A/N [12/7/2018] : Just an idea I had a few months ago before I posted You Only Tell The Truth. Not sure when the next chapter will come out, but I had to post this. Getting sick of seeing it sat there in my documents folder. Let me know what you think!
ORBIT
1
The sun had blinded her. It had blazed through the open classroom window, heating the already uncomfortably stuffy room, and filtered through the gaps of Inko's fringe. That was what she could recall when Izuku had asked her why the family business had begun.
Truthfully, there wasn't anything particularly special about that moment – an unpleasantly sunny Tuesday afternoon in sixth period Maths. The teacher droned on about Quadratics; textbook in hand and chalk scrawlings stretching behind his shoulders on the blackboard. Mitsuki was drumming her pen against her workbook; her desk was right behind Inko's. It wasn't a distracting gesture, just familiar.
There was always something about Maths that made Inko's friend restless. So, with nothing out of the ordinary occurring around her, why did Inko feel as though someone had suddenly snapped their fingers right in front of her eyes?
It was as though she had been drifting – sleepwalking – through the last seventeen years of her life, and now she was finally awake.
Highschool was nothing special. It never was unless you attended one of Yuuei's departments or had some desire of going into Heroics in the near future. Inko had been quite content at fourteen to fade into the background – just like the majority of her classmates.
Mitsuki joining her at the local public high school had been a surprise though. Mitsuki would have made a really good Hero, with her lucrative Quirk and even more quixotic temper; she could have had specks of glycerine dancing off her palms and a Villain happily trapped under her thickly soled boots had she decided to pursue that career. But Mitsuki didn't want to be a Hero. Mitsuki, at the time, had wanted to be a nurse.
Strangely, Inko could see her friend making her rounds through the ward. Mitsuki would be able to cow even the most difficult of patients into doing her bidding with one pointed crimson glare. Her bedside manner may be lacking in some areas, but if she could manage not to give her patients any extra injuries, then Inko was sure Mitsuki would succeed in her chosen career.
Inko, however, had no such plan for the future. She wrote well enough, but she couldn't see herself sitting behind a desk in an office all day long. She was creative – when money was tight at home she would butcher her existing clothes and sew them into something distinct, instead of spending needlessly on a brand-new wardrobe. Perhaps, if she could have funded it, Inko would have resigned herself to a life in academia, but part of her wilted at the thought (and at the price tag). She didn't want the restriction of a uniformed job, disliked the idea of tiredly labouring day in and day out, and certainly had no future in heroics – it would be too late for her to even begin now.
Inko, in reality, had no idea what she wanted to do with her life, and she wasn't sure anyone expected anything from her. She would often daydream about different routes her future could take, fantasy worlds, and even the swirling depths of the night sky, but would be rudely disrupted from her musings before she could finalise the scenarios and ponderings.
It was for the best, she would reason once shaken from her daydream. I'd probably be no use anyway. I'm not like Mitsuki.
Today was different though. The maths lesson was long forgotten from Inko's mind and, seized with a new epiphany and a clarity she hadn't felt before in her life, Inko flipped to a blank page near the back of her notebook. She picked up her pencil and began to sketch.
She allowed her thoughts to drift to what she could be – what would be the most outlandish future she could imagine – and suddenly jotting down ideas in a notebook, just daydreaming and ruminating, wasn't enough for her anymore.
Though she was creative, Inko wasn't an artist by any means. Her sketches were flat, like the nondescript blueprints an architect drew. Maybe she was an architect? She was consciously mapping out her future on these pages after all; each decisive stroke of the pencil lead and each deep graphite line that was present on the page had a purpose. When the bell rang to signal the end of their last period, Inko had a good idea as to what she wanted to do in the future, even if for now it was a (very) silly idea. She would just have to find a way to make the clinical lines of her drawing and the hastily scribbled notes she'd made around it come true.
"Oi," Mitsuki hissed, her foot kicking one of the metal legs of Inko's chair. "Are you ready to get going?"
Oh, Inko blinked. She'd promised to walk with Mitsuki through some of the shopping districts this afternoon once school had ended, but she'd been that focused on her drawing that she'd failed to notice her classmates filing out of the room and Mitsuki cramming her books and pencil case into her bag.
Placing the pencil she had been using between the pages as an impromptu bookmark, Inko snapped her notebook shut. "Sorry, I won't be a minute."
"S'fine, I always feel braindead after Maths so I suppose you can be let off once in a while," Mistuki grumbled, stubbing at the classroom's wooden flooring with the toe of her shoe.
Having placed her things into her backpack, Inko pet Mistuki sympathetically on her arm. The taller of the two girls blinked, her eyes flicking to Inko's. "Let's go."
Mitsuki dragged her around a few small shops, and Inko waited while her friend impatiently browsed through racks of clothing. They didn't stop for long in each place; Mitsuki got frustrated if she couldn't find what she wanted initially and would often storm out in a huff before she could send the place into chaos. While this was slightly annoying for Inko, who like to take her time to browse and try items on before she regretted buying them (a lack of money to waste certainly influenced her shopping habits), she decided to make the most of her time in the stores. Her drawing still prominent in her mind, Inko allowed her fingers to caress different materials – classifying and scrutinising them in regards to safety and longevity.
If Mitsuki squinted questioningly at her while Inko checked over a pair of leather trousers, well, she just shrugged and said they looked cool.
They did, and for the most part would protect her legs. Mobility, Inko knew, would be difficult. She needed something sturdy but light that would protect her but not hinder how she moved. After hastily exiting another store behind Mitsuki, it dawned on Inko that perhaps she was going about this the wrong way.
Instead of looking for premade clothing she could adapt, why not make them from scratch once she found a suitable fabric? She could sew after all, and if she splurged her savings on a large roll of fabric she could easily make replacement garments should something happen to the originals – plus, she was the only one who dared to venture into the garden shed and could hide the rolls of fabric inside. Her father avoided the wooden shed like the plague after her mother had passed; gardening had been a passion of Inko's mother, and if not for Inko herself putting in the effort with the help of a nosy neighbour, the garden would have been left to ruin after her mother's death.
"Aargh!" Mitsuki yowled, stomping a boot-clad foot on the sidewalk. "Why can't I just find something simple?!"
Seeing that Mitsuki's palms were gradually tightening into shaking fists, Inko took it upon herself to calm the blonde down before she did something… unnecessarily flashy. "What exactly are you looking for again?"
Mitsuki stilled, face going sheet white before colour flooded back into her cheeks. "I, I-uh…"
"'don't know'?" Inko returned, raising an eyebrow.
"No," Mitsuki huffed, flipping a few errant locks of her hair back over her shoulder. "I know what I want, I just can't find it anywhere – and I really want to make a good impression for Ma-"
Inko tilted her head. "For who?"
Words couldn't exactly describe how Inko felt at that moment, watching her friend fluster in the street. It was like watching a lobster boil in a hot pot with the temperature steadily being ramped upwards; the flushed tint to Mitsuki's face soon encased her whole body.
The blonde swallowed. "Not here. I'm not tellin' you in the middle of the street. C'mon."
Mitsuki dragged Inko to quiet café. It must have been the first one Inko's friend had spotted, because she doubted Mitsuki would willingly go anywhere that was floral patterned and pastel coloured. Mitsuki liked clean, sleek eateries with noise and ambient lighting and ridiculously heavy food, so what she wanted to say must have been important for her to drag Inko into a veritable pudding wonderland.
They ordered the cheapest – fluffiest, Inko's mind supplied – thing on the menu, Mitsuki's face wrinkling in defeat when she realised her mistake. She wasn't one for sweets, unlike Inko.
Digging through her bag while they waited for their order to arrive, Mitsuki withdrew a crumpled fashion magazine. She thumbed through few pages before she found what she thought was the right one; many of them had been dog-eared, and the pages carefully patched with Sellotape. Either Mitsuki really loved this issue, or she'd tried ripping out sections of it in the shop, got caught, and had to pay for it to avoid a confrontation.
"I like this dress," Mitsuki mumbled, not quite looking Inko in the eye. "But it's too expensive and I can't find anything else like it in the shops."
"'Tsuki, that's the horoscope section," Inko blinked. Mitsuki hastily flipped the magazine pages until she found what she had intended to show Inko. A leggy, thin woman sported a sleek red dress in the main photograph on the page. The model smiled blandly, her figure hardly defined by the clinging material.
They were momentarily interrupted by the waitress delivering their food; Mitsuki snatched the magazine out of the way, stuffing it onto her lap almost protectively. Her cheeks were flushed like she was an errant child doing something she shouldn't, and while Inko had been confused before, she was more so now regarding Mitsuki's frankly weird behaviour.
Before Inko could respond, Mitsuki shoved the magazine right in front of her face. The red dress photographed there filled her eyesight. "Um, it's nice I guess-"
"Right?" Mitsuki crowed. "I'd look killer in it, but I can't find anything similar."
"But why-"
"Because I've got someone to impress," Mitsuki snipped, swiping up her spoon from the tray the waitress had left at their table and digging into her pudding.
Inko flushed. "Seriously?"
Mitsuki's expression had comically curdled at the sweet-tasting, gelatinous custard she'd taken a spoonful of, but her eyes were deadly serious; and if Inko knew Mitsuki like she thought she did, she knew that her friend would pull out all the stops to make sure she got what she wanted.
Biting her lip and turning her attention to the desert she'd ordered, Inko thought of a way she could help. Then it dawned on her. She needed fabric. Mitsuki needed fabric. Why not kill two metaphorical birds with the same stone?
"I think I can help you," Inko beamed, and Mitsuki leant forward eagerly in her seat.
"Tell me more."
It turned out that if you did enough digging or asking around then you'd find the information you needed, and Inko was grateful for this. Knowing that Mitsuki could be a picky (read: nightmare) shopper, Inko wanted to make fabric selection quick, easy, relatively painless, and most importantly, cheap. They'd talked to locals of the area who'd directed them to a small warehouse of sorts which sold fabric by the roll, rather than the skimpy fat quarters used for quilting or sewing projects.
"Have you got your bank card on you, or just a few bits of loose change?" Inko asked Mitsuki. It would be best if they had money on hand, and Inko knew she was carrying her bank card in her own coin purse. The money in it mainly came from odd jobs she did around the neighbourhood and through part-time work as a cashier in a convenience store; nothing fancy, but enough for her to get a few luxuries for herself outside of her allowance and the money her father gave her for groceries.
"I have, but I'd rather pay in cash," Mitsuki answered.
They'd passed a convenience store not long ago and doubled back to use the cash machine there. Finally sorted, and with their pursed brimming with notes, they made it to the fabric warehouse. It was arranged meticulously by fabric type; each section labelled and arranged in a satisfying order of colour rather than the pandemonium of pure stuff Inko had expected.
This was a good thing, she assured herself. She'd find what she wanted quicker that way.
Mitsuki darted off to the velvet section, her fingers reaching out to stroke the crushed pile of the fabric. Smiling at her friend's antics, Inko had to force herself away into the speciality fabric zone instead of falling pray to the sot tactile sensation of fingers running over soft velvet.
There were a lot of fabrics to look at and choose from, but none seemed fit for Inko's purpose. Coated wire mesh was light on the body and protective, but it would make her feel exposed. Spandex too was breathable and moveable; while many Hero costumes used it as a base, it clung like a second skin.
Inko had always been conscious of her appearance – it was hard not to be when you were close friends with Mitsuki, who's Quirk ensured that her body would maintain a youthful appearance. Inko wasn't Mistuki, she knew that, and she also knew that she should be comfortable in her own skin. It was just, well, easier to hide your body under clothing if you were having an off day than to display it to the whole world.
Not really seeing anything that struck her fancy, Inko went off in search of the warehouse's owner to inquire as to whether they could recommend anything to her. The man was gruff, but Inko was used to abrasive behaviour at this point. She was friends with Mitsuki still after all these years. He led her back to the speciality fabric section, shifted a couple of the rolls out of the way, and pulled out one that Inko had failed to notice earlier.
"It's infused with glass fibres and carbon steel," the owner drawled in a bored manner. "Still flexible enough to move in and to sew, but protective and less clunky than padding or armour. That is what you're going for right?"[1]
"Er- Um," Inko gaped.
"Y'know what, don't tell me," the owner shook his head, shoving the roll into Inko's panicked, outstretched palms. "Just don't do anything stupid."
Inko thought she was going to balk at the price tag attached to the roll, but instead she was pleasantly surprised. It would still take a decent chunk out of her savings, but she would have enough left out of what she had withdrawn that afternoon to splurge on fabric for extras. With Mituski still captivated by different shades of red velvet, Inko slunk to a section of the warehouse dedicated to leather offcuts. She delved through the piles of hides before finally settling on one she wanted; scooping it up and carrying it along to the makeshift till area the owner had set up on a rickety folding table.
"What exactly do you want this for again?" He inquired while racking up the total cost. [2]
"It's probably better you don't ask," Inko replied, wincing at the total. The leather had been pricier than she'd expected, but it would be worth it. She'd vaguely glanced at a small shelved area for haberdashery, but knew she had a lot of extra fittings and fixtures at home she could make use of before she bought anything extra. "My friend wants some velvet to make herself a nice dress though-"
"Not another word," Mitsuki snapped, stepping up behind Inko by the till with a huge roll of velvet resting across her shoulders.
"Mitsuki…" Inko breathed. "You're not going to need all of that."
"Are you sure you're goin' to be able to make what I want without flubbin' it?" Mitsuki probed worriedly for the umpteenth time, and Inko wanted to groan.
Rather than voicing her frustration, Inko nodded reassuringly. "Yes, I've made stuff before. I'll have to take some of your measurements, and well, I'll need the magazine to copy the design from."
"And you're goin' to make it exactly like the one in the picture?" Mitsuki pressed.
"I- well, yes? That's what you wanted right?"
Mitsuki didn't answer. While the five or so metres of fabric Mitsuki had bought would be ample – and folded up nicely to fit in a plastic carrier bag she could sling over her arm – Inko had bought the full roll of special fabric. The two teens were currently heaving it down the road, and Inko wondered how exactly she was going to sneak it in without her neighbours or her father noticing.
"Just say it's for a group project," Mitsuki shrugged, throwing Inko a confused look when the latter confided she wanted to keep the fabric she'd bought a secret. It was simple, but the excuse proved to be effective. No one bothered them on their way home – not even the guards at the train station. Inko supposed that with the strange occurrences Quirk society brought, two girls hefting a roll of fabric and a large pile of leather onto a commuter train during rush hour was nothing out of the ordinary.
"You do want me to copy it directly from the picture, right?" Inko asked.
"No," Mitsuki answered her finally. "I want you to make it better."
Inko gulped.
Mitsuki hadn't elaborated on how exactly Inko could improve the design. While studying the magazine given to her Inko wondered why exactly Mitsuki would even need a velvet evening dress. Well, other than maybe wanting to feel mature? Inko didn't really understand why Mituski felt that need though; the blonde's figure was well developed, and statuesque. Inko would look ridiculous in a form-fitting red dress, partially due to her green hair making her look like a Christmas ornament and also because she wasn't tall enough to pull off long-line dresses.
Most of Inko's homemade skirts ended just at or above her knee, helping to shape her compact form. The cardigans she knit for herself were shapeless and on the larger side, woven in off-branded pastel shades that didn't clash with her hair. The more Inko thought on it, her own style was rather modest.
So how could she alter the original – already racy – design of the dress Mitsuki wanted? How could she make it, well, more Mitsuki-ish? Plus, how long would it take her to make the thing? Inko wanted to make a start on her own 'project' sooner rather than later – the longer she put it off, the less likely she would go through with her plans.
Her thoughts churned as she began to prepare dinner. The summertime heat made her crave simple food; rice with some steamed or pickled veggies, and perhaps a cool broth? Inko became so intrenched in her mind that she nearly lopped off her index finger with a wickedly sharp cooking knife.
Sighing, she shook her head and tried to focus more on what she was doing. Fat load of good she could do for the world if she deliberately hindered herself.
Dinner was a stilted affair. Her father asked no questions, merely grunted when she asked how his day had been and dumped his plate by the sink once he'd finished eating. Inko tidied up after him, and herself, before she scurried off into her room to begin making the pattern for Mitsuki's dress.
When the two teens had been carrying the fabric back to Inko's house, Mitsuki had stayed for a short while. Inko took that opportunity to take extensive measurements of her friend – she'd rather not waste time and fabric by messing it up.
The idea was to make a pattern that essentially would cut out in one piece, rather than two or three. The single cut out piece would still fold on itself – there would have to be one obvious seam, after all – but the majority of the dress would appear to be seamless. The fabric was stretchy and forgiving enough to mould to Mitsuki's form without excessive altering or darts.
Inko was thankful that the original dress had no sleeves and a strapless sweetheart neckline; she wasn't sure how she'd reverse engineer her pattern otherwise. The entire thing would meet at Mitsuki's front – that being where the obvious seam would be. Inko hoped that the alterations she was going to make to the original design went down well. From the bottom hem to the dip of Mitsuki's cleavage, a chunky, heavy-duty metal dip would bind the two loose seams together.
Mapping out her design according to Mitsuki's measurements with permanent marker and butcher's paper, Inko made sure to carefully match up the edges of the paper where the design couldn't fit onto one length. Once finally finished, Inko straightened from where she knelt in her tiny room; her back cracked loudly from how stiffly she'd held herself.
Cutting the velvet would have to wait until after school the next day. Inko wouldn't risk making a mistake if she cut it on her cramped bedroom floor. With the pattern ready to go though, it wouldn't take her too long to cut the fabric and rid the living room – the only room in the house that was spacious enough – of any mess.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze.
Inko showered, finished off her homework, and longingly pored over the drawing in her notebook. Deciding that the lined pages just weren't going to cut it, Inko rooted through the draws on her desk for a scrap piece of plain paper. The edges were slightly curled and crumpled, but it was better than the pages of a notebook anyone could flip through – at least with a single leaf of paper Inko could discreetly hide it elsewhere.
She tore out the pages of her notebook she had drew over and began transferring her sketches and hasty scribbled notes onto the plain paper. Somehow on the bland surface, the shaded sketches came alive. Inko's hands reached for the pack of coloured markers she'd bought a few years ago. Then she set to work with the black and neon green inside the packet.
Her fingers were stained with coloured ink when she finished.
Inko anxiously curled her fingers around the long sleeves of her school blazer. She was on the way home from school with Mitsuki, and the train ride seemed to take forever.
Mitsuki shifted restlessly on the bench-style seat of the train, her leg jiggling in anticipation. Inko had finished the dress. It had been left to hang inside a makeshift dress bag – otherwise known as a garbage bag Inko had made a slit in at the top to allow the coat hanger to poke through – hidden inside Inko's wardrobe just in case her father wandered into her room.
Inko doubted he would be angry at finding the dress, especially if she explained Mitsuki had asked her to make it especially. But there was something private and personal about the garment that had Inko blushing – something about it that should be kept away from prying eyes – and though Inko had yet to start her 'project' she felt the same way about it too. It was secret. Secrecy would keep her – keep it – safe, or so she thought.
The train had been packed with school kids and salarymen alike; the latter were the lucky ones allowed out of work before five in the evening. Inko just really wanted to beat the home time crush on the trains, sort out Mitsuki with her dress and send her on her way; mostly due to her father coming home, but partly because a small selfish voice inside of her cried out that it was time for her to begin her project – it cried that she'd nearly left it too long, and that her interest was dwindling and–
Oh.
The abrupt feeling she'd felt on that sunny afternoon had returned.
Mistuki and herself had been lucky to grab seats on the train. Other students and commuters were not so fortunate, and one business man was taking advantage of this. A girl maybe only a year or so younger than Mitsuki and Inko was trapped between her school friends and a businessman.
That sounded like the premise to a proverb or a joke, but it was neither; just plain cruel.
The business man had begun using the packed train to his advantage; the hand not holding onto the hand rails inside the train drifting from the pocket of his suit trousers and dipping lower and lower, underneath the hem of the girl's skirt. His hands were thin and slender; his fingers long like piano keys. Not only was he opportunely preying on innocent people, Inko realised, but he was also inappropriately using his Quirk too.
The high school girl stilled. Her friends were talking with quiet animation and didn't notice how the girl froze like a deer in the headlights. The man continued to invade the girl's privacy. The girl's lip wobbled, unshed tears of horror beginning to gather at the corners of her eyes. Mitsuki bristled at Inko's side, having seen the whole thing happen too; she rose from her seat as though to take action, but Inko pulled her back down.
"Just watch," Inko simply told her in return to the searing glare Mitsuki gave her.
It was times like these that Inko's Quirk could shine. She'd seen a golden band encircling the man's ring finger. He was married then, or so she assumed, and therefore should know better than to grope girls half his age on the train. Discreetly angling her index finger in the direction of the ring, Inko used the magnetism of her Quirk to yank the man's hand away from underneath the girl's skirt.
The business man yelped as though the ring had stung him and glanced suspiciously around the compartment. His eyes drifted over Mitsuki and Inko, but they were innocently chatting to one another. Inko's hands were still in her lap and Mitsuki had her arms crossed – nothing about their behaviour indicated anything remotely suspect. Thinking that he was in the clear, the man tried to assault the quivering and confused schoolgirl again. His hand contorted around his wedding ring; the finger inside the band not able to slip from the metal confines or move it as he activated his Quirk; the ring was held in place by an unknown force.
The schoolgirl breathed a sigh of relief as the man reluctantly shuffled further away from her, tutting and curling his upper lip as he did just so.
Mitsuki had to bite her lip to stop her laughter from escaping. "Fucking brilliant!"
"Language, 'Tsuki."
Mitsuki could not stop her laughter, even after the pair had exited the train at their stop.
"You've done that before, haven't you?" She exclaimed, nudging Inko's arm with her pointed elbow. It hurt a little, but Inko just smiles and rubs the store spot.
"Once or twice," Inko replied shyly, and Mitsuki's laughter hoots around the neighbourhood. Inko cringes a little. She'd hoped to quietly send Mitsuki on her way with the dress, but now the blonde is demanding Inko to regale her with stories of amateur heroics from during Inko's morning commutes.
Simple acts like these aren't anything to be fascinated with. It wasn't as though Inko was some big Hero hotshot punching the living daylights out of anyone who so much as muttered 'I'm Evil – with a capital "e"', but she did what she could discreetly to save people from the lesser known daily dangers in life.
Small and light objects could be pulled on; the string of a child's balloon as it escaped their grasp, the back of someone's jacket to prevent their fall down the train station's staircase, or even the wedding ring of a groping pervert. They were little acts that often went unnoticed, but that was how Inko preferred to help others.
"I'll tell you more in a minute," Inko placated, letting the two of them inside her home. She wanders upstairs, Mitsuki following behind eagerly. Reaching inside her wardrobe to retrieve the dress she had crafted, Inko said, "For now though, if you're going to be staying you may as well try this on. There shouldn't need to be any adjustments, but I guess it's better to check now than when you get home."
"Anyone would think you're tryin' to get rid of me," Mitsuki huffs, but takes the wrapped garment from Inko's grasp.
Inko changes the subject, saying she'll make some tea and gather some snacks together while Mitsuki changes. Her room is oddly quiet, Inko thinks, pushing open the slightly ajar door with her foot so that she doesn't jostle the tray of teacups and treats in her hands.
"Mitsuki?" Mitsuki runs her hands down the seamless sides of the dress, admiring the shape it makes against her figure in the long mirror attached to the inside door of Inko's wardrobe. Her eyes are red and puffy. "Mitsuki are you-"
"Thanks."
"What?" Inko dumps the tea tray on her desk in shock, hurrying to the blonde's side as she devolves into sobs. "Mitsuki, what's the matter?"
"It's just-" Mitsuki huffs and swipes at her eyes, "- thanks. This is better than I'd expected."
Inko jolts, "Oh, I'm glad then-"
"With this I'm going to be able to obliterate those fuckers tryin' to get in my way!" Mitsuki's yell is punctuated by her raised fists; both were held triumphantly above her head. The blonde teen's victorious expression morphs into something far more dangerous – predatory in fact. "There's no way he won't notice me now. Fucker won't know what hit him!"
'hit' was punctuated by Mitsuki's fist smashing against one glycerine-soaked open palm, and Inko winces pre-emptively for whoever 'he' is. She draws her desk chair away from her desk and plops defeatedly in the seat. Inko drops her head into her hands, elbows braced firmly on her knees.
"I'm so confused right now…" She whispers. "I thought you wanted a dress to impress someone you liked?"
"Oh, I do, I do," Mitsuki wafted her hand dismissively before reaching for one of the forgotten snacks on the tea tray. "I just need to do that by winnin' the – hey, these are really nice – winnin' the audition."
"'Audition'?" Inko echoes, raising her head from her hands.
"Mm," Mitsuko affirms through a mouthful of rice cake, "I'm thinkin' of goin' into modelling."
"But-" Inko protests, and Mitsuki's eyebrows raise as though to say, 'But what?'. "You've always said you wanted to be a nurse!"
Mitsuki's face twists. A sardonic smile graces her lips as she swipes another rice cake from the tea tray. "I've not been interested in that for ages, 'Ko. We both know I've not got the patience for nursin'."
"You'd be brilliant at it though!" Inko exclaimed. "Mitsuki, I've always looked up to you because- I think that it's amazing that you were considering it and I always wanted to do more with my life! You've always been a source of inspiration for me, so why would you give up now?"
It was true that Inko had always followed Mitsuki's lead since the beginning of high school. The two girls had attended the same middle school but were the only students to transfer to a high school outside of their home district. Not many families in their area had the extra funding around to send their children to a better-resourced facility, but the school Inko and Mitsuki ended up attending wasn't exactly the best Japan had to offer. Since their first year of high school, the two had stuck together; Inko following Mitsuki's lead. The blonde always had a plan. She was always confident and ambitious; Mitsuki's actions made Inko want to be more confident – they even prompted her daydreams sometimes.
So, if Mitsuki was going to give up at the first hurdle, then was it even worth Inko going through with her plan anymore?
It would be all too easy to give up now. The fabric could be sold on discreetly or bartered for at the market – as could the leather – or she could make herself some heavy-duty clothes and get the wear out of them for the next few years. No one ever anticipated Inko would do something spectacular with her life, and she would never be a hero like those purging the world of crime who she saw in the streets or on the news. She could give up, and it would cripple her esteem altogether – even worse, no one would care or notice if anything was different.
However, a small part of Inko – buried deep down beneath the shock and hurt – was angry. How could Mitsuki do that to her now, after being her role model for all these years?
Inko knew it was petty and irrational of her to think like this, but in the back of her mind she thought; fine. If Mitsuki isn't going to follow her dreams, and if she's going to settle for second-best, then nothing is going to stop me. Maybe it's selfish of me, but I'll prove you all wrong.
"I didn't know you looked up to me that much," Mitsuki murmured, guilt flitting across her expression. "But 'Ko, I can't carry your for the rest of your life-"
I never asked you to.
"N-no, it's," Inko took a deep breath. "It was silly of me not to consider your feelings, and well…"
It was silly of me to think we could both make a difference to the world, because you've always been the same. Sometimes I feel as though you've never been my friend.
"Yeah?"
Inko's beaming smile was radiant in the afternoon light, but inside she felt hollow and raw. "I'll support you not matter what, 'Tsuki."
But I doubt you'd support me in return, Inko added in her mind.
Inko hadn't applied to any Universities – neither had Mitsuki, but that was a different matter entirely. Instead, once graduated from high school, Inko took on full time work; bouncing from one part-time shift to another, to helping around the neighbourhood, and to caring for her father and their home. He brought home less money now that he had before, and Inko was torn between quietly suffering with harsh budgeting and begging for overtime, or demanding her father smarten up his act.
She wasn't sure what he did every day to warrant a dock in pay – or perhaps he just spent the lot before she could put it towards groceries and bills.
Mitsuki, having taken the dress and fled the overly emotional scene in Inko's bedroom, had yet to show her face after their high school graduation ceremony. Inko couldn't help but feel like she'd been used, but Mitsuki wouldn't do that to her, surely?
Maybe she would, the petty, angry part of Inko whispered temptingly. Maybe she just wanted you to build your hopes up again, like you always do.
Inko has always been one to cry in the face of danger and await rescue, and so far, Mitsuki had been there to always help. Inko's mother had been an excessive crier too, but no one had been there to help when a Villain uprooted the building she had worked in and used it as a baseball bat. No one had been there to stop other people from becoming trapped and crushed in the rubble. Inko and her crying only had themselves to blame for her dependency and weakness. There may not be a Mitsuki-figure for Inko to rely on in future after all.
In retaliation to the intrusive, persuasive thoughts in her head, Inko meticulously redesigns her costume and adds further embellishment. The special fabric she splurged on will make a full bodied, footless jumpsuit. The leather shaped and sewn into a knee length overcoat to help disguise the curves and rolls of her body on days when she felt more self-conscious. She'd have to buy a sturdy pair of boots –second hand from a thrift store, or, if she could haggle down the price, brand new from the workwear store in the nearest market street. Gloves would help to protect her hands; they were the key to using her quirk, so she'd have to shield her fingers at all costs from injury.
A mask would be necessary too, but Inko wasn't sure how to go about that. One that covered her entire face would be cumbersome; it would have to be stiff to keep to the shape of her face, and Inko's nose scrunched when she pondered the potential discomfort it would bring. A half mask to cover her eyes – like the one's worn to the masquerades Inko had seen covered in elaborate TV dramas – and then some seriously bright or weird coloured lipstick to finish off the mysterious look. She wondered what she could do about her hair, but other than a hood or styling it differently to her half-down-half-up look, Inko hoped it would be dark enough whilst she was "working" to disguise the green tint to her hair.
She wanted to be able to blend into the shadows – though that would be easy enough, she'd been following in Mitsuki's for long enough.
Nausea curled in Inko's stomach. Months ago, she would have apologised instantly – even to herself – for that comment, but now she couldn't find it in herself to do so. Mitsuki still hadn't called in, and Inko knew her modelling audition had been a few weeks ago at most.
Maybe she was just busy?
Maybe Mitsuki had decided she was better off without her plain friend?
Inko shook her head, picked up her pen, and began to annotate her costume designs; her script nice and neatly arranged in a block paragraph as she labelled the individual elements her Vigilante persona consisted of.
There was something missing though.
It had been niggling at her even as she decided to change the subtle part of the costume, such her bootlaces being swapped out for a pair that would glow in the dark, and the decision to spray paint constellations on her coat in a special luminescent paint. She'd figured out for the most part how she would use her Quirk in certain situations; she would have to train it as she crafted the pieces of her costume. There was no point going out to illegally fight crime if you had all the gear but no idea.
Inko scanned her costume plan once more. There was a blank space at the top of the page; she'd left it there especially, for when she thought up her name. It was time to decide though, and Inko popped the cap off of her black marker.
Her name was short, but hopefully it would have and make an impact.
With a little more training, a Vigilante going by the same of 'Orbit' would be making her debut soon.
Inko was extremely thankful that her father was out doing, well, whatever it was he was doing when the doorbell rang. She'd caught the harsh tang of alcohol on his breath as he uncharacteristically kissed her goodnight the night before, so it was fairly evident where the majority of his income was now disappearing to.
At this point, Inko refused to be surprised. He was a hands-off parent – always had been, but it had got worse since the funeral. Her mother had been the one to really raise Inko, until she couldn't anymore.
"I love you, Inko," her father had said the same night she'd caught his drinking habits, shambling off up the stairs in a stupor. Inko, thoroughly shocked at his words, couldn't remember the last time her father had said that to her, and she wondered why now of all times would he say it again?
But then he failed to return home, and Inko ground her teeth and willed herself to be calm because 'I love you' meant nothing anymore if it could be used as an excuse to push your daughter away from you.
It was late in the evening now. The dinner she had made was set aside on a spare plate for him, and there were leftovers in the fridge from her own dinner. Food wouldn't sit well in her roiling stomach, so Inko had pushed her plate away in disgust at the thought of eating another bite.
When the doorbell rang, Inko assumed the worst. Perhaps the police had brought her father home? Maybe it was an official – had her father been injured or caught between a Villain and a Hero's scrap? Did she owe someone money – had he got involved in shady business? But then Inko opened the door, and into the house clambered Mitsuki as if she owned the place and hadn't been absent from Inko's life for two months now.
"'Ko! The dress worked! It really worked!" Mitsuki bellowed, barrelling down the hallway towards the kitchen. Inko could only watch dumbly as Mitsuki helped herself to the leftovers. "I hope you don't mind, I've not eaten antyhin' in, like, seven hours."
Mitsuki began to babble around mouthfuls and bites of rice and pork cutlet, and Inko was yet to speak. "I can't believe it actually worked-"
"You got the job then," Inko said coolly. Mitsuki nodded. "That's… great."
Mitsuki's eyes narrowed. Glycerine shimmered on her palms, causing the Tupperware container she'd been holding to slip about between her hands. "Don't sound too happy for me then, Inko."
"I am happy for you," Inko returned incredulously. "How could you think I wasn't? I'm more upset about the fact that you completely vanished for the past six weeks!"
The blonde girl's jaw stiffened, her body tensing. Mitsuki was gearing up for a fight then, Inko noted. "I was busy."
"So was I," Inko ground out, "But never once did I not worry if you were okay. If I hadn't seen you at graduation, then I would have-"
"Would have what? Followed after me like you've always done?" Mitsuki barked out a laugh. "Don't kid yourself Inko. You don't care about my wellbein', you just want to know whether you're goin' to be left all on your lonesome again."
Inko's waning patience finally snapped. She knew that she'd wound Mituski up and brought this upon herself, and that heated words said right there in the moment were often regretted later – though the blonde could hold a very long grudge.
Maybe Mitsuki was right though? Inko had depended on her a lot; she'd been the only familiar face at the new school, but Inko had thought that it was solidarity, not obligation, that prompted them to be friends in the first place. Inko wanted to scream – she wanted to hurl insults back and see if Mitsuki could take what she dished out.
Instead she squared her shoulders, straightened her back, and looked Mitsuki directly in her crimson eyes. "Get out."
The Tupperware container of leftovers was forgotten by the sink as Inko closed the door on Mitsuki's retreating back. She made it so far as the kitchen's threshold before she collapsed to her knees.
Calm down, Inko commanded herself, but the tears still fell thick and fast down her face. Calm down – distract yourself! You don't need people like that anymore in your life. It's better if you-
The doorbell sounded once more, and Inko hurried back along the hallway. She knew Mitsuki was hot tempered, but she was also a good person deep down – perhaps she'd come to apologise already.
Inko flung the front door open with a relieved, if wobbly, smile.
It was not Mitsuki waiting on her doorstep.
The police officer removed his cap and said something to Inko that she didn't quite catch, possibly due to the muffled ringing in her ears. The officer repeated himself but Inko couldn't hear him – the rushing, ringing noise in her ears had grown louder. She shook her head wildly, she couldn't – didn't want – to hear what the police officer had to say, but he took hold of her trembling shoulders and directed her inside the house.
Her father wouldn't be returning home that night. Or any other night.
A week later, Inko placed his ashes alongside her mother's: and despite it being in her family's nature, Inko could no longer bring herself to cry.
[1] May I direct you to,
Galeon, Dom, and Abby Norman, 'Researchers Create Soft, Flexible Material That's 5 Times Stronger Than Steel', futurism . com (July 20, 2017)
/researchers-create-soft-flexible-material-thats-5-times-stronger-than-steel/
[2] Was doing some really dodgy Maths for this. There's 'supposedly' 39 Yards on a standard roll of fabric, which is equivalent thereabouts to 36 Metres. Lets say the cost is £6/M, so £216 in total. Inko's total comes to roughly ¥32,942. I think that can be considered cheap, especially since I've seen a metre of fabric go for about £12 before. One metre. Just one. Sewing is an expensive hobby, okay? Sales are your friend, as are thrift stores.