"Ms. Hebert?" I wasn't entirely certain of the pronunciation, but she didn't twitch or correct me as I entered the room. Sitting in one of the two chairs in the room, she glanced at me when I spoke. She didn't quite glare, but her body language radiated anger — no, not quite anger, distrust. She felt trapped, and my presence didn't assure her. For a moment, I paused as I felt disappointed, but brushed the feeling aside.
"What do you want?" Despite the clear emotions practically spilling out of her, her voice was flat.
"Ideally, I want to represent you in court." I said as I sat down opposite of her. At that, she seemed to freeze for a single, her eyes widening and then —
Nothing.
All the emotions slipped away. Nothing from her body language at all, a blank. I felt a sharp thrill shoot through my body, but quickly clamped down on the feeling.
"You're... Carol Dallon." Strangely, her voice was less flat than before. Still... blank, but not in a flat manner, merely calm. I was outright fascinated, but shook off that feeling too.
"I am." I nodded. "Since you jumped right down to the point, I won't bother with any pleasantries. You're a villain with an already bad reputation given the brutality of Lung's takedown, and how many people got injured at the gala incident, and the PRT's been doing its best to vilify you as much as possible to make themselves look good."
I didn't see any shift in expression as I talked. Was it... a thinker power? The PRT had rated her as a master, but was there something more there, or just some sort of discipline?
"That said, they're doing all they can because they know they're in a bad position. Armsmaster especially is in trouble both in the media and the cape community, and if you hire me I'm fairly confident I can win a pardon and some reparations, although perhaps not without some concessions."
"Why?" She immediately asked as soon as I finished my spiel. "Why do you want to help me?"
Always to the point. I felt a smidge of comradery before I crushed that too. While I wished more people could be as direct as this girl, now wasn't the time.
"I..." I hesitated. A surge of panic threatened to overwhelm me even as I contemplated it — I could barely believe I'd even entertained the thought, I should just throw it all away —
No.
No.
"I have a request for you." I murmured, almost too quiet to be heard, but she didn't lean closer, or ask me to speak up. She simply looked at me for a moment, scrutinizing me.
"What?" What did I want, indeed? But I couldn't say it, not here. I could barely say it within the privacy of my own head.
"Not here," I shook my head. "Not now. Later. I'll tell you what I want later, after I've won the case."
She frowned then, the first expression I'd seen on her since she'd become blank, and I felt my heart freeze.
"I don't like to leave things open like that." She shook her head. "And I don't exactly have the money to hire you, either. No deal."
She had a point, really. A blank check was dangerous, but still, I couldn't help the emotions that surged out from her blunt refusal.
"Wait!" I nearly shouted, like she was about to stand and leave — she couldn't, could she? She shouldn't be able to, but it felt like she could — and held up my hand. "You can still refuse. If you don't agree to my request when I tell it to you, after I've won the case, you can refuse."
At this, a film of confusion seemed to slide across her face, before it was once again blanked. No... ignored. She felt it, but put it to the side.
"That's it?" She pressed me. "You want one request, one I can refuse if I want to, and you'll win?"
"Yes, that's it." My emotions were almost crushing, but I did my best to steady them, to convince the woman across from me. "This is a personal request."
"Is it..." She paused, before slowly shaking her head. "No, I guess it doesn't matter. All right, I guess I'm sold."
It was with a hasty mixture of relief and guilt that I nearly fled the room after setting up another time to go over the details more thoroughly. The relief from her agreement was so stark in its intensity, but the guilt from feeling like I tricked her was just as strong in its own way.
You're an awful person.
I don't even know what part of me whispered it, and no matter how many excuses I could bring up to counter it, I couldn't help but agree.
* * *
It was eventually all settled out of court, of course. It would have been quite viscerally satisfying to rake some of those idiots over the coals, but from a practical standpoint I didn't want to piss the PRT off too much. Both the case and my cape life would be placed on unsteady ground if I did. The threat of a public trial, however, was not only fair game, but a useful piece in getting what I wanted.
What I wanted was very simple, but getting what my client wanted was somewhat more difficult. The PRT hated letting capes go independent, absolutely hated it, and Ms. Hebert wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Wards. In her own words, she'd rather face the Birdcage than join up with them, and didn't elaborate on it. It was only when she told me the reason why that I was able to ruthlessly throw that concession forever off the table.
In the end, after nearly four weeks of work, it was done. It was an incredibly speedy dealing, all things told, mostly because the PRT wanted to get it done and over with as fast as possible. I was able to win a pardon for Ms. Hebert's crimes, nearly half a million dollars for reparations of her revealed identity, and the best thing of all was the victory that the PRT thought they'd pulled over me. Their only concession was requiring probation of sorts for Ms. Hebert, needing a group of parahuman minders to watch over her. The PRT seemed to believe they were to be that group, but in the end they'd apparently forgotten that the Brockton Bay Brigade was technically still its own parahuman organization.
The only problem, of course, was that my client had realized from that victory what my game was. A tight, frustrated expression had filtered on to, and off of her face so quickly I barely caught it, but it had been there nonetheless. A feeling of being trapped, no doubt, and one I could sympathize with, in a way. I don't have quite the reaction she does to being cornered, despite myself.
Yes, despite myself... I sometimes reminisce about that basement. It always ends with me just frustrating myself — angering myself — but I still do so. I still feel it. Sarah likes to think I just developed Stockholm syndrome from our time in captivity, but the truth was I was trained to respond to their whims. We were fed so little, but the food we were given was drugged. And for some reason, Sarah always took a lot longer to wake up. Enough that they were finished by the time she woke up.
It didn't mean anything.
That's what part of me tells myself, but I can't help but feel it's wrong, no matter how much I try to shake it. I don't know why, and I'll never know why, but I eventually decided the why was unimportant. Knowing why still wouldn't change what I feel, after all. Time stretched oddly, down in that basement. I know objectively how long we were there, but to my personal time, it was an eternity. No, rather, I can't help but feel I might still be down there.
I blinked away the memories as I show Ms. Hebert — Taylor — to her room. It's somewhat bare, normally not used as much more than an extra bedroom when Sarah or her kids stayed for a night, but now it was going to be her room. Her room, I looked around it, suddenly feeling the grasp of unease begin to tighten its hold. I could feel it. I could feel the coming moment that had been building since I'd first talked to Alan — no, maybe even further back.
I'd tricked and wheedled myself here. Tricked myself, tricked my loved ones —
Could they truly be loved ones when it's all lies?
I had never escaped. I killed my captor, and I only felt like I'd destroyed the only thing that came my life meaning. I married Mark, had a child with him, but only did so because he could never betray me. I cared for Victoria, but only because she could never lie to me. I listened to Sarah, but only because she was there with me, she was in the dark basement too, in her own way.
You're awful.
That small part of me whispers again, the part of me that never left that basement, that's still waiting there like a good girl because it still trusts for them to come back.
And I know it's true, even as I squash it down yet again.
I'm my own master!
The part of me reveled in cape business screams, lying. Painfully, painfully lying. I can trust again if I want to, it shouts, pointing to my family, and closing my eyes to the truth.
But here — here — maybe there is a hope. I briefly see a look of surprise from Taylor as I kneel down, my nose buried in the carpet. I feel a surge of panic from that glimpse, but even as it thrills through my body I can already imagine the emotion sliding off her face. The emotion, ignored. Unimportant. So that when she speaks...
"What do you want?" She speaks with an utter calm, an absolute control. I feel another surge of emotion, far more heady.
"Please," I nearly choked, forcing the words out. "I'm awful. Please... punish me."
And she pulls it out of me. Even as she asks — commands — me to explain why I need to be punished, I can feel it. She pulls it all out of me, disjointed, starting first with only my cruel deeds, to my trickery, but soon to others, to Marquis, and eventually, ever so slowly, to that basement. I never look up. Even as my body begins to throb from my position, I never waver in pressing myself to the floor.
And then my confession is done. I feel no sense of unburdening, no alleviation of loathing — I just wait, emotions trembling my body.
She says nothing for a time; I can't even begin to guess how long. It stretched, however long it was, into the longest moment of my life. And then, finally, she passed judgment.
And I wept. My tears dripped into the carpet as I felt wave after wave of pure and utter relief.
Finally.
I whispered to myself, I didn't have to feel it anymore. I didn't have to be lost anymore. I didn't have to hate or love that basement anymore. I could stay there, or leave it, if the leash around my neck led me that way.
I don't have to be awful anymore.
My quiet cries of gratitude were interrupted by her bare foot pressing down on the back of my head. My nose, already buried in the carpet, throbbed painfully from the extra pressure.
And she commands me. Laying down rules — laws — that I have so desperately yearned for.
It's dark. There's no lighting in the room as I memorize everything she says, burn the words into my mind, and I don't feel the ache. I'm finally home.
Worm Abridged
(Автор: NaughtyBanette)
Attempt One
There are some days that I think the world can't really be as bad as people make it out to be. Sure, there's a lot of gangs in this city. Sure, I go to one of the worst schools in the city. Sure, the adults here are absolutely useless and those in authority are probably hand-picked to be the absolute worst they could possibly be. But my problems?
My problems don't stem from white supremacists or horrifying rage dragons. They don't even really stem from incompetent bosses or giant city-killing-god-monsters. All I've got to deal with is a trio of bullies.
"Well... At least they haven't found me here yet." Say what you will about eating lunch in a public school bathroom, it's still better than the alternative.
"Hey Taylor." Shit. "I found you."
"Then again..." I sigh, looking up at my trio of tormentors with a conditioned look of apathy. 'Some days I think can only be made better by liberal applications of bees.'
Looking down at my lunch, I continue to try and enjoy it as the girls pour several bottles of juice down on me. Incidentally, my sandwich tastes better when soggy with fruit punch. Silver linings right? "Hahahaha! I'm pouring juice on you! It's hilarious!" Madison giggles down at me.
"Not really." I shrug, holding out my lunch to better soak it.
"It's adorable?" She ventures, frowning slightly.
"Nope." I take a bite. Mmm, tastes like teenage insecurity and angst.
"It's amusing?" She whimpers as I look up at her.
"Not at all." I sigh, causing her to burst into tears.
"My life is a lie!" She cries, rushing out of the room.
"Madison! Get back here and be a mountain lion! Stop being an adorable kitten!" Emma shouts, rushing after her friend.
"But I am an adorable kitten!" Comes her distant reply.
Cold, wet, and sticky, I rise from my seat and step out into the bathroom proper. Sophia's there, as expected, and we take a long moment to stare one another down. Her own brand of completely undeserved superiority vs my professionally refined apathy. "Don't suppose you're planning on explaining why you're an unlikable bitch yet?"
"Nope. Actually, I'm going to hit you now." She states in almost perfect monotone.
"Fair enough." I shrug, bracing myself for the hit that doubles me over. "You know..." I gasp, falling to my knees. "Always aiming for my stomach shows a surprising lack of creativity."
"I know." She shrugs, turning around to leave. "Makes you paranoid for the day I change things up."
"Touche." I grumble, pulling myself up to my feet. Yeah... Today is one of those 'bees' days.
* * *
Episode 2
My costume is awesome.
There's really no way around it, in the world of spandex and travesties stitched together from goodwill, my costume rules supreme as the god-empress of costume-kind, heir to the golden throne of costumes, suitable for the glory of Sion himself.
Probably.
I mean, maybe some tinkertech bullshit has a chance of beating it, but that's flat out cheating. Everyone agrees tinkertech is cheating. Google it.
Granted, this is something like the third iteration of the design, but I had to make sure it was perfect for my debut. Sure, it took me three months, but you try figuring out the logistics of turning 'giant swarm of creepy-crawly doom' into something PR friendly. Not to mention the first design?
Well, I was honestly considering going by 'Captain Camel-toe' after that one. Yeesh.
* * *
"Swarm of Bees!"
There's something to be said for calling your attacks. That something, apparently, is 'Don't!'. Really, I should probably not have picked Lung as my first target as a hero, but go big or go home I always say. And always go home. It's times like these that I thank past-Taylor for having the foresight to never, ever go big.
Pokemon, apparently, is entirely correct. Fire beats bug, every time. Also, shouting from the rooftops what you're going to do just makes the angry rage-dragon even more annoyed. It probably doesn't help that I really only have one attack to shout, two if you count 'Larger Swarm of Bees!'. Which totally counts, and tends to be a catch-all term for just about everything I'm doing in this fight.
