Mettle [Worm AU]

[Harbin]

This is a chapter that goes into depth about experimenting with potential power uses and having fun with Danny.

There may be terrible jokes.

I do not apologize.

As for combining things, MacGyvering things using other elements, what I'm going to try stay consistent to is a certain level of improvisation. Mistakes will be made, and things may work/not work.

She doesn't have access to a lot of the materials that might make 'optimal' armor. Stuff like aerogel, bulletproof polymers, type iv body armor, etc, exists to some extent. Tinkers can obviously make better stuff, but they're limited in production/maintenance/whatever.

His armor was the same, only it was too large to bring on the craft. A veritable mountain of construction grade steel, as light as aluminum, with the decoration of a third set.

Click to shrink...

Canon Chevalier wears a mech. (Hidden in his dimension.) I haven't decided if that's the end goal, but it's something to aspire to.

 

[Harbin]

2.2​

My upper limit was five. That was if I was willing to focus almost entirely on keeping those together. It was like pushing continuously against something while assembling a rubik's cube from scratch. If the objects I was putting together were different, the pressure grew worse at a steady rate. It became unbearable after about one to five minutes, depending on how bad of a headache I wanted afterward. The pain didn't last for that long afterward, but it was not like flexing a muscle to try improve it. It was like trying to dump milk over my arm to make the bone stronger. It felt about as useless, anyway. I couldn't think of any situations where five would be more useful than four or three.

I worked my way down from there.

Four was nowhere near as bad, but was difficult. I couldn't do it on multiple things at once, or not for long. If they were similar, it got easier. It required constant maintenance, and I couldn't finely tune things. Sometimes, it would shift between the aspects I'd decided, and I'd have to reaffirm them. If I didn't, the aspects would slide about, and I'd be caught up trying to push those back into place, but then other things would come apart-

It was like a game of jenga except the pieces were phasing into each other and they could fall out at any point. Okay. Not a great comparison.

Three was reasonable. It took some concentration, but as long as the pieces were similar, it didn't take up as much concentration. If they were very similar, it was almost as little as two non-similar pieces being melded.

My power's "limits" were not clearly defined in some aspects. I wondered if other people had trouble like I did. It was much easier with Dad's help, though.

Especially when we melded a towel to my glasses. That was interesting. I could see through it if I gave it the properties of my glasses, all while it being opaque to everyone else. It came about after I talked about my half-assed sheet idea. I wondered if this extended to things like breathability. It would certainly cover a lot of expenses if I could stick a cloth patch in one "layer" of melded material and have it cover the whole "I need air to live" conundrum.

It was interesting to think of potential uses with that, and especially cool for potentially disguising my identity or something. He suggested it so that I'd have a way to conceal my identity twice over, make them think I have different powers or something.

Except with a scarf or like a piece of silk or something, not a towel. In case that wasn't obvious. Dad made a few jokes about it. The Amazing Flannel Girl. Towel Woman.

I returned fire with: "I've cottoned onto your plans, evil-doer."

We laughed together.

That was a good distraction from the fact that everything we did was grounded in two things. It needed to be cheap, and it needed to be out of sight. After the talk, he still wanted to go public with it.

I had agreed, but I wanted some kind of defense against Sophia. That's why we were at the motel. Home didn't really feel safe now that we knew she could get in at any time she wanted. Dad had thought of Kurt and Lacey, and we both immediately vetoed the idea.

It felt an awful lot like a horror movie.

Dad had gone to work. Late, because he got us cell phones beforehand. I was sad, in a way. But, I was happy. Dad looked more satisfied and happy, and we were watching movies at night before we slept.

I could not get a hang of the cell phone. I felt like Dad with computers, constantly asking questions that made sense, but made me feel silly. Okay, they sounded stupid to me, but now we were both on the other end, so they made a lot more sense.

He tried calling his contact in the media once we'd straightened things out. A Tom Bailey had answered. He'd listened to the potential story, and refused to report it without any proof. It could blackball him for life, ruin his career, his wife would take the kids and divorce. The whole nine yards. I felt even worse for having cleaned the room, and Dad looked a lot more glum after that.

I had wanted to go shopping for more potential materials today. Mostly at the junkyard, but we'd agreed that a fifteen year old girl in the junkyard would draw suspicion. My extra schoolwork was done at the library.

I had switched to a different hoodie that I hadn't worn in at least- a while. Before the bullying started. It was a vibrant red, and I knew exactly why I'd stopped wearing it. I remembered the comments they'd made back then.

I combined it with the second iteration of the armor we'd made. This one was made of "woven" iron strips. I had melded it with clay, first. I wore gloves, because I wasn't exactly sure what would end up flaking off. Or what would happen if iron stuck onto my hands like clay. It was rolled out into thin strips after scraping off the rust. Then, they were stacked in circles, each at least two inches thick. The first try collapsed under its own weight, so I'd had add butcher paper into the combination, giving it the weight of the paper. Then, halfway through, I'd fixed the structural stability of most of the pieces back to iron.

Making armor with super powers was rough. It was also incredibly fun, and this was just the outer layer. The second layer was my shirt, which was made up of iron strips combined into yarn, then woven together into the shittiest makeshift sweater I'd ever seen. The interlocking strips of metal were firmly in place, and while I'd hoped to make it something more akin to chainmail, it was a sort of failed experiment? Kind of? It still worked as armor, and looked a heck of a lot nicer than my cobbled pieces of rusty scrap stitched together with wire.

My mind buzzed with possibilities and things I could integrate. I wondered if this was how tinkers felt when they finished a plasma gun. And here I'd carefully constructed medieval armor, using historical methods of melding metal with yarn. I felt a tad behind the curve.

I'd repeated this with my pants, and my bike shorts.

I finally made iron shoes. I also wanted to make gloves, but all we had were work gloves, and my winter gloves had been lost in the great laundry war. I suspected desertion through the washing machine.

Lastly, I melded the sweatshirt with a lovingly made representation crafted from tape, frustration, and butcher paper. It was firstly an experiment to me, to see how long it would take before it got irritating. Secondly, because I wanted to see how light I could make my equipment for myself.

I was happy, even when things chewed at the back of my head about how things would go downhill. Things felt good. I had told Dad, he hadn't gotten (too) upset, he had accepted that Sophia was probably a psycho killer, and we were figuring things out.

There were bad parts. We couldn't afford to live at the motel forever. For all we knew, Sophia was wrecking the place. Or just throwing parties there. I wasn't sure which was worse. I had completed most of the schoolwork, and turning it in online meant that there were very few ways it could be stolen.

For now, because I wanted to, because I had time, I went out shopping. My hood was up, my hair was concealed. I'd briefly considered cutting it, and then decided against it. I'd wear something to cover it in costume or something. Or something. I was already kind of concealing it here.

So, I went to the market. I wasn't precisely going to go buy dresses. Maybe a scarf, if I could find one. After all, it would be really cool to have. And maybe I kind of wanted to be a little like Patriot.

I also maybe had some fantasies about catching bullets in the scarf and letting them fall to the ground. Without superhuman reflexes it wasn't really possible, but there were other things I could do with it.

Fifty bucks. That was my limit.

Hoodie, shirt, pants, bike shorts, shoes. I could barely feel it as I walked along. The hoodie was noticeable, but not a pressure. The similarity in items made a serious difference.

The stalls smelled good. There were all kinds of food. It was brisk, and there was a lot of hot chocolate. Someone had s'mores. I wondered which stall it had come from. I continued down the way. It wasn't nearly as crowded as it could get on the weekends, but it was nice.

Then, I caught a glimpse of it.

Eyes, roving around, blinking in and out of existence, in the air. Around, above someone in the crowd. I could see the amalgam of mismatched eyes, a different one opening after one closed.

I moved away immediately. One blinked open, blue-green, staring at me.

"Excuse me. Sorry." I pushed my way through people. No way, no how. I wasn't sure which Ward or Protectorate member that was, but I was not getting near them.

I ended up not getting my scarf. I did get some hot chocolate, though.

$49.50. I'd try again tomorrow.

 

[dasstan]

Hi, Lisa!

 

[buttplugged]

I had completed most of the schoolwork, and turning it in online meant that there were very few ways it could be stolen.

Click to shrink...

Why wasn't she doing so before, if this had always been an option?

 

[Ack]

Remember, combining power?

Flexible and strong are handled much more effectively just merging a normal shirt in, ordinary fabric is easier to get and better than either of those at it really. Strong and knife proof we've already seen is handled great by just using a vaguely armour shaped piece of metal, because thick plate is stronger and much more knife proof than chain mail. Good for taking impacts too, but you could probably merge in a foam suit or something for that more easily, have the merged metal plate make up for the lower strength. That or just merge an actual bulletproof vest in and don't screw around. Lots of things make solid insulators, none of it's too useful without a grounding point, just paper would be far more cost effective as an electrical insulators too.

So that's what, take the current armour and add paper for good electrical insulators and possibly a bulletproof/foam vest for helping impact reduction? But yeah, chain mail and aerogel aren't that easy to get, exploit the combining.

Click to shrink...

Don't worry about the weight. If Chevalier can heft a 60 foot cannonblade, Taylor can handle a chainmail vest.

 

[Alexcorvin]

I think the problem here is we're comparing Taylor to Chevalier from Canon Worm. We automatically know powers aren't always expressed the same way, even when they essentially look the same. For all we know, Chevalier was physically stronger than Twig Taylor (I know she's not anorexic, but she makes a damn close appearance to it). If Taylor were to 'bulk up', i.e., do exercises daily and eat healthy, say six months from 'now' (i.e., time period of the story at current) she could probably match some of what Chevalier was able to pull off, physically, though that won't really make up for being stick thin.

 

[Harbin]

Why wasn't she doing so before, if this had always been an option?

Click to shrink...

You know how some teachers refuse to take emailed work? Or want stuff handwritten, because it'll "teach good habits"? Or just don't really care about teaching? My thought process is that they're only allowing this because they're extending the privilege to Sophia.

Don't worry about the weight. If Chevalier can heft a 60 foot cannonblade, Taylor can handle a chainmail vest.

Click to shrink...

Or three.

 

[Harbin]

This is another chapter where not much happens, but decisions are made. Things will pick up after this.

 

[Harbin]

2.3​

Was the person of many creepy eyes stalking me? No, that wasn't right. Sophia hadn't heard what the shadow-thing had said to her. Or if she did, I couldn't hear it. It seemed more likely that it was some kind of representation of their power, or maybe something related to it.

This was probably their patrol route. Nevertheless, today was the second day in a row I'd seen them. This time I didn't immediately leave. I kept at least three people away from them, carefully moving by.

The eyes tracked my movements, three of them seeming to focus on me before shifting, looking at stalls, looking at people. Green, grey, brown. Each had different sized pupils.

I kept moving.

"Hey-, wait up-" Nope. Good luck. No thanks. A female voice, my mind faintly registered. How had she noticed me? Were the eyes actually her power? "Hey!"

Not listening. I already had what I came for, a silk scarf. What Patriot's looked like before she'd updated her look. Could I get sued for copyright infringement? Was that a thing? Your honor, I didn't have the money to get expensive scarves for my costume so I just bought some stuff from the street stalls.

It cost me ten bucks, so that was good. Wrapping it around my hoodie would have made me feel a little too ridiculous. I settled for stuffing it into my pocket and worrying about it later.

I had also picked up some faux-leather gloves that I was assured was real lambskin. My unimpressed expression bargained that falsehood down to five bucks. They looked decent on the outside, were comfortable, and that was good enough. They were on my hands now, and they looked reasonably nice.

I wouldn't be winning any fashion competitions, but it was another step forward, and that felt nice. I only stopped moving when I could look back and not see her anymore. Eye-lady hadn't kept following me after my initial burst of movement, but I had wanted to make sure.

The fringes of the marketplace had less in the way of goods I wanted, surplus clothing that smelled like cigarette smoke, plastic toys, and records. I moved past them, not really paying too much attention as I made my way back to the motel. I considered it a pretty big success. My power was still a light occasional reminder that it was in place, and I had plans for the gloves and scarf.

To be entirely honest, I felt a little giddy. I wasn't sure what to do with it, so I put it into working on the gloves and scarf once I'd got home. Working with clay-iron was proving to be very soothing. Whether it was because I was using my power to break the laws of physics and that was interesting, or because if it was just a soothing activity, it felt good.

There was butcher paper all over the floor, and I'd ended up needing to meld the steel-clay with it in order to stack it up. When finished, I'd made about two inches of metal with the same proportions of the scarf.

I removed the paper and the clay, melding the metal into the scarf, making it light, flexible, soft. This was so cool. I wrapped it around my hand, faking punches with it, and then unraveling it to swipe through the air. I didn't hit anything with it, but I didn't want to potentially end up killing anything or anyone.

The gloves were next, and harder. How was I supposed to make clay-metal into gloves? Making shirts and hoodies were all good and fine, but the fingertips of gloves eluded me. I ended up making reasonable facsimiles with the steel-clay and then carving a hole into it my hand could fit into. They looked more like bloated boxing gloves with fat fingers attached to them.

It worked. I was amazed and relieved.

Dad came home around five minutes after that, and apparently I hadn't noticed the mess I'd made of the place. There was a lot of iron stuck to the butcher paper, along with rust. We bundled it up and threw it out, then went out to have dinner.

Burgers and fries counted as dinner, right?

He quizzed me on my schoolwork. It felt good. Both to have him care enough to do so, and the interaction. I showed him what I'd done, and he tried to lift the scarf. I made it as heavy as it should be, and he was unable to do so. Then I lifted it, pretending to strain under the effort before twirling it around, putting it around my shoulders.

Dad laughed. Then, his expression grew thoughtful. "Taylor, have you thought of carrying around some kind of clay?"

I didn't follow his train of thought, so I answered, "Uh?"

"You could carry around some wet clay and model it into things. You know, like search and rescue. If there's a car on someone, or a girder, you could meld them, and lift it off." Oh, that was a good idea. He also probably didn't want me to get into danger, and his suggestion might have been inspired from that.

"That's- a really good idea, Dad. I'll be sure to put that in the utility belt." He chuckled in response, but he was smiling. That was good. It also gave me other ideas. If I could put a pebble inside a steel sphere, I'd be able to use it as a pretty effective weapon.

We watched a movie, and he went to sleep first.

I walked outside, armor on, gloves on, scarf wrapped around my neck. I wasn't going to go do anything rash. There was just a certain level of desire to step outside like this, feeling like my "costume" was almost complete. To show it off. I hadn't thought of a hero name for myself. I felt more comfortable like this, clad in armor that probably bordered on weighing a ton by this point.

It was tempting to go on a jog. I could potentially run into a situation where I could try out my powers, and use it as an excuse. Couldn't sleep, wanted to move. It just happened, sorry.

I went back inside, pulled off the armor, got dressed in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, and went to bed.

 

[buttplugged]

I love the representation of Lisa's power.

 

[dasstan]

I love the representation of Lisa's power.

Click to shrink...

I'm pretty sure it's straight outta canon.

 

[Biigoh]

I love the representation of Lisa's power.

Click to shrink...

That's the canonical representation of Lisa's power

 

[Ack]

I wanna see her stomp on Sophia's foot with a ton of iron.

 

[dasstan]

I wanna see her stomp on Sophia's foot with a ton of iron.

Click to shrink...

And that's the story of how Shadow Stalker became Shadow Stumper.

 

[Harbin]

2.4​

It was an odd feeling to wake up to what sounded like road work, and not one that I would wish on anyone. The sound vibrated in my head, and my head hurt. I groaned. It was a motel, but I wish they'd put a blanket over it or something. I gave up trying to sleep. It was impossible. The work would stop for a minute or two, giving me hope.

These were dashed across the asphalt as they resumed work. Please.

I sighed, clamping the pillow over my head before giving up. I stretched, turning the television on, turning it up. Now it was just an uncomfortable mess of noise. Flicking between channels did not help. "STRATOCUMUL- OVER BROCK- AEGIS- FOR 19.99, ORDER- TODAY, HERO AND HIS APPR-" Oh, that one was some guy singing. It was smooth enough that the beatings outside didn't interfere too much with it. It was probably autotuned, but I just kept stretching. The bass and drums distracted enough from the roadwork. I stripped, took a shower. It was nice and hot, and I could pay some nice attention to my skin and hair. I let it hit my face for a while, then my neck and back. It eased the headache, and the rhythmic drops let me filter out the noise.

With that done, I stared into the mirror while drying off. My face was unimpressive. Blurry with the steam, so I rubbed the mirror down a bit and made some faces. It made me remember taking pictures of each other's faces. Fuck you, Emma.

I finished drying off and began pulling on underthings. Then, I looked at the floor next to my bed, and blinked. No, it wasn't my shitty eyesight.

Huh. I hadn't tested that before. Hadn't really thought of that. My armor laid on the floor, still melded. Shrugging, I pulled it on. The scarf went around my neck, the gloves were shoved into the hoodie's pockets.

My hair wouldn't dry for a while yet, but- the armor felt nice to be wearing. It wasn't like anyone I knew saw me yesterday, either. I promised myself I wouldn't make a habit of this.

Sitting there, yawning, listening to the music for a bit longer- it was nice. But it only took a few minutes before I couldn't ignore the grinding noise outside any longer.

I walked outside, making my way to the library. The hood of my sweatshirt was left down so that my hair could keep drying.

It felt reasonably safe. I had armor, all around me. These normal people around me, if they suddenly got hit by a bullet or a knife, they'd just die. I had multiple layers of armor. It felt odd, like I'd kind of separated myself from them in a sense. I wondered if heroes like Aegis felt this way. Maybe that's why he'd picked his name, so he could protect those weaker than him.

My headache continued to ease as I kept walking, so I started contemplating potential hero stuff. Both things I'd looked up on PHO, and my own personal experiences. Anecdotal, but still somewhat relevant regarding this. I was more in E88 territory than anywhere else, so it wasn't like I was likely to get jumped. Maybe I'd be offered drugs. When I could honestly say Nazis were the least trouble I was likely to have I was far more worried about the Teeth.

Butcher dying a few months back had only set up for another one to take her place. It had made national news. The Undersiders had garnered serious attention after that. With one of their biggest hitters gone, they had mostly disappeared from the public eye. Or at least, from my research.

Honestly, I was just glad that the Slaughterhouse 9 hadn't moved in along with Nilbog at this point. The heroes seemed like they were spread thin.

The last time they'd showed up had been in Chicago, months back. The speech King had made was online. They'd picked up two "recruits" there, leaving only a hundred dead. Only. Revel, Annex, Tecton, dead. Tread, Oberon, Bolthole, along with several other villains, dead. There were at least another hundred, well, gone. Courtesy of Gray Boy and his "sister", Gristle Girl. King had entitled it an art exhibit, to which all were welcome to enjoy.

I had made the easy decision to not look for images.

Back on less ominous yet still scary things, it was interesting how many people I walked by had powers. Some of their glimmering spectres were clearer, brighter than others. I walked by one as I made my way to the library. One was weak. Stylized lines growing from his skin, whirling around him slowly, drawing things inward. I could see lines extending outward until they were cut off by the edge of the "window". His shaved head and faded tattoos let me know he definitely was not a hero. I didn't spend much time near him, and looked away after he had glared at me. I didn't spend too much time looking at other people's power-things after that. In total, I hurriedly walked by at least four more.

Two were together.

I tried not to break into a run. I succeeded, so when I finally made my way into the library, I collapsed at a computer in relief.

There were about ten minutes of glorious, wonderful, stress-free bliss before the road work started up again.

Wait. That wasn't road work. That definitely wasn't road work. Uh.

I looked around me. Someone was already making a call to the Protectorate, by the expression on his face and how he was screaming at the operator to 'get some heroes over here or we're all going to die, you fucking cunt, do you understand?'

A lot more people were filming the twenty foot woman fighting the fifteen foot trash monster.

Oh. Shit. Maybe the guy on the phone had a point.

I elected to call Dad. He picked up on the second ring. "Hello, Daniel Hebert speaking at the-"

"Dad. There's a fight going on outside. I'm going to help. Not going to fight if I can. Okay?" I said the words rapidfire as I moved into the bathroom. Oh thank god there was nobody in here.

"Taylor." He paused, and I heard the crackly, staticky intake of breath. "Don't- please don't get hurt. Stay safe."

"Okay. I'll do my best. I love you, Dad." My voice cracked with emotion and I pulled the hood down, taking the scarf off as I walked into a bathroom stall.

"I love you, sweetheart. Be safe." Dad sounded like he was about to cry. I cut the connection. If he said more, I don't think I could go out there. I pressed my glasses into the scarf, then wrapped it around my face, tying it in the back, tying my hair down as best I could.

Hood up. Concentrate. I opened my eyes, and I could see through the scarf, as if it was glass. Or, well, my glasses. I pulled on the gloves, opening the stall door and glancing at myself in the mirror as I passed. I looked silly, except for the "mask". That looked odd. A sheet of some stars, some stripes, with no indication of eye holes, nothing.

I had the choice of plastic, mothballs, or iron to smell in. Plastic was the least egregious, so I settled on that as I walked out.

Wards and Protectorate weren't here yet.

Thunder-thighs and Trash-man were still duking it out. Okay, maybe I was just jealous of her figure. She slammed him with a giant shield, and chunks fell off of him while he stumbled backward into the building opposite to the library.

I was half-tempted to simply turn around and walk back into the building. How could I help, in this? Two giants fighting. Both were villains, right?

Whichever the giant was, Fenja or Menja, and the Trash-guy was part of the Merchants. They were both powerhouses my power didn't feel on the same scale with.

Okay. Negative thoughts weren't helping. Maybe I couldn't fight them head on. What could I do? I could look for anyone trapped, or needing help, maybe shield them from the falling bits of building and trash.

Garbage-golem struck back, throwing (F/M)enja into a building. Windows shattered, falling and I moved, shoes hitting pavement. The glass wasn't a problem with my armor, and I tried to grab anyone who was injured. Damn I was weak. I was so used to toying around with entire sheets of steel, playing with clay, this was a heads up as to my physical fitness.

There was a guy in the middle of the road. He had a suit on, and part of it was mucked up with sweat and dirt. I looked him over for injuries. A glass shard in his shoulder that he was tugging at.

"Hey. Hey, can you hear me?" I pulled his hand away from the glass, and tried to hoist him to his feet. His hand kept tracing up to try yanking it from the wound. He blinked a lot.

I cursed, and started pulling him by both his arms, as he stumbled after me. After a tense thirty seconds, with the ground shaking every time the titans decided they needed to hit each other especially hard, I managed to settle the guy on the side.

"Hey! You!" I pointed at a girl filming the confrontation with a smartphone. "Keep this guy from taking the glass out of his shoulder. I think he's in shock. I'm going back in to help people."

She blinked and looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. "Please, he could die if he takes it out."

The girl slowly put her phone away, taking the man's hands, keeping him from weakly reaching up.

Shit. Shit, shit shit.

I ran forward, trying to figure out what I could do. Trash golem was now closer to me, so I ran toward it, looking up. Was the entire thing a sort of monstrous villain? Did he absorb trash? I tried to look for his spectre, and the image was unhelpful.

A field of rats. They ran over each other, running up each other, biting, eating at each other, endless and- Ah! There was the center.

I couldn't get to it. Did I tell giant villain lady?

Fortunately, that decision was made for me.

And unfortunately, I guess. A white figure leapt from a rooftop, touching giant lady before hitting the ground on his feet, as if he hadn't just jumped forty damn feet down.

She was no longer moving, unnaturally still, her shield extended outward, one of her legs raised slightly off the ground. Clockblocker. Trash-guy ran forward, and I ran at him. How did this guy stand the stench of his own stuff?

I threw myself at the left "leg", and bulled straight through it, with all the force and weight my armor lent me.

The ground came up fast at my face on the other side of the wall of trash. My gloved hands smacked against it, arresting my movement as I turned around.

"He's in there!" I pointed at the right side upper side of the trash. It slowly topped to the side, and then clambered back, creating a new leg out of excess trash.

"Mush! You can come in peacefully or with a beating. I like the former. You stink." Clockblocker's voice was kind of echoey through the helmet.

Oh, so Garbage Guy's name was Mush. Now I just needed to find out if that was Fenja or Menja, or if they were secretly triplets.

 

[Biigoh]

Wait... clockblocker just did what?

And unfortunately, I guess. A white figure leapt from a rooftop, touching giant lady before hitting the ground on his feet, as if he hadn't just jumped forty damn feet down.

Click to shrink...

Did he suddently get brute/mover ratings or... no... smart money is on tinker tech in his suit.

 

[Ack]

Wait... clockblocker just did what?



Did he suddently get brute/mover ratings or... no... smart money is on tinker tech in his suit.

Click to shrink...

Took a level in badass is what he did.

 

[Unclouded]

Huh. I just assumed Vista was helping him from nearby.

 

[dasstan]

I ship it. I'm always a sucker for Dennis and Taylor.

Shipping aside, I wonder how the timestop interacts with the multi-object nature of Taylor's stuff? I wonder if she could bypass it by unmerging the frozen aspect, or if switching out that aspect for something else would allow her to keep the inviolable property while letting her move it? I smell a delightful power synergy~

 

[Harbin]

2.5​

I smelled. I really smelled. It was like a miasma. It could rate as a superpower. I really didn't want to burn this scarf. Could I like, combine it with silicone or something to wash this off? This decision was one that I would always regret.

Was there a superpower I could use not to feel nauseous? I'd really prefer that one right now, please.

Eugh. I looked back up, and Clockblocker dodged backward out of Mush's clumsy swipe. Or- Wait, I was sure Mush was going to hit him.

"Alright then, I guess it's the second option. We'll just have to mop the floor with you!" I groaned. That wasn't even a good quip.

Mush made another swing at Clockblocker, and the hero just ran straight forward, holding his hand out to the right side.

This time, I spotted it, and it gave me a headache. The space between Clockblocker's hand and Mush's trash suddenly got a lot shorter, distorted in a way that looked like Picasso told Dalí they should team up with Escher. For an LSD party. Then it snapped back as his hand made contact with Mush's arm.

Mush moved the arm, and it came off from the point of which Clockblocker had touched it.

"Damn, Mush. You look like you're falling apart on me. Try to keep it togethe-" He didn't manage to finish the quip as Mush slammed his other trash-hand down.
Clockblocker simply rolled forward, and space did that thing again, allowing him to tap both legs and still somehow make it through. The golem slowly toppled forward, reforming into something smaller- and some pretty big pieces that were breaking off were further away.

Another person dropped from the roof, landing with about as much of a fuss as Clockblocker had. Green-blue armor plates, with a full-face visor. A skirt with wavy green lines moved their way up and her bodysuit.

Vista. I'd suspected after I saw the distortion, but I hadn't been sure. She was bright. Her shadow was obvious, and I looked away as my stomach churned.

"And my wonderful partner joins me at last-" Clockblocker tagged Mush's reforming legs again. "Come on, buddy. Give up and let live. I don't want to tag every piece of trash here."

Vista didn't talk, glancing over at me. I put my hands up.

"Not an enemy. Have powers, thought I could help out before you guys showed up." I tried to speak without trying to sound too panicked. I did not want to get hit by Vista's power while I had to smell this crap. I'd have to puke. Gas mask. Or something. Oxygen tank?

"She'll be signing up as Miss Militia Mark Two. The sequel. Less guns, PG-13." Clockblocker said while moving his way around the trash. Mush had given up, slowly getting up out of the remains of the golem. It sloughed off him, and Clockblocker cuffed him, leading him away from the trash and close to M/Fenja before using his power on him.

"Sorry, had to be safe. You hurt?" Vista's voice was surprisingly high. I had thought she was just short. She was probably younger than me by at least a couple years.

"No, I'm fine. There's a guy over there that has a piece of glass in his shoulder. Any chance-" Vista was already moving, and she covered the ground there with another distortion. She removed something from her waist, and began applying first aid. Her hands were swift and precise. I had to look away again.

"Vista, does he need me?" Clockblocker said. Vista nodded, helping the man up and leading him over.

"It'll help." She said, glancing over at me again. I looked downward, not wanting to look at her spectre again.

"Well, thanks for the assist, Mini-Militia. Do you have an actual name, or can I keep making ones up until one sticks?" Clockblocker responded, holding his hand just above the F/Menja's ankle, tapping the man as Vista drew him in range.

Clockblocker's was different, an IV bag dripping and leaking from holes that were also legs. As it dripped, the leaks froze, squirming and flailing before stopping. Then it pulsed, and it went back to water. Then icy legs, curling again.

Each time he tapped one of the three next to him, frost grew up the leg-leaks, and it pulsed irregularly.

Still nowhere as bad as Vista's. I looked at the broken wall of windows.

"Well, uh, I guess I'll be going, then. Thanks the save, guys." I said, lamely.

"Stay around, we could use some more American flags in the Wards." Vista elbowed Clockblocker. "Okay, okay. If you'd like a relatively healthy working environment, where you can learn to use your powers and receive supplies and a stipend to do so, the Wards are for you."

"Join the Brockton Bay Wards today." His voice was completely apathetic. Vista shook her head.
"Always need more to help out with stuff like this. Mush is a pushover for my power, but it could have been Skidmark or Squealer." Vista said.

Clockblocker tilted his head, and then let out a sigh. "Fair enough. We shouldn't need you for anything, though. Cape privacy laws, and you're not wanted for anything, right?"

"Th-this is my first time out. I just heard it happening in the library." Oh god, I was stammering. Man, this was the worst first heroing ever. I stank, I felt sick, and now I couldn't even talk good in front of heroes. Wait, shit. Did I want to be a ward? I don't think I wanted to be, Shadow Stalker was a ward. They hadn't stopped her.

"Came out today just for them? Very brave." He made a mock bow, and then hurriedly straightened, tagging Mush as he began to move again. "But no, seriously. It was very brave. Good work."

I murmured something noncommittal in response, feeling warmth in my cheeks, and a smile on my face.

"Thanks. Really." Vista said. I could feel the eyeroll in her voice, aimed at Clockblocker. It was nice to be appreciated, even if I hadn't done all that much.

I had a big smile as I ran off. Preferably to get some bleach. Baking soda. Vinegar. Something.

Did all heroes start off like this, or was it just me?

 

[Sorain]

Edit: and sniped in the BEST WAY!

Dad made a few jokes about it. The Amazing Flannel Girl. Towel Woman.

I returned fire with: "I've cottoned onto your plans, evil-doer."

We laughed together.

Click to shrink...

You know, it's little things like this that warm the maw of Oblivion that is my heart. I'm sure the Neverborn are roasting in that fuzzy heat right now.

and my winter gloves had been lost in the great laundry war. I suspected desertion through the washing machine.

Click to shrink...

TODAY, HERO AND HIS APPR-"

Click to shrink...

Woh... MAJOR AU if Hero is both alive and has an Apprentice!

Butcher dying a few months back had only set up for another one to take her place. It had made national news. The Undersiders had garnered serious attention after that. With one of their biggest hitters gone, they had mostly disappeared from the public eye. Or at least, from my research.

Click to shrink...

Yup, sounds like several shards were retargeted/retasked here. Anyone want to bet that Bitch is the current Butcher? She seems like the most likely one to end up killing The Butcher.

The last time they'd showed up had been in Chicago, months back. The speech King had made was online.

Click to shrink...

And either no Jack Slash or King's still in charge, meaning we don't know about Harbinger/Number Man's status.

Good lord I'm officially throwing out any preconceptions at this point because they'll hurt more then help my inherent obsession hobby of trying to read the situation. Very interesting indeed.

Also: Yay for Clockblocker with protection and mobility! Someone give whichever Tinker gave him that a medal!

Edit 2:

"She'll be signing up as Miss Militia Mark Two. The sequel. Less guns, PG-13."

Click to shrink...

Heh, Love this line.

Did all heroes start off like this, or was it just me?

Click to shrink...

More then you would think, less then you might like.

 

[Ack]

Do not puke on the Wards. It will make for a bad first impression.

Okay, you can puke on Shadow Stalker.

 

[Unclouded]

Yup, sounds like several shards were retargeted/retasked here. Anyone want to bet that Bitch is the current Butcher? She seems like the most likely one to end up killing The Butcher.

And either no Jack Slash or King's still in charge, meaning we don't know about Harbinger/Number Man's status.

Good lord I'm officially throwing out any preconceptions at this point because they'll hurt more then help my inherent obsession hobby of trying to read the situation. Very interesting indeed.

Click to shrink...

Yeah I had to double check that Vista was even mentioned before I said earlier that I thought it was Vista helping Clock. So many butterflies that we don't even know if someone's a ward or otherwise until we hear about it in story.

 

[Athelmar]

With all the different aspects of the story, who's to say it is Lisa with the roving eyes and not someone else. I imagine having Emily with a superior version of Coils power is going to lead to some interesting changes.

Great story.

 

[Xilph]

With all the different aspects of the story, who's to say it is Lisa with the roving eyes and not someone else. I imagine having Emily with a superior version of Coils power is going to lead to some interesting changes.

Great story.

Click to shrink...

Possibly superior, it looks like while she has more effective abilities in creation her ability to end splits could be significantly weaker, it being a duration based thing as opposed to deliberate collapsing or even just having a time limit.

 

[Athelmar]

Possibly superior, it looks like while she has more effective abilities in creation her ability to end splits could be significantly weaker, it being a duration based thing as opposed to deliberate collapsing or even just having a time limit.

Click to shrink...

Very true. But as its not Thomas "I will f $#k you all" Calvert with the power, its defiantly an improved situation.

 

[Harbin]

2.6​

Did the Wards have access to an industrial washer? I had tried the soaking in baking soda. I had tried white vinegar. Dad vetoed bleach. The clothes were currently on their third wash cycle.

The secret costs of being a Hero. I bet Villains just bought new outfits.

That'd be nice. I took a moment to imagine an evildoer imperiously purchasing outfits. I never did find out if that was Fenja or Menja, so I just pretended they were Emma. Roughly the same level of evil.

The buzzing of the washing machine coming to a halt interrupted my fantasy of bullies being unable to find clothes that fit correctly. I opened it, smelled it, and my shoulders sagged in relief. It didn't smell like ten flavors of crap. It only smelled faintly of vinegar.

I put in more coins, threw in more detergent , and started it up again. The first conversation with Dad had been awkward. I explained what had happened, and he had gone from worried to laughing.

Instructions on how to clean my clothes of unwanted smells had followed. I could hear the smile in his voice. It made me happy, but slightly indignant. It was nice, though. After I put them in for the first wash, I called him again and told him about what had happened in more detail.

He said he was proud of what I'd done. I didn't cry. Especially not in the laundry room, as someone walked in.

I read while I waited for my laundry to finish. A sigh of relief when it didn't smell like vinegar anymore. Then I read some more as the dryer went underway. The tedium was nice as what had happened began to catch up with me. I might not have fought on the same level as Clockblocker and Vista, but I had gone out there and done my best to help. Nobody had died. Those were all good things.

--​

Dad got back about halfway through the dryer cycle, so I went for a jog. With only the bike shorts, shirt, and shoes as protection, it felt odd. Even if it had been extremely light, it felt like I was more vulnerable, not being able to look down, and focus on those frameworks and lines. The pepper spray felt like less protection than my clothes, now. How weird was that?

Jogging let me think about things, and not think about things at the same time. When I started worrying, I could run harder, and push those thoughts out, focusing on my breathing and the pounding of the pavement until my heartbeat was louder than my footsteps, and my panting was all I could hear. The stitch in my side helped. When I slowed, and thought about other things, it was also nice. I'd have to discuss with Dad about this stuff. He didn't want me risking my life, but that would be easier if I had training.

Sophia was also in my thoughts. How would I deal with her? Her hand was broken, so she probably wouldn't pull something. Except her hand was broken, so she might pull something because she was more pissed. Except maybe because she was a ward, she had access to Panacea? Except getting help might piss her off even further.

I pushed myself again, running harder until I couldn't focus on those thoughts anymore.

Where could I go for help? Could I just show up on New Wave's doorstep, ask them for advice on crazy-killers or how to defend myself?

"Hello, heroes. I am also a hero, just like you. Except I have no idea how to hero." Door shut, go see the Wards, we're busy having fun without bad things happening to us and no bullying here.

That'd go over real well. Maybe I should talk to M/Fenja. "Hey I know we got off on the wrong foot, you almost stepped on me, I helped out the wards, and you're a Nazi and all, but is there anywhere I can go for hero training?"

This was dumb. I was being dumb. I picked up the pace again, turning back toward home. I'd talk with Dad. I had resources, I should use them to improve my chances.

When I arrived back at the motel, I separated the sweaty clothes from the metal, throwing them into the laundry hamper. Dad had gone out to grab dinner. Italian, from the scrawled note on the door.

Boring stuff. He came back with the food, we ate, and I asked him. He paused from his herculean task of slicing a meatball with a plastic fork in the container on his lap.

"Well, I don't think most martial arts would help. Or maybe they would." He chewed on the piece of meatball and the thought, thinking it over. "How does judo deal with someone flying?"

"Sounds like a koan," I responded, before taking a bite out of my chicken parmesan.

"Yes, young pupil. And now how must you catch the sparrow dancing?" His comeback came with the added flourish of pointing his fork at me, spaghetti swirled around it.

"Ha, ha. Really, Dad. I want to be able to help people. I can do some really cool things with this power. The way Clockblocker and Vista teamed up, and took down those two was pretty amazing to watch." Another bite.

He leaned back in his chair, eating for a moment again. "Why not call New Wave anyway? The worst they can do is say no. Or get a restraining order. They've seemed pretty decent in their public appearances. A lot of charity work. They probably have some resources for new parahumans, even if they're a family-oriented group."

I didn't really have a good answer to his proposal. I kind of felt uncomfortable around heroes after learning about Sophia. Never meet your heroes was a lot more real when one of them bullied you for an entire year or so. Did Clockblocker do that in his civilian identity, pushing people around and making fun of them? Was Vista some sort of sadistic Madison type?

"Look. You really want to do this, and," he sighed, frowning. "I don't approve of you getting into danger. I do approve of you doing your best to help people, while staying safe. But this is something you're going to have to decide."

He put his dinner to the side, going through the drawers of the motel nightstand, pulling out a phone book. "Carol Pelham, Carol Pelham."

"Dallon." I corrected, in a flash of memory. "The Pelhams are the other half of New Wave."

"Ah, that's a weird first name. If you say so. Dallon Pelham." He looked up at me and I rolled my eyes, not having a better response. "Here. Pelham Carol, Brandish, Attorney at Law, Co-Leader of New Wave, etcetera, etcetera."

"Here's her number." Dad handed me the phone book, open to the appropriate page before sitting down and eating his dinner once more. I looked down at it, staring for a long moment. It just didn't really feel right to reach out. I knew it was necessary, but I felt like I should be doing things myself somehow. How would calling Carol Dallon help me? I knew it would, but I- I was doubting again. If I didn't try, I wouldn't get anywhere, and this was a way I would have to try.

I took out my cell phone, and started pressing the numbers in.

 

[Sorain]

Maybe I should talk to M/Fenja. "Hey I know we got off on the wrong foot, you almost stepped on me, I helped out the wards, and you're a Nazi and all, but is there anywhere I can go for hero training?"

Click to shrink...

Can you imagine the reaction they would have? I could see the most awkward conversation where the Nazi is having to try and help (after all, she doesn't want to feel like an ass here) despite knowing this can/will bite her in the ankles later.

I was doubting again. If I didn't try, I wouldn't get anywhere, and this was a way I would have to try.

I took out my cell phone, and started pressing the numbers in.

Click to shrink...

Hell yeah. Taylor, like a certain sub board, gets shit done.

 

[dasstan]

Hell yeah. Taylor, like a certain sub board, gets shit done.

Click to shrink...

Being Taylor is suffering, so I can only imagine that she's swap the last two numbers and somehow dial Jack's phone.

Joking aside, she should see about giving herself a weapon of some sort, one that isn't just a blunt object.

Maybe a stun gun or cattle-prod merged with her bat?

 

[Ack]

Being Taylor is suffering, so I can only imagine that she's swap the last two numbers and somehow dial Jack's phone.

Joking aside, she should see about giving herself a weapon of some sort, one that isn't just a blunt object.

Maybe a stun gun or cattle-prod merged with her bat?

Click to shrink...

No, a baseball bat merged with a sword.

Cue the following conversation:

"You cut his arm off. How did you cut his arm off?"

"With this." (proffers the baseball bat)

"But ... but that doesn't have an edge!"

"It depends on how you look at it."