Investments 14.10
Good news, I tracked down who Sherrel Bailey was.
Bad news, I had no idea the protocol of how to approach recruiting Squealer.
If she was under attack, I could swoop in and save her. If she directly asked if she could join, it would be as simple as just saying 'Sure!' and telling her where to meet up with me so we could bring her on board. Instead, she'd sent me an e-mail asking for my help, but using her real name.
Was this a show of trust? Did her telling me this mean she wanted to join, or else she wouldn't've said anything? I just didn't know what this meant, and looking online was absolutely no help, as the information for unspoken societal norms involving superhero identities, like most unspoken societal norms, was simultaneously spotty and contradictory.
After nearly an hour of trying to figure this out, I realized that I could just ask the professional heroine on my team. Calling Karen, and asking for her to come to my office, I explained my dilemma.
"Ah, another member for your growing harem!" she nodded understandingly, taking out her own phone and looking up the woman in question. "Kinda trashy, but we can fix that, and that rack! I guess she'd need to be a truck Tinker, to carry around those puppies!"
Already regretting asking her for help, I sighed. I couldn't even blame Herb for this, as the two haven't met. Oh god, what's going to happen when they meet? I thought with dread. Focusing on the task at hand, I argued, "I don't have a harem!"
"Panacea, Lady Bug, my fabulous self" she counted off. "It's not one yet, but-"
"Two of them are underage, so no," I countered. "Besides, I've met Squealer, like, twice." Karen gave me a 'so what' look. "We've been over this, I don't work that way. I asked your help because I don't know the protocol for this stuff! Do I show up at the address she gave me? Do I just respond to the e-mail? She gave me her real name, does that mean she wants to join?"
"She wants something, all right," the woman observed. At my unamused look she shook her head. "There's no 'protocol' for this stuff, Vejy-table," she told me, with finger quotes and everything as she laughed kindly. "If she gave you her address, she wants you to go there. If she gave you her real name, she wants your help, and is willing to give ya power over her. That means she either really needs your help, needs your help, or both. Can't fault her taste," the woman teased, eyes trailing down my costumed chest.
Rolling my eyes, I ignored her playful tone. "So, I should go talk to her? In costume?"
"Sooner rather than later," Karen agreed. "How 'bout now? No time like the present!"
Standing up, I shrugged. "Sure. You coming with?"
"Pfshaw," she scoffed, "Like I'd miss this. Gimme a mo' to get ready!"
Disappearing with a pop, I looked up the address I'd been given. It was in the suburbs, though a bit more on the rural side, of a small town twenty minutes away from Brockton Bay. Feeling the area around be with Strider's power, I was able to figure out a general direction I should go, though I was still getting used to distances. I hadn't tried anything less than five miles, relying on Karen's power to get home every time I needed to go somewhere precisely, but as long as I could get close I could just fly us both there.
When Mouse Protector returned, fully suited up and battle ready, I shot her a questioning look. "It's just a meeting. Is the hardware needed?"
"Never know when it's a trap, Vejovis," she stated with uncharacteristic seriousness. I stopped, considering the situation. Who would be setting this up as a trap? The Merchants I could take, easily, though they shouldn't have a problem with me. Boardwalk maybe, but not Vejovis.
An uneasy feeling took root in my stomach. I had been dodging Cauldron's calls, or the Triumvirate's, which was the same thing. They'd know that Sherrel was Squealer, it was their database that I'd used to find out myself, though doing so had jogged my memory, as I'd already learned her name when we met last time. It likely wasn't the case, but I might go there to meet with Squealer, only to find Alexandria waiting for me. I wasn't sure how my own anti-time powers would interact her Temporal Stasis, and until I did there was a good chance she could kick my ass. Hell, even if my powers negated hers on contact, with her speed she might still be able to kick my ass. I'd be able to run, with Marked Teleportation, but with that woman's photographic memory she might be able to figure out that I was teleporting, not Karen teleporting me.
I took a moment and grew an Orichalcum shortsword from the wall, the cabinets rattling slightly, before sheathing it in a scabbard made from my costume.
Looking to Karen, she nodded, before she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let go of the tension which had sprung up unexpectedly fast. "Sorry, Veji-mite. It's just. . . the last meeting I went to didn't exactly go well."
Right, I thought. "Well, if the S9 are there, run and I'll bust out the 'kill everything in a hundred feet that isn't me' moves. Crawler and the Siberian might survive. The others won't."
"Like ya did to big, tall, and finny?" she asked, a spark of interest in her eyes.
"Yes."
Teleporting out of the base, first west, then south, to avoid any possibility of ending up in the Red Zone, I found that, while I was slowly getting better, my accuracy was still. . . lacking. I hadn't tried anything less than five miles away, and I figured I could fly the difference, but I massively overshot. Ending up in Minerva, New York, by my new phone's GPS, I tried to creep back slowly towards my destination, the difference between a jump of three and thirty miles fairly small to the sense of the world that power gave me.
The Marks I'd left helped me align east-ish, and the distant ones, now pointing down through the ground, gave me the oddest sense of vertigo when I tried to align them with Strider's power. Nonetheless, a dozen jumps later we were close enough I could fly, lifting Mouse Protector up into the air.
"Sweeping me off my feet?" she teased.
Ignoring her, I used my other hand to hold my phone, using it to navigate my way to Epping, and the address Squealer gave me. As Karen sang 'A whole new world', I dipped as she hit the 'over sideways and under' part, causing her to laugh. While I didn't know the words, she apparently knew the entire thing, the occasional person looking up as we flew high above them, casting our shadows down in the late morning light.
Tracking closer in, I found the location, one house among many in a suburb. Closing in on it though, the houses were all a little. . . off. They were all rectangular, though some were double the width of the others, and not a single one of them was more than a single story tall. The exact address was somewhat unneeded, as, while they all had driveways, only one looked like it had the bastard child of a tank and a monster trunk hidden badly under a tarp parked next to it.
To Squealer's credit, she had covered it up with a tarp, but it was just so out of place, and the likely custom armored wheels were peeking out from the sides, so it was still fairly obvious. Double checking, just in case, I did have the right address. Landing, Mouse Protector looked at the ill-hidden Tinkertech and tried not to laugh.
We approached the door, Mouse doing a few cartwheels for the hell of it is as I walked sedately, going over all the permutations of 'is this a trap' and 'what should I say' in my head, feeling very out of my element. Ringing the bell, we waited. And waited. Ringing it again, I checked the address. I did have the right one, and as far as I could tell the Tinker-Truck was parked next to this house. It was the third ring when I could feel someone talking on the other side of the door.
Still getting used to having Acoustokinesis once again, I was a bit ham-handed when I tried to replicate the sound, making it a bit louder than I meant to, the murmurs on the other side of the door suddenly as loud as someone speaking normally as they said, "I told ya I wasn't gonna move it, and it's not yer fuckin' property anyways so- what the fahk?" From the pitch of the voice, I had to assume it was Squealer, but I'd only talked to the woman once so I couldn't tell for sure.
The person on the other side had stopped, and I dropped the effect as Mouse looked at me inquisitively. "Later," I whispered. The person approached the door, though I couldn't tell what they were doing.
"Who's there!" Squealer called through the closed entrance, voice muffled.
"Vejovis and Mouse Protector," I replied, automatically smoothing out the sound so it carried through cleanly. I mentally frowned, wondering when I'd figured out how to do that. A fragmented memory of a certain bandit mountain base, and of a man of Wealth and Taste, flashed through my mind, and I had to fight to keep my displeasure from appearing on my face. It was a useful trick, but the automatic nature was something that, like Projectile Protection, I was going to need to train not to use without meaning to.
A long moment passed before the door opened a crack and showed Squealer looking through, dark circles under eyes, her blonde hair stringy and limp, and pointing a vaguely familiar revolver at me. "We've got to stop meeting like this," I joked, reminding her of the last time we met, and proving that I was really me. I could see her powers, normally flaring around her, seemingly banked and low, but she had no such identifier on her end.
She stared, unsure, hand unsteady, and I prepped my power to block the shot if she fired, but waited. "You changed your costume," she accused, her voice thin and reedy, though still high-pitched.
"Kept getting shot at," I shrugged, glancing down at the gun. "And unless that's Tinker gun, you know that's not going to do anything to me."
"Could be," she muttered, but un-cocked the pistol and put it away, closing the door. I could hear her sliding the locks off, and it opened once again. "Didn't expect ya so fast. Sorry."
Walking inside, the interior of the house was a bit odd as well, the entire thing built in a U, with two sets of hallways leading to a central kitchen/living room, doors set on either side. Karen followed me in, looking around the place with an appreciative nod. "Huh, fits."
A flash of anger flashed across Squealer's face, before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Mouse Protector?" she asked, oddly sweetly, though she still looked wrung out.
"The one and only!" the heroine smiled, striking a pose.
Squealer nodded heading to the kitchen area, and I followed her, noting that the woman was wearing a ratty t-shirt and pajama pants. "Remember seein' ya on the news when I was a kid," she commented. "Surprised ya haven't retired, with how old ya must be."
At Karen's squawk of outrage, I caught Squealer smiling slightly to herself. "You want somethin' to drink?" the Tinker asked.
"Coffee, black," I replied, trying to figure out what happened as I sat at the table. I got that insults were traded, though while Squealer had seemed actually upset, Karen, from how she bounded over, had taken it in good spirits.
Returning with two cups of coffee, taking a seat right as Mouse Protector said, "One for me too."
"Pot's right there," Squealer shot back, not moving to get up.
"Um, not exactly sure what's going on here, but can we chill until we've talked about why we're here?" I asked the room at large.
Both women winced, replying "Sorry Vejy" "Sorry Vejovis" at about the same time, before stopping and looking at each other. Mouse got up to get a cup of coffee for herself, not like she needed it, and I turned to Squealer.
"So, Sherrel, you said you wanted my help, but you didn't say with what," I started only for her to stiffen. "What?"
"How did ya know my name?" she asked, suddenly tense, eyes darting to the gun near the door.
"Because it was in your email!" Karen called from the kitchen.
The Tinker looked at me in confusion and I nodded. Pulling out my phone, I brought up her email, and showed it to her. She took it, reading her email, before hanging her head and passing it back to me. "I'm such a fuckin' idiot," she said, suddenly sounding close to tears. "Can't even go do this fuckin' thing right. Such a fuckin' fuckup. Fuckin' trash. Maybe I shoulda just gone back ta Skidmark and-"
"Um, Squealer, Sherrel, I already knew your name," I told her. "Remember, your cousin was there? She tried to protect you and bash my head in with a bat, so I made it into a mace?"
"Ya did?" she asked, unsure. "Right, that fuckin' thing. Got fuckin' hell for that, but the brat still has it in her room. Brought it to school and fuckin' everythin'."
"Um," I tried again, looking at her it was obvious what the answer was, but I felt like I needed to ask it out loud. "Are you okay?"
"Pfft," Mouse replied, taking her seat next to me, pulling down the front of her balaclava to blow on her coffee. "Seriously, Vej? She's strung out six ways to Sunday!"
Again, that look of extreme anger flashed across Sherrel's features, only to crumble as she seemed to collapse in on herself. "I-"
"Which is why you should heal her," Karen continued, as if she hadn't stopped talking.
Blinking, the Tinker looked at the heroine. "What?"
"Yeah, our Vejy-table's here's a healer. Really does the body good! Come on, first one's free!" she smiled, teasing.
I just rolled my eyes, "It's also not addictive, Mouse, which means that the entire 'first one's free' thing makes no sense. Hell, I'm pretty sure I cure addictions, though I'm not sure what I do to drug tolerances. Haven't healed enough addicts to find out. I think I'd set them to zero, but that'd require a lot of testing. Or testing once and Amy," I amended.
"Ya. . . what?" Sherrel repeated, voice shaky.
I put a hand over Karen's mouth before she could answer, continuing this run around, and ignored her as she licked it. "So, you know how I worked with Panacea to heal people before Leviathan attacked?" Squealer shook her head. "Oh, well, I did. I'm not nearly as good as she is, but that's the entire specialist versus generalist power dynamic in a nutshell. I am good enough to heal most things, and I make some extra money on the side as a. . . let's say super-power plastic surgeon, only without the surgery. Or the scarring. Or the plastic. I really need a better name, but everything else sounds. . . bad," I mused.
Mouse nibbled on my palm, and I ignored her, though when she bumped my knuckles with her mug I got the message and pulled my hand back. "He does good work," she commented, pausing before she took a sip. "Bonesaw ripped me up pretty bad. If he can fix this," she gestured to her face, "he can probably fix your top-heavy ass." Taking a long drink, she didn't say anything else.
Sherrel looked over at me, staring hard, looking for something. I hadn't the faintest, so I just smiled, waiting for her response. "What. . . what do I need to do?" she finally asked, unsure.
Extending my hand, the non-licked one, I simply said, "Take my hand."
Mouse laughed, for some reason, and shook her head, and Squealer looked confused. "I need physical contact," I explained, "like Panacea does."
Hesitantly Sherrel did so, her skin cold and clammy as the palm of my glove retracted. Calling upon Biokinesis I directed it towards her, using my own Peak Condition power as a guide to help her Get Better. So as not to worry her, I started it slow, a trickle of power, and she blinked a few times, before she relaxed a little.
Taking that as a go-ahead, I slowly ratcheted up the flow, to a small stream, more and more until it was flowing at full blast. I throaty moan distracted me as I looked up, letting the power continue to do its work, and saw that Squealer had her head down on the table.
"Um?" I asked, not having gotten this response before. "Are you okay?"
When I didn't get a response, I started to pull back on the power, only for her to grip my hand tightly and breathily demand, "Keep going!"
"Um?" I asked again, looking at Mouse, who was cracking up. She was no help but waved me on, so I turned the power back on, letting it flow, only to elicit another moan from the woman. "So," I commented casually to Karen, "this is new."
"I don't know," she commented, "your little pick me ups feel pretty good."
Sherrel gave another moan and shuddered slightly.
"That good?" I asked.
Karen shrugged, "I mean. It could be. You just need skin contact, right?"
I nodded, not sure where she was going-
"So you could do it with your di-"
"Which I'm not doing right now," I interrupted. "And I'd hope it wouldn't be the healing that would make that feel so good."
Finishing my coffee, as the moans died down, I kept on waiting her to stop, only to have her start up again, and set Karen off into another fit of giggles. I figured I'd given her a full half an hour minutes of healing at full blast. I normally just used a few seconds to spot fix problems when healing, and this was the 'keep you intact so Panacea can fix you' setting I'd only used on two people. One of them was dead, and the other was sitting next to me and neither of them had anywhere the kind of healthy base to start with as Sherrel did. Years of drug addiction atrophying organs was one thing, not having organs was something else entirely, so maybe this was over kill. Eh, I didn't think it was possible to over-do it on the healing.
Pulling back on it, Squealer's hand went limp, and it was only her regular breathing that made me not worried. "Sherrel?" I asked after a moment, prodding her.
"Whazzat?" she asked, her voice appreciable deeper and less shrill. Groggily picking her head up, pushing her hair back, and looked very different. The thin, pinched look was gone, replaced with a face that was more strong, with definite lines. She yawned, and I noticed her teeth, which were a little yellowed and crooked, were now in perfect alignment and a nice, but not artificially bright, white.
Blinking, she glanced around the room as if she was seeing it for the first time, and I took the opportunity to really look at her. Squealer still looked like Squealer, but a version of herself that was a combination of air-brushed and generally. . . more. It was hard to describe. The track marks on the insides of her elbows were gone, as well as the dark circles under her eyed, which looked around with a bright intensity they'd only hinted at before.
Those eyes focused on me, cheeks still smudged with old grime, but no longer hollow, and she started to ask, "What'd'ya do to. . ." she trailed off, as visibly surprised by the sound of her own voice as I was. It was still on the higher end of spectrum, and to some extent did sound like her, but only if you hadn't heard the shrill, three-fourth's of a chipmunk tones she'd had before.
Her eyes went wide, her hand shooting up to her throat, she started again. "You healed my. . ."
I looked at her, wondering what she meant, only to be taken aback, literally, as Sherrel launched herself over the table, tackling me bodily out of my chair. My first reaction said 'attack', only countered by the fact that she was trying to shove her tongue down my throat. She only got that far because I'd retracted my 'helmet' to drink my coffee, and I gently, but firmly, grasped her shoulders pushed her off, both of us on the floor, asking with about as much decorum as I could muster, "Sherrel, what the fuck are you doing?"
"Thankin' ya!" she grinned. Shivering in delight at the sound of her own voice. "For the first time since I was Isabella's age, I don't sound like shit! And I can feel! and I can. . ." she trailed off, shivering again, and I kept her from diving forward again as Mouse Protector laughed.
The Tinker's hands went to my belt, pulling at it. "How do ya get this off?" she asked.
"Why?" I asked, trying to keep up with what was happening, and failing.
Squealer laughed joyously, grinning at me, "So I can blow ya! Duh!"
"Mouse, a little help here," I pleaded as the heroine started to cackle.
"She can wait her fuckin' turn!" Sherrel disagreed vehemently. "I'm goin' first!"
Having had quite enough of this, I firmly hardened the air around the Tinker's waist and picked her up off of me. "One, you don't owe me anything," I told her, turning to look at Karen. "Two, you are no help at all."
"I'll help, just gimme a sec, and take off your pants!" the teleporter cackled, before descending back into laughter.
"Three," I said, ignoring her and turning back to Squealer, "I don't trade in sexual favors, ever. I have my reasons, and they're mostly romantic in nature."
"Two, at least," Mouse added. "Hopefully three!"
Silencing the Cape, I floated up to my feet, gently setting the Tinker down. "Fourth, what do you mean healed you. Like, I know, I just did, probably of all the imbalances and things from drug abuse, but you sounded specific."
"You don't want me ta blow you?" The woman before me asked instead. "You gay? 'Cause I've got a cousin who owes me a favor."
Motioning downwards on myself, I shot back, "Nope. Straight. Autonomous reactions working just fine, as you can plainly see, and will you stop laughing Mouse!" Even silent, she was making her mirth known, pounding on the table as she slowly slid off her seat. "So, I don't know you well enough to do anything with you Sherrel. We've met a total of twice. Also, I'm pretty sure this isn't your house, so that'd be kinda awkward if the home-owners came home."
"She'd understand," Squealer replied matter-of-factly. "So, ya don't. . ."
Karen tried to say something, realized she was silent, so just made lewd gestures. I ignored her. "No. What I would like, are some fucking answers. What help did you want? What do you mean by 'You healed' and touched your throat? Why did, no offense, you look so bad when we arrived? If I'm going to help, I need some information to work with, and as much as I appreciate the. . . offer, I didn't heal you to get blown, I healed you because you looked like you needed the help, and the previous time I met you, you seemed like a good person. So. Let's take a fifteen-minute break, go take a shower and put some proper clothes on, I'll make some lunch, and Mouse Protector can stop fucking laughing."
Fifteen turned into thirty, but with a round of ham and grilled cheese, after a quick trip to a corner store to get some proper ingredients, and another set of coffees, Squealer, who insisted on being called Sherrel "Since ya already fuckin' know, and I hate that fuckin' name," explained what the hell was going on.
In order of importance, the Merchants had a new Cape that could make drugs out of nothing. Given how powers worked, and how powers always had some kind of combat potential, the drugs were likely more than just drugs.
Sherrel's refusal to take these 'pussy pink' narcotics had lead to her leaving Skidmark, and living with her family out here. She'd not wanted to come to me for help strung out of her mind, or half-mad with withdrawal, so she tried to get better, but going cold-turkey wasn't going well, so she finally broke down and asked for my help, not remembering that I was a healer, she was just that desperate.
It was in that state that she'd written that e-mail, which was surprisingly well put together, considering. She'd been ready to offer me anything, from her TinkerTech Truck outside to unlimited sexual favors if I could help her. She tried to offer them again, but I politely, but firmly, turned her down, which she'd started to take badly until Karen, who I'd finally un-muted, had suggested, grinning, "Ask him if you can join his team."
"But-" Sherrel had started to argue, only for Karen to repeat her command.
The Tinker had asked, and I'd immediately said, "Sure. Glad to have you. If things get bad, I'll ask you to help, but we're pretty laid back when it comes to our Tinkers."
Sherrel had been very confused, which confused me, and Karen had explained to both of us, proving why it was a good idea to bring her. "Honey, he's not like whoever you're used to. You offering him shit makes it worse, since your saying he can be bought. He can't," she explained to the Tinker, before turning to me. "Vejy-table, she's used to dicks who want something. Not like that." she interrupted before I could point out that I wanted things. "She thinks if she doesn't prove her worth, you'll abandon her, and sex is a way to do that. Always has been for her."
"She's both a Tinker, and a good person," I'd argued. "That's enough."
Instead of explaining what I was missing, Karen had just gestured to me, saying, "And the big lug probably means it."
"Because I do?" I'd asked. "Who'd lie about that kind of thing?"
"Skidmark," Sherrel had offered, which kind of killed that conversation off right there.
Finally, it turned out that Sherrel's unnaturally high voice hadn't been a stylistic affectation, but a medical issue that'd started when she was a teenager. Growing up poor, her family had just been able to afford a doctor to give them an estimate of the price tag the surgery to fix it would cost, and then she'd been informed she'd just have to deal. While she didn't say it outright, I got the sense that having to deal with that had been one of the things that'd led to her drug-use.
Whatever my healing had done, in addition to reversing a life-time of malnutrition and a decade of drug-use, had fixed her voice, the one thing that she very clearly believed had ruined her entire life. Hence her jumping me. If she was unabashedly willing to whore herself out for help that wasn't the Merchants, fixing that had put us well into 'have your fucking kids' territory, something that I was by no means comfortable with, to Karen's obvious delight.
Joining the Penumbral Defenders, with access to labs, materials, and Toybox to sell her creations through if she so desired, had lead to an aborted second attempt to deep-throat my tonsils, though this one I'd been more prepared for. Her final statement of "I coulda asked this whole time?", along with my open agreement, had sent her into a bought of tearful laughter which seemed happy instead of distressed, something that Karen confirmed.
It was early afternoon when our conversation was interrupted, not by whoever owned this place coming home, but by three dirty, rusting vans pulling up outside. Holding up a hand to cut off Karen, I closed my eyes as I mentally opened myself to those of the insects outside. Colors were off, but the mishmash of clothing styles, as well as the crabs and lice, told me who they were.
Merchants.
They spilled out of the vans, armed with a motley collection of weaponry, and I mentally hardened the air in front of the outside walls. Whoever had let Sherral stay at their place didn't deserve to get their home shot up.
"Squealer!" A guy in what looked like leftover football gear yelled. "Come out! We're takin' ya back!"
Sherrel froze, terrified, flinching slightly as Karen patted her on the back. "Don't worry, Tinker-Tits. You're one of us, and we're not gonna let them take you anywhere you don't wanna go. Vej, can I take this one? Monsters are a bit much, but this? This I got."
Given that, upon seeing the group was here to kidnap the woman I'd just granted asylum to, I'd already sealed off the area in preparation for a Hypersonic Disintegrator, Mouse was probably right. I'd been fighting monsters for too long. As shitty as they were, these were still people, and needed to be arrested, not splattered, burnt, or vaporized. Either she guessed my thoughts, or she'd seen something in my eyes.
"Don't put yourself at risk, they're not worth you getting hurt," I cautioned, and at her 'seriously?' look I nodded. "Have fun."
"I always do!" she grinned back, pulling up her Balaclava and heading for the door.