Another Way (Worm AU fanfic)

[edale]

You know, when I wrote the omake, I originally wanted it to be the Brigade that confronted Marchioness, but I knew I couldn't handle the interactions properly, so I went with Armsmaster instead (I find it easier to write him, he's so straight forward and mostly one-dimensional, heh).

As it developed, I saw that it was a good call doing that, scene just works better with him, but I still lamented that I couldn't work the Brigade in.

You did it masterfully; I didn't even think about the kids training with the Protectorate as an avenue to introduce them.

And the cutting remark for Brandish... I get the feeling either Brandish's therapy has gotten a LOT further than I thought, or another poor undeserving table will suffer her wrath. (Sarah: "That table didn't deserve it either Carol...")

And as for Glor...Mega Girl. Canon powers seem there, but there's no evidence of the emotional aura, hmmm...

 

[nobodez]

I doubt this will eliminate Emma's turn, since the event happened the summer of 2009 (Worm starts in 2011, during January of Taylor's Sophomore year, and the bullying started her freshman year, so fall of 2009, and that only started after Emma and Sophia became friends), but it will change the circumstances of it. Hell, Sophia hasn't trigged yet.

 

[edale]

I doubt this will eliminate Emma's turn, since the event happened the summer of 2009 (Worm starts in 2011, during January of Taylor's Sophomore year, and the bullying started her freshman year, so fall of 2009, and that only started after Emma and Sophia became friends), but it will change the circumstances of it. Hell, Sophia hasn't trigged yet.

Click to shrink...

I could be wrong, but I think Yan was the ABB member who threatened to cut off part of Emma's face, so yes, a good chunk, if not all, of Emma's ordeal has been dealt with.

 

[Ack]

Just so everyone knows, the Armsmaster/Marchioness interaction has been rewritten a bit.

 

[pepperjack]

Just so everyone knows, the Armsmaster/Marchioness interaction has been rewritten a bit.

Click to shrink...

Much better. As near as I can tell, it's mostly that certain bits were cut out, and they were the bits that made me cringe a little. Armsmaster saying "interesting" and leaving it at that is far preferable.

 

[Ack]

Much better. As near as I can tell, it's mostly that certain bits were cut out, and they were the bits that made me cringe a little. Armsmaster saying "interesting" and leaving it at that is far preferable.

Click to shrink...

Yeah, that change was suggested by SpiralAK over on SB. I kept things like "You can cure cancer?" because that lets Claire snark off at Armsy again

Who knew, growing up with a supervillain gave her a certain attitude of irreverence toward authority

 

[pepperjack]

I kept things like "You can cure cancer?" because that lets Claire snark off at Armsy again

Click to shrink...

Well of course! The only bits that bothered me were "I am Armsmaster and I fixate on labels" and "you're under arrest for who your dad is."

By the way, I'm expecting abject failure from her quest to defy cape categories. Human society doesn't deal with that very well. It'll be like "the rogue who doesn't like being called that showed up at the hospital again today," and "Marchioness: medical mercenary, or villainess with delusions of altruism? PRT psychologists weigh in".

 

[Prince Charon]

And the cutting remark for Brandish... I get the feeling either Brandish's therapy has gotten a LOT further than I thought, or another poor undeserving table will suffer her wrath. (Sarah: "That table didn't deserve it either Carol...")

Click to shrink...

I'm hoping it's the former, and Carol asks Vicky to tell Machioness something like "You're right, it didn't. I regret a lot of things I did around then, but I hope you can forgive me."

 

[alethiophile]

This is so very great. Marquis showing up in near-canon-ish BB? There will not be words to describe the havoc.

By the way, I'm expecting abject failure from her quest to defy cape categories. Human society doesn't deal with that very well. It'll be like "the rogue who doesn't like being called that showed up at the hospital again today," and "Marchioness: medical mercenary, or villainess with delusions of altruism? PRT psychologists weigh in".

Click to shrink...

I am quoting this just to report that the phrase "delusions of altruism" is making me giggle uncontrollably.

 

[Ack]

This is so very great. Marquis showing up in near-canon-ish BB? There will not be words to describe the havoc.


I am quoting this just to report that the phrase "delusions of altruism" is making me giggle uncontrollably.

Click to shrink...

Note that I've written out the whole 'I defy categorisation' thing. Though it will come up later

 

[Ack]

Another Way

Part Five: For Every Action …


Accord looked up at the deferential knock upon the door. He frowned; there were no appointments scheduled for this time of day. The knock was not repeated, but he knew that his secretary would be waiting until he decided to call her in. She would wait all day, if he so chose; he valued that in an underling.

"Enter," he stated, pressing the buttons that deactivated the traps in the floor and ceiling between the door and the desk. One could not be too careful, after all; the traps designed to catch someone coming in through the window remained active.

The office door opened, and he noted that it was indeed his secretary; she held an envelope. Advancing to the desk, she laid it down before him. "This came for you, sir."

He did not touch it immediately; she had, of course, placed it precisely, square with the sides of the desk. The address was not that of the building, but one of his several post office boxes. It was postmarked Brockton Bay; picking it up, he checked for a return address. This turned out to be another post office box which was located, unsurprisingly, in Brockton Bay.

Brockton Bay …

Now that he looked more closely, the address had been hand-written, but extremely neatly so. The rounded hand was a strong clue. I suspect I know who sent it …

"You may return to your duties."

"Thank you, sir." She turned and left, closing the door silently behind her.

Retrieving a letter-opener from his drawer, he carefully slit open the envelope. It was, he noted in passing, made from good quality paper. The letter within, covered in copperplate writing of the same calibre, was also penned upon thick, creamy paper.

Of all Accord's acquaintances, only Marquis used that quality of paper. This did not surprise him, as the handwriting appeared to be that of the man's daughter. Reminded, he raised his eyes to the framed drawing upon the wall facing his desk. She had made that years ago, a mere child, striving for perfection. She had not achieved it, but the evidence of her effort was there all the same.

He unfolded the letter and began to read.

Dear Accord …

Under Marquis' no doubt patient tutelage, the girl's handwriting had improved to the point that even he himself could find few flaws in it. No child's scrawl this; each letter was formed to perfection, the words balanced neatly across the page. So few people wrote letters these days; even fewer took the time to do it properly.

We are now settled in Brockton Bay. Father says that it has changed in the years that he spent in Boston, but I think that he may remember it differently to the way it really was. I don't know if that would apply to me; when we left, I was too young to know much about the city at all.

Most of the changes, Father tells me, have to do with the gangs themselves. Galvanate has gone, as have the Teeth, but new gangs have emerged or moved in to replace them. The Archer's Bridge Merchants are a particularly sore point for him, as he has never approved of selling drugs, especially to children. The Merchants, it seems, have no particular scruples in that area, and so he says that he is going to talk with them sometime soon.

Accord paused in his reading of the letter. He had heard things about the Merchants, and very little of it was good. If Marquis was going to react predictably to them, particularly to their famously foul-mouthed leader, then they were on a collision course with a destiny that they would not be able to avoid.

With a brief, dry smile upon his lips – relieving Brockton Bay of the Archer's Bridge Merchants could only improve the tone of the city – he read on.

We have already encountered another gang. Father and I were driving through a back street when we were stopped and accosted by members of the Asian Bad Boys. Once we made them see reason, Father served notice via one of their members that he would be reclaiming his territory. We're still waiting for Lung's response.

<><>​

"Who is this man called Marquis? Who does he think he is?"

Lung was almost incandescent with rage, both literally and figuratively. Flames danced over his body and leaped from his hands, leaving yet more scorch-marks on the concrete walls of the building. Dao, more than a little singed but otherwise healthy, cowered back, while the rest of his contingent huddled near the exit. Along with the rest of them, Yan stared at Lung. He could kill us all in a moment. He still might.

"He – he used to be here in Brockton Bay -" Dao babbled, but Lung cut him off.

"I know who he is!" he shouted. "He left! He ran away! Why is he back? This is my territory, not his!"

Dao opened his mouth – to do what, Yan had no idea. To agree with Lung, probably. But instead, he quoted again the words Marquis had told him to say: "Marquis has returned. He will be taking back what is his." His eyes opened wide with horror, and he turned to run.

He was far too late; driven beyond reason, Lung engulfed him in fire. Dao made it three steps before he fell, his dying scream almost lost in the crackling of the flames. Sugito was the first to make a break for it, but the others weren't far behind. Yan fled with the rest of them and by the time Lung looked around for them, they were gone.

Sugito led them on a mad, scrambling rush away from the building. They covered three blocks before Yan stumbled and fell.

"Come on," urged Sugito. "We gotta keep going."

Thus far, Yan had been running on pure terror, but when she got to her feet, her lungs were heaving and her legs refused to support her. "I can't," she whimpered, and collapsed to her knees.

"Lung's gonna kill us all for what Dao just said," urged Chang. "Come on, get up."

"I can't run much more either," wheezed Juuko.

"Fuck," muttered Sugito. He looked around for any potential shelter; a derelict Seven-Eleven across the road caught his eye. "Come on."

Assisted by Chang, Yan got to her feet. Most of them were staggering as they crossed the street; Sugito went ahead, circling around behind the building. Moments later, Yan heard the sound of wood breaking, then Sugito popped his head back around the corner. "Come on, guys. I got a way in!"

He had indeed; a boarded-up window had been kicked in, leaving a gap wide enough for them to crawl through. Sugito came last, picking up the boards and fitting them roughly back into place. They collapsed to the floor; Sugito sat up while the others lay back and gasped. Yan closed her eyes, but all she could see was the burning form of Dao, screaming as he fell to the floor. Opening them with a jerk, she stared fixedly at the stripes of light visible between the planks blocking the window. Around her, they talked, although the voices barely registered to her.

"What – what are we gonna do?" stammered Chang. "He killed Dao, man."

"Yeah," Pak agreed. "He might come after us next. 'Specially since we ran away."

"We're gonna have to join another gang," Sugito decided. "He won't come after us then. That'd mean a gang war."

"But who're we gonna join?" Chang's brow furrowed. "Not the Empire Eighty-Eight. And not the Merchants either. Buncha druggie fucks."

Pak didn't argue. "Marquis, maybe? He's all kinds of badass. And so's Marchioness."

Sugito shook his head. "No. Fuck, no. They're the reason we're in this shit. Besides, you want to work for someone who can make you say stuff just 'cause they want you to? No, we're a fuck-load better off going with Blasto."

"Pssh, yeah," scoffed Chang. "Like Blasto's gonna let us join. He doesn't need minions. He can make all the monsters he wants."

Sugito grinned. "I think he'll see it our way." Pulling a grubby kerchief from his pocket, he unwrapped it to show two items; one was a piece of bone, while the other looked like a gleaming metal scale. "How much do you think he'll be willing to deal for these?"

<><>​

Father says that we won't be taking all of Lung's territory, at least at first. We may yet end up displacing the Merchants instead, if the ABB proves tougher than Father thinks they will. But that's in the future. Right now, we have to consolidate our position.

By now, Father thinks, the rest of the gangs will have heard that he's back. I'm wondering about their reaction to this, especially from the Empire Eighty-Eight. Father knew Kaiser before he succeeded Allfather for the leadership of the Empire; from what he says, he and Allfather held to an uneasy truce until we had to leave town.

It's possible that the previous association will lead to a similar truce with Kaiser, or he may instead choose to be hostile. Whichever way it goes, we need to find out soon where we stand with him.

<><>​

"You're certain of this." Kaiser, clad in gleaming metal armour, stared ominously down at the skinhead before him. The metal surrounding his head hid all but his eyes, but it wasn't hard to hear the frown in his voice.

"Sure as I can be, sir." The skinhead nodded anxiously. "The ABB kid was telling everyone. That Marquis was back, and that he'd be retaking his territory."

"Hmm. Very well, you can go." Kaiser gestured; the skinhead hurried from the room.

The supervillain turned and stalked across the room to where a map was pinned to a table. Already examining the map was a petite brunette wearing a white costume and a domino mask; she looked up as he leaned over and placed a push-pin in the map, at the location of a small, non-descript back street.

"It's no empty rumour," he mused. "Marquis has indeed returned. And he's brought help."

"I never met Marquis before he left," the young woman told him. "Is he likely to be that much of a problem?"

"Let me put it this way, Purity," Kaiser told her. "Back before you joined the Empire, there were four main gangs in Brockton Bay. Can you tell me who they were?"

"I know who they were," she pointed out. "I've done my homework. The Empire, obviously."

"Obviously," he agreed dryly.

"Galvanate, who's now in the Birdcage."

He nodded. "Of course."

"Butcher and the Teeth, who moved on after they almost got wiped out."

"They have a way of making enemies." His tone was hard.

"And Marquis." She paused. "So what's so special about Marquis? Is he so dangerous?"

"Purity – Kayden – listen to me. Marquis was just one man. In those days, operating without parahuman backup was tantamount to suicide. The unwritten rules were a lot looser then; even so, Marquis managed to hold his territory and make a very respectable profit at the same time, while employing no other parahumans. Now, he's got a parahuman at his side, presumably his daughter. His powers are worrying enough; if hers are anything similar, then yes, they could be a lot of trouble if they chose to be."

She tilted her head. "You sound worried."

"Marquis held his own against Allfather, against Butcher, against Galvanate, and against Jack Slash. He also fought the Brockton Bay Brigade to a standstill several times, single-handedly. You tell me how worried I should be feeling."

She blinked, looking concerned for the first time. "Oh. Oh shit. I see what you mean."

The metal retracted from his face, showing a faint smile that carried no trace of humour. "Precisely."

"What are you going to do?"

He looked thoughtful. "I think my first order of business is to have a talk with the man. Following that … we shall see."

"Should I come along?"

"Why not?" he asked rhetorically. "After all, this Marchioness will probably be there as well. You can talk to her, find out her spin on things."

"So, you want me to pump her for information?" Her tone was more than a little dry.

"Precisely." He smiled broadly. "The more we can find out about them, the better." His phone chimed, and he picked it up from the table. She watched him as he read what appeared to be quite a lengthy text message. After reading it through for the second time, he looked back up at her, his expression suddenly introspective. "Huh. Well, well. Speaking of which ..."

"Speaking of what?"

He leaned over the map and placed another push-pin, at the site of the Brockton Bay Central Hospital. "I think I see a way to kill two birds with one stone."

She let her exasperation show, just a little. "Could you be slightly less cryptic?"

"You'll see. Come on, I need to speak to Hookwolf."

Shaking her head, she followed him from the room.

<><>​

Just by the way, I have set out to make sure that the forces of law and order are at the very least ambiguous about our status in the city. I went to the Brockton Bay General Hospital and set myself up in the waiting area of the emergency room. To give the medical staff full credit, they didn't take long to realize what was going on, and were soon parking their most needy patients right next to me.

In case you were wondering, I didn't charge them. However, I did tell them that this was just a free sample, and that we could arrange a price schedule for later visits. They had some rather painful-looking accident cases, as well as a few cancer patients; by the time each of those has been cleared to go home, the news should be out.

I'm also reasonably certain that the Protectorate and the PRT know about Marquis and myself by now. This is mainly because Armsmaster came into the ER with an injured prisoner whom I healed, once the doctor managed to persuade him to put her next to me. As you have told me repeatedly; if you have something that someone else wants, make them come to you. It makes them value it more.

An interesting note: Armsmaster had with him a teenage superhero called Mega Girl. The interesting part is that she's not with the Wards, but instead with the Brockton Bay Brigade. I am guessing that she might be Laserdream's sister or something; they have a certain family resemblance. The Brigade has placed her with the Wards for training, which I think might be a good idea, given what Father has told me about how the Brigade used to operate.

Mega Girl was not overly happy; reading between the lines, I suspect that she has super-strength, and that she may have accidentally caused the injuries on Armsmaster's prisoner. She seems nice enough. However, I could not resist giving her a message to pass on to Brandish.

<><>​

Vicky dropped straight down out of the sky from a thousand feet up; she landed in the back yard with barely a jar. I'm getting better at that. Dusting her hands off – she had used them to cushion the impact – she got up and strolled over to the back door. It was unlocked, of course; her parents were expecting her. The rear porch light was off for the same reason.

Slipping in through the door, she removed the domino mask as she closed the door behind her. "Mom, Dad, I'm home!" she called out.

"We're in the living room," her father replied. As she came on through, both of her parents got up from the sofa and came over to her. "So how did it go, pumpkin? First night out and all?"

She took a deep breath. Her parents valued honesty above all else. You can lie to the public about who you are, but you never lie to your teammates about anything. Besides, Armsmaster would probably be talking to them soon anyway. "I, uh, screwed up a bit. Beat up a villain pretty badly."

Her mother grimaced slightly. "How badly?" Vicky could read between the lines. Lawsuit badly?

"Badly enough to have to take her to the ER," she admitted, and went to her father for a hug. His strong arms enfolded her, and she felt comforted; a moment later, her mother's arm went around her shoulders. "I – I didn't mean it," she went on, feeling tears prickling her eyes. "It all happened so fast, she was wearing power armour and pointing a gun of some sort at Armsmaster, so I just tackled her and hit her and broke the gun, but it exploded and injured her pretty badly."

Her father squeezed her slightly. "But you're okay? The explosion?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. But it messed up her arm pretty badly."

"How is she now?" asked her mother practically. "Still in the hospital?"

She pulled free of her father, sniffling slightly. "Oh, no. She's all right now. Totally healthy. We took her back to holding and processed her through."

Her mother frowned. "She was a regenerator? You could have told us, so we didn't worry so much."

"No, no, she wasn't any sort of regenerator. There was this girl about my age, a cape, in the ER waiting room. She called herself Marchioness. She was just … well, chilling. Sitting back in a recliner with a cooler full of drinks, watching cartoons. The doctor told us to put the villain next to her. And she just … healed."

"Just healed? Just like that?" Her father looked impressed. "All the injuries?"

"Yeah," Vicky told him. "Plus, Marchioness said she cured her ongoing drug addiction, too. And she never even put a hand on her. She was watching cartoons and talking to me the whole time."

"Was she healing the other people in the emergency room, too?" asked her mother.

"Uh, yeah," Vicky replied. "She must have been. There was nobody there when we got there. The doctor said they'd all gone home."

"I'm impressed," her father admitted. "I've never heard of a healer who's not, you know, Eidolon or Scion, being able to do something like that."

Vicky was warming to her topic; anything to deflect attention away from her screwup. "And that's not all. The doctor told us that they'd cleared out all the bad accident cases, and the ones from the cancer ward too. She could cure cancer. I mean, holy shit, is that even possible?" She paused, realising what she had just blurted out. "Uh, sorry."

Her mother didn't seem to have noticed. "Well, Scion healed Vikare's sister of cancer back in 'eighty-two," she mused. "But since then … if there's a healer of that capability in Brockton Bay, that's huge news. Do you know if she's got a team affiliation, or if she'd like to join the Brigade?

"And how's that name spelled, do you know?" asked her father. "I'm trying to visualise it, but all I'm coming up with is 'female Martian'. And that doesn't make sense."

"Oh, no," Vicky told him. She dug in the small belt pouch. "She gave me her card."

He took it and read it carefully, then turned it over and read the back as well. "'By Appointment Only', huh?"

Vicky nodded. "Yeah, I got the impression she was some kind of rogue."

"Still," her mother pointed out. "A healer of that magnitude is going to need some level of support, or people are going to be trying to recruit her by any and all means. Does she have a team that she works with?"

"Uh, yeah," Vicky admitted. "She, uh, told me that she came back to Brockton Bay with her father. And she had a message for you."

"For me?" Carol Dallon looked somewhat taken aback. "How does she even know me? What's the message?"

Vicky took a deep breath. "She said to tell you that Marquis' little girl said hi, and something weird about a table not deserving it."

Brandish went very still indeed. "Say that again," she whispered.

"I, uh, Marquis' little girl says hi, and that the table didn't deserve it." Vicky looked at her parents. "What does it mean?"

"Marquis. Oh god." Her mother ignored the question. "Is he back? Did she say that he was back? Marquis?" She paused. "Was he there, in the hospital?"

"Well, yeah, um, Armsmaster said he'd been hearing rumours," Vicky told her. "He wasn't there, no. Just Marchioness. She was kind of nice. Friendly. She wasn't really polite to Armsmaster, but she made me feel better about what I did to Traction."

"Traction?" Her father frowned. "Who's Traction?"

"Oh, the villain we captured. Sorry."

"And this Marchioness healed Traction in front of you?"

"Yeah. Armsmaster had to carry her in, but in about two minutes, she was totally healed. She made a break for it, but we caught her."

"What, Marchioness?" That was her mother.

"No, Traction. Marchioness just sat back and watched the show."

"Did Armsmaster try to arrest Marchioness?" asked her father.

Vicky shook her head. "No. They just talked a bit, and Armsmaster asked about her rates for healing heroes, and she said something about her dad's lawyers, and then she told him that she'd be attending Endbringer battles, and we left."

Slowly, Carol sat down on the sofa again. "Oh god. It's starting up again."

Mark sat next to her, his arm around her shoulders. "It's not as bad as that, honey."

"Yes. It is." She shook her head. "Marquis is back in town. He was dangerous enough when it was just him. Now his daughter is a cape, and she's some sort of ranged healer and god knows what else, and she's probably helping him out. So even if he gets injured, she'll be able to heal him. And that's not the worst bit."

Vicky sat down on her other side. "What's the worst bit, Mom?"

Brandish drew a deep, shuddering breath. "On our best day, we would never have been able to beat him. I can see that now. But now she's made herself untouchable – someone who can heal people en masse, who's willing to show up to Endbringer battles? Nobody's going to care who her father is. But if he gets arrested, what's to stop her from demanding that he be let loose? Withholding her services, in return for his release?"

Mark drew her into his embrace. "It might not come to that, dear."

She buried her head against his chest. "Just you wait," she told him. "I'm right. You'll see."

<><>​

Armsmaster did not seem happy that I was Marquis' daughter, but he didn't try to arrest me. This was probably because I had just healed his prisoner. Also, the doctor told him about all the other people I had healed. However, I am reasonably sure that he will be telling his superiors about me.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall.

<><>​

Director Piggot looked up as the intercom buzzed. She had just been in the process of packing up for the night – she had yet to get home and set herself up for haemodialysis – and really didn't need any more distractions. For a moment, she toyed with the notion of ignoring it, but then duty overrode her impulse.

Leaning over, she pressed the button. "Yes?"

"It's Armsmaster, ma'am. I have some news that you need to hear, in person."

She sighed. "Can it wait until morning?"

"I don't believe so."

"Fine. Come on in." She pressed the button that unlocked her door.

Armsmaster strode in, armour marred in the various subtle ways that indicated that he'd had a busy night out. "Thank you, ma'am. I think you'll want to hear this."

"Well, you're here. Spit it out."

"First off, the rumours about Marquis are confirmed. He's back in town."

She blinked. "That's … not good to hear, but at least now we know for sure. Was that it?"

"No, ma'am, that's the least of it. He has a child. A daughter. She's a cape."

Well, I knew he had a little girl … and now she's triggered. Joy. "What are her powers? More bone-shaping?"

He shook his head. "No. She's a healer. A ranged healer."

"A … ranged … healer?" She stared at him. "What's her range?"

"It only seems to be a few yards, if that," he admitted. "But it seems to be a Shaker effect, with her. We had an injured prisoner, and this girl was in the ER waiting room. She'd cleared out the place. As well as their bad accident cases, and their oncology ward."

"And she healed your prisoner – wait. How did your prisoner get injured, in the first place?"

His mouth tightened. "Mega Girl got a little enthusiastic. But I spoke to her, and she seemed to understand where she went wrong."

"How bad were the injuries?"

"Left alone, they would have been life threatening. Which is why we took her to the ER. This girl, Marquis' daughter, was there. She called herself Marchioness." He produced a card and placed it on Piggot's desk. "She had business cards."

Piggot looked the card over, then put it down. "So she's selling her services?"

"So it seems," Armsmaster agreed. "She didn't charge us anything this time, but she spoke about setting up a price schedule with the hospital, and doing something similar with us, for healing heroes."

"Wait, wait." Piggot held up a hand. "She intends to heal heroes, and charge us to do so?"

"Traction had a badly crippled right arm," Armsmaster pointed out. "Catastrophic equipment failure. Arm gun blew up. Marchioness brought it back to full function, complete recovery, along with healing her other injuries, in about a minute or so. Or even less; I wasn't timing her."

"Capes have been getting maimed in Endbringer battles for years," mused Piggot. "If she could heal that sort of damage, it might just be worth it."

"Actually, on that note," Armsmaster put in, "she stated definitively that she would be attending Endbringer battles. For free."

"And yet, Marquis' daughter … "

"Well, she also said that she would be charging for healing, outside of that situation." he noted.

"Understood." She nodded to him. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Also, I will want a full report on Mega Girl's actions on my desk tomorrow morning."

"Yes, ma'am." He paused. "She was defending me, or thought she was."

"So noted. A full report."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Dismissed."

"Good night, ma'am."

She watched him turn and leave; the door clicked shut behind him. Wearily, she began to finish tidying up her desk. The card caught her eye; she picked it up again, and looked it over before tucking it into a pocket.

By Appointment Only. Good God.

<><>​

Overall, I think that it was a successful night out. I spread the word that Father was back in town, and I got to meet Armsmaster. He's got even less of a sense of humor than we see from him on TV, but I have to admit, the man has presence.

I will write you again later. Remain well, and take care of yourself.

Regards,

Marchioness​

<><>​

Accord folded the letter carefully and put it back away in the envelope. Equally carefully, he placed the envelope in a folder containing several other letters written in the same hand. He had no urge to be a parent, much less go through the messy business of actually fathering a child. Children, indeed, were a thing to be avoided; they had no respect for rules, and no idea of self-discipline. On the other hand, Marquis had raised his child to be reasonably tolerable by any rigorous standard.

Of that, at least, Accord had to approve.

<><>​

"Claire, seriously, what were you thinking?"

Marquis' tone was mild, but Claire felt defensive all the same. "I was thinking I could get our names out there," she replied.

"By going out alone," he responded grimly. "You have Jonas for a reason."

"He took me there," she pointed out. "I just went in alone. Because we don't need people connecting Marchioness with the Marchant family."

"Still, I don't like the idea of you going out alone. You should have at least told me."

"And you would've stopped me from going."

"You don't know that."

"Well, would you have let me go alone, if I'd told you where I was going?" Her tone was just a little challenging.

He grimaced. "Perhaps not. But -"

"Jonas was parked around the corner. I had my phone. If anything had gone wrong, I would've called him. Nothing went wrong. I even got to meet Armsmaster. Oh, and guess who else I met."

He paused. "Who?"

"Mega Girl. She's in the Brockton Bay Brigade. She's about my age."

"Really?" He knew that she was trying to distract him. And she's succeeding too. "Did you speak to her?"

"Oh yeah. She's pretty nice, for a superhero. She's training with the Wards. I gave her a message for Brandish."

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh? And what message was that?"

"That Marquis' little girl said hi, and that the table really didn't deserve it."

"Hah." He regarded her with an amused eye. "Well, I suppose I don't need to teach you any more about taunting superheroes then."

"Yeah." She met his eyes. "Sorry about going behind your back like that, but I really did want to see if I could do it on my own."

"Hmm." His expression was fond, belying the gruff tone of voice. "Well, I suppose that no harm was done. Just don't do it again without telling me."

Earnestly, she nodded. "Okay, Dad."

"Good. Come here, honey." He hugged her. "I'm just glad that you're all right."

"Well, yeah, me too." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "You should've seen the look on Armsmaster's face when he figured out that I was your kid. Well, I couldn't really see his face, but I knew that he had a pretty funny look on it."

"Heh. And you really told Mega Girl to give Brandish that message?"

"I sure did."

He chuckled warmly. "That's my girl."


End of Part Five

Part Six

 

[alethiophile]

Reactions are amusing, though mostly what's to be expected. Though I can't but get a little bit of schadenfreude at Brandish's distress.

Meeting with Kaiser. That will be interesting.

 

[nobodez]

Awesome chapter. Really loved the way you structured the scenes to tell the story of the various reactions.

I do hope that the ex-ABB thugs decide to join the March, it would be good PR.

Also, I especially loved Piggot's reaction to the "By Appointment Only" on the card.

 

[pepperjack]

Because some people don't believe we noticed unless there's a comment about it - yes, I noticed that Blasto apparently has a powerbase in Brockton Bay. Hard to see how Marquis' displacement to Boston (instead of imprisonment in the Birdcage) let to him being able to go it alone instead of relying on Toybox, but I suppose that will be made clear in time.

 

[Ack]

Because some people don't believe we noticed unless there's a comment about it - yes, I noticed that Blasto apparently has a powerbase in Brockton Bay. Hard to see how Marquis' displacement to Boston (instead of imprisonment in the Birdcage) let to him being able to go it alone instead of relying on Toybox, but I suppose that will be made clear in time.

Click to shrink...

In canon, Blasto was based in BB until he was forced to move to Boston by the Empire Eighty-Eight. There, he ended up as a crime lord in his own right

 

[pepperjack]

In canon, Blasto was based in BB until he was forced to move to Boston by the Empire Eighty-Eight. There, he ended up as a crime lord in his own right

Click to shrink...

I stand corrected. Coulda sworn he at least had dealings with Toybox, though.

 

[Starfox5]

Great chapter! So fitting and funny reactions all around, and the letter to Accord was a very nice touch.

 

[Ack]

I stand corrected. Coulda sworn he at least had dealings with Toybox, though.

Click to shrink...

Would not be surprised.

 

[GSpectre]

Really like the letter as a framing device, very good work.

 

[Ack]

Another Way

Part Six: Coming to Terms


"Armsmaster. Take a seat."

He did so, looking across the desk at the Director. "What's the problem?" It didn't cross his mind for a moment that there might not be a problem. "Is it about Mega Girl?"

"Not Mega Girl, no," she informed him. "It's the Tinker you captured. Traction."

He frowned. "I recall her. Has she experienced problems?"

"Not in the way you might be thinking," Piggot stated. "She's escaped from custody. A guard's been murdered."

"Escaped?" he blurted. "Murdered a guard? How? We removed her tech from her. She was under Tinker protocols. I made sure of it myself."

"She had outside assistance." Piggot's voice was cold. "Someone hit her transport. Our best bet right now is Empire Eighty-Eight. Probably Hookwolf. She's gone, two guards are injured, and one is dead. Throat cut."

"Who do you think did the killing? Her or the rescuer?"

"They're not sure yet. But if she did it, we'll nail her to the wall when and if we catch her."

He studied the set of her jaw; she was serious about this. "So what do we do now? Keep an eye out to see if the Empire suddenly acquires a Tinker?"

"Exactly," she replied coldly. "And make a note on her file; she's possibly complicit in the murder of the guard."

"Understood. Was there anything else?"

"Speaking of Mega Girl, how's she turning out?"

"Improving," he observed honestly. "She's taken what happened to Traction to heart, and she's learning to show restraint without holding back too much. Also showing more confidence, which is good."

"Just remember, she has to meet the standards that we hold the Wards to."

"She'll get there, Director."

"Good. Dismissed."

By the time he got up from the chair, she was already scanning her paperwork; leaving the office, he closed the door behind him. The murder of the guard would have her on edge, he knew. She would be hard to work with for a few days. He frowned. This is a bad business, even for the Empire. Kaiser must really want that Tinker on board.

<><>​

Earlier

Sherrel looked up as the prison transport lurched. "What was that?"

"Nothing," grunted the guard. "The roads are shit. We're -"

The truck lurched again, but Sherrel had already braced herself. Her Tinker speciality was vehicles, the bigger and more unwieldy the better, but she had a feel for any vehicle and how it moved. And this one was about to -

The third lurch caught the guard off balance, and as the truck went over, he went with it. Her restraints made it awkward to hold on, but she managed it; in the meantime, the rolling vehicle gave her the distinct impression of being inside a tumble dryer.

It finally skidded to a halt, and she fought to catch her breath. The vehicle was lying on its side, and she carefully let herself down on to what was now the floor. At her feet, the guard groaned but didn't seem about to get up.

If anyone's got the keys for these restraints, he has. Dropping to her knees, she reached for him, only to find her reach coming up short. The restraints on her wrists were connected to a flexible cable, which was in turn connected to a floor bolt right between where her feet would have been resting. Now that she was kneeling on the wall, the cable was attached to a point halfway up the floor, and it was just too short for her to reach the guard.

"Damn it!" Getting up, she kicked the guard in the stomach; he doubled up a little and groaned some more.

Maybe I can search his pockets with my toes? She began to work the shoes off of her feet, but was interrupted when the rear doors were ripped open. Turning, she backed up, stepping over the recumbent guard, as a menacing figure stepped into the back of the truck.

He was tall, shirtless, with greasy hair and an array of tattoos that she couldn't make out with the light in her eyes. Metal protruded from his arms and torso, giving him a certain amount of armour, as well as a nasty set of claws. He wore a metal mask of some kind, but she couldn't quite make it out.

"You're the Tinker, right?" The voice was harsh, demanding.

"Uh, yeah," she replied. "Traction. Who are you?" Shit, maybe I should've said no.

"Hookwolf. You comin'?" Ah, so that's a wolf head. Got it.

Raising her hands, she showed him the cable binding her to the floor. "Slight problem with that idea. Who are you with?" I should know this one …

He sneered. "You're being busted out and you wanna know who's doing it? Kid, your best bet is to come along now and ask questions later."

Oh shit. She had it figured out. "You're with the Empire Eighty-Eight, aren't you?"

"Got it in one." He stepped closer. "You coming with, or not?"

"And if I don't want to go with you?" she asked, with more defiance than she felt.

Abruptly, a blade formed from the end of his hand; she recoiled, but instead of attacking her, he stabbed downward instead. There was a dying gurgle, and a pool of blood spread from the gaping wound in the guard's throat. He would never get up now, she realised. Oh god. He killed him. Just like that.

The blade dropped from Hookwolf's hand a moment later, and clattered on the wall of the truck. Sherrel backed away to the limit of the cable, trying to avoid the spreading pool.

"I can leave you here with the shank that killed him, and you can try to argue that you didn't do it," Hookwolf offered coldly. "Or you can come with me. Your choice."

Sherrel closed her eyes briefly. Fuck. Opening them again, she stared at Hookwolf. "Okay, I'll come with." Can't be worse than prison. I hope.

Another blade formed, extruding from his flesh, then a matching one. She watched, horribly fascinated, as the oversized shears cut through the cable as easily as if it were a cheese stick. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that they would do much the same to her wrist – or her neck – if Hookwolf decided to turn them on her instead. "Come on," he ordered. "Let's go. Boss wants to talk to you."

Numbly, glancing briefly down at the body of the guard, she followed him out of the truck. She didn't even notice when she trod in the pool of drying blood; the footprints she left behind were a silent accusation.

<><>​

At About the Same Time

Rey Andino heard the knocking on the door, but ignored it. He wasn't expecting anything in the post, and there was really nobody in Brockton Bay with whom he wanted to talk. Concentrating on his apparatus, he eyed the two specimens currently growing in separate tubes. Do I want more chimpanzee, or more Rottweiler?

The knocking ceased, and he relaxed slightly. Obviously a mistake. Leaning closer, he examined both specimens carefully. Gently, as of a concert pianist, his fingertips rested feather-light upon the controls of his cloning device. The one on the left seemed to be heavier in the shoulders, whereas the one on the right had a larger braincase -

The banging on the door was so abrupt, he jerked reflexively. Fingers pressed buttons, and he yelped involuntarily as both specimens were sterilised with boiling water, then flushed away. "Fuck!" he shouted. "That was fucking hours of work, right there!"

The banging continued; it sounded like someone very large and strong, or perhaps they were using a rock. Gritting his teeth with exasperation, Rey snapped his fingers twice; the large somnolent pile of fur in the corner of his lab stirred and sat up.

"Go," he told the gorilla-lion hybrid. "See who's at the door. If they have business with me, bring them back here."

It grunted in reply; he had made it smart enough to understand words, and use a few of its own, but he'd also made sure that it was utterly subservient to his will. As it knuckled its way from the room, its mane brushing the doorframe, he turned back to his workbench. Hours of work, literally down the drain … ugh. However, he had a good idea where he'd gone wrong with the last batch. Not chimp. Orangutan. Smarter and stronger. Opening a canister, he extracted one of his seeds, then began to search through his supply of samples. I know I've got orangutan around here somewhere …

"They here."

The grunt from his guard-beast took him a little by surprise; he looked around to see a bunch of … "Kids? What the hell?" One of the teens stepped forward; Rey realised belatedly that they were all Asian to one degree or another. "Shit, you let ABB into my house?"

The guard-beast growled, and the kids shrank away from it. "No, no," protested the boy who had come forward. "We're not ABB. Not any more."

Rey looked him over. "Yeah? Prove it."

"Lung wants to kill us," blurted the one girl; she looked about thirteen, if that. "He killed Dao. Burned him to death." She appeared to be close to tears.

"Well, don't come to me for protection," Rey told her. "Lung and I have an agreement. I don't fuck with his internal policies, and he doesn't come and burn my place down around my ears. I'd like to keep it that way."

"We don't want your protection," the boy told him. "Well, not just your protection. We want to work for you."

Rey shook his head. "No, you don't get it. I work alone. If I want assistance, I make it. I grow it. That way I know it's loyal."

"How about if you owed us?" asked the boy suddenly.

"Owed you?" Rey shook his head. "I don't owe you shit."

"I got two things you'll want for sure," the kid told him, bold as brass. "You want them, you gotta let us stay here. We'll work, clean, whatever. Just let us stay."

This had to be a trick of some kind. "Yeah, like you've got anything that I want."

The kid grinned. "Okay, how about one of Lung's scales? It got ripped out the last time he fought Kaiser, and I found it."

Rey's eyes widened. "You're shitting me," he breathed.

"And that's not all," boasted the kid. "I also got a chunk of bone from Marquis."

And it had been going so well, too. "Okay, that's it. I got no time for bullshit." Rey turned to the guard-beast. "Throw 'em out. Make sure that one bounces." He pointed at the mouthy kid.

"No, wait, no!" yelled the kid. "It's true! I got 'em!" He dodged around the guard-beast's gigantic paw as it swiped at him. "I got 'em right here!"

Rey rolled his eyes. "Marquis left Brockton Bay years ago, kid. Don't even think about trying to play me."

"But he's back!" the girl insisted. "We saw him!"

An upraised hand served to halt the guard-beast. "Where did you see him? What was he doing?"

"He was in our territory," the boy told him. "We, uh, tried to rob him."

"It was Dao's idea," the girl added quickly. "He had a girl with him. His daughter or something. She's scary as fuck."

"Yeah," supplied the boy. "They got hold of Dao and told him to tell everyone that Marquis was back, and he did. And then he told Lung, and Lung killed him for it."

"And he wants to kill us too," another boy put in. "We'll be your minions. Just give us a chance."

Rey scratched his chin; it was stubbled. He hadn't shaved in a few days. When he was working on something new, he tended to forget about the basics. "I suppose you'll be wanting me to feed you, too."

The kids looked at each other hopefully. "Uh, yes?" ventured the kid with the mouth.

Rey looked them over. "Can any of you cook?"

"Uh, I can, a bit." That was the other boy.

"Right." He held out his hand. "I'll have those samples right now. Once I've determined if they're genuine, you've got a place here. But I'll want people cooking and cleaning and doing laundry and shit like that." No matter how patient he was with them, his creations never quite got the hang of separating lights and darks. "I'm not gonna let you just sit around eating my food."

"Right, right, sure," the kid agreed immediately, pulling a knotted handkerchief from his pocket. "Here."

Rey undid the knot, and the gleaming metal scale was revealed, followed by the piece of bone. Oh god, if these are genuine, what I can do with them …

Turning to his workbench, he began his tests. But somehow, he knew what the result would be.

If these are genuine, this changes everything.

Blasto was going to become a name in Brockton Bay.

<><>​

A Few Days Later

"I don't recognise the name." Claire looked at her father.

"There's no reason for you to," Marquis told her. "It's not a well-known place, which is deliberate. I certainly never took you there before we left the city."

"Somer's Rock." She pronounced it carefully. "So what's it about?"

"It's neutral ground," he explained. "Back in the days before the PRT set up shop in the city, we needed a place to meet and hash out our differences. Otherwise, we would have spent more time at war with each other than actually running our respective gangs."

"Huh. So who came up with it?"

The car came to a halt; Marquis got out, and offered his hand to Claire. She checked herself over to make sure that she was presenting the appropriate appearance to the world, then accepted it. While her dress wasn't quite as constricting on the legs as it might appear, it could still make getting in and out of a car a little bit of a trial.

The car moved off; Jonas had his instructions already. Marquis offered Claire his arm, and they strolled toward their destination, for all the world as if they were attending the opera.

"As I recall," he went on, "it was Galvanate's idea originally; he was Mob before he was a cape, so he had the background for it. He already owned the restaurant; we each paid him a portion of its value, and he gave it over to the current owners, on the condition that we could hold our business in there at any time. In return, they pay protection to nobody, and they are compensated for keeping their mouths shut."

"Don't the cops ever raid them? Try to shut them down?" She was trying to get her head around the idea.

He chuckled, the humour evident in his mind as well as his voice. "I'm going to presume that you meant the PRT. Because the police would be ill-suited to the task of breaking up a meeting of supervillains."

Her cheeks began to heat, but she suppressed the reaction. "Yeah, that's what I meant."

She could tell from the shape of his thoughts that he knew that she was lying, but neither his expression nor his tone of voice betrayed this, for which she was grateful. "I thought as much. Well, to answer your question, it has been long recognised by the PRT that having a neutral ground for criminal capes is a good idea. So while they officially don't know about it, unofficially it is left alone."

"I'm still not sure about how this works," she objected. "There are more criminal capes in Brockton Bay than the heroes and rogues put together. Surely the PRT would prefer that the gangs be at one another's throats than working under any sort of agreement?"

"Your point is valid," he agreed. "However, a cape-led gang tends to be an empire unto itself – the Empire Eighty-Eight being a case in point. In that particular situation, it's survived a generational change. Gangs are very insular; they rarely work together, even when they have no arguments with each other. Gang warfare costs the lives of innocents, especially where capes are concerned, so leaving us a place to mediate our differences is a smart move on the part of law and order."

"Okay, I get that," she observed. "But if the gangs are unlikely to work together on anything, what's to stop the PRT and Protectorate from cracking down on any one gang, and taking them down, before starting on the next one?"

"Because such a move, if unprovoked, would bring the gangs into a temporary alliance. Such an alliance would overwhelm the forces of PRT and Protectorate in the city in relatively short order, and once more threaten the citizenry with unbridled violence, an outcome not to be desired on either side." He smiled at her and continued. "I suspect that you're about to ask why the criminal element does not simply combine to eject the PRT and Protectorate from the city, if we are capable of doing just that?"

"Uh, yes," she admitted. "Why is that?"

"Because that would start a war," he informed her. "PRT and Protectorate forces from all over the nation would converge on Brockton Bay. There would be fighting in the streets, and many, many people would get hurt. Including those citizens who are the basis for our ongoing profits. Thus, it is far better for all concerned to maintain the balance which we hold today. We get our crime; they get their law and order. Everybody is happy."

"So it's not as haphazard as it looks," she realised, the moment of insight stunning her temporarily. "There's a reason it is the way it is. It's all a series of checks and balances."

"Very good, my dear," he praised her. "Very good indeed. You see it now."

"I do," she agreed. "I really do. Wow."

"Not many do, you know, not at first," he commented, bringing them to a halt before an unprepossessing building. "We're here."

"Really?" She stared at the frontage, with its fading off-white paint, green curtains dimly visible through grimy windows, the windows set behind rusting iron bars. Some of the rust had bled into the white paint that coated the window sill. "I … thought it would look more impressive. More upscale."

"That's part of the deal," he explained. "They can't improve the property in any significant way. We don't want more clientele being attracted to the place, as this might make things difficult when we're meeting here." At her expression, he raised an eyebrow. "I never said that it was a fair deal."

"Oh." Claire blinked. "I see." She concentrated. "I count … five people inside. Three men, two women." More details were showing up in her mind's eye, but she tried to stick to the relevant ones. "Nobody is hyped up on adrenaline; they're all conscious and healthy." She paused. "No firearms; or at least, nobody can smell gun oil."

"Very good." He drew himself up and pushed open the faded wooden door; she followed him in.

The word that immediately came to mind was 'dingy'. The bulbs were old and seemingly on the verge of burning out, and did not seem capable of supplying the amount of light currently flooding the place. In that light, she saw that the curtains were indeed green, but a faded, tired sort of green. Underfoot, the floorboards were a greyish colour, matching the countertop. Dirt gritted under her shoes; she wasn't quite sure when the place had been last swept, and didn't want to know.

Of the five people in her range, two were seated at a table, and three were near the bar. She was reasonably certain that the two at the table were the people with whom her father was here to meet; one was wearing metal armour and the other was glowing like a flashbulb, supplying the extra illumination. Given that they were there to meet with the Empire Eighty-Eight, identification was more or less automatic. Kaiser and Purity.

Claire decided that the other three, at the counter, were waitstaff. The two guys were near-identical, both in appearance and biometrics, while the girl was also related to them, but -

"The waitress is deaf," she murmured.

"Hm," he replied, just as quietly. "That's new. Also, useful to know."

Kaiser and Purity rose at their approach. "Marquis," Kaiser stated courteously. "It's been a while."

"It has indeed, Kaiser," Marquis replied, equally politely. "I heard about your father's passing while I was out of town. I hope you received the sympathy card I sent."

"I did, thank you," Kaiser responded. He reached out; they shook hands. Claire kept an internal eye on the crime lord for suppressed tension, and only found a moderate amount. At this range, she knew, she could affect him if necessary, especially if he attacked her father. Darkening her corneas, she observed Purity with a certain amount of curiosity; the woman seemed to be in her mid twenties, and was looking back at Claire with what seemed to be equal interest.

"Marquis, do you recall Purity?" asked Kaiser.

"I believe so," Marquis confirmed; he addressed Purity directly. "I believe that you joined the Empire very shortly before I left the city."

"Yes, I did," Purity agreed. "I don't think we ever met, though."

"I think I would have remembered, yes." Marquis took her hand and bowed over it; Claire knew that he had shut his eyes so as not to be dazzled by her radiance. "Normally I would kiss a lady's hand, but I do not wish to give offence."

Kaiser inclined his head. "None taken, either way." Turning, he looked at Claire. "And this is … Marchioness, I believe? The feminine form of Marquis?"

"Yes, I am," Claire replied. "I've heard a lot about you too, sir." Not elaborating on exactly what she'd heard, she offered her hand; he bent over it to about one degree lower than her father had with Purity's. One-upmanship, hah. Having grown up with her father's impeccable manners, she felt no more than a slight flutter in her stomach at the attention.

The contact also gave her access to his mental state; he was calculating, observant, his mind clicking over like cogs made of the same steel that clad his body; this effectively quelled the flutter. He's trying to overawe me with manners. Keep me off guard.

She could also read his attitude toward her; the respect was pretended, to make a good impression on her father. Mentally, he had already dismissed her as a significant factor. I should turn you black, you supercilious bastard. Or Asian. Or Asian and black.

But she didn't; they were meeting under an agreement of truce, and she would respect that. However, as her attitude toward him shifted toward dislike, her powers began to reassess him as a potential threat. Carefully, she suppressed any outward tells that would let him know how she felt about him. At the same time, she also stifled the semi-autonomous reaction from her powers that would cause him discomfort or even pain while they were in close proximity. A whole-body itch. I could do that. Let's see him scratch through steel armour. But no; Dad would not be happy.

And then she was facing Purity; absently, she decided that darkening her corneas made her close to blind, so she restored them to normal and instead enlarged and moved her blind spots to cover the glowing supervillain. "I'm pleased to meet you," she offered, holding out her hand.

"Likewise," Purity responded, shaking her hand. "You're Marquis' daughter? I didn't even know that he had one."

"Yes, I am." Claire found the older woman to be more spontaneous, less calculating than Kaiser. She was also somewhat in love with her boss, or Claire was totally misreading the chemical signals in her brain. "There was an incident, so he took me away. But now we're back."

"Oh, I see." Purity released her hand. She was curious, Claire knew, but her manners won out. "Well, I hope you like it here in Brockton Bay." She was actually being sincere; Claire's attitude swung toward liking her.

"Thank you; I'm sure I will." Claire allowed her father to pull out her chair for her; on the other side of the table, Kaiser likewise seated Purity.

"Now then," Kaiser stated, once they were all settled, "shall we get refreshments first?"

Claire opted for a bottle of soda, while Marquis had a cup of tea, Kaiser got coffee, and Purity asked for a glass of water. Kaiser said nothing about the waitress' disability, but both he and Purity wrote on the pad that she carried. Claire also wrote her order, as did Marquis; Kaiser showed no reaction either way, but Claire caught a tinge of disappointment. Did he expect us to make fools of ourselves? Is everything a power play with him? It seemed so.

"Before we commence our business here," began Kaiser, "I have a question." He looked at Marquis enquiringly. "Neither you nor Marchioness are masked. Does this indicate a change in the way that you will be doing business? Or do you simply consider yourself too powerful to be captured?"

Marquis smiled thinly; he was, of course, wearing the features and hair of the Marquis of old. "I no longer need to go masked," he explained enigmatically. "My real identity was uncovered and I was attacked once before. This will not happen again."

"But your daughter," protested Purity. "She can't be more than fourteen."

Claire read the concern in her mind; it matched that in her voice, whereas Kaiser was fishing for information. "It's fine," she assured the woman. "My father and I know what we are doing."

"You do realise that the PRT has closed-circuit TV cameras and facial recognition technology now," Kaiser pointed out. "They don't actively seek to unmask villains, but anyone showing their face is fair game."

Marquis's smile widened very slightly. "I wish them all the luck of the hunt. They won't get far." And they wouldn't; Claire was adept now at changing both herself and her father from their cape faces to their private faces and back again. Hair length and colour, eye colour, even bone structure; everything that 'Earl Marchant' had achieved via cosmetics and coloured contacts, Claire could make real in seconds.

Kaiser, frustrated but refusing to show it, changed the topic. "Very well. You say that you have returned to reclaim your old territory."

Marquis inclined his head. "That's what I've said, and that's what I'm going to do."

There was a dangerous edge to Kaiser's voice when he spoke next. "You do realise that when you left, the Empire Eighty-Eight took over some of the territory that you abandoned?"

Marquis, unruffled, sipped at his tea. "I'm aware. I'm also aware that a large section of it is in ABB hands. And that some of it is in the hands of the Merchants."

"And you propose to take it back from all of them?" Kaiser's voice was, if not flat-out disbelieving, at least a little dubious.

"Not all at once, of course," Marquis assured him. "But I do intend to rebuild what was once mine." His gaze upon Kaiser was calm. "I won't simply walk into your territory and take over, of course. As reasonable men, we can negotiate on the matter. Your father and I always maintained a professional standard, even when we had our differences."

"I think you will find that Brockton Bay is different today. Seven years is a long time." Kaiser, though still polite, had been slightly rattled by Marquis' casual reference to his father. Claire had to admire his control; he showed no sign of his disquiet.

"Yes. It is." Marquis sipped at his tea again. "Back then, we had Butcher and the Teeth. Galvanate. And the Nine dropped in for a visit once in a while. Today? A foul-mouthed drug dealer holds territory, and you allow him to keep it."

<><>​

Kaiser controlled his inward wince. Marquis' tone had been polite and friendly, and had cut like a razorblade hidden in a silk scarf. "It's not worth the trouble to dislodge him … " He paused, reminded of something. "Speaking of drugs."

"Yes?" Marquis' gaze was frank and open, and Kaiser mistrusted it utterly. He had met the man a few times while still in Allfather's entourage, after he had triggered but before Marquis had moved away. Marquis had a reputation; he was honourable, trustworthy and absolutely true to his word, but he could also be utterly ruthless when the need arose.

As for Marchioness – not that Kaiser was totally sure that the girl was indeed Marquis' daughter, given the almost complete lack of family resemblance – her steady gaze should not be unsettling him the way it was, but damn it, it was. Something about her made him want to avoid her gaze. Is she a Master?

"Are you aware that your daughter encountered Armsmaster in the Brockton Bay General Hospital, when she went there to exercise her healing talents?" There, chew on that.

"Of course," Marquis replied urbanely. "She told me all about it when she got home."

"Then you will know that Armsmaster had an injured prisoner, and that your daughter -" I will not use that name for her " - healed her."

"She told me about that too, yes. Your point?"

"My point," Kaiser stated, "is that -"

<><>​

Earlier

Sherrel still had the restraints on her when she was ushered – or rather shoved – into Kaiser's presence. She stopped, panting, and pushed her hair back from her face.

The room looked for all the world like a regular office, albeit with a rather oversized desk. Sherrel could easily envisage landing a helicopter on it. Kaiser himself was clad in contoured steel armour, fitting him like a second skin. Albeit, a second skin that would turn small-arms fire.

He rose from what had to be a reinforced chair – her Tinker instincts wanted to look it over – and stepped around the desk to meet her. "You would be Traction, I believe," he stated.

"Uh, yeah?" It wasn't as though she could deny it, now. She also had the impression that of all the dangerous men she had met in her life, including Hookwolf, this was the most dangerous. I don't cross this guy for any reason. Ever.

"Welcome." His voice was warm. "I hope that my men have not been too rough with you?"

She held up her arms and rattled the restraints. "Not really, but offing a guard just to make me come along, and then not letting me out of these, wasn't too friendly either."

He clucked his tongue sympathetically. "I understand fully. You've been through quite a bit since you reached Brockton Bay, haven't you?" He held up his hand, a metal strip protruding from the armoured gauntlet. "May I see your cuffs?"

"Be my guest." She allowed him to take hold of them, as he continued talking.

"Thank you. I'm afraid that my men may have been slightly overzealous, mainly because I gave them very firm instructions. Once I found out about your existence, speaking with you became my highest priority. You see, my organisation lacks a Tinker." He paused, looking her over. "I understand that your speciality allows you to create power armour?"

"It's vehicles, actually," she corrected him with a scowl as one of the cuffs popped free. "Heavy vehicles. Heavier the better."

He set to work on the other. "Well, all the better. Ms Traction, I'm willing to offer you quite a generous employment package if you will work exclusively for me."

Shit, what do I say? "I'm not … " She paused, trying to figure how to say it most diplomatically. "Uh, I don't feel the way you guys do about blacks and Asians." She braced herself for the tirade of anger.

It didn't seem to bother him. "Do you feel any particular need to protect them?" he asked, popping the second restraint free. "Blacks and Asians, I mean. Other minorities."

She snorted. "Hell no. Let 'em take their chances."

His tone was approving. "Well then, we can work together. Because, just between you and me? I find fanaticism to be quite an impediment to sound business practice. Build me vehicles and quibble not on the manner in which they are used, and I will – well, not shower you with gold, not unless you request to be paid in that fashion. But I will certainly pay you most handsomely."

His tone was reasonable, and the offer was … well, more than reasonable. Much more. She felt her objections to working with 'that racist gang' fading away.

Her mercenary instincts, scared into submission until now, kicked back into gear. "Will I get a workshop?"

"My dear, I will allow you to design a workshop, to your specifications. All expenses paid." He paused. "And speaking of expenses."

Sherrel hesitated, visions of the workshop she'd always wanted dancing in her head. No more scrounging in garbage dumps and wrecking yards for what I need. Everything laid on. All expenses paid. "Uh … what?" She had a horrible feeling that the other shoe was about to drop.

He was watching her intently. "You were attempting to steal from a pharmacy when you were captured. What is your stimulant of choice?"

She hesitated. Shit, he knows I'm an addict. "Oxy," she admitted at last in a low tone.

"Oxycontin, yes?" His tone was non-judgemental.

"Uh, yeah."

"Well, then, that can also be supplied to you. However," his tone hardened, "I will require that you keep your head clear when you are building vehicles for me. Your drug use happens on your time, not mine."

"Sure, sure," she agreed, nodding her head.

"When was the last time you took some?" She got the impression that he was eyeing her carefully.

"Uh, a week ago," she told him.

"Hm. You don't appear to be suffering any sort of withdrawal."

"The girl in the hospital," she told him. "She … she fixed it. Made it so I wasn't feeling addicted any more. That's what Armsmaster said, anyway."

"What girl in the hospital?" His voice was intent.

"The healer. Girl in black. She said she was Marquis' daughter."

"Marchioness?" He asked the question sharply.

"Uh, maybe. I don't remember. I was kind of unconscious for part of it. He said she'd fixed my addiction."

"But you still want some."

"Hell yes. No bitch is gonna tell me what I can and can't be addicted to."

"Well spoken," he praised her. Going back to the desk, he pressed a button on the intercom and gave orders. "Now, then," he told her. "Tell me everything you're going to need for this workshop of yours. Leave nothing out."

"Uh, okay," she agreed, and began to talk.

<><>​

Just a few minutes later, a skinhead trotted in with a paper packet in his hand. Kaiser pointed at the girl, who was now seated in a chair. "Give it to her."

As the skinhead left the room, she ripped open the packet and shook a pill out into her hand. There was a look on her face, midway between yearning and apprehension. If she had any sort of willpower, he told himself, she would throw that packet far away. To have the monkey of addiction riding on your back, day after day, and then have the chance to be done with it, and not take it? That's why I'm in charge and she will be doing my bidding.

Tilting her head back, she popped the pill and dry-swallowed it. "I've been waiting for this ..." she mumbled, more to herself than to him.

And then she heaved, vomiting up the pill, along with a mix of what must have been prison food. Sliding from the chair, she ended up on all fours, heaving out her stomach contents on to his expensive carpet.

He started toward her, but the damage was already done. He would have to have the entire carpet taken up and burned. As for her …

Grabbing her by the arm, he jerked her to her feet. She was groggy, almost unable to stand, but with his support, she managed it. "What the hell was that?" he demanded. If she's suffering from something, and she hasn't told me …

"What the hell was that?" she shot back, then belched uneasily.

"Are you ill?" he asked. "Do you need a doctor?"

"No, I was feeling fine. Until I took your fucking oxy. What sort of shit was that?"

He took the packet from her limp fingers and examined the label. It held the appropriate information. "It was oxycontin. High grade oxycontin."

"Can't have been." She shook her head and swayed. "It was like poison."

"I assure you, I have absolute confidence about the quality of our drugs." That was because much of them were refined in the Medhall labs, after hours. He paused. "If it's not the drug, then … you were cured of your addiction, yes? By Marquis' daughter?"

"Yeah, why?" Her dull eyes fixed on him, then cleared as the penny dropped. "That bitch!"

"Hmm," he mused. "I'll have to have the rest of the batch tested, but if it's really the case … this is most interesting. Most interesting indeed."

<><>​

Somer's Rock

"Yes, I did that," Claire confirmed. "I knew that if I just left things the way they were, she would be addicted again as soon as she got access to drugs, so I put in a physiological aversion to the drug. It'll wear off, but in the meantime, she can't indulge without suffering a violent reaction."

"So I am to understand, then, that you can affect brain chemistry?" His voice was hard. "Instil compulsions?"

"No, I can't affect the brain," she lied smoothly. "This was merely a temporary modification to her digestive system. And for that, I needed skin to skin contact for several minutes."

"Indeed," Marquis observed, picking up the ball without missing a beat. "It's not exactly subtle. Her main focus is on healing. That, she can do from a foot or so away, if she concentrates."

As he spoke, she blessed him in her mind, but mostly she was focusing on Kaiser. To remove his disbelief would be too heavy-handed; she instead leaned on his critical faculties, amplifying the lack of respect he already felt for her, reducing her importance in his mind. Subtly, she encouraged his brain to build corroborating arguments in his mind. And last but not least, she dulled the critical faculties watching over his own thought processes. Everything's perfectly fine.

"That's all well and good," he decided, "but the problem here is that she can cure addicts, and make it stick."

"I don't see the problem with that," Marquis commented mildly.

Claire read an agreement within Purity's thought processes, but Kaiser was speaking again. "The problem is that each of the major gangs relies on drug distribution for a significant proportion of our profits. Curing addicts, permanently, removes that from us."

"I still fail to see the problem," Marquis observed. "I never sold drugs, and I'm not about to start."

Attention was well and truly off of Claire now. Kaiser stared at Marquis. "No drugs? Really?"

"Really. I despise the practice, especially where drugs are sold to schoolchildren, or women are forcibly addicted to drive them into a life of prostitution." Marquis put down his teacup. "If Marchioness proposes to cure every addict in the city, I will support her in this, one hundred percent."

Kaiser put his hands on the table. "You propose to do away with a significant percentage of the profits of the Empire Eighty-Eight." His tone was dangerous.

"On the contrary," Marquis pointed out. "You are now ahead of the curve. If you sell your stockpiled drugs to your competitors right now, at a discount but above cost, you make a profit and you're no longer saddled with a commodity that's going to have far more supply than demand in the near future."

"And in the long term?" He didn't sound convinced. "What is to replace it?"

"Well, I intend to go and have a heart-to-heart talk with this Skidmark fellow, in the Merchants. Explain to him why he can't deal drugs to children any more." Marquis' tone was deceptively mild. "I suspect that he'll see reason. It won't be a choice that's hard for even him to understand; leave the city or ... don't." He raised an eyebrow. "I'll only want some of the territory. Would you be interested in the rest?"

"Hmm. An interesting offer. One I'll have to think about." Kaiser rose to his feet, followed by Purity; Marquis and Claire followed suit.

"Don't take too long about it," Marquis advised him cordially. "The offer won't last forever."

Kaiser nodded. "I understand. Thank you; it's been an interesting meeting."

"Likewise." Marquis shook his hand politely. "Do give my best to Krieg."

In the meantime, Purity was speaking with Claire. "Can you really cure addictions?"

"Sure. It's easier than cancer."

It wasn't easy to tell, but the glowing woman's eyes may have widened. Her tone was certainly startled. "You can cure cancer?"

Claire gave her a smile. "Go check with the oncology ward at Brockton Bay General. Tell 'em I sent you." She extracted a card from the small handbag that hung from her wrist. "My card."

Purity examined it, then put it away. "Thank you."

"No problems. See you around."

"I look forward to it."

Claire watched as Purity and Kaiser walked out; Marquis came to stand beside her.

"Well," she declared cheerfully, "I think that went well." He gave her a distinctly appraising stare. "What?"

"How much of that was you affecting his brain?" His tone was not quite censorious, but sounded as though it could turn that way in a moment.

"Some, but not all that much," she admitted. "When he was asking if I could affect brain chemistry. Also, I was keeping him off balance so that he couldn't concentrate fully on everything you were saying. And I may have tweaked him just a little so that he's more accepting of your no-drugs policy."

"Marchioness, my dear," he replied, his voice mildly reproving, "that was neutral ground."

"And he came to the table determined not to give you any kind of concession," she pointed out. "He was just after information on you. On us." She shrugged. "And besides. It's Kaiser. He's a douche. Trust me, I saw it in his mind."

As they exited the restaurant, he cleared his throat. "A young lady does not use language like that."

"Sorry." She looked up at him. "But I couldn't think of anything else strong enough for him."

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin. "Next time? Clear anything like that with me first."

"Sure thing." She slid her arm through his. "Where to now?"

"Now?" He smiled slightly. "Are you up for a visit to the Merchants?"

Her answering smile was razor-edged. "I thought you'd never ask."


End of Part Six

Part Seven

 

[Asheram]

Hehehehe. That's our girl.

 

[Starfox5]

Oh, sneaky Amelia. Quite a nice meeting, and good insight into the gang politics and policies.

 

[Chojomeka]

Heh, looks like Purity might end up heading for the Marche at this rate.

 

[BBJimmy]

Heh, looks like Purity might end up heading for the Marche at this rate.

Click to shrink...

Not a bad thing by any measure. Claire could do with an older sister figure, especially with the absence of Abigail in her life right now. That they could/would use the opportunity to deal with her Nazi-leanings would only be a plus, both for the Marche and Kayden personally.

 

[Ack]

Not a bad thing by any measure. Claire could do with an older sister figure, especially with the absence of Abigail in her life right now. That they could/would use the opportunity to deal with her Nazi-leanings would only be a plus, both for the Marche and Kayden personally.

Click to shrink...

So, Abigail returns and finds that Marquis has an ex-E88 girlfriend. This could get interesting

 

[alethiophile]

"Hell yes. No bitch is gonna tell me what I can and can't be addicted to."

Click to shrink...

*eyeroll*

You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink, apparently.

Also, I guess "Traction" is a mildly better name than "Squealer". Mildly.

 

[edale]

The truck lurched again, but Sherrel had already braced herself. Her Tinker speciality was vehicles, the bigger and more unwieldy the better, but she had a feel for any vehicle and how it moved.

Click to shrink...

Specialty.

Also, I thought the bigger/more unwieldy part of Squeeler's 'specialty' was more an effect of the drugs and lack of resources. I was under the impression that if Squeeler was sober and had adequate resources she'd be able to design vehicles much better looking/functional.

 

[BBJimmy]

So, Abigail returns and finds that Marquis has an ex-E88 girlfriend. This could get interesting

Click to shrink...

Hey now, I never said anything about her and Marquis getting together, just that she could fill a hole in Claire's social circle.

Besides, we all know shipping Kayden and Danny leads to far more interesting fallout anyways

 

[SwiftRosenthal]

So, Abigail returns and finds that Marquis has an ex-E88 girlfriend. This could get interesting

Click to shrink...

Considering that Marquis is one of those few characters who is legitimately charming enough to pull a one-man-many-women polyamorous relationship (aka a harem without the anime baggage) without magical or other assistance? I could see it.

 

[Ack]

Specialty.

Click to shrink...

British spelling. Not an actual speech or thought process, so I'll spell it the way I see it

Also, I thought the bigger/more unwieldy part of Squeeler's 'specialty' was more an effect of the drugs and lack of resources. I was under the impression that if Squeeler was sober and had adequate resources she'd be able to design vehicles much better looking/functional.

Click to shrink...

I would think that lack of resources would mandate smaller vehicles

Personally, I think the lack of elegance and taste is an effect of the drugs. Bigger vehicles is her speciality

Hey now, I never said anything about her and Marquis getting together, just that she could fill a hole in Claire's social circle.

Click to shrink...

Well, she does have a habit of falling for the boss

Besides, we all know shipping Kayden and Danny leads to far more interesting fallout anyways

Click to shrink...

Well now, that could also be interesting.

Considering that Marquis is one of those few characters who is legitimately charming enough to pull a one-man-many-women polyamorous relationship (aka a harem without the anime baggage) without magical or other assistance? I could see it.

Click to shrink...

I think he would wait until one relationship was over before starting on the next.