C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #05.3
A/N: In which different dialogue than intended happens and I finally get this posted. Not 100% with it, it changed more than a few times, but it's out now.
—
It had been surprisingly easy to lose track of time while beneath the waves.
Sitting in my bathysphere, working on the prosthetic and taking the occasional break to sit back and watch the sea life, the time had passed quickly. It was peaceful enough down there that hours had gone by before I knew it, though, despite the relaxing environment, no small amount of that time had been spent mulling over how to address yet another a problem that had arisen.
At least some good had come out of the problem in that it'd forced me to reconsider just how I'd been approaching my prosthetic.
By the time I detached my bathysphere from the seafloor and began ascending to the surface it was past noon. In that time, the majority of the Blue that infused the seawater had been spent in maintaining the improvised submersible, though it hardly mattered at this point; it had been energy well spent.
Through my observers, I noted Artur looking up from his project as I broke the surface. His heart rate increased a bit, and he tensed a bit, but surprisingly, those minute changes and signs made him seem more resigned than anything. Regret at being caught?
Once the shell fell I rose and began walking towards shore on the path of stable water extending out before me.
Artur stared at me the whole while, not attempting to cover up what he'd done, but my attention was on the walking stick— even if it couldn't really be called that anymore, particularly since he'd been turning it into a damn spear.
It wasn't just a simple sharpened stick though, no. Had that been the case I would've dismissed it and he probably could have made up some excuse about it still being a hiking stick that way. No, instead he'd made it by affixing a Kalashnikov's front sight and muzzle onto one end and mounting his bayonet on it.
Subtle, it was not.
On one hand, I could commend him on how industrious he was being, but I hadn't given him back his guns for a reason. The agreement we'd brokered over dinner had been straightforward: I would protect him in exchange for a ride off the island. Excepting a few ground rules, like him not being armed, that was it.
To further complicate the issue, that this was the end result for the parts he'd taken prior to our leaving the Visitors Center meant he'd had this planned since then at the latest. Though technically Artur making his spear didn't strictly go against my 'no guns' rule, it did toe the spirit of it pretty damn hard.
There was the fact that it was difficult for me to judge him for making it since I'd been all but gone for hours, with minimal outreach on my part in that time. I had been the one to leave him up here all alone; unarmed, and to him, undefended.
Even if I had been keeping watch and had the whiptail occasionally coming by with more firewood, I hadn't exactly been conspicuous with my swarm. I could see how he might have thought I'd abandoned him; there was a very clear difference between overt security and covert security after all.
On the other hand, though, there was the fact that he'd had this planned out and that he hadn't spoken up once in the time I'd been gone. This was particularly damning since I'd led him around the mountain yesterday and he knew I would've responded if he'd asked something.
'Better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission' then?
It would be hypocritical to condemn him for it, but I didn't like the feeling of being put into this position. Not one bit.
Stepping from my path of stabilized water I walked ashore.
Artur's attention was fully fixed on me now, his project forgotten. However, as I crossed the sand, I noticed he was staring at the prosthetic.
I ignored his questioning gaze and subsequent look of revulsion as I walked past him to my pack.
Digging through with both hands, I pulled out and pocketed several odds and ends or set things aside before digging deep enough to extricate the first aid kit I'd assembled after pilfering the cabinets of the Visitors Center infirmary during my first day there. Nowhere close to as sanitary— or as high quality —as the supplies Artur's group had brought along, but I'd kept them on hand for more utilitarian purposes.
Improvised stand-ins until I could settle down for a few days to ramp up my silk production.
Popping the plastic tabs on the off-white plastic box I took out a few rolls of gauze and put it back.
Stale and yellowed as they were the bandages weren't fit for medical use, but with what I intended they would be fine for the time being. Unraveling the rolls I tossed them into the murky, brownish-red dye-bath made from mixing all the dyes I'd made and grabbed the stick Artur had been using to push them deeper into the pot.
"You 'ave new arm."
I half turned to see Artur looking back over his shoulder, eyes fixed on my prosthetic as I stirred the pot with it. His eyes followed the movements of the internal bundles and cords beneath the transparent 'skin' before I cleared my throat and he forced his gaze away to met my returning stare.
"It's more of a prosthetic than an actual arm," I answered.
"Da. Ees... veery real'istic. Does 'elp vith looss? Vith loost arm," he clarified, still examining my prosthetic. He was regaining a bit of color though, and the discomfort gradually being replaced with a look of almost morbid curiosity.
"Not particularly, no." To an extent, it was helping, and the restoration of my full dexterity was appreciated, though it didn't bring back the lack of discomfort I'd had before. "It feels more like a puppet."
Letting go of the stick I absently pulled at fake ligaments and prodded muscle. His breath caught and his eyes widened as the hand extended and rolled its fingers before making a fist; the movements were simultaneously too fluid and too mechanical to be natural though, starting and stopping, flowing.
"I pull the strings and it dances," I said as I demonstrated. The movements may have been exaggerated slightly, but that really was the best comparison.
His mouth opened as if to ask a question, but then he glanced up at my face and looked away. He didn't comment further, simply staring at the prosthetic for a few more seconds more before turning back to work on his spear.
I looked over to inspect his work more closely once his back was turned while reaching into the simmering dye-bath. Pulling and pushing at my poncho to let the dye be absorbed better my eye was drawn to the work he'd done.
His creation was nice enough I figured, if only from a functional perspective; the mostly straight length of wood had been carved uniformly smooth in places with simple grip texturing cut into the upper and lower thirds. My eye was drawn to the head though, notably to the bit of wood I could see protruding from the muzzle. Compared against the almost inch thick diameter of the stick, there really wasn't all that much of it and the wood the hardware was fitted to looked like it was pencil thin.
Too thin to actually be of much use now that I thought about it, too thin to be practical.
I stared at it, frowning as I pulled my prosthetic from the simmering dye.
It didn't make sense though. Of course, the steel blade would be better than a sharpened stick, but what if he needed to use it more than once? It was more likely to snap off than anything else if it came down to it.
Shifting my focus down, to where he was carefully winding thin steel wire around several nails extending up to the front sight, I could only think he knew that as well.
But again, why?
The most concerning option was beginning to seem like the most likely. He wouldn't need more than one use if he was planning to use it against me— or so he'd think. Unfortunate for him that he hadn't bothered to check the blade's effectiveness against my poncho or suit. But... even if he succeeded, what about the wildlife?
I only had one spare magazine on me for the sidearms they had been using and I'd seen just as well as he had the amount of damage it took to put down one of the raptors. The details I'd uncovered about their internal physiology during my hurried processing of their corpses had only emphasized their hardiness. He couldn't think it would be effective against the other dinosaurs, could he?
It just didn't make sense.
Still, the doubts lingered. If it wasn't meant to be used against me, and it was meant as a last-ditch defense, then it wasn't a very good one when a sharp stick would probably serve him better.
I couldn't just ask him straight out though. Disregarding that he'd lie out of hand if it was meant as a weapon, it might give him the idea that it was a danger to me and then make him think about trying something.
That was something I needed to nip in the bud.
"If you unwrap the wire I can glue it in place with spider silk. It should help hold together a bit better."
Artur slowly stopped winding the wire to look at me for a moment. His mouth turned down into a frown and looking back to the weapon he sighed, shoulders slumping. "You zink vil break all'zo?"
"Looks like it. How much wood did you have to shave off to make that fit on?"
"Much," he admitted, confirming my thoughts on its viability.
I hummed, though considering him and not the spear. His ease in answering boded well.
Scratching the thickening stubble along his jawline he studied the 'spearhead', his eyes narrowing. "Ment to make fast, boot..." He was quiet for a bit, shaking his head before looking to me with his brow furrowed. "Vat mean by spi'dare make gloo?"
"Capture silk," I clarified "It's the sticky part of a spiders web. I could have my spiders line the wood so the front sight will be glued on rather than just fitted in place."
He stared at the spear a moment longer and shook his head. "I do noot—"
I shook my head while moving from the pot as the Whiptail arrives with the equipment belt and thigh holster it had stowed away. "I don't care that you made it and I'm not trying to sabotage it. If you needed a security blanket you could've told me and I would have helped."
He stopped mid-scratch and grimaced.
"Just think on it for a bit. I'll be going for a run, so just give a shout. I'll hear it."
The man was quiet for a long moment before giving me a shallow nod.
He went back to work on his spear when I sat to pull on my socks, boots, and costume but looked up from his work once I left, following me with his eyes until I entered the treeline.
-I-
Legs pumping, my breathing coming in short, measured bursts, I pushed myself to keep going as I jogged down the unbroken jungle trail and my brain pumped out a steady dose of endorphins. The sandy soil toward the beach made it more strenuous than I was used to, giving resistance to each step, but I managed it without my breathing becoming overly difficult.
What had begun earlier in the day as a short jog to relax and acclimate to using the prosthetic while on the move, had since become a considerably more rigorous testing session. Once my ribs turned out to be less of a concern than I had thought they'd be it had just grown from there.
It was almost like getting back into my routine, though the air was cleaner and the noises of traffic replaced by the wildlife. It was soothing.
Of course, less of a concern didn't mean there was no concern. My chest still hurt with every breath, but it had since become a dull— if constant —presence and I didn't push myself beyond what I thought was safe.
It was a weight off my mind, knowing that the injury wouldn't be slowing me down in an emergency.
Eventually, my jog had become a combination of a light obstacle course and relaxing run where the route had allowed. The slower sections letting me settle into a comfortable pace and clear my mind, while in turn, the faster-paced obstacle sections had helped acclimate me to using the prosthetic. Using it was almost reflexive now— still slightly delayed, but not to any meaningful degree.
Looking ahead, the final set of obstacles finally came into range and I began picking up the pace as the ledge separating the beach from the jungle came into sight.
Manipulating the arm-shaped mass of Blue in my swarm sense, my prosthetic came apart and shot forward as a solid stream of water to where I marked out the ledge with some of my swarm. In mid-flight, the stream of water stretched, thinned, folded— I manipulated its shape until it became a series of steps rising to the top of the ledge.
I hit the steps running, taking them two at a time while simultaneously recalling the water and reconstructing my prosthetic from the small amount that had remained attached to my stump. Reaching the top, it took only a few steps before the complex facsimile was whole again and I was batting away overhanging vegetation as I broke trail.
With firmer soil, I was soon gaining speed and closing on a black boulder in the middle of my course.
I threw my hands out at the very last moment, planting them against the rough surface and hauled myself over it.
Another hurdle followed soon after— a small log that I could jump, then an imagined ravine bridged with water from the prosthetic immediately after. Re-making my prosthetic, I accelerated once again as I ran for a small area free of vegetation— not quite a clearing, but close.
Breaking through the foliage I slid to a stop, digging my feet in before I came to a full stop and turning I threw the prosthetic forward; fingers spread, palm out. From the center of my palm, an almost invisible line shot out; silk, drawn from my reel of Darwin's Bark silk placed within the prosthetic and animated by the thinnest layer of Blue-infused water I could manage.
It only stood out when the water covering it refracted the light, revealing a glittering line racing through the air. Exactly ten feet of thread shot out in a straight line before taking a sharp turn to wind once around the soft trunk of a tall, elephant-eared plant before tying itself off with a simple knot.
There were a multitude of ways in which I could put this to use, from pulling someone's feet out from under them to entangling a hostile's gun, binding an attacker's limbs, deploying tripwires, and so on.
Those were 'gentle' options, things better— and more safely —done with larger diameter cord, for this, I didn't hold back in pulling back as hard as I could. The thread tightened around the soft bark and dug in like a garrote, then with a sudden twist to follow my prosthetic's movement I ripped back with as with as much force as the prosthetic could exert.
The thread tore through the soft trunk with a drawn-out snick. In seconds the thread nearly cut through the trunk in its entirety when suddenly the reel jerked forward in its 'housing' and stopping the prosthetic mid-pull I released the hold on my arm to slow to a stop.
The water construct hung frozen in mid-air, giving the finger to conventional physics as I turned back and stepped to stand over it. With an absent thought the prosthetic peeled open and I checked the reel, but seeing it hadn't cracked or deformed sealed it up and re-affixed it to my stump.
I frowned while it tightened around my stump— the relative anchor point I used to orient the prosthetic —and stepped out of the way when the tall plant began to tilt, quickly gain momentum, and come crashing down. What remained of the trunk broke completely with a soft crunch and carefully rewinding the reel I walked around to the base.
Setting the tiny male orb weaver stowed away with the reel to cut the knotted end, I crouched to examine the green, exposed heart of the trunk to see the thread had cut through with relative ease.
From the outside in, the edges of the plants' fibers were cleanly cut. That changed from the center out. Increasingly longer and more ragged, I was able to track exactly how far I'd been able to cut before it'd lost momentum and gotten stuck.
It seemed I needed to revisit the reel mount and thread channel.
Pulling my knife though, I stabbed into the trunk with as much force as it would take to penetrate flesh. It was a close approximation, but the plant was a bit tougher… not sure how it would do with a bone though.
Chewing my lip I considered it for a moment before shrugging. Fix the reel compartment, then figure out much force the water could exert when moving it; for now, I had more than enough information to work off of.
The exercises had been an unmitigated success. Some quirks and inherent limitations with the prosthetic— and by thus the water manipulation —had revealed themselves, but beyond that…
A satisfied smile pulled at my lips as I reached out to run a flesh and blood finger over the tree stump, feeling the soft fibers that had kept it upright before rising to stand and stretched my arm and prosthetic high. My loudly popping vertebrae signaled the end my exercise and moved back to the middle of the small space.
Standing there, listening to the noises of the rainforest around me and the crashing waves in the distance, I began ramping down from my run.
It had been a good run and an even better learning experience.
I ran my prosthetic across my forehead in place of a damp towel and began going through the motions of my post-run stretches while mentally reviewing everything that I'd done.
In an odd way, using the prosthetic like I had been— in ways that emphasized its unnaturalness —had lessened the dissonance somewhat. It was less unsettling than all the measures I'd taken to alleviate the feeling. A confirmation of my hypothesis.
Treating it as less of a replacement for my arm and more of a tool, or even an aspect of my power, and not as something it wasn't had helped. Somehow. But regardless of the cause, it was progress.
I Idly considered what it might mean as I combed back a few hairs that'd come loose from my braid while checking the work done by several orb weavers delegated to helping Artur.
Together they checked over the silk lining the whittled down end of his walking stick before retreating.
"Be careful, you won't get a second chance," I said through the swarm gathered in the branches of the scraggly beach tree.
Heeding my advice the man slowly, but carefully, lined up the front sight and muzzle over the carved wood before pulling it into place. It took a few seconds of twisting to get it snug against the base, but when he gently tugged on the 'A' shaped front sight it didn't budge. Looking to my Whiptail, which he seemed to have taken as my avatar rather than speaking to nothing, he nodded. "'Is stuck."
"I told you it was strong."
He shrugged. "Da… And zank you."
"You're welcome." I paused. "So, what is left to do?"
Looking up from examining his work Artur stared into the distance.
"Vor now need make hole to peen een place." He absently brushed an exposed bit of wood near the end of the muzzle brake that was exposed. "Ay'nd need garve chock to beater sea'cure— too ay'tatch strengthen pieces. Ay'fter zat is… extra. Dee'tail."
"I see."
He quietly went back to looking over his work and had taken up his carving knife— a small, inch-long paring knife shape blade with a thick grip —and refined some points along the haft before his watch let out a quiet 'beep!'. Glancing at the inside of his wrist he moved to the small pot of rice he'd set up alongside the dyepot and lifting the lid a small plume of steam billowed out.
The pot was open for only a moment though before he turned to face the whiptail. "Ma'am?"
"The rice?"
"Da. Is reedy. Eef stee'l vant lobstair, vil need get soon."
I let down a foot I'd been pulling into the small of my back and checked my watch: Four-thirty. An hour or so to eat, clean and wash up the site, then it was off to the Veterinary complex.
"I will be back shortly."
-I-
Returning to the small camp I found Artur tucked in on himself and immersed in carving at a small bit of wood. He pressed it against a notch in the muzzle as I walked around to the pots and checked that the temperature of the dye-bath had turned tepid before checking the rice.
A bit of steam leaked out and it smelled just as good to me as it had to the swarm, the scents of buttered rice and various herbs filling the air.
"It smells good."
He chuckled and ducking his head in embarrassment. "Is seam'ple. Vas no pro'blem."
Without looking up he nodded as he carefully shaved a sliver of wood from the half circle with his carving knife.
His mood turned somber though and he turned the bit of wood between his fingers for a moment before looking up. "My zank vor ah'sisdence," he said.
"You don't need to thank me again."
His eyes slowly closed and he breathed out. "Niet. Do. Do noot need to 'elp, but do. Zank you."
I crossed my arm over my chest then tucked my prosthetic under it after a moment of awkwardness and sighed. "I told you, it doesn't really bother me. If not being armed had been that big of a deal you could have said something."
He slowly nodded. "Unter'stand. Vas not issue zen, boot sleep not vell last night and…" he reached out, grasping for something not there. "Keep reech vor vepon, but not ate side…" He let out a sharp breath. "On vront, in Grozny, noot 'ave vepon at side vile bunk cause… not vize." A dark expression crossed his face as his eyes unfocused but he shook it off and spat to the side.
His eyes went to the spear, then back to me; his features drawn and tight. "Zo, may'bee ees moore com'vort zan vepon. Ay'nd, ah, app'ologize. No speak of," he said, his words rushed and broken and reaching for the spear he pressed a button on the knife and removed it from the mount. "Boot see, if 'ave issue is no pro'blem. Cain dee'sarm."
I looked between the knife and the disarmed spear and blinked… Of course it could be removed.
I remained silent however, chewing over the new detail as he waited.
Doing it this way he'd sacrificed practicality so he could disarm himself if the spear became an issue. He knew how fast I was with my swarm, let alone what he'd seen while out on the water…
"It's fine," I told him, this time in earnest. "I left you up here without notice so we're square. Just tell me in the future so we can avoid any misunderstandings."
Artur's eyes snapped up to meet mine and he paled slightly then quickly looked away.
There was a long, drawn-out moment of silence as I tried to think of something to say but couldn't.
"I'll go get those lobster," I said finally, wanting to escape the awkward atmosphere.
Artur just gave me a wan smile. "I vil 'ave fire reedy," and stoked the pit of coals and burning wood beneath the oven grate serving as our grill.
Picking up the dye-pot to haul it to the surf, I made note of Artur sneaking another look at my prosthetic when it was close to him.
I filed away the scrutinizing look he gave it, instead, for the moment, focusing on the mass of Blue within my swarm representing my prosthetic. The pot was a bit heavier than the rocks and bit of wood I'd hauled around for a bit and watched as the weight of the pot rapidly began to sap some of the Blue at a noticeable rate.
Absently tapping the Impression of the cove, I re-charged the prosthetic and began waddling toward the surf while monitoring the rate of energy consumption.
My attention was drawn back to Artur when he forgot discretion and turned to follow my departure, though only for a moment before suddenly dropping his carving knife and biting out a quiet and long string of what I was sure were curses.
The flies in the swarm above him smelled fresh blood and he was quick to put a hand to his mouth before reaching over to his rucksack and fumbling to open a side pouch.
Grimacing at the scene of him bandaging the cut I once more set aside the concerns spawned from it as I neared the waterline.
Setting the pot down I pulled at the remains of Blue infused seawater to divert a thick stream into the pot and displace the dye bath. The ruddy red-brown water was quickly displaced, leaving behind a slightly lighter colored poncho and the now brown colored gauze at the bottom.
For a few minutes, I let my thoughts wander while the Blue infused seawater was used as an improvised washing machine; beating the fabric in a churning torrent of currents and removing any lingering dye that hadn't been absorbed into the silk fibers.
I wrung out the poncho and lengths of gauze as best I could by pulling the Blue infused sea water out of it, but the fabric was still slightly damp and left them in the pot while waiting for the lobster to arrive.
It would have sped things up to ferry them with the last of the Blue infused water, but instead, I sent them along a longer route than necessary and took the time to think.
I thought maybe that Artur would get over what he'd seen while I was out in the forest, that he hadn't though...
Thus far he'd been remarkably restrained in regards to anything relating to my power, or powers rather. But I suppose what he'd seen today had been a bit much.
Maybe it was the fact that I'd been so blatant about it that was too much to roll with, especially with my prosthetic fully out on display.
Grimacing at the reminder of my impulsiveness I looked down and extending the construct touched my fingers to the damp-yet-dry surface, tracing over the tendons and bundles of corded water wrapping the hollow 'bones' that made up the core and served as small reservoirs and compartment for the silk reel respectively.
By all appearances, it had a passing resemblance to an anatomical model, if ignoring the fact that it was semi-transparent, made of water, gave off a faint glow, and trailed a faint bit of mist.
Disconcerting was an apt way to describe it, not even I was immune to it and I'd made the damn thing.
I watched through a fly as he glanced in my direction again.
But where it was nothing more than uncomfortable to me, it seemed the same couldn't be said about my temporary associate.
To him it was a serious distraction, and I really didn't need that. If he was looking at my arm, or swarm, or whatever else and tripped down the mountain, then what? Or hell, even if he cut himself like that in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong thing around… boasting about being able to take care of the Tyrannosaurus was one thing, actually doing it was another.
It was something I'd rather not have to deal with, if at all possible.
Covering up my prosthetic would probably help with the issue, but I couldn't leave something like that to chance.
Besides, despite the spear—which was one thing, and a misunderstanding for the most part—he had been fully cooperative with everything, even offering advice of his own volition. He'd been helpful when he didn't need to be. He hadn't needed to re-pack my salvage, he hadn't needed to help with the mold situation.
I let out a long, slow breath and checked on the lobsters' progress.
I still had some time before they got here.
I took the opportunity to breathe and think, to make sure I wanted to do this.
-I-
I came back with four dark red, spiney, bug-like crustaceans. Smaller examples of what I'd found, only two feet long compared to the largest being the size of a fully grown dog of Brutus's size, but far more manageable.
No big claws the East Coast variety were known for though.
Artur pulled on a set of rubber gloves before grabbing one and set about looking it over; trying to figure out how to best process and cook the large shellfish.
Working with the orb weavers I hung my poncho and the gauze strips from the tree's branches while he pulled at the legs and tail, occasionally tapping it with his bayonet knife.
Eventually he figured out what he needed to do and without a moment's hesitation put it on a small cutting board he'd pulled from his pack, and pressed the tip of the knife into the back of its head, then gave the butt of the knife a sharp whack to punch through the shell— killing it in an instant. Quick. Clean.
Then he got to using the serrated back edge and sawed off its tail to expose the meat inside. Tossing aside the upper half he cut back along the outside of the tail and pulled the white meat halfway out of the shell before washing it off with a bit of water from his canteen and putting it on the oven grate to cook over the fire.
He looked to me and gestured to the shell as I came back around. "Simple'er zan think. Vith shell cain pro'tect meat and vil steam ate same time... May." He shrugged and watched the cooking crustacean.
I sat down across from him, watching him while his attention was directed toward the fire licking up beneath the shell and the bed of coals that had built up over the day.
"Where I come from, I'm what's known as a parahuman."
Artur's eyes snapped up to mine.
He stared for a long moment, slowly he looked back down to the white tail meat that was slowly turning a faint pink and cut in to check how much it was cooking, added more sticks and wood shavings to the fire beneath the grate— busy work. I waited for him to process what I had said and after a minute of awkwardly doing anything other than addressing me, he set the knife off to the side and made eye contact.
"Vy tell me zis? I... say I do not vant know ven on roof." He spoke slowly, taking his time to enunciate properly with mostly correct grammar. I could appreciate that and took it to mean he was to be taking this seriously.
"Because you cut your hand open."
His expression soured at that and he glanced into the canopy. "Is just cut."
"Maybe, but it happened regardless. I'd rather something like that didn't happen again at the wrong moment because you were distracted."
His gloved hands came together; fingers automatically finding the bandaged cut hidden from view and absently brushing over it. He drew in a long, slow breath, held, then let it out. "I unter'stand." Sitting back he stared at me for a long moment before waving a hand at me. "You say are… 'pair'yuman', vat is, exact'lie?"
"It's pronounced Pahr-ah-hyu-mahn," I corrected, grimacing at his butchering of that particular word. "And yes."
"Para'hu'man," he sounded out. "Parahuman," he said more confidently, enunciating it clearly.
"That's it."
He gave a small, conciliatory smile. "And 'parahuman' is..."
I took a moment to weigh just how to answer before going with the philosophical answer. I wanted him to think, not just process whatever answers I gave him. "Capes—parahumans," I corrected. "We were people unlucky enough to gain powers after having a… let's call it a bad day."
He gave me a skeptical look, but whatever he was going to say died in his throat as I leveled a look at him.
I continued.
"We were what you'd expect if you gave everyday people superpowers. For better and for worse." I paused, an idea coming to mind. "You were in a warzone not very long ago, I'm sure you people had the worst days of their lives on both sides of the conflict. Imagine what kind of problems a civilian could cause if they gained the power to punish their oppressors, or a burglar to shrug off gunfire like it was nothing, or a soldier act as a flying artillery piece capable of leveling city blocks. That's the reality of what a parahuman is, for good and for bad."
Somewhat of an exaggeration, but the implications slowly dawned on him. Maybe it wasn't spelling it out, or putting things in the best light, but that wasn't the intent and he seemed to be getting the message.
Checking on the lobster tail, he flipped over so the top side of the meat was directly over the flames. It quietly began to sizzle.
Suddenly though, a queer expression crosses his face and he looked up from the lobster, squinting. "You say cape…" His eyes narrowed as he repeated the colloquialism but continued before I could clarify. "Like... Sooperman?"
I blinked. The name sounded vaguely familiar, though not as the name of any cape name as far as I knew. "I don't know who that is."
"Pict'ure boo'k super'hairo?"
"Ah," a comic book hero. I smiled wistfully and considered a butterfly coming in to land on my finger. "That's the idea I suppose. That was the idea. I could control bugs. Not exactly the most glamorous power though."
He was quick to get back onto the important details and snorted derisively. "Bug ever'vere."
I smiled a little. "Yes. You would actually be surprised just how many people forget about that. It still took me a while to learn how to properly use it so I could be competitive though. Practicing, experimenting, testing my limits."
"Boot bug not vater."
"No. It's a similar situation to back then though, and part of why I'm saying anything now." I half raised the prosthetic, palm up, and drew upon the small reservoir of excess water to form a golf ball-sized ball. It floated, suspended, before I grabbed it and reconstituted it into the prosthetic. "I'm still getting used to these new powers."
Reaching toward the branches with my prosthetic, I tapped into the Impression of the mountain and the Green smoke came into existence around the watery hand. It clashed with the mist coming off the construct, struggling against my grip, but quickly enough it slowed to a sedate pace as it writhed through the fingers and tightened around my wrist.
A flicker of Green stretched to the branch above me and a small green shoot slowly emerged from a gap in the scraggly bark.
"I'm still figuring them out," I said, absently guiding the Green in growing out the shoot before looking back to him as he looked up at the shoot. "So you're going to see some things over the next few days. If you have questions, just ask, ok?"
His eyes were widened when he tore his gaze from the new growth. He blinked rapidly and opened his mouth, maybe to ask a question, but was distracted by the smell of smoke.
Artur was quick to get the tail off the fire and onto a cool part of the grill. He poked at a small charred bit before shaving it of and tossing it into the fire before grabbing his cutting board and setting to work on the tail.
"Of course, I don't know if I'll be able to actually answer them," I told him, "It's all new to me. But still, if you have questions, ask them."
He served up the lobster tail in chunks, on a small bed of buttered rice, in a shallow metal camping bowl.
"Vat vas 'ome like? Ver do come vrom?"
Well wasn't that a loaded question. Sitting back I idly picked at the rice and lobster.
However, I had given him an incomplete idea of the situation. He probably thought I was from some apocalyptic anarchy which… admittedly that wasn't as far off as I'd like, but not entirely. Maybe I should give context first. "The government is supposed to have the monopoly on force, correct? Governments make law, have the police and army to enforce them with weapons of mass destruction as the ultimate equalizer between nations?"
Artur nodded hesitantly, his meal was forgotten.
"On Earth Bet we had individuals powerful enough to ignore the law and carve out their own territories within nations." Sleeper, Nilbog. "Others could render nuclear weapons obsolete." Scion, Eidolon. "Tanks would be nothing but scrap against more capes than I could count." Alexandria, Lung. "There were forces that did nothing but destroy." The Endbringers, Jack. "Parahumans had to police our own to maintain the status quo and deal with threats, we had our rules and it helped keep things stable for the most part—" I stopped myself and took in Artur's disconcerted expression. No, Earth Bet really wasn't something I intended on going into detail on, but home...
I sighed. "Earth Bet had its problems," I told him, " there were people who tried to do good, to help, but reality wasn't always as black and white as the superhero comparison you made. And home… that's difficult."
Home, the house I'd grown up, even if it hadn't been 'home' for a long time, was flat out gone, destroyed. I searched, trying to think of what home was. Then I thought of my friends, those I'd been close to: Lisa, Rachel, Dragon and Defiant, even Dad and I had reconnected during my time in the Wards. That clicked into place. "I had my friends, my teammates, family. They were what made somewhere home."
I smiled wistfully at that and bit down a spoonful of the rice and lobster.
The meat was a bit bland, but the seasonings and packets of butter mixed in with the rice offset that with the the lobster there to gave it substance.
It might not have been the lobster dinner I'd daydreamed of while sustaining myself on little more than berries and water, but it was just as good as my imagination told me it was.
"Earth... Bet?"
I blinked and stopped chewing. Oh. I had said that, hadn't I.
I swallowed and met his incredulous gaze. "Well, that, how should I put it..."
—
A/N: And hey! With this I've broken the 100k mark for this story! Personally, this isn't the best news considering my pacing, but as its also the halfway point... I'm kinda happy. Anyhow! Depending on how much the outline is altered, it looks like it should be another 100k by the end of this year when C'est is complete, I cant wait.