Standing at the edge of a balcony with no rails hundreds of feet above the ground with snowflakes falling and melting into my wine, I consider how New Year's Day is a pathetic and redundant sort of celebration.
People choose to use this day to mark a change in themselves. They think that by tying their decision to an arbitrary measure of time that it will be more likely to stick, an attempt to prop up weak self-control with tradition and liquor. Perhaps it worked at one point but now New Year's Resolutions are no more binding than promises made to dead men.
"Hey, Max," a robust, masculine voice calls from within the ballroom. "Come on in, it's freezing out there!" To many it would sound magnificent, the ideal voice, at once commanding and caring. Closer attention betrays the slight extension of the vowels, a flaw stemming from drink and familiarity. That, and practical experience informs that there is no ideal voice. Only the necessary one.
I smile, for once not having to fake it. "I'll be there in a moment, Victor." His name is a joke, one that increases his closeness with those who are in-the-know enough to get it. In the court he is the Fool, the only one who can mock and correct the King, so long as it remains in good taste.
I like him. More than my own blood at times.
I delay a moment longer, looking out over the city, to assure that I move only of my own volition, then re-enter the dining room, taking in the festivities.
Victor and Lucy chat happily, with Cassandra trying to strike up a conversation with Jessica and failing miserably while her twin taps away at a phone. I make a note to have Vanessa discuss appropriate mentorship with her sister later. It will stick better than if it came from me. James is simply sitting back, enjoying a tall glass of beer and smiling.
My Fool, my Rooks, my Bishops, and a Pawn nearing promotion. I don't consider the missing Queen, the Knights that went with her, or how I can't bring all of my pieces to the table lest someone become suspicious. Brad's antics are useful for convincing the masses, yes, but damned if it isn't difficult to handle a subordinate who can't be seen in daylight.
I come to the head of the table and tap against my glass three times with a conjured knife. The conversation ceases, and I take a moment to appreciate the benefits of being King. Then I commence my speech.
Just because the holiday is worthless doesn't mean it isn't exploitable.
"In 2010, there were a dozen different parahuman gangs skittering around. We were the only light in the darkness, the only one standing between the good people of the city and the subhuman scum who plagued them..."
"The holidays are the fucking worst," Sophia snarls, stomping through the snow like it owes her money. I hold back a comment about cursing in public while I struggle through the snow myself. Even with warped space extending my steps it takes forever to get through the loosely-packed powder. I can only imagine how much of a pain it is without anything to mitigate the distance. That, and she wants to vent. It's eleven at night and no one in their right mind is out and about so I don't bother to report it. No harm, no foul.
Also, she's not wrong. The holidays are the worst.
Everyone with powers is a little fucked up in the head. Older people loooove to talk about how it gets better with age, about how a healthy social life is all part of the Wards package. Your child will be guaranteed good therapy if they want it, and they'll leave a happy and productive member of society!
"Gonna scout around," Sophia says, staring back at me, and I can feel the glare through the mask. I nod and she phases off, probably to inflict some gratuitous amount of violence on a mugger or something. I step up to a rooftop and keep an eye on her movement.
Happy and productive member of society. Please.
Most of the time, the gap between people who have a life outside of being a hero and those who don't is pretty small. Both of them work roughly the same number of hours, both of them value the law, and both of them are more or less functional at the workplace.
And then you take a look at who signs up for the Christmas shifts. Who doesn't leave the Rig or PRT headquarters on Thanksgiving. You check out who has unused vacation days because they don't have any family events to go to.
It's all the same people.
Armsmaster is the most obvious example. I'm not even sure I've heard of him sleeping anywhere that isn't the Rig, and if he does he can't possibly spend much time there. Miss Militia isn't much better but at least she has the excuse of not sleeping period. Shadow Stalker's shaping up to be another Armsmaster (I snort at the mental image that conjures up) and sleeps at the base.
That was an awkward conversation to have at three in the morning.
It didn't fix things between us. She's still a bitch most of the time, and I'm still trying to get past that and make friends with the only other girl on the team. But she's laid off on the family comments some. Probably hits a little too close to home.
"Hey, found some ABB," Sophia says over the coms. "Can you get over here before I engage?" I take two steps and cross three city blocks to end up next to her on a rooftop.
"Console, Vista and Shadow Stalker engaging..." I count quickly "Four, repeat, four members of the ABB."
"Kick some ass," Clockblockers says, and after that it's all elbows, fists and violence.
"Happy New Year, Alec!" I shout, setting off a popper and swallowing down some of the supermarket's finest twenty dollar champagne. Drinking at midnight is probably not a good way to deal with an incipient Thinker headache but it's probably not the worst thing to do.
"Happy New Year, Tats," he responds, eyes never leaving the TV screen. "Mind handing me a glass of the bubbly?"
"Aren't you a little young to be drinking?" I ask dryly, pouring some of the booze into a red solo cup. Yes, he is. On the other hand, the body-stealing sociopath is probably the most experienced alcoholic out of the four of us. That, and hey, criminals. We can break the law like that.
I leave the cup on the minitable next to his arm and sit down on the other side of the couch. Ugh, I should be doing something. Playing solitaire, trying to screw over Coil, anything. On the other hand, said murderous-villain boss has told me in no uncertain terms that he'll need my power later this week and not to push it too far. So that means no real work, and why not go out and party on a holiday? See what happens, have some fun, spend time with your friends. Problem: I only know one other person who I could conceivably spend New Year's with, and Brian has made it very clear that he's spending any and every holiday with family only.
Nice and heartwarming, with the side effect of leaving me in the company of Heartbreaker-lite this fine and freezing evening.
I'm about halfway through my second cup when a controller gets tossed in front of me. It takes a moment for me to put together the clues, and I look towards Alec.
"Wanna kill some noobs?" he asks.
Fuck Coil. I pick up the controller and let my power go to work.
Last year we didn't stay up to watch the fireworks together. Or the year before that. It kind of lost meaning, missing a person, and the resolutions we made before Mom died were always tied to things between the family.
Dad would always resolve to fix the house up, Mom would resolve to be home more often, and I would resolve to help out more. Dad usually kept his promise, as did Mom, but I...
I was twelve.
I think about what resolutions we'd make now. Dad would resolve to be home more often, maybe. Maybe it would pressure him into finally fixing that front step, or asking about school more. I don't know.
Mom would probably resolve to always be in our hearts or something.
What do I want to change in this new year?
In three days, I'll be back at school. Emma has cooled off in the weeks leading up to break, so if the trend stays I won't really need to do anything there. Maybe I can make some friends now. Sit down with someone at lunch and have a conversation about books or...
I resolve to get a new friend and find a hobby. Besides books.
I give up trying to sleep and pull out a book. Something old and Russian, to put me right off.
The Trial should do it.