keighthundred (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
keighthundred) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
blueheronteanook2023-07-11 08:37 am
keighthundred) wrote in blueheronteanook2023-07-11 08:37 am
Memoirs (Chapter One)
Title: Memoirs
Rating: Teen
Major Warnings: No major warnings apply
Genre: Worm/Pale Crossover
Summary: Seven years after gold morning, the ghosts of Taylor Hebert’s past still haunt her. Seeking some solitude to hopefully help with her head, she moves to a small town called Kennet for some rest and relaxation. She doesn’t get it. Co-written with the beautiful Chartic.
The new town was quieter than I was used to—where there used to be distant car horns and sirens, there was now nothing but the whistling howl of wind at night and the gentle whirring of an air conditioning unit during the day. The house—and it was a house this time, instead of a ramshackle apartment—was almost empty, save for the few scattered furnishings and personal touches left behind from a family that wasn’t mine: one or two framed family photos, smooth stones with loving messages inscribed on them, and other things of that nature. They were the kinds of small touches I’d left behind a lifetime ago, and would probably never have again.
I hadn’t gotten around to putting them away just yet, but given the amount of time I was spending inside, I probably should’ve. Part of it was because they were nice to have around, a reminder of something human, but it was mostly because I’d been lost in my work, had felt really sucked into it for what felt like the first time in years. This new house was quiet, comfortable, free, and burnished with the light whisper of melancholy I’d become accustomed to—the perfect environment for a fledgling freelance writer like me.
It was a new start—the third or fourth new start I’d gotten since everything had ended. Kennet was lonely in a way that Boston hadn’t been, but I was learning to get used to it. I could type up my articles in peace, and when I needed background noise to drown out the gnawing silence, I just turned on the TV. It wasn’t a foolproof method—sometimes, I could hear kids playing and screaming outside on the street, which I found difficult to ignore; sometimes, in the late hours of the night, the TV would cut out to static and murky images I couldn’t quite place.
I hadn’t gotten around to calling the cable company yet, but it was on my to-do list.
Still, it was an incredible gift, and I was grateful. The Annette of this world wasn’t really my mother, but she’d still found it fit to allow me to stay in her grandmother’s old house. It’d been the family vacation home for a while, she’d said, but after her parents died and the kids had gotten older, there hadn’t been too much reason to use it. Stay there as long as you like, she’d said.
So here I was, alone in my not-quite mother’s ancestral home, tapping away at my laptop in the midday glow. A lukewarm mug of tea sat across from me, ignored. I didn’t need it anymore. Today’s assignment was done—now I was working on a more personal side project.
My memoirs.
It was an exercise in frustration most days, because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the words out—and even if I did, who would ever read them?
I was going to be a superhero.
I shook my head, fingers hovering over the delete key. Ridiculous. Maybe I could pass it off as fiction, if I was lucky. Superheroes didn’t exist in this world. Scion had never made it here, so as far as anyone in this universe was concerned, there was no such thing as powers or capes.
There was no such thing as Skitter, Weaver, or Khepri here—not unless I made it so.
I was interrupted by a sharp series of knocks. A salesman or something, probably. They came around often enough that I’d learned to ignore them.
But this time, the knocking didn't stop, and after a minute, I finally stood up and opened the door. The sight before me took a moment to register in my mind: a girl, her face hidden behind a carved wooden deer mask, shrouded in a navy blue cloak, with an opossum standing on her shoulder. And just like that, my whole world shattered at once.
"Hi," the girl said.
My back went ramrod straight, and it felt like everything about me became sharp edges. My hand instinctively reached for weapons that weren’t there, and it left me feeling off-balance. It’d happened so quick, I almost hadn’t realized I’d done it, until the urge to fight or fly rose out of my gut like bile, and I could no longer ignore it.
No, it couldn’t be. My past had been buried, locked away, for the better part of a decade. And yet, here she was. Play dumb, I thought. It was the only tool I had at my disposal.
"...Can I help you?" I asked.
"Yeah." The girl glanced slightly toward her opossum, then turned back to me. "Can we come in?"
She was being awfully polite, for a potentially hostile cape. Maybe it was something to do with her power? Some conditions that needed to be fulfilled for her power to activate. You could never be sure when it came to capes.
I took a long look at the girl and her opossum. "...No."
Something in the girl's otherwise friendly posture slipped slightly. "Are you sure? Because I've got some questions for you that I think would be better had away from prying eyes. Safer."
I gave a strained smile. "I’m sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. That’s a nice Halloween costume, though. But it’s a couple months early, isn’t it?"
The girl, to her credit, hardly reacted. “You’re Taylor, right? I’ve got the right house?”
My throat felt dry. “Yeah.”
"Your arrival in Kennet was... noticed. People have, uh, raised concerns, so I'm here to look into those concerns."
People? If she was being honest about her reason for being here, how many more capes were there in town?
The girl noticed the shift in my stance, the change. She saw it in all the ways a twelve year old shouldn’t have been able to see. Subtleties and dangers no normal child should pick up on. If I sent her away, slammed the door in her face, it would only confirm her suspicions. She had powers, and I had nothing in my arsenal—nothing but a vague plan and a prayer.
Play dumb, I told myself. This is salvageable.
“...Maybe you should come in,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said, nodding as she passed the threshold. Her opossum seemed to copy her motion.
The girl quickly made herself at home, sitting down on one of the couches around the coffee table I’d been working at. Hurriedly, I shut my laptop before she could see the screen. “Can I get you anything?” I asked, feigning nonchalance.
The girl nodded, a dip of her mask. “Just water, thanks.”
There was something ominous about the way she stared. I scratched my right arm, just above where the skin met plastic. “Okay.”
I left, and the girl didn’t move to follow.
The kitchen was a bit of a mess—I hadn’t cleaned up after lunch yet, so there were still dirty plates and cookware left out on the counter. My eye caught on a slim chef’s knife on a cutting board. As quietly as I could, I slipped it into my right sleeve, blade resting against the side of my prosthetic, and then filled a glass of water in the sink.
The girl and her opossum were watching me intently as I returned and set the glass down before her.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass, but not drinking from it.
I sat opposite her, on an old sofa that had more dust than cushion, and examined my guest in closer detail. She was strawberry blonde, buried in a thicker coat than I would’ve expected from this time of year. Her opossum had hopped off her shoulder and was resting beside her on the couch, but all four of their eyes were locked right onto mine in a way that was equal parts unnerving and hysterical.
Jesus, she was just a kid. At a guess, she was maybe twelve years old, about as threatening as a toddler. And yet I was terrified of her.
“What is it you want with me?” I asked, unable to contain myself any longer.
“I wanted to start with some questions,” the girl said. “Questions about you.”
I gently lowered my right sleeve against my lap, feeling the dulled edge of the knife against my leg. It wouldn’t take longer than a moment to unsheathe it with my other hand. “Ask away.”
She nodded. “Why are you in Kennet?”
“I needed a quiet place to work,” I said. “A family friend suggested I stay at a house she’d inherited.”
“What do you mean by ‘work’?”
I tapped the top of my laptop. “I’m a writer.”
“A writer of what?”
“Magazines, mostly. Some newspapers.”
She was silent. Apparently that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for.”
“What are you?”
I froze for a beat. I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but my thoughts ran off in dangerous directions. “...A writer,” I said eventually. “Like I just said.”
“I’m not asking what you do. You have power, but you managed to slip through the barrier without any difficulty. You weakened the perimeter just by walking through it. So—what are you?” she asked again.
Perimeter? What was she talking about? And what was the point of all this? If she was here, if she knew my name, shouldn’t she already know who I was? I’d thought she was a vengeful cape on a mission to kill Khepri, but she didn’t seem to know who I was—just that I had a power.
“I really don’t know what you mean,” I said.
“What are you?” she repeated. “Three times, I’ve asked.”
Something in her tone threw me off—like she’d imbued her words with a threat. My fingers slipped a little closer to the knife. “You know who I am,” I said. “It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You know my name.”
“Who, but not what. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. It would ease a lot of concerns if you told me.”
“Be serious. You’re telling me you’re not here because of Khepri?”
“Khepri? You mean like the Egyptian god?”
I shook my head. “No, not a god. It was just a label. Do you really not know who I am?”
“Labels have power,” she said. Her opossum hopped onto her lap and nudged her stomach, but she ignored it. “Why do you think I’m here because of Khepri?”
“Don’t play dumb,” I said, scowling. “We both know you’re here because of what I did when I was her.”
She froze, as if struck by lightning. “...What do you mean, you were her?”
Did she really not know? Maybe I’d misjudged the situation. Maybe she didn’t know anything after all.
"So that’s what’s going on,” she said before I could speak. “Why didn't you just say so from the start? Why hide it? I can see its connection to you clear as day."
My blood ran cold. Vaguely, I realized that my hands were shaking, her words hitting something dark. She was a trump, I realized—a trump who could see powers.
And she could see that mine was still there.
After Contessa had...after she’d left me in this world, I had thought—hoped, really—that my powers had been severed, cut entirely. Some nights I’d wished desperately for the pathway to open again, to regain some semblance of what I’d once had, but it never did. After seven years, I'd convinced myself it was over, and that I was free from my passenger.
Except she was living proof I'd never be free, wasn't she?
I repositioned my prosthetic arm to sit against my real one. The tip of the knife sat in easy reach of my fingers. She didn’t know who I was, but if she could see my powers, and I couldn’t use them, I was in real trouble. She’d treat me like a threat when I was defenseless. She’d bring me back into a situation I was in no position to face again, no matter how much I wanted it.
All I had now were my words. I had to keep her off balance, keep her guessing. As soon as she thought I was in a position of weakness, I was fucked.
I leaned forward. "A question for a question, then."
The girl's eyes never left my face for a moment. The opossum followed suit, in a manner that left me just a little bit unnerved. But neither of them were looking at my hands.
"Who sent you?"
I couldn't see her face behind the mask, but I saw her shoulders hunch inward, she leaned in a bit despite her best attempts to stay straight.
"The local Others. Why?"
My fingers wrapped around the handle of the blade, still hidden from view. "No, don't be vague. Who sent you?"
When the opossum turned into another little girl, transforming in the blink of an eye, I wasn’t as surprised as I should’ve been. There had been something off about it from the moment I’d laid eyes on it. The real surprise was that she wasn’t part of the deer mask girl’s power, but instead an entirely separate person with a seemingly separate changer ability. She was a little younger than her friend, blonde, wearing a black t-shirt displaying a cartoon opossum guzzling trash from a can, surrounded by a ring of text that read: Garbage Day.
“You’re in safe company,” the opossum girl yelped, “she’s unarmed!”
The deer mask girl tensed, leaning forward as if preparing to either run or lunge at me, despite what her friend had just said.
Damn it.
I drew the knife, standing up. The girls watched me carefully, like judging a frightened animal. “What are you going to do?” the deer girl asked. “Attack us?”
My fingers tightened around the handle. I took a step forward, and both of them reacted visibly, shifting their postures. I almost wanted to laugh—they had me surrounded, outnumbered, dead-to-rights, but they were still scared of a one-armed woman with a flimsy piece of cookware. I was reminded of my career as a villain, the authority I’d commanded. I supposed some of that had stuck, even now.
“That’d be the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it?” I asked.
“It would be dumb. Super dumb,” she said. “All we’re doing is asking questions—breaking the laws of hospitality over that? You’d be screwing yourself over for very little gain.”
“Super smart,” the opossum girl added helpfully.
“I don’t know what laws you’re talking about,” I said. “But the way I see it, you’re in my house, you’ve got some idea of who I am, and you’ve been less than friendly. I can put two and two together. I think someone sent you here to hurt me, someone who knows who I am. I want to know who.”
Contessa? Teacher?
“Matthew,” she said easily, as if I was supposed to know who that was. “And I wasn’t sent here to hurt you. Honestly, I think you’re being unfair—I’ve been totally friendly so far.”
The opossum girl huffed. “Not me. I’ve been on my worst behavior.”
“My turn,” the deer girl said. “What should I call you? Khepri? Taylor? Or do you have other titles you’d prefer?”
“Taylor.” I gripped the knife tighter. “How did you find me? I thought Contessa sealed the way through.”
The girl furrowed her eyebrows. “Sealed the way through what?”
“Don’t mess with me. Through worlds. You came through one yourself, didn’t you? That’s how you got here in the first place.”
“You’re talking about Paths?”
“Paths, portals, whatever.”
“No, not whatever—names are important. Do you mean Paths?”
“Sure,” I said, not wanting to argue over something so unimportant.
“I’m not aware of any Paths being sealed recently, and I don’t know who Contessa is. I didn’t come through one to get here.” She shrugged casually, in a way that reminded me a little of Golem, back in the day. “I walked, mostly. What’s your goal in Kennet?”
“I told you, I’m just here for some peace and quiet while I write.” It felt so odd to be trading back and forth comments while I held them at knife point. I didn’t get it—these relentless questions. If she knew who I was, what was the point of this? To waste my time, to distract me while others set up an ambush? To throw off my guard? “What do you want from me? Why are you here?”
“To figure out if you’re a threat to our town or not.” She let the answer hang in the air, staring pointedly at my knife. “Are you?”
“I—”
The opossum girl flinched. I’d moved, unconsciously, pulling my knife into more of a combative stance.
I didn’t even notice.
I stared at that knife in my hands for a long time, and then back at the two girls. And my heart sank, because I was the bad guy here, wasn’t I?
Yes, these two were clearly capes, but as far as I could tell, they didn’t seem to have any idea who I was. They’d just noticed a new parahuman moving into their town and decided to investigate, and here I was brandishing a knife at them. As far as first impressions went, this was as low as I could get.
I was supposed to be older and wiser now, but I’d still let my paranoia get the best of me.
I’m not Weaver anymore.
I put the knife on the couch, out of the two girls’ reach, and sat back down, sinking into the cushions.
“No,” I said, my mouth tasting like sand. “I’m not.” I looked up at the two of them, who were so young, and so small. “Are you two here to hurt me?”
“Not unless you try to hurt us or innocents first,” the deer girl said.
“I’m not just here for moral support,” the opossum girl argued. “I’d beat you up so bad. Opossums are great at fighting.”
That girl had a twisted sense of humor, I thought. “You guys are, what? Local heroes?”
The deer girl looked at me funny. “Something like that, I guess. We’ve never used those exact words, but I guess that’s sort of the job description. We’re protectors of Kennet, and the Others living here.”
“I’m a hero,” the opossum girl interjected, snorting. It felt like there was a joke behind those words, but I wasn’t quite sure what that might be.
I glanced at the knife again. “Sorry. I think we got off on the wrong foot. I thought you were… people from my past. I panicked.”
“Is that something we’re going to have to worry about? Enemies of yours following you to Kennet?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t had anything like that happen in over seven years. You would’ve been the first. And… for the record, I don’t have my power anymore.”
“Anymore? What does that mean?”
“I was cut off from it,” I said. “For my own good. Please don’t ask.”
“I have to figure out what you’re capable of,” the deer girl said. “You weakened the perimeter, and that’s a threat to us.”
“I don’t know what perimeter you’re talking about,” I said. “If I tripped over some of your town’s defenses, it was unintentional.”
“What about that thing you’re connected to? Is that… Khepri?”
“In a sense,” I said. “I’ve heard other names for it. Queen Administrator. It’s my passenger.” I leaned in. “But what do you mean I’m connected to it? I was supposed to be cut off—that’s why I don’t have my power anymore.”
“If that’s the case, yeah, I can kind of see that. The connection between you and it is frayed, but it’s still there.” She paused. “What is it? Because it’s really freaking huge.”
“What do you mean, what is it? You’re acting like this is the first time you’ve seen one—but if you can see my passenger, shouldn’t you have seen others already? Your friend’s, your own?”
The deer girl glanced at her friend. “...We don’t have anything like that. I’m a Finder, not a Host. Snowdrop’s a boon companion.”
I had no idea what any of that meant, but I had two running theories as to who these girls were: either they were native to this world, or had they also come from another Earth, like I had.
And either answer would be concerning in different ways: if they were originally from this world, it meant that powers were spreading here, and would have serious ramifications; if they were from another Earth, they might someday realize who I was, which meant I had to leave town as soon as possible. Despite my earlier paranoia, I was leaning toward the first theory, because these capes seemed to have their own lingo, their own terms for things. I wasn’t sure what a Finder was, but from context I assumed it was something like a thinker, with emphasis on learning current information rather than something like precognition.
“How long have you been doing this?” I asked.
“If it’s okay with you,” the deer girl said, “I’d rather not answer that.”
“Fine,” I said, even though it wasn’t. “Look, you want to know if I’m a threat or not? I don’t have my power anymore, I’m missing an arm, and I’m not in contact with anyone who might be dangerous. I’m a freelance writer. I write articles for whatever rag will pay me. That’s all.”
“You write for magazines.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Okay, this might sound like a really dumb question, but—that’s a thing? Magazines hire people like you to write articles?”
I chose not to take that as a jab at my image. “There are a lot of shitty tabloids out there,” I said, crossing my real arm over my prosthetic. “They need something to fill their pages, so they contract out. It pays the bills.”
“That’s cool,” she said. “Sorry, I wasn’t judging. I was just, you know, surprised.”
“I’m judging,” the opossum girl—Snowdrop—said. “Magazines are good for more than just being comfy beds.”
“Uh, sorry.” I didn’t know what to make of that, but the situation was defusing, at least. It had to mean something that their postures were more relaxed. The me of eight years ago would probably have made a mess of things, and it was comforting to know that I’d at least changed in that way. “I never asked—what do I call you two?”
“I’m Avery. This is Snowdrop,” the deer girl said, ruffling her friend’s hair.
I frowned. Snowdrop sounded like a cape name, but Avery didn’t. “Those are your real names?”
“Yeah?” Avery almost looked confused. “Names have power, right? Giving a false name would dilute that, or it’d give people more avenues to affect you.”
Now it was my turn to be confused. “Is that how your power works? It’s based on, what, associations?”
“...Isn’t that how all Practice works? Associations, patterns, connotations?”
“Uh—what’s practice?”
The girl suddenly froze, as if she’d just turned to stone. “You don’t know what Practice is?”
I shook my head. “I’m not from around here. Is that a general term for powers in this world, or…?”
“I mean, basically, yeah,” Avery said. She hesitated. “Taylor, where exactly are you from?”
I sighed. In for a penny… “Another world,” I said. “You wouldn’t have heard of it here.”
“Another world?” she asked. Then she cleared her throat. “Does that mean you’re not human?”
“As far as I know, I’m as human as it gets.”
“But…” Avery grumbled in frustration. “You’re not an Other?”
“I have no idea what that means.”
Avery stopped talking for a moment, giving me a very long look at that I couldn’t quite place. “I think,” she said, closing her eyes, rubbing at her forehead, “I think I need to go have a long conversation with the others.”
I really didn’t like how ominous that sounded—but before I could say anything, the two of them were already off the couch and moving for the door.
“Wait—!”
But they ignored me, disappearing through the threshold, and by the time I followed them out, they had already vanished entirely.
A/N: Hey everyone! It's my first time posting to Dreamwidth, excited to be here! Thanks for reading!
Rating: Teen
Major Warnings: No major warnings apply
Genre: Worm/Pale Crossover
Summary: Seven years after gold morning, the ghosts of Taylor Hebert’s past still haunt her. Seeking some solitude to hopefully help with her head, she moves to a small town called Kennet for some rest and relaxation. She doesn’t get it. Co-written with the beautiful Chartic.
The new town was quieter than I was used to—where there used to be distant car horns and sirens, there was now nothing but the whistling howl of wind at night and the gentle whirring of an air conditioning unit during the day. The house—and it was a house this time, instead of a ramshackle apartment—was almost empty, save for the few scattered furnishings and personal touches left behind from a family that wasn’t mine: one or two framed family photos, smooth stones with loving messages inscribed on them, and other things of that nature. They were the kinds of small touches I’d left behind a lifetime ago, and would probably never have again.
I hadn’t gotten around to putting them away just yet, but given the amount of time I was spending inside, I probably should’ve. Part of it was because they were nice to have around, a reminder of something human, but it was mostly because I’d been lost in my work, had felt really sucked into it for what felt like the first time in years. This new house was quiet, comfortable, free, and burnished with the light whisper of melancholy I’d become accustomed to—the perfect environment for a fledgling freelance writer like me.
It was a new start—the third or fourth new start I’d gotten since everything had ended. Kennet was lonely in a way that Boston hadn’t been, but I was learning to get used to it. I could type up my articles in peace, and when I needed background noise to drown out the gnawing silence, I just turned on the TV. It wasn’t a foolproof method—sometimes, I could hear kids playing and screaming outside on the street, which I found difficult to ignore; sometimes, in the late hours of the night, the TV would cut out to static and murky images I couldn’t quite place.
I hadn’t gotten around to calling the cable company yet, but it was on my to-do list.
Still, it was an incredible gift, and I was grateful. The Annette of this world wasn’t really my mother, but she’d still found it fit to allow me to stay in her grandmother’s old house. It’d been the family vacation home for a while, she’d said, but after her parents died and the kids had gotten older, there hadn’t been too much reason to use it. Stay there as long as you like, she’d said.
So here I was, alone in my not-quite mother’s ancestral home, tapping away at my laptop in the midday glow. A lukewarm mug of tea sat across from me, ignored. I didn’t need it anymore. Today’s assignment was done—now I was working on a more personal side project.
My memoirs.
It was an exercise in frustration most days, because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the words out—and even if I did, who would ever read them?
I was going to be a superhero.
I shook my head, fingers hovering over the delete key. Ridiculous. Maybe I could pass it off as fiction, if I was lucky. Superheroes didn’t exist in this world. Scion had never made it here, so as far as anyone in this universe was concerned, there was no such thing as powers or capes.
There was no such thing as Skitter, Weaver, or Khepri here—not unless I made it so.
I was interrupted by a sharp series of knocks. A salesman or something, probably. They came around often enough that I’d learned to ignore them.
But this time, the knocking didn't stop, and after a minute, I finally stood up and opened the door. The sight before me took a moment to register in my mind: a girl, her face hidden behind a carved wooden deer mask, shrouded in a navy blue cloak, with an opossum standing on her shoulder. And just like that, my whole world shattered at once.
"Hi," the girl said.
My back went ramrod straight, and it felt like everything about me became sharp edges. My hand instinctively reached for weapons that weren’t there, and it left me feeling off-balance. It’d happened so quick, I almost hadn’t realized I’d done it, until the urge to fight or fly rose out of my gut like bile, and I could no longer ignore it.
No, it couldn’t be. My past had been buried, locked away, for the better part of a decade. And yet, here she was. Play dumb, I thought. It was the only tool I had at my disposal.
"...Can I help you?" I asked.
"Yeah." The girl glanced slightly toward her opossum, then turned back to me. "Can we come in?"
She was being awfully polite, for a potentially hostile cape. Maybe it was something to do with her power? Some conditions that needed to be fulfilled for her power to activate. You could never be sure when it came to capes.
I took a long look at the girl and her opossum. "...No."
Something in the girl's otherwise friendly posture slipped slightly. "Are you sure? Because I've got some questions for you that I think would be better had away from prying eyes. Safer."
I gave a strained smile. "I’m sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. That’s a nice Halloween costume, though. But it’s a couple months early, isn’t it?"
The girl, to her credit, hardly reacted. “You’re Taylor, right? I’ve got the right house?”
My throat felt dry. “Yeah.”
"Your arrival in Kennet was... noticed. People have, uh, raised concerns, so I'm here to look into those concerns."
People? If she was being honest about her reason for being here, how many more capes were there in town?
The girl noticed the shift in my stance, the change. She saw it in all the ways a twelve year old shouldn’t have been able to see. Subtleties and dangers no normal child should pick up on. If I sent her away, slammed the door in her face, it would only confirm her suspicions. She had powers, and I had nothing in my arsenal—nothing but a vague plan and a prayer.
Play dumb, I told myself. This is salvageable.
“...Maybe you should come in,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said, nodding as she passed the threshold. Her opossum seemed to copy her motion.
The girl quickly made herself at home, sitting down on one of the couches around the coffee table I’d been working at. Hurriedly, I shut my laptop before she could see the screen. “Can I get you anything?” I asked, feigning nonchalance.
The girl nodded, a dip of her mask. “Just water, thanks.”
There was something ominous about the way she stared. I scratched my right arm, just above where the skin met plastic. “Okay.”
I left, and the girl didn’t move to follow.
The kitchen was a bit of a mess—I hadn’t cleaned up after lunch yet, so there were still dirty plates and cookware left out on the counter. My eye caught on a slim chef’s knife on a cutting board. As quietly as I could, I slipped it into my right sleeve, blade resting against the side of my prosthetic, and then filled a glass of water in the sink.
The girl and her opossum were watching me intently as I returned and set the glass down before her.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass, but not drinking from it.
I sat opposite her, on an old sofa that had more dust than cushion, and examined my guest in closer detail. She was strawberry blonde, buried in a thicker coat than I would’ve expected from this time of year. Her opossum had hopped off her shoulder and was resting beside her on the couch, but all four of their eyes were locked right onto mine in a way that was equal parts unnerving and hysterical.
Jesus, she was just a kid. At a guess, she was maybe twelve years old, about as threatening as a toddler. And yet I was terrified of her.
“What is it you want with me?” I asked, unable to contain myself any longer.
“I wanted to start with some questions,” the girl said. “Questions about you.”
I gently lowered my right sleeve against my lap, feeling the dulled edge of the knife against my leg. It wouldn’t take longer than a moment to unsheathe it with my other hand. “Ask away.”
She nodded. “Why are you in Kennet?”
“I needed a quiet place to work,” I said. “A family friend suggested I stay at a house she’d inherited.”
“What do you mean by ‘work’?”
I tapped the top of my laptop. “I’m a writer.”
“A writer of what?”
“Magazines, mostly. Some newspapers.”
She was silent. Apparently that wasn’t the answer she was looking for. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for.”
“What are you?”
I froze for a beat. I wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but my thoughts ran off in dangerous directions. “...A writer,” I said eventually. “Like I just said.”
“I’m not asking what you do. You have power, but you managed to slip through the barrier without any difficulty. You weakened the perimeter just by walking through it. So—what are you?” she asked again.
Perimeter? What was she talking about? And what was the point of all this? If she was here, if she knew my name, shouldn’t she already know who I was? I’d thought she was a vengeful cape on a mission to kill Khepri, but she didn’t seem to know who I was—just that I had a power.
“I really don’t know what you mean,” I said.
“What are you?” she repeated. “Three times, I’ve asked.”
Something in her tone threw me off—like she’d imbued her words with a threat. My fingers slipped a little closer to the knife. “You know who I am,” I said. “It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You know my name.”
“Who, but not what. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. It would ease a lot of concerns if you told me.”
“Be serious. You’re telling me you’re not here because of Khepri?”
“Khepri? You mean like the Egyptian god?”
I shook my head. “No, not a god. It was just a label. Do you really not know who I am?”
“Labels have power,” she said. Her opossum hopped onto her lap and nudged her stomach, but she ignored it. “Why do you think I’m here because of Khepri?”
“Don’t play dumb,” I said, scowling. “We both know you’re here because of what I did when I was her.”
She froze, as if struck by lightning. “...What do you mean, you were her?”
Did she really not know? Maybe I’d misjudged the situation. Maybe she didn’t know anything after all.
"So that’s what’s going on,” she said before I could speak. “Why didn't you just say so from the start? Why hide it? I can see its connection to you clear as day."
My blood ran cold. Vaguely, I realized that my hands were shaking, her words hitting something dark. She was a trump, I realized—a trump who could see powers.
And she could see that mine was still there.
After Contessa had...after she’d left me in this world, I had thought—hoped, really—that my powers had been severed, cut entirely. Some nights I’d wished desperately for the pathway to open again, to regain some semblance of what I’d once had, but it never did. After seven years, I'd convinced myself it was over, and that I was free from my passenger.
Except she was living proof I'd never be free, wasn't she?
I repositioned my prosthetic arm to sit against my real one. The tip of the knife sat in easy reach of my fingers. She didn’t know who I was, but if she could see my powers, and I couldn’t use them, I was in real trouble. She’d treat me like a threat when I was defenseless. She’d bring me back into a situation I was in no position to face again, no matter how much I wanted it.
All I had now were my words. I had to keep her off balance, keep her guessing. As soon as she thought I was in a position of weakness, I was fucked.
I leaned forward. "A question for a question, then."
The girl's eyes never left my face for a moment. The opossum followed suit, in a manner that left me just a little bit unnerved. But neither of them were looking at my hands.
"Who sent you?"
I couldn't see her face behind the mask, but I saw her shoulders hunch inward, she leaned in a bit despite her best attempts to stay straight.
"The local Others. Why?"
My fingers wrapped around the handle of the blade, still hidden from view. "No, don't be vague. Who sent you?"
When the opossum turned into another little girl, transforming in the blink of an eye, I wasn’t as surprised as I should’ve been. There had been something off about it from the moment I’d laid eyes on it. The real surprise was that she wasn’t part of the deer mask girl’s power, but instead an entirely separate person with a seemingly separate changer ability. She was a little younger than her friend, blonde, wearing a black t-shirt displaying a cartoon opossum guzzling trash from a can, surrounded by a ring of text that read: Garbage Day.
“You’re in safe company,” the opossum girl yelped, “she’s unarmed!”
The deer mask girl tensed, leaning forward as if preparing to either run or lunge at me, despite what her friend had just said.
Damn it.
I drew the knife, standing up. The girls watched me carefully, like judging a frightened animal. “What are you going to do?” the deer girl asked. “Attack us?”
My fingers tightened around the handle. I took a step forward, and both of them reacted visibly, shifting their postures. I almost wanted to laugh—they had me surrounded, outnumbered, dead-to-rights, but they were still scared of a one-armed woman with a flimsy piece of cookware. I was reminded of my career as a villain, the authority I’d commanded. I supposed some of that had stuck, even now.
“That’d be the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it?” I asked.
“It would be dumb. Super dumb,” she said. “All we’re doing is asking questions—breaking the laws of hospitality over that? You’d be screwing yourself over for very little gain.”
“Super smart,” the opossum girl added helpfully.
“I don’t know what laws you’re talking about,” I said. “But the way I see it, you’re in my house, you’ve got some idea of who I am, and you’ve been less than friendly. I can put two and two together. I think someone sent you here to hurt me, someone who knows who I am. I want to know who.”
Contessa? Teacher?
“Matthew,” she said easily, as if I was supposed to know who that was. “And I wasn’t sent here to hurt you. Honestly, I think you’re being unfair—I’ve been totally friendly so far.”
The opossum girl huffed. “Not me. I’ve been on my worst behavior.”
“My turn,” the deer girl said. “What should I call you? Khepri? Taylor? Or do you have other titles you’d prefer?”
“Taylor.” I gripped the knife tighter. “How did you find me? I thought Contessa sealed the way through.”
The girl furrowed her eyebrows. “Sealed the way through what?”
“Don’t mess with me. Through worlds. You came through one yourself, didn’t you? That’s how you got here in the first place.”
“You’re talking about Paths?”
“Paths, portals, whatever.”
“No, not whatever—names are important. Do you mean Paths?”
“Sure,” I said, not wanting to argue over something so unimportant.
“I’m not aware of any Paths being sealed recently, and I don’t know who Contessa is. I didn’t come through one to get here.” She shrugged casually, in a way that reminded me a little of Golem, back in the day. “I walked, mostly. What’s your goal in Kennet?”
“I told you, I’m just here for some peace and quiet while I write.” It felt so odd to be trading back and forth comments while I held them at knife point. I didn’t get it—these relentless questions. If she knew who I was, what was the point of this? To waste my time, to distract me while others set up an ambush? To throw off my guard? “What do you want from me? Why are you here?”
“To figure out if you’re a threat to our town or not.” She let the answer hang in the air, staring pointedly at my knife. “Are you?”
“I—”
The opossum girl flinched. I’d moved, unconsciously, pulling my knife into more of a combative stance.
I didn’t even notice.
I stared at that knife in my hands for a long time, and then back at the two girls. And my heart sank, because I was the bad guy here, wasn’t I?
Yes, these two were clearly capes, but as far as I could tell, they didn’t seem to have any idea who I was. They’d just noticed a new parahuman moving into their town and decided to investigate, and here I was brandishing a knife at them. As far as first impressions went, this was as low as I could get.
I was supposed to be older and wiser now, but I’d still let my paranoia get the best of me.
I’m not Weaver anymore.
I put the knife on the couch, out of the two girls’ reach, and sat back down, sinking into the cushions.
“No,” I said, my mouth tasting like sand. “I’m not.” I looked up at the two of them, who were so young, and so small. “Are you two here to hurt me?”
“Not unless you try to hurt us or innocents first,” the deer girl said.
“I’m not just here for moral support,” the opossum girl argued. “I’d beat you up so bad. Opossums are great at fighting.”
That girl had a twisted sense of humor, I thought. “You guys are, what? Local heroes?”
The deer girl looked at me funny. “Something like that, I guess. We’ve never used those exact words, but I guess that’s sort of the job description. We’re protectors of Kennet, and the Others living here.”
“I’m a hero,” the opossum girl interjected, snorting. It felt like there was a joke behind those words, but I wasn’t quite sure what that might be.
I glanced at the knife again. “Sorry. I think we got off on the wrong foot. I thought you were… people from my past. I panicked.”
“Is that something we’re going to have to worry about? Enemies of yours following you to Kennet?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t had anything like that happen in over seven years. You would’ve been the first. And… for the record, I don’t have my power anymore.”
“Anymore? What does that mean?”
“I was cut off from it,” I said. “For my own good. Please don’t ask.”
“I have to figure out what you’re capable of,” the deer girl said. “You weakened the perimeter, and that’s a threat to us.”
“I don’t know what perimeter you’re talking about,” I said. “If I tripped over some of your town’s defenses, it was unintentional.”
“What about that thing you’re connected to? Is that… Khepri?”
“In a sense,” I said. “I’ve heard other names for it. Queen Administrator. It’s my passenger.” I leaned in. “But what do you mean I’m connected to it? I was supposed to be cut off—that’s why I don’t have my power anymore.”
“If that’s the case, yeah, I can kind of see that. The connection between you and it is frayed, but it’s still there.” She paused. “What is it? Because it’s really freaking huge.”
“What do you mean, what is it? You’re acting like this is the first time you’ve seen one—but if you can see my passenger, shouldn’t you have seen others already? Your friend’s, your own?”
The deer girl glanced at her friend. “...We don’t have anything like that. I’m a Finder, not a Host. Snowdrop’s a boon companion.”
I had no idea what any of that meant, but I had two running theories as to who these girls were: either they were native to this world, or had they also come from another Earth, like I had.
And either answer would be concerning in different ways: if they were originally from this world, it meant that powers were spreading here, and would have serious ramifications; if they were from another Earth, they might someday realize who I was, which meant I had to leave town as soon as possible. Despite my earlier paranoia, I was leaning toward the first theory, because these capes seemed to have their own lingo, their own terms for things. I wasn’t sure what a Finder was, but from context I assumed it was something like a thinker, with emphasis on learning current information rather than something like precognition.
“How long have you been doing this?” I asked.
“If it’s okay with you,” the deer girl said, “I’d rather not answer that.”
“Fine,” I said, even though it wasn’t. “Look, you want to know if I’m a threat or not? I don’t have my power anymore, I’m missing an arm, and I’m not in contact with anyone who might be dangerous. I’m a freelance writer. I write articles for whatever rag will pay me. That’s all.”
“You write for magazines.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Okay, this might sound like a really dumb question, but—that’s a thing? Magazines hire people like you to write articles?”
I chose not to take that as a jab at my image. “There are a lot of shitty tabloids out there,” I said, crossing my real arm over my prosthetic. “They need something to fill their pages, so they contract out. It pays the bills.”
“That’s cool,” she said. “Sorry, I wasn’t judging. I was just, you know, surprised.”
“I’m judging,” the opossum girl—Snowdrop—said. “Magazines are good for more than just being comfy beds.”
“Uh, sorry.” I didn’t know what to make of that, but the situation was defusing, at least. It had to mean something that their postures were more relaxed. The me of eight years ago would probably have made a mess of things, and it was comforting to know that I’d at least changed in that way. “I never asked—what do I call you two?”
“I’m Avery. This is Snowdrop,” the deer girl said, ruffling her friend’s hair.
I frowned. Snowdrop sounded like a cape name, but Avery didn’t. “Those are your real names?”
“Yeah?” Avery almost looked confused. “Names have power, right? Giving a false name would dilute that, or it’d give people more avenues to affect you.”
Now it was my turn to be confused. “Is that how your power works? It’s based on, what, associations?”
“...Isn’t that how all Practice works? Associations, patterns, connotations?”
“Uh—what’s practice?”
The girl suddenly froze, as if she’d just turned to stone. “You don’t know what Practice is?”
I shook my head. “I’m not from around here. Is that a general term for powers in this world, or…?”
“I mean, basically, yeah,” Avery said. She hesitated. “Taylor, where exactly are you from?”
I sighed. In for a penny… “Another world,” I said. “You wouldn’t have heard of it here.”
“Another world?” she asked. Then she cleared her throat. “Does that mean you’re not human?”
“As far as I know, I’m as human as it gets.”
“But…” Avery grumbled in frustration. “You’re not an Other?”
“I have no idea what that means.”
Avery stopped talking for a moment, giving me a very long look at that I couldn’t quite place. “I think,” she said, closing her eyes, rubbing at her forehead, “I think I need to go have a long conversation with the others.”
I really didn’t like how ominous that sounded—but before I could say anything, the two of them were already off the couch and moving for the door.
“Wait—!”
But they ignored me, disappearing through the threshold, and by the time I followed them out, they had already vanished entirely.
A/N: Hey everyone! It's my first time posting to Dreamwidth, excited to be here! Thanks for reading!
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject