IC Story Thread 2 - Electric Boogaloo

[Wenlocke]

So, in absence of an actual fiction section, we present the Return of the IC Story Thread

 

Fiction about your characters, short moments, long tales (although really long ones are probably better linked offsite) and all related things welcome.

 

Obviously, none of this is IC knowledge unless the author wants it to be.

[Wenlocke]

**Crisis, Comma, Lack of**

 

Abigail Bright (that’s Doctor Bright, and not shy about reminding people,) was engrossed in a simulation for an upgrade on the Brightlance repulsorthrust systems, when she was interrupted by an unusually diffident question.

 

“Uhm, Abi?” Jennifer Fairfax (also Doctor, also not shy about reminding people) was not usually given to being diffident, so this was An Important Clue. “Can I show you my latest project?”

 

Abi put down the tablet, and rubbed her eyes. “Yes, if you like… wait, since when do you do extra projects?” she asked suspiciously. This usually meant that she’d had one of her crazy ideas.

 

“Since that debacle with  the Rikti. I decided I needed something with a little more oomph, for overwhelming odds.” She crossed the design room to the prototype storage bay. She grinned the slightly embarrassed grin of someone who’s just itching to show off their latest creation, but isn’t sure how it’ll be received. ”So I present to you, the Brightedge System Crisis Suit. Ta daaaaaa!” The bay doors opened. It was a suit, it was the signature white and gold. It was….large.”

 

”..... Jenn, it’s a walking tank, it’s huge.  Extra armour, extra power systems….” she trailed off as she noted the other details. “And you still put a sword and shield on it?”

 

 

“Yes, I say go with what you know. The extra power and the inertial systems mean it’s not much less maneuverable as the Brightedge Mk I, and the uprated life support systems mean its much better for hazardous….” Jenn trailed off, a little of the excess enthusiasm dissipating into nervousness. “You don’t like it,do you?”

 

Abi sighed. Jenn’s only major personality flaw was a tendency towards excessive enthusiasm about her specialities, combined with insecurity about whether people were actually just humouring her when she explained them. “Honestly? I’m… more surprised than anything. It just doesn’t seem like your thing, is all. Does look like it’ll do the job, though.”

 

Jenn’s infectious smile  returned. “Oh good. Since I built one for you as well.” She clicked a button on her remote, and a second suit, a behemoth with wings, moved out of the shadows on its support arm.  “Happy, uhmmm,  Tuesday.”

 

Abi looked it up and down. A veritable 747, it was. All the same mod cons, about three times the size of her own suit. “Thanks, I think… What would I do with a flying brick I can’t already do? Less maneuverable, bulkier, a bigger target..”

 

Jenn interrupted her  “...and it’ll go suborbital. Full life support, waste systems. I’m working on building in some kind of thrust reserves so the repulsordrive will work in a vacuum. Didn’t you say you always wanted to be an astronaut? How would you like an orbital flight system?”

 

Abi’s common sense warred with the long-buried childhood  desire to see satellites and stars and stuff., “Yes, but…. Oh alright. We can get this thing going orbital, you say? Where do I sign up?”

 

[Djehuty3]

"So what did you do?"

"Well, only thing I could. I arrested him." Billy slouched back in the chair. His coffee, half finished, had gone tepid. He pushed it away. "The guy I was talking to in Pocket D said- well. Maybe this is it. His rock bottom. Maybe after he gets out he'll turn things around."

Stacy gave him a sympathetic look. "It's not impossible."

"You ever seen a troll turn things around?"

"Well, you did."

"Exception, Stase. Not the rule." He sighed. "I went to high school with him."

She reached out and patted his hand. "I'm sorry, Billy."

"Yeah. Me too."

 

The coffee meets had started about a month ago, two weeks after moving into the new building. Mom had greeted him at the door one evening with news. "Another hero! She lives two floors up- 36 B! What are the odds?"

"No kidding. What's she like?"

"Nice. Well. Linda, next door, she likes her. Thinks she's little nervous. And very young. Only nineteen."

Billy had furrowed his (green, horned) brow. "I'm twenty two, mom, it's not that much different."

"Oh you know what I mean. We should introduce ourselves."

"What? Why?"

"Well, to let her know she has company! Come on. I made a pie."

 

What had followed was an awkward conversation on Stacy's doorstep, and then an even more thirty minutes in her apartment over coffee. His mother had happily nattered away the whole time. Stacy had tried to keep up, god bless her, but she'd clearly just come off patrol, and the exhaustion was weighing on her. In the end, Billy had managed to pry his mother away and left her in peace. He'd expected that to be the end of it. Instead, there'd been a knock on their door the next day, and a clean, empty pie tin, and Stacy, full of compliments for Mom's baking. She'd even brought dinner of her own- a Vietnamese dish Billy wasn't even going to try to pronounce. It had made for an excellent meal, though. And thus began a new tradition. Every Friday night, regular as clockwork, Stacy Nguyen would join the Lewises. It was honestly kind of nice.

 

But mom made it hard to talk about hero work. Not consciously, of course, but... well, how precisely were you supposed to commiserate over gangbusting with someone who spent every minute you were on patrol praying for your safe return? Heck, how did you even explain it? Heroes got used to violence; flashing through the hospitals before speeding out again into bright, brutal streets, with your bruises serving little more than a bench mark for your progress. Civilians just... didn't get it.

 

And so the coffee mornings started. They weren't as regular as dinner on Fridays; neither of their schedules were stable enough for something like that. Stase was working another job around hero hours, after all, and Billy had his meetings to get to. But still, once a week, they'd manage to get together and just... talk.

It was nice. Today in particular had been good. Except for whatever it was she'd not been telling him, of course.

"Okay. My pity party's over. What?"

She blinked. "I- I don't think I know what you mean."

"Yeah you do. Come on. What?"

 

She opened her mouth- stopped- sipped her coffee and glared at him. "We agreed no mind reading."

"I didn't have to read your mind. You're the worst liar I ever met in my life. They all as honest as you, back in Milwaukee?"

"No."

"Good, the whole state'd collapse if they were. Stop stalling. What's up?"

Stacy put the cup down. "I... have an offer to make you."

"Okay..."

"I recently joined up with an... organisation. Well. A Supergroup."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. One that pays on top of the Hero Allowance."

 

Billy sat up. That was news. The Hero Allowance wasn't bad; it covered the rent and bills, with enough left over for a few luxuries every now and again. But extra cash on top of that could put mom in a much nicer apartment.

But something in him drew back, warily. "Sounds great."

"It is." And then, "They're still recruiting."

He sighed.

"You trying to head hunt me?"

Stacy looked away.

"Jesus Christ, Stase-"

"I'm not trying to force you to do anything you don't want to, Billy, I just..." She stopped. Sipped her coffee again. "There'd been a bank robbery out in Talos. Crazy half hour that was; Family and Council hitting everything. Then we heard about the Lost, and we headed out after PPD showed up to clean up the mess. Captain Union-"

Billy laughed. Stacy glared at him.

"Sorry. But- Captain Union? Really?"

"Well, not all of us are cool enough to have a zero in our name, Mr G0blin King."

That shut him up.

"Anyway, the Captain said he hated psychics. They don't have anyone who can cover psionics right now. I mentioned I knew you."

"And now here you are, mentioning the Captain to me."

"Billy-"

"It's- don't say my name like that, I'm not gonna fly off the handle, christ..."

 

He stood up, and moved away from the coffee table to look out of Stacy's window. The view wasn't great. Typical King's Row, really; another apartment block rising stubbily out of the concrete to squat against the sky. Dull gray brick. Layer after layer of fading graffiti. His whole life he'd lived in places like this.

"Thank you for thinking of me," he said eventually. "I appreciate it. I do. But I've already got a job."

 

She didn't say anything, but the texture of the silence radiated disapproval. He growled. Turned back to her.

"Look, I understand you think I'm stupid-"

"I don't."

"Well, not ambitious enough."

"When have I ever-"

"Can we just skip this stupid argument and I can make my point? Thank you. I deal with trolls. Okay? I deal with the Hollows. That's my beat. That's what I do. Your guys sound great, but it's clearly not my style."

"And what, precisely, is your style, Billy?"

"I just-"

 

ANd then she threw the coffee cup at him. With a snarl of furious Vietnamese to go with it. He was so shocked he didn't even try to catch it, which was kind of embarrassing for a telekinetic.

"Every time," she snapped. "Every time we have this conversation, it comes back to the same damn thing. The Hollows. Over and over, the Hollows. And whenever I ask about it, the same excuse. You won't understand."

He winced. "I don't sound like that."

"Sorry, Stase, but you just won't. You ain't from this town, not like I am. They're my responsibility. I gotta deal with them. I gotta handle this. Do you have any idea how insulting that is?"

 

They stood in silence for a minute, as she let the anger drain out of her. After a moment, she vanished into the kitchen, and came back with a damp cloth to mop the spilled coffee off of his shirt.

"...Sorry."

"S'okay."

"It's not. I- I shouldn't have thrown that at you."

A pause.

"It really bothers you that much? Me hitting the Hollows?"

"No," she said, avoiding his eyes. "It bothers me why. How old were you when you started taking Superadine?"

 

He went still. She carried on, still not looking at him. "Can't have been more than sixteen, right? Not long after you dropped out?"

"...Something like."

"Long time ago, now. Six years."

"You don't know what I did."

And then she did look at him, and he was the one who looked away, embarrassed, ashamed.

"I know you're making up for it," she said quietly. "I don't know anyone- anyone at all- who tries as hard as you to be the good guy. And we need good guys, Billy. All over the city, not just the Hollows. These people- the Legion. I'm not with them because they pay well. That's nice, I'll admit. You know my situation there. But I'm with them because they're trying to make things better."

The shirt was a lost cause. She gave up.

"Look. I can't tell you what to do. I won't try. But... just think about it, would you?"

 

Stacy pressed a card into his hand. S.E.A.X, it said, with an email address and a phone number on it. Nice card. Engraved.

He wanted to tear it up. FLing it in her face. Snarl and shout until she backed down and left him be. Or to just... ignore it, pretend he'd never seen it or heard about it at all, go back to his apartment, his room, his bed, and lock the door and curl up under the covers and wait for everything to just go away, and leave him alone.

He wanted to be someone else. Someone normal, without the telltale green skin and horns of a longterm Superadine addict. Or maybe just... just a normal troll; one whose mutations had kicked in normally, instead of the unique, bizarre transformation that had left him with a psychic storm for a mind.

Most of all, he wanted a hit.

 

But instead he put the card in his pocket. Stacy had a point. Six years was a long time, really.

"Captain Union, huh?"

"He's a nice man really. British."

"Jesus Christ..."