[] The situation with Emma didn't go too well. You're not very sure why— you'd been too caught up in your power's grip to get a good sense of what's going on there— but the halls had just been too busy for you to find a place for the two of you to talk. Still, your reasoning still stands. You do need to talk to her. You still feel incredibly nervous at the thought, but this time, you won't be caught up in your power's grip. If necessary, you'll ask her to meet you after work on Friday morning. You just hope she isn't away for whatever reason.
— Success chance: 60% [+10% from Madison recruitment, +20% from previous interactions] 90%
— General results: Taylor will try and pull Emma aside so they can talk. It won't be a very pleasant talk, but they will try and set boundaries and make a place where they're comfortable in moving forwards.
— On a success: Emma will be at school, and thus will agree to meet Taylor wherever she wants to meet.
— On a failure: Emma will be off school, mildly sick. Poor Emma.
[] The assessment you did with Sophia went well, and she's coming over to your house on Friday to study some more for Chemistry. You've already initiated a sexual relationship with her, kind of— does shirtless kissing count as a sexual relationship?— but as with Madison, you don't just want a sexual relationship with her. As such, you'll try to make the atmosphere a bit more... caring. You'll make some snacks up for the two of you, maybe actually arrange something resembling a more comfortable studying space on your bed for the two of you.
— Success chance: Cannot be failed.
— General results: Taylor will try to create a warmer environment for her study sessions with Sophia. Sophia may not necessarily appreciate the specific things Taylor does, but will appreciate the effort Taylor puts into trying to make her comfortable.
[] Mr Harding has offered you some afternoon shifts. It might not be the best idea to work longer hours, what with your headache, but whatever— it's only until nine on Wednesday and eight on Thursday, and it's a fair chunk of money. And it helps make you look more reliable to your boss. It probably won't make the rest of the week feel very pleasant, though.
— Success chance: Cannot be failed.
— General results: Taylor will make some extra money, giving her four small expenses to spend on the weekend (or one large expense and one small expense), instead of two small expenses. Taylor's headache will grow worse, and some characters may make efforts to comfort her, but she will not feel good through the next update (an aesthetic, not something that will affect the outcome of future actions).
[] Your headache is bad enough that you don't think you want to strain yourself reading next year's textbooks just yet. In fact, it's bad enough that when you're at home, all you really want to do is curl up on the couch beneath a blanket and watch some quiet TV.
— Success chance: Cannot be failed.
— General results: Lowers Taylor's stress levels, bringing her stress down to acceptable stress levels for a busy student with a job. Being out in the living room obviously miserable will stir Danny to action, and he will make well-meaning efforts to try and make Taylor more comfortable— a small step to improving the relationship between the two of them.
[] You need to do something about the situation at Winslow. You're not really sure what you can do, but— you're not the only person at Winslow. You don't want to drag anyone else into it, but that doesn't mean you can't ask some questions. And hopefully, if you ask the right ones, you might learn some of the information you need to know.
— Success chance: 50%, 80%.
— General results: Taylor will attempt to learn which students around Winslow may know more about the gang situation.
— On an 80% success: Taylor will find students who are willing to tell her, in maybe some coarse terms, information about the gangs' presence at Winslow. The first step in learning how to deal with Rune.
— On a 50% success: The same as the 80% success, but the character who is willing to talk to Taylor is Aisha. The first step in learning how to deal with Rune, but also provides a potential opportunity to recruit pre-trigger Aisha. Only two more opportunities to do so may be offered after this.
[] You need to figure out how to deal with Rune, long-term. That is; you need to learn more about Rune, and you need to figure out how you're going to take her down, if it comes to that. Which is... going to be complicated. It's lucky you have access to so many computers, these days.
[] You're going to play it defensively. You might already be able to get Victoria to help you out, but if you can't, then having someone who can make it harder for Rune to hit you is always good. Even if you have complicated feelings about the whole thing, it's time to look a little more into Vista.
[] You're going to play it offensively. You might already be able to get Victoria to help you out, but when fighting someone like Rune, it's going to be good to have some long-range support. That's where Laserdream comes in. You don't know very much about here, but that's why you're trying to find out more about her.— Success chance: Cannot be failed.
— General results: Taylor will look up more information about the specified hero. Confers a 15% bonus chance to recruitment when recruiting the specified hero.
Interlude 3— Brandish
The door swings open easily as she pushes it. There's no trace of the creak that had been evident the last time she'd been here. Somebody must have oiled the hinges.
Inside, she calmly closes the door behind her and walks over to the small steel table in the middle of the room, where her client is waiting for her. He's tracking her as he moves, his beady eyes watching her fearfully as she approaches. His skin is pockmarked and sallow, and his eyes are bloodshot. He twitches as she approaches.
"You don't need to worry," she says coolly. She meant it to sound reassuring. Then again, she had never been very good about sounding reassuring.
She places her briefcase on the table and slides the latches open. They make a loud snap as they flip up, the sound inordinately loud in the small room. Her papers are laid out neatly within it. She takes the left stack— the stack containing her information on her client— and closes her briefcase again, setting it down on the ground beside the other unoccupied in the chair as she moves to sit in it.
"My name is Carol Dallon." She extends her hand out towards him, but isn't terribly surprised when he doesn't take it. After a moment, she withdraws her hand back to her side. "Now, mister Meiers— is there a name you would prefer I call you by?"
The man starts, then jerkily shakes his head at her. Internally, she frowns. She still has further to go to work on her personable demeanour, it appears. "Marlon," he says roughly. "My name's Marlon."
She nods. "Okay." She spreads her papers out in front of her, but doesn't glance down at them. She doesn't need to; her secretary has already gone all the relevant information with her. "Mister Marlon, as the police have no doubt already gone over with you, all citizens in the United States have the right to an attorney when they have been charged with a crime. My firm would like to represent you."
He looks appropriately nonplussed by that. "You don't look like one of them lawyers that helped me last time," he says suspiciously. "You look like you got money, and I don't got much of that. Got one of them public lawyers coming anyway."
She waits a moment for him to subside. "Money isn't a concern," she replies calmly, once it is clear he has nothing more to say. "My firm will represent you pro bono— without expectation of receiving any money," she clarifies when he just gives her a blank look. "My firm has a vested interest in helping you, and people like you."
"People like me?" He gives her a suspicious look. "What, accused drug dealers?"
"No." Her voice remains perfectly even. "People who, like you, have made bad decisions in their life, and deserve the chance to make something of themselves."
He glares up at her, hands running frantically over his clothes as though looking for something. "I didn't do nothin' they accused me of," he protests. His hands scrabble harder for a moment, before he seems to give up on finding whatever he's looking for. His shoulders sag.
She gives him a patient smile at that. "Of course not," she agrees politely. "Nevertheless, you have been accused by the police, and you are facing charges. This means that my firm has an interest in representing you."
Marlon's already shaking his head. "Seems real suspicious," he says frankly. "You comin' in here, offering to help me for free and all. Being honest, I think I'd prefer to take my chances with a public lawyer."
"That would be your choice." She doesn't even blink.
He studies her for a moment, seeming to unconsciously glare at her. "Why do you even care?" he asks.
She looks down at the papers in her hand for a moment, her memories whirling. Then she responds, her voice as steady as ever. "Let's say that I've had a lot of experience with people who made some bad choices along the way."
Silence stretches between the two as Marlon examines her, taking in her appearance, her clothes— and then, it clicks. He sits back, ramrod-straight, as he eyes her in a new light, but can't help the way he slumps back a few moments later, his hands opening and closing on his lap. "Wait, you're that New Age girl!"
"New Wave," she corrects him patiently. "And yes, I am affiliated with the New Wave movement. You may know me publicly as Brandish, although I have stated on public record that my name is Carol Dallon."
His expression wavers, caught somewhere between fear, disbelief and hope. "You're a cape," he says, wondering and excited and fearful all at once. "A hero, even. You help take people like me in, not help us— hell, your glowy sister is the one that took Lenny in!"
She tries to smile calmly at him. It probably comes out more like a grimace. "We have assisted the Brockton Bay Police Department in several arrests over the years, yes. I am sorry to hear that a friend of yours was involved."
"Nah, Lenny wasn't a friend of mine." There's a disbelieving shake of his head. "Shit," he whispers. "Why would a cape want to help me now, huh?"
"The New Wave movement has a vested interest in helping-"
"In helping people like me, yeah yeah," he cuts her off. "Trust me, everyone on the streets knows your spiel, lady. I ain't asking what you have printed on your business cards, I wanna know why you'd want to help me."
She stares at him for a moment. Beneath the table, where he can't see, her hands clench into fists. "We firmly believe that all citizens of Brockton Bay deserve-"
He cuts her off with a disgusted scoff. "Yeah, didn't think so," he spits out. "Nah, I ain't interested in being helped by someone who aint' even being honest with me. Think I'll wait for that public lawyer."
Her fists clench tighter in her lap, tight enough that she's mildly worried her fingernails might actually cut her. She tries to loosen them somewhat. Then, in a mild tone, she asks; "Have you ever heard of Marquis, mister Meiers?"
"Marquis?" Marlon looks confused at the sudden shift in the topic. "Yeah, kinda. He was one of the capes active back, like, ten years ago or something, wasn't he? Took down Allfather. Yeah, everyone knows who he was. Don't see what he has to do with anything, but."
Her answering smile is a little more strained this time. "It was not Marquis alone who faced down the Allfather," she corrects him stiffly. "It was a joint operation between Marquis and the New Wave movement, known then as the Brockton Bay Brigade."
"Huh." Marlon sits back at that, a thoughtful look on his face as he ponders that. "Don't hear about the heroes and the villains teaming up that much," he says eventually. "Why'd you do it?"
She attempts to fight back the memories. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," she says slowly. "Marquis had come into information regarding a brewing conflict in Brockton Bay at the time. He sought our help in dealing with it."
Her client nods thoughtfully. "But he was killed," he notes.
A stilted nod is her only answer for a moment. Then, as if the answer is being dragged through her reluctant lips, "He was. It was a terrible situation, and one I wish every day I could have done more to avert."
A slow nod greets her. "An' so you feel guilty," he finishes for her. She doesn't correct him. "Couldn't help him, so you wanna help me, is that right?"
She acquiesces with a nod. "Indeed." The lie slips out easily. "I hope we can count you amongst our clients, mister Meiers."
There's more to the story, of course, but she's fought too hard to keep it secret to let it slip for just any man. She's not going to risk her daughters, either of them, no matter how much it would help her case if she explained— explained about Marquis' fears for his daughters' safety, about how he'd fought hard and long to protect his Amelia, about how he'd reached out in a moment of desperation in his desire to keep his daughter safe from the Empire.
Marquis may not have been a good man, but in the end, he had done the right thing. And that counted for a lot, with her.
He looks her over again, a considering look. Then he shrugs. "Sure. Think you can do much to help me?"
She lifts her briefcase off the floor and places it upon the table again, smiling faintly at him. "You would be surprised at how many favours someone who has been an attorney for as long as I have can call in," she says. "I am sure we will be able to find a satisfactory resolution to your case. You should be aware, however, that my firm's help is not unconditional."
He stares at her, then rolls his eyes. "Of course it fucking isn't," he mutters. "Fine. What d'you want me to do in exchange?"
"Nothing that should cause you any distress," she replies placatingly, and begins to pull the second stack of papers from within her briefcase, arraying them in front of him. "Our aim is to help you, mister Meiers. This is merely another way we will attempt to do so. Firstly, we would like you to agree to attend regular meetings with a psychologist..."
Nearly two hours later, Carol strides out of the interview room, her briefcase held securely in her hands. She gives the officers who meet her eyes a tight smile as she leaves, but most of them keep their gazes focused on their desks. Intimidated by her still, despite her attempts at being friendly.
She checks her watch as she walks outside the building. It's nearly six. Her official hours were ten to five. Another hour she wouldn't be marking down on her timesheets, then.
