he replied, raising himself from his chair? "That's..." He trailed off, unable to articulate the catastrophe which was about to occur.
"Indeed," the child returned, unworried, despite her grim pronouncement. "It is the one known as the Behemoth; he is overcoming the dragon's preparations."
"To what ends?" Marquis asked, forcing his voice flat. "More importantly, will we survive the process?"
The girl who was once whispered to be Eidolon's equal met his stare unflinchingly, while she summoned two more ghosts to her side. "With regard to the former, I cannot say; however, as to your second question..." The shadow of a grin graced her face. "Indubitably."
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Brockton Bay had changed in the years he had been away. It was failing; sickly; run-down. Part of this was due to the collapse of the local shipping industry; however, such small things could be recovered from, if not very easily. No, the problem stemmed from a cause he had long since grown familiar with: Parahumans.
Walking through some of the poorer sections of the city, he paused in his tracks as a Japanese man in red and green struck a woman across the face. The lady was young, closer to his daughter's age than his own, and though he tried to be charitable about it, calling her a 'lady' was perhaps a bit duplicitous. She was a whore. Bearing her stomach and the underside of her breasts, he knew this without a doubt. The Empire; the Teeth; the countless second stringers who had lived beneath their shadow - of all the gangs which had called the Bay their home, it was only he who disdained the crime of prostitution. Alain Lavere had done horrible things in his career - terrible things, but no one could count that among his sins. He decided to remind the youth why that was.
"Excuse me," he began, drawing the man's attention. "Could you look this way for a moment?"
"The hell?" the man replied, glancing away from the woman. "Get the-" His words cut off along with his head, as Marquis withdrew the bone spur, sprouting from the center of his palm. Breaking off the extension, he ignored the familiar, mind-numbing stab of pain and turned towards the shocked young woman.
"Miss," he said, while she gazed with horror at her pimp. "Miss, I know this is a touch traumatizing, but if you could focus for a moment?" Seeing her shakily look his way, he tried to smile comfortingly. "I know things appear bleak, but I assure you it will all work out. Do you have any friends you could stay with? Family, maybe?"
Watching her stand there stiffly, he shook his head. "Nevermind," he continued, pity staining his voice. "If necessary, turn around and just start walking. I assure you, that before this week is over, your assailants will no longer be an issue."
Raising his hand, he thought about laying it on her shoulder, but given the way she was staring at him, he figured that'd be too much. Instead, he dipped his head in a bow, spun on his heel and slowly walked away. Yes, he reiterated, frowning faintly at the reminder: it'd been far too long, since he'd been home.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
The streets grew nicer, as he made his way from the slums. Gang signs faded from the walls and the people lost their furtive looks. The city was still awash with signs of struggle and desperation, but these were more existential concerns that came without the threat of violence.
Smiling a bit at the irony of flipping the table on his old foes, he walked to the small, brownstone house, he'd been dreaming of for almost ten years. Practically dancing up the steps, he raised his hand to the door bell and brushed passed it to rap against the wood.
"One second?" a voice called out, from behind the tiny, glass windows. "Kind of in the middle of something."
Young, it replied with the thin illusion of politeness, known only to the subset called 'teenagers.' Arguing with someone behind the frame, the Marquis heard a quiet set of footsteps, before a girl emerged on the landing.
"Hello?" the youth began, likely the first speaker's sister. "Can I help you?"
He took in the girl's face; her eyes; the nose and recalled a vague memory from a time long before. Glancing over the hair, he noticed it almost as an after-thought and considered it unnecessary, besides. "Yes," he answered frankly. "Is Mrs. Dallon in? A number of years ago, I left something in trust with her, and I'd dearly like it back."
Smiling at his daughter, he waited for Brandish to arrive.
AN: First off, shout out goes to Beacon Hill for Marquis civilian name, who I'm desperately hoping pulled it from the abyss which is Worm and did not made it up wholesale. If you did, here's to you and my own general laziness: cheers. That being said, I figured I'd do a quick outline when I woke up with this in my head. Might do some more with it; not sure yet Hope you all enjoy.
Cyclone
Robotech Nerd
- Location
- Earth, Sol System
Ooooh I found a way to do this and add another character into this. Instead of seeing two space whales two selected would be parahuman saw two armored brothers reaching out a helping hand to a sibling.
These guys.
Now I just need to decide between Aisha and Taylor and character from DC to shove in their head.
Maybe make Aisha Static and then she and Theo become partners with very similar powers.... And then other people with DC and Marvel powers/minds start popping up...
And I think I'm going too far too quick with having little substance of plot.
Frakir's brother
Goodbye.
- Location
- The Sea of Trees
Go Aisha, there are already too many alt power Taylors.Ooooh I found a way to do this and add another character into this. Instead of seeing two space whales two selected would be parahuman saw two armored brothers reaching out a helping hand to a sibling.
These guys.
Basically the personifications of DC's and Marvel's multiverses decide to help out an ailing sibling out by passing on the memories and powers of some of their best.
Now I just need to decide between Aisha and Taylor and character from DC to shove in their head.
Maybe make Aisha Static and then she and Theo become partners with very similar powers.... And then other people with DC and Marvel powers/minds start popping up...
And I think I'm going too far too quick with having little substance of plot.
Elpis
Ostensibly Hope
- Location
- Berlin
What happens when you take Marceau up to eleven?
Worm/Sekai Oni
Touch the sky
Worm/Sekai Oni
Touch the sky
"Taylor," her teacher called her before she could leave the room. "I need to talk to you about the essay, could you stay for a moment?"
"Uh... sure?" she said, moving away from the door. She could hear some giggles, whispers. "What's wrong with it?"
Ms. Knott waited until everyone but they were out and sighed. "It's... I don't know why you did that."
She pulled out the essay - it was handwritten, demanded it to be like that because she thought that using the computer would be 'lazy'. Especially ironic when you consider that she started most classes with giving out copies of computer-written work sheets. Of course nobody called teachers out on their hypocrisy.
But... even Taylor could see what was wrong. "It's... mirrored?"
"Yes, it is," Ms. Knott said. "The question is why is it mirrored, Taylor?"
"I don't know?"
"But that's your handwriting," her teacher shook her head. "I know it is, and it's incredible how detailed you managed to do that even though it's mirrored, but I can't grade this."
"I didn't write it like this though!" Taylor denied. "I couldn't do that-"
Ms. Knott interrupted her and put a sheet of paper on the table before pressing a pen into her hand. "Just write your name, please."
Taylor shrugged and wrote. There it was, completely normal, Taylor He-
"Why is it mirrored again?" Ms. Knott asked suddenly, making Taylor's eyes widen. She stared at the page and could see the words mirror again.
"I... how?" Taylor asked. "I didn't mean to!"
"I'm sure you didn't," Ms. Knott said. Her tone made it obvious that she didn't really mean it. "I would..."
"Why... why did I use my left hand?" Taylor asked. "I'm right handed... I..."
Taylor felt dizzy. She hunched slightly, her glasses falling to the floor as Ms. Knott put a hand on her shoulder.
"Taylor, are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm... I'm sorry," Taylor said, crouching down to grab her glasses.
A figure, menacing, dangerous and with a most disgustingly evil smile she had ever seen was reflected in the glasses. With a scream, she jumped back and hit Ms. Knott with her head, making the woman drop to the floor with a bleeding nose.
Taylor put her hands over her eyes, keeping them shut.
"Taylor attacked a teacher!" she heard someone from behind shout. Taylor shook her head, trying to forget the monster...
She could still feel it. It was behind her. She was sure.
---
Taylor sat in the small interrogation room with her father. He didn't say anything, didn't ask why, didn't ask what. All he heard was that she attacked a teacher, and he just nodded and went along.
But Taylor still had her eyes closed.
"Do we have to sit facing the mirror?" Taylor asked the policeman. "I..."
"I'm sorry, we are not here to accommodate you, this is an investigation against you," the policeman said. "I'm Officer Davis, we will wait until your lawyer is here before we begin. Could you state your name and occupation?"
"Taylor Hebert," she said, still holding her hands over her eyes. "Student. Probably. They'll kick me out, right?"
She could hear her dad clear his throat. His glare towards the policeman wasn't visible to her...
"I'm sorry for being so late, Mr. Hebert," a woman entered the room. "I'm Carol Dallon, I will be taking the case."
"I... uh, I called for Mr. Barnes, he is an old friend of mine..." her dad stuttered. Taylor knew that name. Dallon... Dallon... oh god. This...
"Yes, and that's how it got to me," she said. "Sometimes we take cases pro bono, help the people who couldn't help themselves, and Mr. Barnes is not really a lawyer for these cases."
"I... thank you," Danny said. Taylor could hear the relief in his voice.
"Very well, then let us begin - we have multiple eye-witnesses who claim to have seen you attack your teacher after she asked you to wait in the classroom... is that true?"
"I didn't attack her!" Taylor said.
"After confirming it with a few students - they were alone in the closed room," Carol said. "Nobody entered, and when they did the whole thing had already happened."
"Very well, then why was there heard shouting then?" Davis asked. "It's what made them enter in the first place."
"I... she called for me because of my essay," Taylor mumbled.
"I can't understand you if you keep hiding your face like that," the officer said. "Just put your hands on the table, it's alright."
"No it isn't," Taylor shook her head. "There is a monster in the mirror."
"Aren't you a bit old to believe stuff like that?"
"Shut up," Taylor said. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
"Ms. Hebert, please stop," Carol said. "It's alright. Please don't bother with anything besides the questions you are here to ask, Officer."
"Of course, Mrs. Dallon," Davis sighed. "It was Ms. Knott who called the police and is suing you - and I doubt she broke her nose herself just to frame you, why don't you explain what happened?"
And Taylor did. From the mirrored essay, up to the monster in her glasses.
"Taylor," Carol said. "I believe it might be a psychological problem, there is a sickness that might explain why you saw what you saw. Just open your eyes - you will see, it can't do anything."
Taylor shook her head, but felt hands on hers suddenly. "It's alright."
It was her dad, so... so she just stopped closing her eyes and slowly removed her hands from her face...
And just like before. It was there, standing in the mirrored glass behind the policeman. It grinned as its claws slowly moved towards her reflection.
"NO!" she screamed, lifting her hand above her head. A hammer appeared. Huge. Bigger than she could comfortably hold in one hand, but yet she threw it at the mirror and watched the glass crack, destroying the monster in the mirror and watching the hammer fall to the floor harmlessly.
Carol watched the scene, completely baffled, while the officer didn't hesitate grabbing Taylor's hands and pulling them to the table - forcing handcuffs on her and staring at Carol.
"Parahuman?" he asked her, grimacing. Carol nodded. This case just got a whole lot more complicated.
---
The PRT, Taylor decided, was annoying. Annoying, annoying, annoying!
"The charges against your daughter will be dropped," Director Piggot said, sitting with them in the interrogation room. They decided that the hammer throw was obviously aimed at the policeman, and thus charged her with attempted assault of a police officer with a parahuman power.
"But you want her to fight for you."
"The Wards are not there to fight," the Director said. "Quite the opposite. They are supposed to stay away from villains, and learn about their powers in a controlled environment. It would be beneficial for her, and she would also receive a stipend that will help her in her future life."
"It's her choice," Danny growled. "She asked the policeman to stay away from the mirror, and now you tell me she has a power that needs to be added to your junior law enforcers, or else she will get thrown into jail. That sounds less than a fair offer and more like a threat."
Two days ago he might have immediately agreed with the woman. But Carol had... warned him, so to speak. The case was more complicated now, the nature of her powers can't be used against her if she told people about it - and apparently the 'monster in the mirror' was, spinning it right, a warning the trained policeman should have seen coming. It wasn't even like he sued her - the higher ups arrested her for it.
"I concur, it's her choice, and I know your choice matters to her," she said. "I can send you someone who was both in the Wards when she was younger and has a... similar power, as it seems. Just let her talk to your daughter."
"I am right here," Taylor growled, staring at the table. "And just because you can't talk to me without my lawyer present, it doesn't mean that I can't hear you."
Piggot coughed, looking away. "I didn't mean to ignore you, it's..."
"Screw you! Get out! I'm going to prison, just keep me away from mirrors! Charge me as an adult for all I care! Nobody ever listens to my side! You are all the same! All the same! ALL THE SAME! Blackwell, Emma, Sophia, everyone! Even you! Shut up! Get out!"
Taylor's shouts weren't heard outside the isolated room, but most certainly recorded. Her body was shaking but she didn't look up as her shouts grew louder. After the disaster from last time, she was kept away from reflective surfaces - the 'request' of a transfer in a place that could hold a parahuman better has been struck down by Carol rather early.
"Taylor, she's gone," Danny said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Sorry, Dad," Taylor said, blinking away tears. I... I don't know what's happening. I just want... want it to be normal again. It's hard..."
"Avoiding all mirrors for the rest of your life might be hard," Danny said. "Their offer isn't bad, but I don't think you should be forced to join. It's... unethical."
"Tell me about it," she sighed. "I... you know I'm not lying, right?"
"Of course."
"I'm... not lying. I'm not lying," she repeated. "I'm telling the truth."
Well this Earth Bet is even more fucked up than canon, Cheshire Devil is a dick by making Taylor her inverted side in real life, he is going to be very creative to reach his objectives, I wonder if there is going to be the consequences like the ones in the crossover.
Bieng Taylor is suffering.
- Location
- Crackship Space!
Incoming Crack!
---
Annette is a Zombie desu ka? 2
Inspired by Kore wa Zombie desu ka? (I am a zombie?)
---
Danny was the first to regain consciousness.
All at once he shot straight up from the couch shouting, "ANNETTE!"
"What?" She called out from the kitchen.
Danny rushed to the doorway separating the living room from the kitchen area and his mouth opened wide in shock at what he saw.
Annette was puttering around pulling down mixing bowls and mixing ingredients.
"What is it?" She asked, genuinely confused as to what Danny's problem was.
"You are…. you were… what…you… youre …" Danny had trouble expressing his shock and awe.
"Daniel Hebert, just because I rose from the dead and am now making a batch of cookies for our daughter when she wakes up, is no excuse for poor grammar!" To emphasize her point she pressed her finger into his chest and he rocked back from the force.
"Buh… Annette… You're alive!" He cried and grabbed her about the waist lifting her into the air and laughing in joy.
"Danny! Put me down! It's going to spill!" She shouted to no avail.
The spinning pair lost their balance and collapsed into a messy pile on the floor, with cookie dough splattering outwards from the mixing bow she had been carrying.
"Oh Annette!" Danny started sobbing into her chest, "I didn't know what to do without you. It's been so hard living without you."
"Dad?" Taylor had awoken to noise coming from downstairs and rushed down to see what was going on.
"Taylor!" Both of them cried out at her appearance in the doorway.
"Mommy?" Fresh tears came to her eyes.
"Daniel do get off of me please, before we make a bigger mess." Annette told him as she pushed him away.
Taylor made like she was going to rush forward to embrace her, but Annette held up her hand to stop her, "Taylor no. I'm filthy with all this cookie dough your father has ruined, and you really ought to take a shower as we got quite messy coming home."
Taylor just stood there with her bottom lip quivering and Danny could swear there were several lightning strikes all of the sudden.
Annette sighed and held open her arms, and Taylor crashed into her for yet another hug.
Danny just smiled at the touching scene.
"Oh don't look so smug. Go and make yourself useful, ice cream." She said.
Danny chuckled and grabbed his keys off the peg on the wall.
"You do still remember my favorite," She shouted after him, "Double dutch chocolate surprise!"
---
The slaughter of a gallon of ice cream was an event to terrible to behold.
"Taylor honey, I know you are still in shock but I am wondering," Annette spooned yet another helping of ice cream into her mouth, "Just why where you in a graveyard, in the middle of a storm, on a school night?"
Taylor's bolstered mood crumbled at the question, "I… had a bad day at school."
Annette looked at Danny inquisitively, "Oh?"
Danny sighed, "I think shes having trouble with bullies… but," He looked over at Taylor, "She hasn't told me much about it. And I…"
Taylor interrupted him, "I didn't want to make it harder for you dad. I thought I could deal with it on my own… but," She looked pensively at her melting ice cream, "I was wrong."
"So who are these bullies that are giving you a hard time?" Annette asked calmly.
Taylor sighed, "There is at least ten or twenty of them. The bulk of them just follow the ringleaders and never really do anything on their own."
"Who are the ringleaders?" Danny questioned.
"Sophia Hess is the most physical. Shes a 'track star' and the school won't touch her because they don't want to loose the athletics achievements awards to Immaculata again," Taylor took another spoonful of ice cream before continuing, "Madison Clements is the gossip monger. She seeds stories and tells lies to reinforce what the other two are doing."
Annette hummed to herself for a moment, "Anyone else?"
Taylor looked down and couldn't meet their eyes, "... Emma."
Annette's spoon bent instantly with the suddenly crushing force she exerted on it.
Danny suddenly pushed his chair back.
"Dad no!" Taylor cried and hugged him around the waist.
"Taylor, I am going to go give Alan a piece of my mind!" Danny was red faced and steaming mad.
A deathly chill went through the room.
"Daniel. Taylor. Sit. Down." Annette ordered.
They obeyed but Danny was having trouble containing his fury.
"Now," Annette began, "You two are going to tell me everything that has been going on since I died," She focused on Taylor, "And you will explain just what the fuck Winslow has been doing about your bullies."
Taylor beat out Danny when she barked out a harsh laugh, "Doing about them? That's the problem! They haven't done anything because and I quote, "There isn't any evidence!"
Annette stared at Taylor without blinking.
Danny looked at Annette and his rage evaporated, "Anne… now don't do anything rash."
Annette Hebert was not one who was quick to anger.
It took quite a lot to light the bonfire of rage lurking within her. And it took equally as much to quench the flames once started.
"Rash?" She asked with her eyes twitching.
Danny remembered the last time he had seen Annette so furious. An asian gentleman had insulted her teaching.
Needless to say the man no longer had the ability to insult anyone's teaching anymore.
"Oh I won't do anything I will regret," She said with her eyes still twitching, "Taylor, you finish your ice cream and then wash up for bed."
Taylor gulped, having recognized the pure volcanic rage lurking beneath her mothers voice.
---
The drive the next morning was a tense affair.
They dropped Danny off before continuing to Winslow.
"Umm Mom, you parked in the handicapped spot."
Annette looked at Taylor her eyes still twitching in suppressed rage, "Then they will have to forgive me this one time, I am still technically listed as dead. That should count for some kind of handicap."
The students gave them funny looks as Annette escorted Taylor inside. Several of them even pulled out cellphones and began to furiously message others.
Annette was familiar with Winslow, having spent time there in her own youth.
The office was easy enough to find.
With a squeal of tortured metal and splintering wood the door to the office was torn from it's hinges.
"Oops." Annette said dryly.
The entire office looked up, slack jawed as Annette escorted Taylor inside.
Many of them had known Annette both professionally and in some cases, personally.
"Anne…. You're…"
"Hello Janice. Would you mind summoning the principal please? Taylor, what was his name?" Annette patted Taylor on the shoulder.
"Mrs. Blackwell." Taylor replied meekly.
Annette looked down at Taylor, "Oh? She finally managed to fuck her way into the job? I am impressed at her determination at least," She turned back to Janice, "Mrs. Blackwell then."
Janice nodded, recognizing the signs of Annette's rage, "Right away. You can wait in her office over there for her to arrive."
Janice pointed to the rear office that was in the corner of the building.
Annette nodded and pulled Taylor along with her. Nobody dared to stop them as they entered the office.
When Blackwell finally arrived, she was confronted by Annette sitting behind her desk.
"Hello Mrs. Blackwell. I have been expecting you." Said Annette with a dangerous glint in her eyes.
---
Annette is a Zombie desu ka? 2
Inspired by Kore wa Zombie desu ka? (I am a zombie?)
---
Danny was the first to regain consciousness.
All at once he shot straight up from the couch shouting, "ANNETTE!"
"What?" She called out from the kitchen.
Danny rushed to the doorway separating the living room from the kitchen area and his mouth opened wide in shock at what he saw.
Annette was puttering around pulling down mixing bowls and mixing ingredients.
"What is it?" She asked, genuinely confused as to what Danny's problem was.
"You are…. you were… what…you… youre …" Danny had trouble expressing his shock and awe.
"Daniel Hebert, just because I rose from the dead and am now making a batch of cookies for our daughter when she wakes up, is no excuse for poor grammar!" To emphasize her point she pressed her finger into his chest and he rocked back from the force.
"Buh… Annette… You're alive!" He cried and grabbed her about the waist lifting her into the air and laughing in joy.
"Danny! Put me down! It's going to spill!" She shouted to no avail.
The spinning pair lost their balance and collapsed into a messy pile on the floor, with cookie dough splattering outwards from the mixing bow she had been carrying.
"Oh Annette!" Danny started sobbing into her chest, "I didn't know what to do without you. It's been so hard living without you."
"Dad?" Taylor had awoken to noise coming from downstairs and rushed down to see what was going on.
"Taylor!" Both of them cried out at her appearance in the doorway.
"Mommy?" Fresh tears came to her eyes.
"Daniel do get off of me please, before we make a bigger mess." Annette told him as she pushed him away.
Taylor made like she was going to rush forward to embrace her, but Annette held up her hand to stop her, "Taylor no. I'm filthy with all this cookie dough your father has ruined, and you really ought to take a shower as we got quite messy coming home."
Taylor just stood there with her bottom lip quivering and Danny could swear there were several lightning strikes all of the sudden.
Annette sighed and held open her arms, and Taylor crashed into her for yet another hug.
Danny just smiled at the touching scene.
"Oh don't look so smug. Go and make yourself useful, ice cream." She said.
Danny chuckled and grabbed his keys off the peg on the wall.
"You do still remember my favorite," She shouted after him, "Double dutch chocolate surprise!"
---
The slaughter of a gallon of ice cream was an event to terrible to behold.
"Taylor honey, I know you are still in shock but I am wondering," Annette spooned yet another helping of ice cream into her mouth, "Just why where you in a graveyard, in the middle of a storm, on a school night?"
Taylor's bolstered mood crumbled at the question, "I… had a bad day at school."
Annette looked at Danny inquisitively, "Oh?"
Danny sighed, "I think shes having trouble with bullies… but," He looked over at Taylor, "She hasn't told me much about it. And I…"
Taylor interrupted him, "I didn't want to make it harder for you dad. I thought I could deal with it on my own… but," She looked pensively at her melting ice cream, "I was wrong."
"So who are these bullies that are giving you a hard time?" Annette asked calmly.
Taylor sighed, "There is at least ten or twenty of them. The bulk of them just follow the ringleaders and never really do anything on their own."
"Who are the ringleaders?" Danny questioned.
"Sophia Hess is the most physical. Shes a 'track star' and the school won't touch her because they don't want to loose the athletics achievements awards to Immaculata again," Taylor took another spoonful of ice cream before continuing, "Madison Clements is the gossip monger. She seeds stories and tells lies to reinforce what the other two are doing."
Annette hummed to herself for a moment, "Anyone else?"
Taylor looked down and couldn't meet their eyes, "... Emma."
Annette's spoon bent instantly with the suddenly crushing force she exerted on it.
Danny suddenly pushed his chair back.
"Dad no!" Taylor cried and hugged him around the waist.
"Taylor, I am going to go give Alan a piece of my mind!" Danny was red faced and steaming mad.
A deathly chill went through the room.
"Daniel. Taylor. Sit. Down." Annette ordered.
They obeyed but Danny was having trouble containing his fury.
"Now," Annette began, "You two are going to tell me everything that has been going on since I died," She focused on Taylor, "And you will explain just what the fuck Winslow has been doing about your bullies."
Taylor beat out Danny when she barked out a harsh laugh, "Doing about them? That's the problem! They haven't done anything because and I quote, "There isn't any evidence!"
Annette stared at Taylor without blinking.
Danny looked at Annette and his rage evaporated, "Anne… now don't do anything rash."
Annette Hebert was not one who was quick to anger.
It took quite a lot to light the bonfire of rage lurking within her. And it took equally as much to quench the flames once started.
"Rash?" She asked with her eyes twitching.
Danny remembered the last time he had seen Annette so furious. An asian gentleman had insulted her teaching.
Needless to say the man no longer had the ability to insult anyone's teaching anymore.
"Oh I won't do anything I will regret," She said with her eyes still twitching, "Taylor, you finish your ice cream and then wash up for bed."
Taylor gulped, having recognized the pure volcanic rage lurking beneath her mothers voice.
---
The drive the next morning was a tense affair.
They dropped Danny off before continuing to Winslow.
"Umm Mom, you parked in the handicapped spot."
Annette looked at Taylor her eyes still twitching in suppressed rage, "Then they will have to forgive me this one time, I am still technically listed as dead. That should count for some kind of handicap."
The students gave them funny looks as Annette escorted Taylor inside. Several of them even pulled out cellphones and began to furiously message others.
Annette was familiar with Winslow, having spent time there in her own youth.
The office was easy enough to find.
With a squeal of tortured metal and splintering wood the door to the office was torn from it's hinges.
"Oops." Annette said dryly.
The entire office looked up, slack jawed as Annette escorted Taylor inside.
Many of them had known Annette both professionally and in some cases, personally.
"Anne…. You're…"
"Hello Janice. Would you mind summoning the principal please? Taylor, what was his name?" Annette patted Taylor on the shoulder.
"Mrs. Blackwell." Taylor replied meekly.
Annette looked down at Taylor, "Oh? She finally managed to fuck her way into the job? I am impressed at her determination at least," She turned back to Janice, "Mrs. Blackwell then."
Janice nodded, recognizing the signs of Annette's rage, "Right away. You can wait in her office over there for her to arrive."
Janice pointed to the rear office that was in the corner of the building.
Annette nodded and pulled Taylor along with her. Nobody dared to stop them as they entered the office.
When Blackwell finally arrived, she was confronted by Annette sitting behind her desk.
"Hello Mrs. Blackwell. I have been expecting you." Said Annette with a dangerous glint in her eyes.