A Wizard In Alexandria's Court

Chapter Fourteen

by Skysaber

OoOoO

Author's Prequel:

I've said before that winter typically makes a good bid at killing me. Well, that's the cause for the delay. Caught a bug in November, a bad one, so it's been eight months of dreadful illness. Only recently did it pause my updates, though I lost track of how many times I was left on my hands and knees, hacking up a lung, blind to anything but the pain and pretty sure I ought to have been hospitalized (but could never afford it).

I've found what it's like to cough up bloody froth, though. Never had that one before.

Pain is just another sensation, now. It's hardly worth paying attention to - and boring, like an old newspaper you've already read so many times there's nothing even vaguely interesting about it anymore.

Worse, my right hand caught a fungal infection that has been eating the skin, chunks dropping off daily like it was leprous. Watching that steadily progress, eating my hand, wondering if it was past the point where I was going to lose fingers if I saw a doctor and they saw how bad it was and decided to amputate, has been an interesting test of my ability to hold it together.

Thankfully, I've found that drinking GSE drops in hot water has *finally* starting beating back both fungi infections (both lungs and hand). So I can get back to writing. I've even regained the use of my right hand! I can move my fingers again and the wounds are sealing over. Even the spot where my left hand had started to catch the same thing has started to recover. Isn't that nice?

So, no. Anyone out there who wants drama? I've got ALL of the drama in my life already. What I want is comedy. If I die writing, then at least I want it to be something that will bring a smile to someone's face. Then, at least, I can say that I passed on doing something worthwhile.

And to those of you who continue to cyberbully me? I wish on you the pain I've felt.

OoOoO

Story Day Eleven, April 16th 2011, Saturday - Mid Day

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New leaves were just budding on the trees, and the grass was sprouting again, fresh shoots of green making their appearance all over the place, a form of beauty that sadly got ignored as the attention of the crowds had gotten firmly focused on other things.

Thousands of people, including not a few news crews, had gathered around Arcadia High School. Most were parents, there out of concern for their children.

Concern, and for the first time since this particular crisis began, *relief* was budding - and it was even more beautiful than the new leaves. They could not tear their attention away from watching on the large monitors the TV crews had set up, as the pair of capes danced through the entire school, restoring students, faculty and staff with each twirl and gesture.

It was an eerily silent crowd, one that held its peace as they watched, not daring to interrupt lest they scare them away as the PRT had. Finally, the music swelled into the crescendo near its end, as the dancing couple swept out of the front entrance of Arcadia High School, brushing past the last two glass statues within and restoring them to their normal form as they did.

The crowd melted away before their approach, excited but almost not daring to breathe, and respectfully kept back from the space which had been kept clear around the only glass statue outside. That 'statue' was currently a pile of shattered glass pieces, the shattering of which had been the trigger for the riot that ended PRT control of the scene hours ago.

Angry fathers with rifles kept watch on nearby rooftops and were prepared to keep the PRT away from the glass statues of their children, and the pair of capes restoring them, but the PRT had not chosen to press the issue yet.

The distraught mother of the girl who was currently a shattered glass statue knelt by the pile of glass chunks, hopefully clutching the note which had been delivered to her by a couple of beribboned songbirds, just as if she were Snow White, and promised her, in elegant calligraphy, that the dancers were on their way to restore her daughter.

Just as the note had promised, Cyrano and Roxanne danced rapidly but elegantly down the school's steps, and up to the pile of glass. They brushed against it and two pieces clicked together, snapping into one bit so completely the former break could not even be seen anymore.

The statue would have been simple to fix with a single Make Whole spell - and it was a perfect target for that. However, fixing it all in one move would have trivialized the extent to which the PRT had screwed up here, as sure, JARED could fix that, using D&D magic. But that was available to no one else on that planet, and none of the powers ever displayed by parahumans would have done it.

The PRT had killed that girl through their carelessness and desire to hold control over every situation. That human cost did not matter to them - but it should. And the only way to make it matter to them was to encourage others to hold them to account for it.

So he stuck with Mending cantrips. Those would still fix the girl, just not nearly as fast.

The dancers switches from the airy and flowing waltz they had been using to a rapid tap number, feet clicking down a dozen times per second, each one carefully nudging, touching or tapping fragments of broken glass that then spun away from their rapidly moving feet to assemble themselves into larger and larger chunks of frozen girl.

They danced for over a minute in the new fast-paced, foot-moving style while the glass chunks flew up into the air and reassembled themselves into a statue. Handfuls of dust flew through the air as streams of sparkles, twinkling over the entire sculpture and filling in cracks and gaps invisible at any distance, so to most onlookers (as well as the television cameras) the rapidly-reassembling girl seemed to sparkle like sunlight shining through a mist.

They had already worked on her longer than they had taken to cure half of the school when they suddenly broke away, once again whirling around in a waltz that looked effortless and elegant, circling the glass statue once before the pair danced back and brushed it again.

Most of the crowd got to see the shards flying up into the air as the statue had been reassembled, but they had to assume the girl had been restored, since there was practically no time to see it directly before the mother enfolded her precious baby girl in the mother of all bear hugs, obscuring the daughter from view, weeping aloud in relief.

A sigh of relief, a vast release of tension, passed through the entire crowd at that point.

They had done it.

Most could not even put into words what they had achieved, and those that tried would have given out scattered answers, such as standing up to the bullying tactics of the PRT, or not tolerating their illegal actions, or even making a space where those independent dancers felt safe to return to.

But, in the end, they had protected their children, and that was enough.

The couple danced for only a few more seconds until the music ended. Then they posed and froze, and disappeared in a shower of rainbow sparkles.

The roar of the crowd as those parents cheered and applauded was deafening. Once it got released it was like a pent up flood, and could be heard clearly outside of the city limits.

It had been preceded by four other, similar roars of relief and approval from three other high schools and one hospital, as Arcadia was the last of those sites of mass glassings to be restored.

The newly sprouted grass of Arcadia's lawns joined those of Winslow, Immaculata, Clarendon, and one hospital in getting trampled as parents along with other loved ones met up with their newly restored children en mass, and that turned into one of the greatest, and largest parties in the history of Brockton Bay.

OoOoO

Jared and Taylor, still in costume, appeared without a flash of light or cloud of smoke or anything cliche like that, stereotypes brought about solely by the entertainment industry to facilitate their special effects or quick scene changes meant to distract the eye so they could get actors on or off the set.

No, they appeared without signature sounds or any of that, still in their final pose from Arcadia, inside of the room of the Belmont Estate they had been calling the Media Room - which was distinct from the private theater, which they'd been using for storage.

"That's a wrap," Lisa declared as the pair dropped their poses. Rapidly typing keys, she continued, "I can have the full video ready for posting soon, since I marked the parts needing edits as we came to them."

"Excellent," Jared/Cryano answered, before declaring, "Good work, everyone." He gave Taylor a hug, causing her to give off a blush that could almost be seen through who knew how many layers of makeup, before rushing off out of the room. The others received their own tokens of affection as he made his way over to the room's nearest window, peering momentarily out through the drawn curtains at the remaining refugees' "Bakuda is Dead!" party still going on out on the yards below.

As he'd made the short walk, Jared's outfit altered itself between one step and the next, going from his Cyrano costume to everyday modern wear suitable to his Rick disguise.

That had been a big surprise the first time he'd done it. Then he'd shown them all how.

That great shopping trip he'd sent them all on Monday while he had shopped for guns had been more than he'd led them to believe. Jared's instructions to the girls in general on that day had been for each of them to pick out five or more complete outfits, each in a dramatically different cut and style. His instructions to Lisa had been to keep them on target, but also guide the girls into selecting out five good sets of clothes suitable for disguises on top of that, and his instructions to Rachel had been to get them all five different types of work outfits, without even asking their opinions if she thought they'd object.

They were also instructed to add on top of that some utility outfits, consisting of two sets of sleepwear (summer and winter), two bathing suits (one piece and two) and one jogging outfit, each.

Deciding on that many dramatically different outfits all at once had been quite a task, even for girls with money to spend. It would probably have been impossible had he not also promised them not to concern themselves about exact fit or colors, that he could make anything fit anyone so long as they were of a size smaller than the original outfit, and that colors could be changed to be anything.

Or course, that also made it significantly more difficult to choose outfits that stood out from each other, without the use of color to set them apart.

He'd also told them not to concern themselves with accessories, yet.

That has been troubling on some levels, but by now they were used to Jared asking for things that did not make any sense, until he'd explain his plan and suddenly impress them all with his cleverness.

Every so often that irked Lisa, who liked being the smart one. But at the same time it was impossible not to appreciate him and his plans' effectiveness, generally, as they'd all benefited from that. And things made sense once he'd pointed them out.

So they had gone shopping.

Setting five girls with lots of money to spend loose on them was far from the worst thing that had happened to Brockton's stores. At first they had begun by just picking out clothes they'd like to wear, as they would during a regular shopping trip. They had not been like that long before the reason behind Jared's instructions to Lisa to 'keep them on target' became clear, as they'd all begun by selecting out not just five, nor even ten, but closer to twenty outfits apiece, all in their favorite styles of clothes, in their favorite colors.

The things they'd normally wear.

Only, if you took away the colors, and looked at them through the bottom of a glass so they were blurry, washing out most of the fine details (that most people who'd seen you would never remember, anyway, so it was a good test of an outfit's overall effect) there really wasn't much difference between most of them. Oh, little stylistic flourishes existed in plenty, but a hoodie was a hoodie no matter how you considered it, and jeans still looked like jeans, even when this one had embroidery on the back pocket, and that one was artificially aged and had torn-out knees.

So early on Lisa had been forced to make them return most of their picks to the racks and start over again, this time with some rules: only one set of jeans (this quickly got expanded and became one slim, figure-hugging set, one baggy, two sets of shorts of dramatically different lengths - and no short shorts! They weren't streetwalkers), one pair of slacks that got similarly expanded, then skirts and dresses likewise. With similar rules on tops, jackets, hats, and so on.

That limit on 'only one hoodie' had gotten Taylor frozen up like a deer in the headlights, which was actually funny, in retrospect.

She'd frozen even harder over the 'only one T-shirt' rule, although all of them had felt the pinch over that one. So it wasn't as funny.

In the end, they'd still gotten twenty outfits apiece, well over the requested five. But at least this time there was considerable variation between them.

For disguises, Lisa had guided everyone into buying a one very sharp business suit with a proper pencil skirt, and one much more everyday and casual with a longer and wider skirt it was much easier to walk in, as between those they could be nearly anyone, nearly anywhere, and still fit in. Then, because he'd said disguises, they'd all gotten proper police and firefighters uniforms, then lab coats and scrubs so they could pretend to be doctors or nurses. With a quick bit of forgery, they'd even gotten them from the official outlets, too.

Lisa had figured that, if the team were disguising themselves, it was probably going to be related to cape business as that's what they were, so presumed that being able to dress as three different types of emergency personnel would help them sneak away from virtually any site they needed to escape from.

And "business camouflage" would help them sneak into most of them, as well.

Lisa felt very proud of herself and her judgement in not only selecting such perfect costumes, but in directing the minor insanity that was that large scale shopping trip, as well.

Rachel, for her part, had not asked anyone for their opinion. Lisa felt vaguely insulted by that, but only vaguely because she knew that most of them would have twisted Jared's instructions to mean more regular outfits, ones that might, technically, if you squinted at them properly, be termed related to work somehow, however distantly - but mostly for looking good, of course.

But no, Rachel had been all practical about it, and gotten each of them genuine work outfits in complete sets, with just as much care and concern as if she had been picking out cape costumes, such that they could just walk onto any number of worksites and just blend in, completely anonymous. So now they could dress like construction workers, farmers, mechanics, drivers, and the most stereotypical building maintenance worker she had ever seen; all in their sizes, too, right down to the boots.

After their shopping trip, he'd opened up a Clothier's Closet and let the girls choose out an equal number of outfits for him. He'd vetoed all of the prank ones, of course, and the speedo as being "too close to naked", going for a set of swim trunks instead, one made for canoers, so they had pockets, even.

Then Jared had surprised them all by giving all of those outfits, his as well as theirs, over into the care of his homunculi, who had proceeded to take them apart seam by seam, and measure them, writing down plenty of notes, before just as quickly repairing them all with Mending cantrips and giving them back.

That had been Monday night, when they'd already been busy, and tired from all of that shopping, so they had not even known why until Tuesday morning, when Jared had presented to them what those homunculi had produced overnight: A single outfit each, that he'd had them put on - and then he'd showed them how that one set of clothes could become any one of those outfits they'd previously bought, from the swimwear to the pajamas, or the business suits or work outfits, or anything in between.

Then he'd taught them how to use that property of their new clothes themselves.

The girls were all still struggling to control the change properly, and it took them some moments of concentration to switch and be certain of getting the right outfit the first time. Privacy helped, so they generally combined it with a bathroom trip.

Jared, of course, was already a master.

The outfits stayed clean no matter what they did to them, fit perfectly, had limited self-repair, and could become any color or fabric they could think of, with some considerable adjustments in what designs they were, allowing the wearer to alter her outward appearance with almost frightening ease.

Once they'd mastered the trick to it, of course.

In many ways it was too easy, and that, coupled with how many options they had to switch between, made the worst issue confusion - as the way Jared had set it up the clothes got shifted by a mental command, which took a bit of getting used to, as it required them knowing what outfit they wanted to switch to. They could not just spin a selector dial.

So they'd kept all of the original clothes, even dressed their body-doubles in them so they could see those outfits regularly (which had included making sets of fifty tofu decoys each for Rachel and Missy as well, so they would not be left out of this vital stage of instruction). This was necessary, as controlling their new clothes appearance required them to have a good idea of what the outfit they were aiming for should look like, which got complicated enough between twenty regular outfits, five specialty ones like sleepwear and swimwear, five disguises, plus five sets of work clothes.

All of that was pretty hard to keep track of, without any mention of the extra complexity added by the ability to choose colors and fabrics. Luckily, Jared told them not to worry about that part for now, just to focus on getting used to the regular outfits as they were. They could master that extra degree of complexity later.

It was a great gift, but frankly, most girls were of the opinion that this would have been easier if he had started them out with a smaller selection, say five outfits to start, and let them master that, then move on to the next stage of complexity.

The Sirens were then embarrassed when he'd hit them with the rejoinder that's exactly what he'd told them to do: five outfits. And that he had not planned to hit them with any of the extra complexity of the specialty wear, disguises, or work clothes just yet. But once they'd hit twenty, they already would've needed a catalog to keep track of them all, so it was no more difficult learning how to switch between and manage fifty.

Fifty? Why yes, he'd also hit them with the fact that he'd included five cape costumes in there. The first set being his Cyrano de Bergerac costume, Taylor's Roxanne, and matching ballgowns in the same period style for the rest of them.

But that was only the first, he had five complete sets of matching hero teams in there, all dressed in completely different styles.

It was a little confusing. That was their only objection, and so far that was the only thing keeping their new magic clothes from being their favorite gift ever! Even more than the magic shoes.

It was just a lot to master at once, that was all.

Again, not like Jared had a problem with it. According to him, he'd been using something similar for years, at magic school.

Lisa, of course, was privately working on a phone app showing their full catalog of outfits, complete with the extra bits, that they could use as a study guide.

Waiting for Taylor's return before continuing her report, Lisa watched the boy who was simultaneously their team's leader and shared boytoy move over to where Rachel was leaning against an old cabinet radio and settling in by her side, sliding an arm around her waist, while his smartphone, Optima Sigma, popped up on his other side and began delivering its reports.

They called this the 'media room' somewhat in jest, as the equipment in it had not been updated since the 1970s. So it had a big old cathode ray tube television built into its own cabinet on one wall, with an equally old Betamax hooked up to it, and the cabinet it was built into was mostly filled with old tapes none of them had even looked at yet. But the TV did not dominate the room as it would have in any more modern setup. No, it was just one element out of several, as on the wall opposite was an equally old multi media combination of radio, tape player (both cassette and 8-track) and old vinyl record player that for its day had probably been quite an expensive stereo.

The walls on either side of it had specialty bookcases that were filled with vinyl records they had yet to look at the titles of.

There were a couple of sofas, and to Lisa's endless private amusement, the room was decorated almost entirely in that horrid shade of 1970s gold. This was amusing because it stood out as weird, like a cheap B-movie sci-fi scene to have their more modern computers set up here and about, with Jared's homunculi typing away at them, or moving about between them, not to mention their little robot phones.

Taylor's smartphone, Argon Sparkles, was working alongside Dinah's Pony Princess, Rachel's Aurora Rose and Missy's smartphone MultiFred to get the tangle of editing done before they could do final posting on their latest videos.

Lisa held out her hand and let her own smartphone, Prima Machina, step up onto her palm, then lifted it close to her face so she could receive the little robot's report.

Yep! The mixture of 70s decorating with actual sci-fi elements was jarring as anything - which made it hilarious in her mind.

Taylor came running back into the room, already changed out of costume, and Lisa did not need her power to tell her that she had genuinely needed the quick bathroom trip for its own purpose. She was not surprised, the duo had been doing nonstop dancing for almost two hours.

Jared had waited for her, accepting Taylor into his open side as his gaze turned towards Lisa and now clearly indicated she could begin.

In the privacy of her mind, Lisa forgave him the minor transgression of not treating herself as the most important one. She could not fault him for treating Taylor with extra care, as she was by far the most delicate among them in terms of emotional stability, as the bug controller had been more than a touch suicidal before she'd latched onto Jared. Lisa had triggered over her brother's suicide, so she accepted and approved of Jared giving Taylor a touch of special treatment to prevent hers, as the last thing any of them wanted to do was to see Taylor self-destruct - which she would if he did not treat her as important.

So Lisa confirmed inside of herself that Jared had her private permission for that bit of favoritism, and inwardly resolved to make sure the other girls understood the hows and whys of it, before continuing, "Ok, all four high schools and the one hospital where the ABB turned everyone to glass have been restored, thanks to you two. We were right to do Arcadia last, as the PRT still had eyes on it, even though the people they had on-site were not in uniform - that's another thing I am going to report to the FBI, as the PRT has no mandate to perform undercover missions, so that's another way in which they've overstepped their government-supplied authority. We were also right not to livestream the hospital or other high schools. Because the moment those videos went online the PRT was sending out troopers to those locations, trying to apprehend us. So congratulations, everyone, on outsmarting the crooked cops."

Jared started applauding and, while doing so, bowed to the Thinkers and Missy in turn, who had done all of the planning. After a brief moment's start, Taylor followed, and the other three also contributed some claps to honor each other, but it was over in a few seconds.

Lisa smiled. Ok, it was a bit cheesy, and over almost as soon as it had begun, but she'd found being applauded for her genius appealed to her.

They could do it more often without hurting her feelings at all.

That was when it occurred to her that Jared was being careful of more of their feelings than just Taylor's. She felt oddly flattered by that, and secure someplace deep in her tummy that she did not talk about much.

She hurried on. "So the general dancing videos are all posted. But what is really exciting are the pranks and outtakes reels we are making. There are plenty of fun shots where something amusing happens; like somebody stumbling in mid-step as they get restored, or that time when the guy in the cafeteria chomped down on food that wasn't there anymore. And there are enough priceless shots of people's facial expressions that we could make a whole video just of those."

The blonde Thinker smirked, fingers twitching in eagerness, "For the outtakes video, I think I'll start with that scene where you restored the couple who had been kissing in the janitors closet. He was so oblivious to anything but kissing her! I don't think either of them realized that anything unusual had happened. They seemed to think some weirdos just opened their closet and interrupted them. The look he gave you as he slammed the door was priceless!"

This was news to the dancers, who had not seen it, having been studiously ignoring those around them while they danced. But it was enough of a reminder to get Missy and Dinah howling again with laughter.

Lisa quietly waited that out. "For the pranks reel, I think I'll start with a montage of all the bullies you identified and pranked. I think I have just the right music to accompany the series where a restored bully immediately drops into a kids wading pool full of mud. That'll be hilarious. And I think I'll go with the Dancing Hippos music from Fantasia for the macho-type bullies you put in sparkly pink sequined ballerina tutu outfits who immediately started slipping and gyrating to try to keep their balance on the greased slippery ice they found themselves standing on."

Taylor's answering grin was vicious. Those had been *her* bullies at Winslow they had hit with that prank, and the first stage of it, before they'd even started filming, had been for Jared to magically alter their clothes into really trashy, Merchant-style outfits and gang colors they'd put the tutus on over. So being caught on video dressed like that, then humiliated?

Their days as popular kids were over.

Madison had even face-planted on the ice.

Twice.

The third time Madison had face-planted *might* have been because Taylor had really, Really wanted her to, and Jared had somehow read her mind, so the black spiked leather belt Madison had been wearing slipped down around her ankles and tripped her just as she'd been climbing to her feet, having crawled on all fours like a baby to get off the ice...

... and another boy right behind her had tripped at the same time as she'd recovered, and during his fall reached out desperately trying to steady himself and accidentally pulled Madison's pants down, revealing the world's ugliest boxers on underneath.

No, that moment was going into a special place in Taylor's heart, where it was going to be treasured forever.

Writing "Bully" on their faces with indelible ink (not permanent, but it'll last for a couple of days) had almost been tame, compared to that.

When Madison had spun around, screaming, to face the pants-puller, and revealed to the camera she had a lower back tattoo of the Simurgh? Done in a romantic style with a pink heart background?

That was something Taylor was going to treasure so hard and so deep the girl did not even have words for it.

Nobody liked anybody who even hinted at liking the Endbringers. Madison's days as the cute girl who got away with stuff were deader than Hitler. She'd be almost as much of a pariah as the Fallen, the infamous gang who worshipped the Endbringers, but who had been completely cut off from the rest of society in revulsion, for the most part.

Brockton Bay's Nazi's were actually only middle-of-the-road hated compared to where the Fallen were - or Madison would be.

Irony was always the best form of punishment. Madison had done what she'd done in order to be popular, and now popular was a state completely beyond her reach, ever again. Plus, Madison had treated Taylor horribly for being unpopular, and now every other girl Madison met for the rest of her life would probably do the same - but with Madison as their victim.

Irony indeed.

They call it "Poetic Justice" when you are punished 'in kind'. And so it was here.

Taylor could not have been happier. She stood there aglow, wishing that Jared would kiss her and make her life complete.

He kissed her.

Taylor passed out.

Luckily, Jared caught her, then lay her down on one of the gold-colored sofas. Lisa smiled down on the girl fondly, before sighing, and declaring melodramatically, "Doctor, doctor! We found our friend passed out! So we rushed her to the hospital, where the surgeons did what they could - but it took them *Three Hours* just to remove the smile from her face!"

Missy and Dinah collapsed into giggles that went on for several minutes.

Rachel took over Taylor's care, loosening several of her shirt buttons and opening her collar to give her unrestricted access to air in aid of breathing, then quietly sat with her patient and held her hand to offer physical comfort, so she would not feel embarrassed upon waking.

Jared quietly approved of this and made himself comfortable on the other sofa. Focusing on Lisa asked, "Are you still sure we should use the scenes we talked about?"

He got answered by a chorus of "Yes!"

Lisa explained, "You were right that we shouldn't take video of people turned to glass while in the restroom or locker rooms. Compromising video that is. But I think the solution we came up with worked perfectly, and was funny as Smurf. Having dressing everyone who *might* have been caught indecent, in wooden barrels held up by suspenders over their shoulders, just like in some classic cartoons, we can release it with a G rating. I've checked the film, and nobody's naughty bits are exposed beyond the wooden barrels they are wearing. And their reactions when they try to cover up!" She guffawed. "Maybe I'll call it 'Knock on Wood' after all those hands moving rapidly to cover up and unexpectedly slapping wooden barrels. But almost as funny were the instant and instinctive reactions where people covered themselves - or where their bits would be under the barrels anyway - using the sheet of paper they unexpectedly found themselves holding."

Jared quoted from memory the contents of those notes: "By continuing to stand here and do nothing, you agree to the terms and conditions in the license agreement herein spelled out..."

Laughs came from all around as they compared their one, very non-serious attempt, to the similar one-sided "license agreements" various companies tended to write. One-sided "license agreements" that everyone universally hated, for how unfair they were in the corporation's favor.

Theirs weren't. Theirs were funny, and meant to be so.

Besides, corporations big enough to have that much weight (and lawyers) to throw around were a rare and vanishing breed these days. Multinationals with vested interests in dozens of countries had not weathered the collapse of global trade very well. Small, local businesses were actually more robust, in that they were like grass - able to spring up nearly anywhere, and if some got eliminated, that did not really affect the whole field. Huge corporations, on the other hand, were like one massive tree - it could survive small upsets just fine, but anything major was liable to snap the trunk and kill the whole plant.

So the concept of 'Big Tech', or 'big' auto, or 'big' anything was steadily losing market share, as those big, lumbering dinosaurs could not adapt very fast to change. Their own hulking mass of bureaucracy prevented them.

Earth Bet was, by necessity, experiencing the exact opposite trend seen on other worlds, where giant multinationals bought up their opposition to become ever larger and more powerful. Instead, Earth Bet was seeing the complete reverse, as giant corporations who had offshored their manufacturing to Singapore, for example, had very brief, very puzzled expressions on their faces once word came that Singapore had ceased to exist due to an Endbringer attack. Any company big enough to have invested in Third World countries hoping to pay next to nothing for labor costs, generally grew to regret those choices as third world countries turned out to not be the most stable, and so generally collapsed under the new societal pressures that accompanied the changes to Earth Bet.

A muslim imam who had formerly been able to terrorize his country because he'd gotten the army to listen to him, now had to deal with the advent of capes who might be bulletproof, or shoot lightning from their eyes - and because of the nature of trigger events, it was those opposed to the ruling elite, and thus the subject of their brutal oppressions, who were most likely to trigger and get powers, rather than the happy, satisfied, and well-bribed officials who supported the regime.

Of course, once the enraged parahuman eliminated the old ruling class it was standard for them to try and take over themselves, and they very often proved to be no better at ruling than the men they had replaced, leading to more outrages, more oppression, and thus more trigger events resulting in brand new parahumans arising to unseat the old.

There were countries where this cycle had been repeated dozens of times, to the point where nobody even bothered calling them a country anymore, just an angry collection of warring tribes.

But when the country undergoing such rapid shifts in leadership turns out to be someplace like, oh, say, Iran, that controlled a priceless natural resource, and it became unavailable to world markets due to internal conflicts, the big multinational oil corporations that had invested in that resource had a very bad day.

So Wall Street on Earth Bet was once again forced to deal with the phenomena not truly seen since the First Great Depression, of it raining stock brokers as men rendered destitute by the latest calamity jumped to their deaths rather than face a life of poverty.

This time around they had even erected signs, "Beware of Falling Stock Brokers" through the districts most affected.

So contracts and litigation were threats that were, strangely, far less scary to the inhabitants of Earth Bet, than on other, comparable worlds.

Lisa cocked her head, and stated, "There were a few who saw that text and got angry, at least until they realized it was just an agreement to use their images in a video and that no revealing images would be taken or used."

Jared nodded along. "Not that we need such legal protection anyway, since our plan is to stay anonymous. If things go right, they won't be able to trace who posted this."

"Uber and Leet, eat your hearts out," Dinah giggled.

Missy had begun seriously listening to a report from her smartphone, MultiFred, who she had checking for, and alerting her to, local news that might indicate threats.

Apparently, it had something.

Missy had stopped giggling, and was back into 'serious soldier' mode now, as she turned to the rest of the group and said, "Sirens? We may have to suit up. Lung was rampaging, until Glory Girl headed him off, then she just spent hours beating him down as payback for her sister. Only now the Empire are showing up in force around her. It may get ugly, and I'd like it if we could be there to offer support?"

It was the first time Missy had ever asked anything of the group.

You don't build relationships by denying people things like that, when they ask them. Upholding justice and fighting the good fight were things Missy had dedicated her life to, and trying to shut that down would only cause her to go out and do them without their support.

Jared sprang to his feet, changing to a whole new costume before his feet had touched the ground. "Alright everybody! Let's go wrangle us some varmints!"

"Why are you dressed like a cowboy?" Lisa asked dryly.

Jared began holding up fingers. "Because one, we can't use the Musketeer and Ballgown sets of costumes, because Cyrano and Roxanne have already made the national news. So we can't go out like that without drawing far more attention than we want or need. And two, enough ordinary folks wear Western attire that, even with masks on, nobody could be entirely sure if we are capes or not, until we actually use powers. So we are close to anonymous this way, but can still use our powers if we need to."

Lisa pondered that for a moment. "Alright, you've got a point."

OoOoO

Story Day Eleven, April 16th 2011, Saturday - Early Afternoon

OoOoO

Laughing wildly, Skysaber's Sirens left the Brockton Field stadium, covered in souvenirs and various paraphenalia for both Empire and Glory Girl teams.

"I believe I quite approve of Cape-Ball," Rachel declared, holding a parasol over her head like a proper English lady.

"You would. It's bloody and vicious, just like dogs when they're fighting," Lisa opined.

Rachel's disdaining sniff showed she knew exactly how dogs fought, and saw nothing wrong with it, so dismissed her comment as irrelevant.

On learning that Glory Girl may have been in trouble and in need of their support, the Sirens had all been teleported by Jared down to the Brockton Field stadium, mainly because it was close by, empty and therefore private, as well as a major landmark he had seen from a distance, and therefore had more accuracy in teleporting to.

Yet very shortly after they'd arrived, Glory Girl had come flying over the stadium walls, bearing Lung's head.

The game of Cape-Ball had unfolded from there, and they'd had front row seats.

In a fit of whimsy, Jared had cast Clothier's Closet a couple of times, setting up a stand selling T-shirts, jerseys, caps and other memorabelia customized to both New Wave and the Empire, done up as though they were sports teams, then teleported in a couple of his golems to run the stand.

Then he'd set up another couple of stands selling refreshments.

To the wizard's immense surprise, he'd been forced to restock each of those stands several times over during the game. There were now several dozen fans running about wearing souvenir versions of Rune's "I soloed Lung" T-shirt, having bought copies from his stand - in ordinary materials, of course.

Naturally, that was mostly to provide cover for when Missy and Tammi wore their genuine ones.

On exiting, Missy paused and stood there in the stadium entrance looking out over the fields of broken PRT equipment, crushed trucks and so on, that not so long ago had been trying to arrest them, as well as everyone else in the stadium.

Not so long ago, she would have been on their side. Now, with what she'd learned in the afterlife, she never could be again.

Still, the urge to help people was strong.

"Jared?" she asked.

Instantly his attention was riveted on her. She'd like to know how he did that, tell when someone had something important to say or not, as she'd like to be able to do it herself.

Nevertheless, that request could wait for another time.

She fixed him with her serious look. "I'd like to be able to help out. You and Taylor got to go out and save people, and while Cape Ball was fun, we didn't help anybody. I'd like to do something to contribute myself."

The boy thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Got you covered," he declared, then motioned them all closer as he bent low to share the secret, "lets see if you all approve of my idea."

A few minutes later he was making a call on his smartphone. "Hello, Lex? Rick Belmont here, I was just calling to negotiate your services on a small matter that might amuse you..."

OoOoO

A few calls got everything started.

"This is going to be my car," Jared declared. He had found a particular pre-World-War One automobile in one of the car collections among the Fairhaven mansions, and was standing beside it, gazing down fondly.

"It's so old!" Dinah complained.

The boy merely nodded. "Yup! The original Stutz Bearcat Series A of 1912, one of the very first sports cars ever invented. Debate over what was the first true sports car has been around nearly as long as the car itself. Henry Ford once said, 'Auto racing began 5 minutes after the second car was built.' However, a 'sports car' is generally defined as a production vehicle designed for speed and maneuverability with a low body and seating for two, and by that definition some have declared the Stutz Bearcat here the oldest, and whether that's true or not, it is still a legendary icon of its time. In 1912, the year they were introduced, Stutz Bearcats won 25 of the 30 auto races in which they were entered. One of the ones they lost, the Indy 500, they came in 11th."

The wizard placed a hand lovingly on the hood of the ancient automobile, turned to his girls and grinned. "This is going to be so much fun!"

"So... it's old?" Dinah repeated, unable to comprehend how being old made something good or important.

Jared knelt to look her in the eye. "You've got to understand, these things were racing around at 80mph when most people were still riding around in horse-drawn carriages! It's so old things like windshields, headlights, and *doors* were still considered optional extras! The seatbelt hadn't been invented yet. They didn't even have vulcanized rubber for tires! So the ones they had exploded when you did things like drive too far or too fast. They built the Stutz Bearcat back so long ago that nobody had figured out even what a car really was yet, or what they were good for. Back then *everybody knew* they were just toys, and that any serious vehicle had horses pulling it!"

Jared snorted. "*Speed* was a brand new thing! There was a railroad tunnel getting built in England, that because of the way it was designed would allow a train traveling through it to get up to *gasp!* SIXTY Miles Per Hour! So-called 'serious scientists' of the day came out and openly declared that the mere act of going that fast would kill every human being on the train. That human bodies could not take the stress of sitting on board a vehicle going that fast. They did not understand yet - how could they? In all of human history no one had ever gone faster than a good horse before."

He fixed Dinah with a strong yet steady gaze, and grinned. "Imagine that. Only a hundred years ago, and people were still figuring out what a car *was*. Now everyone is wailing over parts availability and fuel prices and complaining that automobiles might vanish forever, and seriously asking 'how could we live without them?'"

He reached up and tapped the hood of the Bearcat. "This car was made back when machines were still this funky new idea some folks were playing around with - a hobby that no one really took seriously, because *everyone knew* that horses would be the standard form of transport for forever - because they always had been, so of course they would always stay that way!"

The boy was plainly amused. "Some of its contemporaries were made by blacksmiths pounding on metal with hammers. Just think of that - a handmade car! This model uses gas, but some from the very same age were electric, or even steam-powered. And the steam powered ones you could run off anything that could burn, including wood!"

Turning from the car, he leaned closer to Dinah. "History is important, because people have this blind spot. Everyone, all of the time, devolves to thinking 'the way things are right now is the way they have always been, and the way they will always be'. But that's one of the worst lies you could ever tell yourself. It blinds you to other options, and right when things are looking like they might break down is the last time to go blinding yourself to other options."

The boy stood up, lecture over. "I have been telling people for years that 'one hundred years ago, we were an agricultural society - which means most people spent most of their time growing things. Then fifty years ago we were a manufacturing society - which meant that most people spent most of their time building things. Today," he gave a rueful smile. "We are a bureaucratic society, which means that most people spend most of their time doing paperwork."

Here he looked around the girls. "The modern world is in a state of collapse, slowly falling into a dumpster fire, and no one knows how to stop it. They just look sadly on as bits of it stop functioning, sadly awaiting the time the whole thing slides off into ruin. But it doesn't have to be that way. We keep thinking the world is ending when our machines stop functioning. I like things like this," he gave a soft *thump* to the hood of the Bearcat, "because they serve as reminders that all of the machinery we depend on and take for granted is brand-spanking new. It hasn't been around, and mainstream, for even a full hundred years. They were still using *horse cavalry* during World War One! So for all but this one tiny sliver of human history, civilization has gotten along just fine without the machines whose collapse we fear will end the world."

Jared gave off a little laugh. "We'll have to retrain to building things or growing things, of course. But nobody will miss the paperwork, I promise you."

His voice trailed behind him as he walked off to explore the garage they were in more. "Human society got along just fine before all of this technology existed, and it will still continue on after. It will take on a different form, but so what? Nobody actually *needs* Disneyland, or cable TV. We just find them amusing and convenient - and people can find amusement in the stupidest things. We're *always* inventing new games to keep ourselves amused."

"Back to the point, dear," Rachel inquired delicately. "How do you plan to make this car win a race if its top speed was about the same as a Yugo can achieve now?"

Jared's grin when he turned about to face them was dazzling. "Weeell, I was going to throw on a pair of oversized racing slick tires onto the back wheels, give it a new paint job... and, of course, cast about a dozen spells on it, enhancing its abilities. I could probably win the Indy 500 on a skateboard, if I put enough magic on it. I'll just do that here."

He vanished into a parts locker at the back of the garage.

"So why a race?" Missy asked, looking over his choice of vehicle with new interest.

His answer came floating back from inside of the parts locker. "One, it gets a LOT of witnesses that the time bubbles are popped and gone, and that kind of public knowledge helps to stop the PRT from dragging its feet in declaring the area reopened. Two, and not at all the least factor is to encourage the public! Things like bombing sprees can really get you down. We've seen the effect that has had on morale in the city, and we've seen the effect that Cape-Ball had in the opposite direction. Doing something more to build up the public morale, like Cape-Ball did, is very much a worthwhile goal."

"Are you sure it will work?" Dinah asked.

"Oh, sure!" His voice came floating back. "All I've got to do is curse Bakuda with a weakness, so her time bubbles will pop when they encounter a certain substance. Easy peasy lemon squeazy. Nothing to it. In fact, I may curse Grey Boy at the same time, so the same weakness could be used to collapse his time bubbles. In fact, I'm sure I will do it, as once people see us popping time bubbles left and right, someone is going to at least suggest trying out the same thing on the more infamous villain's use of the same thing. And it would be *hilarious* if it worked! Besides..."

Jared emerged from the parts locker with the pair of large racing slicks he'd sought there, having half expected the former owner of the Stutz Bearcat to have on-hand the parts needed to make the conversion.

It was a rather famous example of the rather famous car, after all. It was only natural they'd thought of it too. In fact, wasn't that a 1963 Volkswagen Beetle over there? Why, yes. It was! It was even in the correct paint job, too. Oh, Taylor was going to love this!

And was that a mid-1960s Chevrolet G-Body panel van? No, it was a Dodge A100. They looked almost identical. Whoever had once owned this collection obviously had some of the same ideas as Jared, as there was a limited number of reasons to own that model of van.

He wondered if Lisa would be interested in driving it.

The wizard set down his load of racing tires next to the Bearcat, and directed his full attention to Dinah, taking up where he'd left off, "Besides, there is nothing more miserable than feeling helpless and hopeless. That's the way a lot of folks are feeling right now, and it's got to stop. I can think of no faster way toward making them feel better than to give them confidence that they *can* help themselves, that the situation is *not* hopeless! And if I can do so in a silly way? So much the better."

Missy cocked her head at him. "How are you going to curse Grey Boy? He's dead. The Faerie Queen killed him."

The wizard's grin grew electric, on a fit of whimsy he even caused small electric sparks to dance across his teeth. A simple illusion, but a fun one, with a very dramatic effect if Missy's widening eyes were anything to go by. "Being dead is no defense! His spirit still exists out there somewhere! Probably in Hell, given who he was, and what he did for amusement. But spirits are just another form of creature, and any creature can be cursed! So I'll give him the same weakness as Bakuda, and let the whole world grow in confidence that this archtypical villain's supposedly unbeatable effect has a simple weakness. That will put the whole world into a better frame of mind, thinking they can actually beat some of these nightmares - and that will give them hope that with a bit of work they could even take down the rest!"

OoOoO

"This looks ridiculous," Lisa proclaimed, looking over the garishly painted van.

"Ridiculousness is the whole point!" Jared rebutted. "People around us are being serious all of the time now, and they're miserable. We've got to break them out of that, and they're too jaded to consider a serious explanation. So that approach won't do them any good. So we've got to go wacky! We *have* to!

"Oh, and remember to say 'Jinkies' and 'Groovy' a few times. It will help," he promised her.

Lisa, wearing a purple mini-dress, matching shoes, pink pantyhose, and a pink mask and scarf (she had utterly refused the green ascot that had been offered), rolled her eyes, but she was smiling all of the while. "Okay, I've got to admit this will smurf with the PRT's heads, and that always has appeal."

"See!" the boy gave the girl an enthusiastic hug. "I *knew* you could get into the spirit of this! Just think, it'll get the time bubbles popped faster due to public involvement, it should build public spiritedness because everybody that participates can feel that glow of satisfaction that comes from accomplishing something, and this should get it all done before the PRT gets involved, because damaged as they are they will still try to scrape themselves together and come after us - and *most* important of all, it will mess with the PRT's heads! C'mon, let's go out to help get this race started."

"Jinkies, who could resist an idea like that?" Lisa acquiessed to his appeal, as he'd hoped she would, bending down to take hold of the Kangal dog, currently dyed to look like a Great Dane, just as her own hair was now tinted with a slight red, transforming her into a strawberry blonde, and used her animal handler training to direct the animal up into the passenger side seat of the garishly painted, blue and green van, emblazened with the title of "Mystery Machine" before going 'round to take the driver's side for herself, offering him a sly smile as she did so.

Jared made a quick call on his phone, "Lex! Guess what? I've got Danger-Prone Daphne in the Mystery Machine, and Tom Slick both agreed to join the race! Isn't that awesome? Let me know when they arrive out on the track, okay?"

The wizard ended the call, settled his Tom Slick costume into place for the last time, and went to hop into the driver's seat of the Stutz Bearcat, now appropriately modified into the iconic Convertible Thunderbolt GreaseSlapper from the classic cartoon named after the driver.

The two vehicles drove off from the isolated part of town where they had finished setting up, following a route that would take them through the heart of town, skipping all of the worst traffic tangles. They weren't being subtle, either, as the whole point was to draw peoples' attention to the pair of very distinctive looking automobiles as they raced each other, not going anything like all-out yet, but still obviously jockeying for position and competitive with each other.

Pedals went to the metal, and they roared around corners. They ran red lights. They drove over curbs in their enthusiasm, and yes, at one point Jared even created the illusion of a fruit cart for one of them to plow through, scattering the fruit everywhere.

Their goal was to draw attention, and they got it.

The Brockton Bay police were battered, and dealing with so many other issues right then that it was all but guaranteed they had no one to spare for mere traffic duty, so the two drivers were not at all concerned about getting ticketed, merely making a big show of it and drawing attention to themselves as they took a path right through the most populated areas, straight to the closed-down airport.

They succeeded in riveting the town's attention, too, as the people of Brockton Bay were very highly sensitized to any cape doings. As soon as anything weird happened, they dove for safety, but as soon as they were under cover, the phone cameras came out. So when a pair of brightly colored, oddly behaving vehicles drove about, they triggered peoples' cape senses in a big way - until their second look, when they got puzzled over why two classic automobiles out of two classic cartoons were racing down the streets of Brockton Bay.

Many of those same confused people went online, where a simple search would show the website for the race being set up. So what the two cars were doing was advertising as much as anything.

So it was lucky that they'd managed to catch the attention of a couple of news crews on their way.

Between this and Cape-Ball, this was to be a red letter day for Brockton Bay News channels.

OoOoO

Vicky, looking down and wilted, just sat in a chair as her mother harangued her.

"... and another thing, young lady..."

Crystal, witnessing this, arms folded while leaning against the wall, dryly said, "You know, I don't know why you are being so hard on her. You said yourself you wanted New Wave to be celebrities instead of heroes who get shot at." She stood up and waved her arms to indicate everybody in the two families present. "Well, we've got enough members to be a pro sports team. And Vicky just starred in an exhibition match for a new kind of game that's all anyone online can talk about. What's your problem?"

She stared around, looking everyone in the eyes. "We seem to have invented a new sport. And we can get in on it, and cash in on it - if we get behind it and push, to help it take off. Or you can go back to being hopeless. It's your choice. Either way, Aunt Carol? Grow up. None of us *have* to be on a team with you, and the more you act like the Wicked Witch of the East, the less inclined any of us are to put up with you."

Crystal left the room, leaving Carol and Sarah and the two husbands all staring at each other.

Vicky tentatively glanced up, hoping nobody noticed. Could it be that she was getting out of this scolding early?

If so, she owed Crystal a favor.

Carol was about to blow her top and yell at everyone, even louder than before, when Eric slid into to the room in a hurry. "Hey mom?" he called to Lady Photon, pointing a thumb back over his shoulder. "There's something on the news. I think you should see it."

"What is it?" Lady Photon asked, rising to her feet.

"Something about a race," her son answered. "A race for capes, here in Brockton, with prizes! BIG prizes! If what they're offering really does what they say it does, then it might be worth millions!"

The adults all traded glances, Crystal's words about being a pro team for cape sports fresh on their minds. "Alright, we're coming." Sarah gave her sister a glare, cutting off her most recent explosion before it could start. They did not have the time for it right then.

Instead, the whole family went to watch the news.

OoOoO

Author's Notes:

One of the delights of writing is forcing take-themselves-too-seriously, stuffed-shirt, bureaucrat types to behold the ridiculous in such ways that compel them to take it seriously.

Then not to allow them to see how ridiculous that makes them look.

People who have no sense of humor often cannot recognize humor, even when they are up to the seats of their pants in it, and their very incomprehension is hilarious!

And the PRT make such *excellent* straight-men! People like Piggot and Armsmaster could not comprehend a joke even if they had a native guide and a translator! They are so concerned over 'Control, Control, Control' that their heads are liable to spin trying to figure out all of this nonsense. Can't you imagine them staying up at night wondering over the questions of who these new capes are, what their real powers are, and where they came from? And also where they vanish too once this race is over?

After all, how many capes *cough*SlaughterhouseNine*cough* are most concerning because you *don't* know where they are most of the time?