Thursday, January 20, 2011
"Thanks for the gear and the help, Mike," Danny said to his friend, accepting a cup of coffee as he sat. He put it on the desk for a moment, then retrieved the bag containing the cameras, transmitter, and computer, handing it to his friend, who accepted it and put it on the windowsill behind him. "It worked perfectly. We got the documentation for the Arcadia transfer this morning, she's going for evaluation tests in a just over week, and with any luck she can start immediately. The poor girl has been studying like crazy all day for three days now." He smiled, remembering Taylor's bleary face that morning at breakfast, before she staggered back upstairs to the computer.
"Great," Mike, a short and amazingly nondescript man of something like forty, said with a smile. "I was happy to help. I haven't seen Taylor since she was about eight when you brought her to work one day because she wanted to see what you did. I remember she was running around asking everyone questions for hours."
Danny grinned at the memory. "She's always been curious. I hadn't realized how bad it had gotten over the last couple of years or so, it was such a slow change. On both our parts. Since that horrible night I feel like I have my daughter back, and my life."
"I have to say you look and sound a hell of a lot more cheerful than you've been for a long time," Mike chuckled, sipping his own coffee. "Everyone who knows you has been worried for years."
Sighing lightly, Danny nodded acknowledgment of the comment. "It was my fault. I couldn't handle losing Annette. God, I loved that woman." He looked out the window at the shape of the Medhall building in the distance for a second or two, then blinked and went back to his friend's face, which was sympathetic.
"I understand," Mike said quietly. "She was good for you. It was a terrible tragedy, what happened. When I think of what I'd feel like if I lost Julia or Sarah..." He shook his head. "No one blames you for it."
"Thanks, Mike. I blame myself, but..." Danny shrugged. "It's in the past, I have to move on. Not doing that nearly cost me the only thing in my life I really value, so I have no choice. Annette would have kicked me in the head by now if she'd seen the way I've been handling it."
Mike laughed out loud. "Yes, I could see that happening. You have a reputation as someone it's best not to rile up, but that woman was even worse if she got mad enough. Slow, cold, patient vengeance." He shuddered theatrically, making Danny grin again.
They chatted for a while about the old days, then Danny checked the time. "Ah. Lunch is over, I need to get back to work." He stood up, smiling at the other man. "It was fun catching up. We should get together more often. Kurt was saying just the other day he hadn't seen you for months."
"Maybe we should restart the old weekly poker games," Mike suggested. Danny looked dubious.
"I seem to remember losing a lot when we did that," he said.
Laughing, Mike nodded happily. "You have one hell of a poker face, Danny, I'll give you that, but you don't play very well."
Sighing, Danny shrugged. "I don't claim to be a good gambler. Just a decent negotiator."
"You're certainly that." Mike opened a drawer and pulled out a USB stick, holding it up. "What do you want to do with this? It's the only copy I saved of the recording I made in the van." He'd been parked around the corner from the school with another receiver, making the backup copy. Frowning, he added, "I was pretty appalled. That situation was grim. And it went on for two fucking years?" Danny nodded slowly. "Jesus. That girl of yours is made of spring steel to take that without knifing the lot of them. And she sure can take a punch."
Snickering, Danny replied, "She's not bad in a fight, actually. Look, I think it would be a good idea if you hung onto that. Put it somewhere safe. Until all this is over and they've signed everything I want, I don't trust them. Best to have backups."
"Good enough," Mike said with a nod, crossing the office and quickly spinning the dial on the front of the small but incredibly solid safe built into the wall. Opening it, which took considerable effort due to the significant thickness of the door, he put the USB stick inside then closed and locked it again. "Let me know if you need it."
"I will do." They shook hands, then Danny turned to leave. Stopping inside the door of the office he looked at the small glass display case standing there, which contained a surprisingly large collection of high tech surveillance gear, as a display of the sort of thing Mike used in his business. "Hey, these little cylindrical cameras here. Are they any good?" he asked curiously, a sudden thought crossing his mind.
Mike came over and stood beside him looking at what he was pointing to, then nodded. "Actually, yes, that's one of the best ones I have. They're made by that company run by the Tinker Dragon, in Canada. The technology isn't incredibly advanced in those terms, but they give a really clear picture and the battery lasts for hours. We use them mounted on cars and motorcycles." He opened the case, removed one of the cameras, and handed it to his friend. "They're waterproof, shockproof, dustproof, pretty much everything proof. Why?"
Danny turned the device, roughly the size and shape of a tube of lipstick, over in his hands, looking at it. "I was thinking of a project I wanted to do with Taylor which would need a camera," he said vaguely. "Something like this would probably work. Where can I get one and how much are they?"
"Not much. Keep it. I have a cupboard full of them." Mike waved a hand dismissively. "We charge that sort of thing to the customer anyway. Here, this is the instruction booklet for it, the mounting kit, and the USB cable. Have fun. Say hi to Taylor for me."
"Thanks again, Mike, I'll do that," Danny smiled, putting the items his friend gave him in his coat pocket. Waving, he left the PI's office, heading back to the DWU headquarters while thinking carefully.
Writing the last calculation on the notepad, Taylor dropped the pen and flexed her wrist. "How is it that I can lift tons and punch a hole in a tank, but I get a sore wrist writing this much?" she grumbled.
"Life is seldom perfect, Brain," the Varga commented wryly. She nodded, rubbing her wrist briefly, then turned to the computer, clicking through to the page with the answers for the online test she'd been working on for basic Calculus. While it would have been simplicity itself to cheat she had no wish to, she honestly wanted to see if she could do it right.
Comparing her results and calculations to the ones on the page, she smiled. "That's… ninety-two percent on this one. Not bad."
"Your educational abilities would seem to be surprisingly good all things considered," her companion noted.
She nodded absently, turning to a new page in the notebook and going back over the questions she'd got wrong, redoing them. "I'm good at math, English, and general science. English because of Mom, the rest because they're all math in the end. A lot of the other subjects I'm not as good on because they needed more work than I could be bothered to do considering the way all my assignments were sabotaged all the time. In the end I basically stopped trying very hard."
"You are still a very intelligent person with an excellent memory, so I fully expect you will be able to learn what you need to for this new school." The Varga's voice was encouraging, making her smile. He'd been helping a lot with this whole process. It was like having a live-in study buddy, one with a vast depth of knowledge on odd matters and a very sly sense of humor.
"Thanks. Oh, that's where the missing integral went." She flipped back a page and corrected her calculation, checking it against the web page, then grinned.
"Great." Glancing at the clock next to her bed, she saw it was nearly five. "Time for a snack, then I need to start dinner, I think. Dad will be home soon."
Standing up with a push of her tail, she stretched, then headed downstairs. As she reached the lower floor, there was a creaking sound from outside the front door which her absurdly sharp hearing caught, making her look around, then engage the thermal vision. On the other side of the door she could see a person shaped blob, not her father. An arm reached out and pressed the doorbell button.
'I wonder who that is?' she mused. They weren't expecting any deliveries or guests and very seldom got visitors out of the blue.
Slightly suspicious, she asked the Varga for a short knife, which she transferred to her left hand behind her back where it was inconspicuous, then opened the door a crack. Bracing her foot behind it made it certain that no one short of a serious Brute-level cape was going to get the door open.
On the other side of the door Alan Barnes was standing on the porch, looking depressed and nervous. His car was parked on the road, she saw as she peered out.
"Oh, hello, Taylor," Alan said, slightly haltingly as if he was embarrassed. He tried to see past her. "Is Danny home yet?"
"No, he's still at work, although he should be back any time now," she replied, even more suspicious, which apparently came out in her voice judging by the way he winced.
"Oh. OK." Falling silent for a moment, he looked at her. "You look… well."
"Thank you." She didn't add to the comment. He went silent again, looking even more embarrassed. They stared at each other for four or five awkward seconds. Or, at least, awkward for Alan. Taylor was simply waiting patiently to see what happened next.
"Look, I'm… I'm sorry about what Emma did," he finally blurted out. "I had no idea. None of the family did. That Hess girl has obviously been a bad influence on her."
Staring coldly at him for another few seconds, Taylor finally nodded once. "Apology accepted." He looked relieved.
"So you'll forgive her?"
"No." She studied him as if she thought he was an idiot. Which she did.
"..." Alan opened his mouth, then closed it again, silently.
"How can I forgive what she did? I can never forget it, no matter how much I try." Taylor tried to explain what she was feeling after quelling the sudden burst of anger that had flowed through her at first, drawing on the strength of her bond with the Varga, who was listening with interest.
"I've moved past that, Mr Barnes. Emma was my best friend, nearly my sister. Then she betrayed me for whatever reason she actually had, which even had me thinking it was actually my fault for a long time until I came to the conclusion it wasn't me at all. I can't keep dwelling on that or I'll go nuts, so I decided to write the entire thing off. As far as I'm concerned, my best friend died two years ago. The girl who has tortured me for all this time, she's not my friend, and I don't need to forgive her, just ignore her for the rest of my life. I'll be going to Arcadia soon and I'll probably never see her again anyway."
She didn't raise her voice or express any real anger, merely stated what she felt in a cold dispassionate manner that clearly made him uncomfortable.
He was silent for a little while, then replied, "Forgiveness is needed for closure, I'm told."
"Acceptance is needed for closure. Forgiveness is entirely optional." She cocked her head a little to the side. "I accept, I don't forgive. Or forget."
The veins in his face contracted, making it look colder, as he paled a little at her comment. "Christ, you really are Annette's daughter, aren't you?"
"Thank you," she smiled, which didn't seem to make him happier. If anything he was looking even more nervous.
Satisfied she had managed to get her point across, a point she'd arrived at after several long nights talking to the Varga, who was an excellent listener and gave good if occasionally rather bloodthirsty advice, she swung the door open wider. "You can come in and wait for Dad if you'd like. He'll be back very soon." She discreetly vanished the knife.
After a long moment, he nodded and entered the house, wiping his feet then going into the living room and taking a seat. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"Yes, thank you," he replied, apparently not entirely sure how to react other than that. She nodded back and turned to go into the kitchen. "She's sick, you know, Taylor," he said, causing her to stop and turn back. "We've taken her to a psychiatrist. They tell us Emma might need to spend some time in an institution, and is going to be in therapy for years."
"I'm not surprised," she answered. He stared at her, then sagged a little.
"It doesn't change your position, does it." It wasn't a question.
She shook her head. "No. It explains why she did what she did, but it can't erase it. She still did it."
"While the balance of her mind was disturbed!" he shot back.
"If she and Sophia had managed to kill me, it would still be murder, right? Even if one or both of them ended up being found unfit to be tried, I'd still be dead. Saying that they were crazy wouldn't bring me back." She shrugged as he deflated from the momentary anger. "That nearly happened. Be glad you don't have a crazy murderer for a daughter, rather than just a crazy bully." She watched him closely for another few seconds, then when he didn't seem to want to keep talking, turned around again and went into the kitchen, filling the kettle and turning it on.
While she waited for it to boil, she began preparing a sort of chicken stir fry, using a modified version of a recipe the Varga has surprised her by suggesting. She was curious to find out if it was as good as he'd told her Princess Luna had claimed it was.
When she took the coffee, made the way she remembered Alan Barnes liking it, in to him, he accepted it with a mumbled thanks then went back to staring at the floor, sipping it occasionally. He looked depressed. Suppressing a slight sympathy for him, as she stood by her words and feelings, she went back into the kitchen and resumed cooking.
About fifteen minutes later she heard the familiar sound of her father's car approaching, then pulling into the driveway and stopping. He came in shortly afterward, calling out, "Taylor, I'm home."
"In here, Dad," she called back. He appeared at the doorway, sniffing appreciatively.
"That smells incredible! What is it?"
"A recipe from a friend," she smiled, tapping her head with a finger meaningfully. "He says it's very good."
"OK," Danny replied slowly, looking surprised. After a moment, he asked, "Is that Alan's car out front?"
"In there," she pointed, handing him a coffee mug with her other hand. He took it, inspected her for a moment, then turned to go into the living room with a set face.
"What are you doing here, Alan?" she heard him say, then deliberately stopped listening while concentrating on her cooking. There were raised voices for a while, which she covered up by whistling softly to herself, contentedly making the various parts of the meal. By and large it had been a good day.
"That was very good indeed, dear," Danny said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Taylor smiled, then looked at Alan, who had somehow ended up staying for dinner, even though neither he nor Danny were entirely certain how. "What do you think?"
"She's a better than decent cook, your young lady," his old friend said quietly. Danny noticed that he was regarding Taylor with a certain degree of apprehension and wondered why, even though it made him just a little proud deep inside. "Annette's legacy showing through yet again."
Taylor gave a small nod to him, a little smile that was, once again, pure Annette with just a hint of huge world-eating demonic lizard, then stood, beginning to clear the table. "Thanks, Mr Barnes. It was a new recipe that a good friend gave me. I think it worked very well although I had to substitute a couple of ingredients. I'll have to see if he can give me any more." Smiling more affectionately at her father, she added, "I'll put the dishes in the sink then I need to get back to studying. It's your turn to wash up tonight."
Laughing, he reached up and patted her shoulder, watching as she walked away, her tail swinging behind her, amused for some reason at the thought that Alan had no idea it was there.
"Quite a young lady you've raised, Danny," Alan said after a moment, also watching her leave. They could hear clattering sounds in the kitchen for a little while then soft footsteps on the stairs, followed by the sound of a door closing. Knowing full well that she could still easily hear anything that they said if she wanted, Danny turned to his friend and college roommate.
"Why did you really come, Alan?" he said after a moment, leaning back in his chair.
Alan looked tired and sad. "I just had to say sorry. Taylor has made her feelings on the matter vividly clear, and after thinking over what she said, I have to admit I can't blame her. I was hoping for forgiveness but I realize it's a stretch under the circumstances." He lowered his head to the table, resting his forehead on it for a moment, while Danny wondered what on earth his daughter had actually said. He resolved to ask when an appropriate moment arose.
"I'm so sorry, Danny. We've had our differences in the past, and I know we drew apart since Annette's death, but please believe me, I would never have let this go on so long if I'd had any idea," Alan finally said, raising his head again and meeting his friend's eyes. "We've known each other for more than twenty years. Please tell me you believe me."
Danny sighed. "I do," he finally admitted. "I don't think I can ever forget what your daughter did to mine, but I don't really blame you for it. The girl is obviously seriously ill. That Hess character is worse in some ways, I really do think she's at least some sort of sociopath, but from what Taylor tells me she's violent to everyone, just more with her. I have no idea about the Clements girl, she seemed to be both enjoying it on that recording, and also scared about being found out. Hess didn't seem to care. Or at least thought she could get away with it."
Alan opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again, as if he'd wanted to say something but though better of it. After a second or two he tried again. "Sophia Hess is a disturbed young woman," he agreed. "Unfortunately, she and my daughter became firm friends. I only wish it had ended up better. A teenager needs friends."
With a nod Danny agreed. "I'm hoping desperately that this move to Arcadia will allow Taylor to make new ones. She needs it, I know. She's been isolated for far too long."
"I pushed Principal Blackwell to settle with you," Alan suddenly said. "The Hess and Clements families went along with it. She won't have any real choice in the matter, none of us will back her up if she tries anything. The school board is having a meeting this Wednesday to work out what they're going to offer and I managed to get invited. I'll make sure they do the right thing."
Somewhat surprised, yet grateful, Danny nodded slowly. "Thank you, Alan."
"After what happened it's the least of what I owe you," the other man sighed, running his fingers through his hair, then standing up. "I need to get home. We're still finding out more things about Emma. Some of the things on her phone and computer…" He shuddered. "She's completely grounded and cut off from everyone, more or less permanently. The only reason she's allowed to leave the house is to go to school or therapy."
Also standing, Danny held out his hand. Looking at it, Alan finally took it and shook. "I hope she gets better one day," Danny said sadly. "I'm sorry it all came to this."
"Not as much as I am, believe me," Alan muttered, turning to go. "Not as much as I am."
Danny watched from the front porch as his old friend, broken and defeated, got into his car, then drove away, sighed heavily in regret, then went back inside and closed the door.
Friday, January 21, 2011
"What's this for?" Taylor asked curiously as her father slid a pile of odds and ends across the breakfast table to her, something on top that she recognized as some sort of sports camera, an armored cylinder half an inch across and about four long.
"It's for recording what happens when you're running around terrifying criminals, dear, if you need to," he sighed, then smiled a little at her stunned expression. "I've come to the conclusion that you can take care of yourself, something I should have realized a week or more ago. You're stronger, tougher, and faster than practically anything that you might run into, so you probably have a better chance of surviving life in this damn city than I do. Just because you're only fifteen doesn't change that, no matter how much I wish it did."
She gaped at him for several seconds, then closed her mouth with a loud click. "You want me to go out and fight crime?" she asked in shock.
He grinned at her. "No. I accept that, sooner or later, you will go out and fight crime, whether I want it or not. You've been very good about keeping your word on the whole thing, something I'm immensely grateful for, but I know enough about Cape life to know it's basically inevitable. They're apparently pretty much all driven to fight one way or another."
"I'm not driven to fight," she protested. "I can stay at home and study no problem."
"I know, and I'm pleased about it. But considering the sort of things that happen every day around here, sooner or later..." He shrugged. "Better to be prepared rather than caught out. If you don't want to go out, don't, it will make me wildly happier, but if you do, I want you to be ready for it. Study up on the other Capes, like you've been doing, practice with your weapons and your techniques, and read up on local gang politics."
He raised a finger as she looked puzzled. "That last part is important. I know you could probably stomp half the E88 flat in a night if you really wanted to, but you need to pick your battles. This city is balanced on a knife-edge at the best of times, between the four gangs."
"Four?" she asked, confused. "E88, ABB, Merchants…," she ticked them off on her fingers.
"And the PRT. Don't forget them."
Looking at him with narrowed eyes, she slowly replied, "The PRT aren't a gang, Dad."
"No? Armed grunts, a few capes, tending to jump into a situation with force if they feel like it, not a small amount of collateral damage sometimes..." He smirked at her expression. "Politics is all about gangs, dear. The one with the most firepower or an equivalent of that ends up on top making the rules with everyone else both fighting each other and trying to take the top spot. It's true all the way from countries right down to high school cliques. Us or them. Normally everything ends up balanced with people glaring at each other, no one wanting to upset the applecart, but if there's a sudden vacancy, it's chaos until it gets filled."
"Do all adults think like you?" she wondered out loud, making him laugh.
"I may have an overly cynical view of the world but if you'd met the sort of people I've had to deal with for the last seventeen years, you'd think like that as well. Just bear it in mind. No disturbing the balance of power unless it's really necessary, OK?"
"I'll try not to, Dad," she giggled. After a moment or two, she added slyly, "What about your gang?"
He leaned back, shock on his face over a smile. "My gang?" he echoed. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
She studied him narrowly, seeing the corners of his mouth were twitching. "Riiight. Sure you don't. I'm pretty sure that if you really wanted to, you could get a lot of friends like Zephron to back you up. Most of the guys you work with are enormous, and they all seem to respect you."
Danny put his hand on his chest, and a proud look on his face. "Of course they do, dear child, most of them have jobs because of your old man. Fighting City Hall day and night, going up against the Man for the little people..." He couldn't keep it up, dissolving into laughter, as she snickered.
"Your father has a keen grasp of political strategy, Brain," the Varga chuckled. "His advice is sound and well meant. I suggest following it."
'I will, don't worry,' she assured the demon.
"It's true, honest," Danny protested when he recovered.
"I know it is, Dad, and I'm proud of what you do," she smiled.
"Anyway, the DWU can't be a gang in this city despite your cutting words. A proper Brockton Bay gang has Capes. We don't." He grinned at her, apparently pleased with his argument.
She transformed her head into the combat form one, making him twitch a little. "You have at least one," she chuckled at the look on his face. Picking up the little camera, she held it up to her head, moving it around on the scales to find the best place. "Now, help me figure out how to hold this thing on."
Eventually they found that the best spot was in the middle of her head between her eyes, facing down her muzzle. With a little work from the Varga she had a harness that looked vaguely like a bridle holding it firmly in place. He told her he could easily expand and contract it as she changed size to make sure it fitted all the time.
Reaching up she tapped the record button with a claw tip, from memory, hearing a double beep that signified it was running. "How does it look?" she asked, peering around the room, then getting up and wandering about.
Danny stood and came over, studying the camera and mounting carefully, then nodded. "Seems secure and pointing in the right direction. The lens is quite wide angle so you'll probably get some of your face in the bottom part of it, but other than that it seems fine. That blinking blue light is a bit obvious, though."
Retrieving the manual from the table, she flipped through it, then read the relevant section. "It says here to hold the power and record buttons down for three seconds, then release the power one, then the record one, which will disable the recording indicator," she said, showing him the page. He glanced at it, nodded, then as she bowed her head towards him, performed the relevant actions.
"OK, that worked, it's out. Hold on." She heard the camera beep once, indicating it had stopped recording, then beep twice again. "It seems to be working. Great."
He stepped back and studied her. "I still have trouble sometimes with that, you know," he smiled, waving at her transformed head. "But I'm getting used to it." He laughed slightly. "I can guarantee that any poor bastard who sees you coming at them is going to run like hell, if not just keel over on the spot."
She giggled, looking at her reflection in the bottom of a frying pan she picked up for a moment, then put it on the stove and turned the appliance on. Shortly she was making scrambled eggs while Danny prepared himself a coffee. Sipping it and leaning against the wall next to the door to the hallway he watched her move around the kitchen, grinning when she looked over. Raising an eye ridge, which she'd worked out how to do a couple of days ago, she gave him a quizzical look.
"What?" she asked, stirring the eggs vigorously.
"Oh, nothing, just thinking that I never thought I'd be watching my half-lizard daughter making eggs in the kitchen while wearing a camera on her head, that's all," he snickered.
Amused, she grabbed one of the unbroken eggs out of the box on the counter and tossed it into her mouth, swallowing. He went green. "They taste quite nice like this," she commented.
"Is that why we seem to have been running short on eggs three days in a row?" he asked suspiciously.
She nodded, bowing her head, a little embarrassed. "Sorry, Dad. Sometimes I want a snack when I'm studying."
"Most teenagers would probably go for an apple or a pop tart," he sighed. "Not a whole raw egg, complete with shell."
Grinning toothily, she flipped another one in, then dropped some bread into the toaster and pressed the lever down. "What can I say?" she asked rhetorically. "I'm weird."
"Yes. Yes, you are," he chuckled, putting his arm around her shoulder for a moment, then sitting as she started plating up the actually cooked food, reverting her head to normal after reaching up and removing the camera as the harness vanished.
When they'd finished breakfast, she quickly washed up, then turned to her father who was putting his coat on, ready to head out. "Oh, before you go, look at this!"
She changed, making him stare, then slowly nod. "What do you think? Tame enough not to scare people too much?"
Turning around in the middle of the kitchen, she showed her latest form off, then faced him again. He studied her carefully, looking interested and somewhat pleased.
She was wearing a modified version of the original armored outfit the Varga had given her, the breastplate a deep blue color with a gold logo in the middle that depicted something that made him smile, a jaws-gaping reptilian head in profile, fangs glinting in the morning light. The somewhat longer skirt was made of a larger number of narrower overlapping strips, which seemed to be attached to a cloth layer under that.
Rather than the boots she'd worn that first time, she had shin guards strapped to digitigrade legs which were a mix between normal human ones and the combat form ones, with feet at the bottom boasting much smaller yet still obviously very sharp talons which clicked on the floor when she moved.
Her tail came out from under the skirt, waving around behind her like a curious cat's as she watched him. Her arms looked more or less like normal human ones, although they, as was the rest of her, were covered in fine scales which were a somewhat lighter blue than normal, a sort of pleasant aquamarine color, with darker horizontal bands. Her hands were elegant and long fingered, tipped with short, sharp claws.
Raising his eyes to her head he saw it looked much less reptilian, yet still clearly not human. The shape of the skull was more elongated, with a short snout containing sharp teeth, although when she smiled he could see her face was nearly as flexible in this form as her human one was. Overall the effect was that of someone whose distant ancestors were reptiles rather than mammals. Importantly, there was no way anyone who knew Taylor Hebert would associate her with the lizard-girl standing in his kitchen.
Even her voice was different, deeper with a slight sibilant hiss overlaid on it, not obvious, but more like an accent. It made her unrecognizable.
Her eyes were the most obvious connection with the various Varga forms, still orange-yellow, glowing, with slit pupils which widened and contracted as she looked around, then down at herself, before back to him.
"We looked up all sorts of reptilian fantasy species from games and books and came up with this using bits of them," she told him, smiling again, then laughing at his reaction. "Good, isn't it?"
"It's… not as overtly threatening as all the other things you two have designed," he admitted slowly. "That part is true. But even so I wouldn't call it safe looking."
"But I'm a cute lizard girl!" she protested, giving him a wide eyed look, which with those eyes was just disturbing. "Not some monster wanting to eat you."
He blinked as she flowed into a new shape, the armor changing to fit, then added in a different voice, "Unlike this person."
Her combat form now had segmented armor the same color as the underlying scales covering the bulk of it, even her tail, which terminated in a set of four metal spikes, two on each side, that stuck out a foot or so and looked unbelievably unsafe. She smirked as he twitched.
"How could you possibly have taken that form and made it more dangerous!?" he queried in an unnaturally high voice.
Shrugging Taylor turned her head around and studied herself, then looked back to him, feeling pleased. "It seemed like a good idea at the time," she said with a laugh in her voice. He sighed, shaking his head.
"Oh, god, those poor criminals," he mumbled. After a moment, he added despairingly, "Were the tail spikes really necessary?"
"Hey, leave my thagomizer alone," she complained. He looked oddly at her. "That's what it's called. I looked it up."
"My daughter the infinitely variable dinosaur monster," he sighed again.
Laughing, she went back to her 'cute lizard girl' form, which she quite liked. Walking past him into the hall, she peered at her face in the mirror, having to bend down slightly, since this form was nearly six and a half feet tall. "I'm not sure about the face, though. Should I make it more human?"
Following behind her, he studied her reflection, then shrugged. "It's not bad, actually. A shock if you're not expecting it, true, but it looks quite nice all things considered." Pondering the matter he thoughtfully tapped his chin. "Can you get your hair back and keep the rest of the form?"
She looked contemplative for a moment, apparently having a conversation with the Varga. "He said reptiles, or his kind, which aren't strictly speaking reptiles at all, don't have hair."
"True, but that's not actually what I asked." Danny looked at her, while she smiled toothily at him.
"OK. Hold on a second."
Moments later her curly hair draped down over her armored back. He nodded thoughtfully. "It makes you look more human, I think."
Pulling a handful over her shoulder she stroked it, but looked dubious. He found it amusing how he could recognize his daughter's expressions on the completely inhuman features. "I like my hair but I'm not sure it fits the theme," she said doubtfully.
"Put it in a ponytail to get it out of the way and it'll look fine." She nodded while he checked the time. "Oops. I need to go now or I'll be late. Keep studying, I'll see you later. I might come back for lunch if I have time."
"OK, Dad," she smiled, hugging him. He grunted a little.
"Careful, that armor is damn hard."
"It should be, it's good stuff," she joked, making him grin, then leave. Inspecting herself in the hall mirror again, she put a hand behind her head and gathered her hair into a high ponytail, then tipped her head from side to side experimentally. "Might work, I guess," she muttered, ignoring the Varga complaining mildly about only smelly mammals having hair, then headed for her computer, not bothering to change back.
She needed to get ready as fast as possible, she had a lot of tests waiting in only seven days, which her future might well depend on, and she was determined to do the best possible job on them.