Chapter 1.c
Friday, April 8th 2011
When Chrissie first joined the Teeth after the gang finally returned home, life had been ticking along like clockwork — be gay, do crime, fuck up Nazis, embarrass heroes, profit.
Now that clock felt overwound to the point of breaking.
Quarrel had died a week prior, and Butcher XV had single handedly dismantled the entire ABB… without the Teeth. The longest anyone had held out before returning to the gang was twelve days. However, Butcher III had been an outlier, and everyone else had come back within three (save Damascian who needed to drive the distance, first).
"I still think we should send someone to just kill the dumb bitch," Reaver grumbled for what must have been the fiftieth time that week.
"That 'dumb bitch' is a Master with a fuckoff long range," Spree retorted, again, turning his back to the capes in the loft to lean against the railing and watch the fight happening in the arena below them. "But she won't last much longer. We'll wait and ow!"
Animos had picked up an empty beer bottle from the common area table and thrown it at Spree, smacking him directly in the small of the back before rebounding off of a chair and rolling off the ledge into the stands below. The Teeth had converted the box seats of a defunct sports arena into the capes' personal quarters, allowing them to watch fights in the pits below.
Now, though, their temporary leader's yelp of pain was lost in the cheers of the crowd, and his angry retort was cut off by Hemorrhagia asking, "Who won?"
Spree shot Animos a death glare before risking a glance over his shoulder. "Well, given that Big Robbie is holding a tattooed scalp, I'd say he did."
When no one immediately pulled out their wallet to pay out bets — sure, that Nazi had looked like a piece of work but Big Robbie was mean — Chrissie decided to reveal her own discovery about XV.
"Weaver doesn't talk like Quarrel," Chrissie said, immediately drawing the senior Teeth's attention.
"What do you mean?" Spree asked, shooting Animos a glare.
"Haven't you seen the videos?" They hadn't of course, so Chrissie pulled out her phone and navigated to one of the 'New Hero in BB?' threads that had popped up in the last week. She played the one of Weaver meeting the Wards from when their wayward boss attacked an ABB brothel Monday evening, having to restart it twice because the Teeth were too loud or couldn't see.
Spree yanked the phone from her hand and rewound the video, staring at the device with a dumbfounded expression. "What the hell?"
Chrissie shrugged, wondering internally if her phone would survive the next few minutes. "If I didn't know that she was XV, I would never have guessed."
The other Teeth capes froze for a long minute, sharing worried glances, before Hemorrhagia swallowed nervously. "You don't think… a hero, seriously?"
Spree shook his head. "No, I can't believe it. The Teeth… the other Butchers… they will drive her insane eventually. Right?"
The others murmured their agreement, but even Chrissie could tell that they were all bullshitting each other, plastering up a strong façade over their worries. Without the Butcher, the Teeth would be in a lot of trouble. Sure, Lung was finally dead, but the Protectorate and Empire both wanted them gone, nevermind whatever other posers would crawl out of the woodwork to fuck around.
Normally, Chrissie would welcome the opportunity to help those posers find out — the memory of Skidmark trying to escape through her forcefields and being reduced to salsa would forever make her laugh — but even if Weaver only stayed on the sidelines, she tied up a significant portion of the Teeth's battlefield presence.
"Well, maybe…" Reaver started, but trailed off when a curious sound filled the repurposed arena. It began as a quiet scratching and clicking, growing to a roar just as a tidal wave of insects erupted out of the walls and floors. Chrissie reflexively jumped to her feet, which let her watch in horror and anticipation as the veritable flood of bugs poured down through the stands surrounding the arena. People flailed in horror as the bugs wormed their way around their feet, only for the dark tide to flow together and ooze up into chittering, twitching swarm tentacles.
Out of pure, twisted curiosity — and knowing exactly what might happen — Chrissie stuck her hand into the nearest bug tentacle. She was surprised when the bugs didn't sting her, bite her, or anything unpleasant apart from simply bouncing off of her skin.
It was creepy as all fuck, but more importantly, their wayward boss had finally returned.
And if their enemies weren't afraid of insects already, then they would be soon.
From her perch overlooking the arena, Chrissie watched with fascination and mild horror as the bug tentacles and clouds converged on the arena before another biblical swarm descended from the ceiling and swirled around the room in the world's worst possible hurricane. She could just barely make out a churning pillar of bugs in the center of the arena before all of the bugs pulled back in an instant and revealed Butcher XV.
"What in the everloving fuck," Spree muttered. Chrissie hummed in agreement, finally getting a good look at their new boss in person.
Weaver's costume was badass: all blacks and grays with intimidating armored panels and a frankly unsettling insect motif; her mask sent shivers down Chrissie's spine. The small armory of weapons sheathed across her chest, back, and legs was expected, of course, but Chrissie was much more confused about Weaver's hair. It was tied up in a ponytail in most of the footage, but now hung free, writhing slightly.
Oh god those were insects.
It wasn't just her hair.
Butcher's whole body was crawling and skittering with her swarm, forming skittering patterns and paths that left no doubt as to how fine her control was. When she moved, Weaver almost seemed to leave an echo of bugs behind, which blurred her silhouette and made her appear part of the swarm herself.
Was Chrissie drooling? She felt like she was drooling.
"Teeth. I am Weaver, Butcher XV," the cape said, and like a chorus straight out of hell, the bugs buzzed and chittered along with her voice. "Lung is dead, and the ABB is disintegrating. Our next target is the Empire. We are going to seize the Bay, but there will be… changes."
"Oh fuck the hell yes," Chrissie hissed.
Weaver was everything she had wanted in a Butcher and more — and could even talk in complete sentences! Chrissie didn't even care what changes might bring, because this new girl was pants-shittingly terrifying. This city didn't know what it was in for. The Butcher was home, and it was going to be one hell of a ride!
Spree, however, didn't seem nearly as impressed as Chrissie, scowling as he leaned out over the railing. "Why should we follow you? You've spent the last week playing hero, throwing yourself against the ABB and Empire, so why should we believe you've suddenly decided to come back to lead us? How do we know this isn't an elaborate trap to take us all in?"
In response, Butcher XV teleported up to the repurposed VIP box and materialized damn near on top of Spree. Clones exploded from him in surprise, and the Butcher responded by laughing along with her horrifying bug echo. She lashed out immediately with the machete from her hip, severing one clone's leg before using the severed appendage to bludgeon the next. Between the ultrasharp blade and the grisly club, Butcher set about mowing down Spree's army of clones, occasionally swapping out her Spree-bat for less mangled limbs.
Chrissie spread a relatively light smattering of shields between her and the ensuing carnage, which kept her mostly clean from the blood and bits flying around while Butcher lived up to her name. Upon reaching Spree (who had backed into a corner), Weaver chucked the dismembered leg into his face and leveled her machete at his neck. "Are you finished? Or do I need to continue this demonstration?"
Spree shook his head quickly, looking up into the ominous yellow lenses of the east coast's most terrifying villain. For all that she had been a teenage girl, Weaver now looked like a queen-cum-headsman who had just slaughtered a battalion of usurpers. Her bloodsoaked costume only bolstered the image, the irregular plops of blood echoing the sudden silence.
Chrissie, having not been stupid enough to antagonize the living swarm, had to fight down giggles. She could not wait to hit the streets with XV leading the charge.
"Good," Weaver said, giving her machete a contemptuous flick and spraying Spree with the blood of his clones. The blade was suspiciously clean when she crammed it back into the sheath.
There was no warning when, a moment later, her swarm exploded back into the common area in a tornado of chittering and buzzing. When it cleared after a few seconds, Butcher was gone — no, wait, she was sitting in Quarrel's spot on the sofa, her costume miraculously clean. The other Teeth were giving the Butcher annoyed glares, but Chrissie was too preoccupied with the fact that Weaver had her bugs eat all of the blood and gore off of her armor.
Holy fuck was that cool to watch!
Chrissie couldn't wait to see how fast she could strip a person of their own flesh.
"Someone get me a beer," Butcher ordered, propping up her feet among the decaying remains of Spree clones in an obvious show of how many fucks she gave right now. "And someone clean up the rest of this shit."
"Sure, boss," Chrissie said first, claiming the easy job while the others leapt into action. "What kinda beer do you want?"
It wasn't until Chrissie was waiting at the fridge for Butcher's order that she remembered that bringing her boss substandard beer was asking for punishment. "Whatever's good," Weaver said eventually, and for the first time, Chrissie heard a crack in her fearsome façade. Was this Weaver's first time drinking alcohol?
That was definitely a thought for later. Chrissie grabbed the most expensive bottle in the fridge, an imported Belgian pilsner that was almost certainly Reaver's, and brought it to Weaver after twisting off the top.
Then Weaver pulled off her mask, and Chrissie recognized the girl's face. She dropped the proffered beer bottle in surprise.
Butcher herself saved her beer, hand snatching the bottle in midair faster than Chrissie could follow. With the alarm bells blaring in her brain, Chrissie barely noticed Weaver's slight grimace upon bringing the bottle to her lips, nor the tightening of her eyes as she downed half of the bottle in a single pull. Of course, when her mind caught up to what she was seeing, Chrissie blurted out a question that would almost certainly get her killed.
"Fucking locker girl!?" Chrissie shouted, and the newest Butcher froze inhumanly still.
"Vex, you know her?" Animos asked as he took a cautious step back, clearly unnerved as Weaver's full attention fell upon Chrissie.
"From school," Chrissie choked out, very aware of the deafening sounds of the swarm in the walls and floors. Before Weaver could kill her horribly, Chrissie reached up and yanked off her own mask. "Uh, Taylor, wasn't it? Gotta say, I'm really loving the new you."
Weaver — shit, Taylor Hebert was the Butcher — rose from the couch with ominous deliberation, keeping Chrissie pinned with her murderous gaze the whole time. In the back of Chrissie's mind, she wondered if the girl had always had the ability to flay people alive with a stare, or if it was yet another perk of the job. She took a step backwards as Weaver reached her full height and loomed over her, followed by two more from the force of her gaze alone.
Chrissie was vaguely aware of the other capes readying themselves for whatever violence Butcher was about to unleash, but she couldn't peel her eyes away from the other girl's green orbs. "The only reason you are currently alive is because I barely remember you," Weaver said, voice arctic. "But when you return to Winslow on Monday, you are going to ensure that no one else suffers like I did."
"Uh, boss —" Chrissie tried, but Butcher rolled right over her, grinning, and Chrissie couldn't help but admire the viciousness in her eyes.
"Those who prey upon the weak will be our targets along with the Empire and their ilk. Those who wish to be left alone will be granted their respite. I won't suffer to see another live through what I did. Those who break my word will see themselves broken instead. The Teeth will ensure it."
Weaver had raised her voice by the end of her rant, but it was unnecessary — her bugs were echoing her every word with their terrifying swarm voice as they swirled around her body in a cloud.
"Goddamnit, not this wordy shit again," Reaver muttered.
A scoff drew everyone's attention towards an unimpressed Hemorrhagia. "Care to dumb that down for the rest of the class, Miss English Lit?"
Weaver spun to face the other cape, which let Chrissie frantically mouth 'trigger trauma' to the rest of the room while their boss's back was turned. A look of horrified understanding passed over Hemorrhagia's face an instant before Weaver's beer bottle struck her right in the forehead, shattering in an explosion of beer and glass.
Before the senior cape could so much as stumble, Weaver caught her by the front of her costume in a flash of flame and held her bloodied face close. Chrissie could imagine those cold and calculating eyes glaring into Hemorrhagia's very soul.
"To put it in terms you may comprehend — stop being assholes!" Weaver roared, ignoring the pained grunt from the hemokinetic as Weaver sent her sprawling onto her ass. "Last time I checked, the Butcher runs the Teeth. And unless any of you want to try your luck where Lung, Quarrel, and the Protectorate failed…" She trailed off, turning her searching gaze on each of the capes individually. Every single one of them looked away first, including Chrissie.
Luckily, Weaver seemed to have found whatever she was looking for, and it didn't involve killing anyone… yet. Pronouncement done, she sat back down on the couch and used one arm to sweep a clear spot among the bottles and drug paraphernalia.
"Reaver, bring me another one of your beers. Spree, find me some paper and a marker so I can draw a map. Hemorrhagia, get off the fucking floor already." The named capes practically leapt into action; Weaver kept talking. "We're going to hit a major Empire storehouse tomorrow, and we're not just rushing in like a pack of drunk, half-feral wolves…"
As the adrenaline subsided from Chrissie's close brush with death-by-bees, a wide grin slowly settled on her face. Butcher certainly had a good reason to clean up their school, but that was a small price to pay for the rest of her badassery.
This was going to be awesome!
Saturday, April 9th 2011
Much to Chrissie's delight, Weaver had wanted to jump right into the action now that she was back with the Teeth. Their target tonight was the Empire (which had Chrissie excited as fuck), hitting a huge stockpile that was probably worth literal millions. The Teeth had already raided the place once, but were forced to retreat when the Empire mustered their capes. But now that they had a new Butcher…
Well, hopefully the boss was going to enjoy herself tonight. Weaver was only playing overwatch and backup, as she clearly wanted her minions to demonstrate what they could do; to show her that they had half a brain and could get results. Chrissie was determined to live up to those expectations. Hell, she wanted to blow them the fuck out of the goddamn water!
Chrissie giggled to herself. "Who's ready to kick some Nazi ass?"
Around her, various Teeth made excited noises or kicked at the webbed-up sentry that they had discovered in the alley while following Weaver's fireflies. Those same fireflies were now a slowly-flashing X, indicating to even the dumbest muscle here that they should wait. While they checked hopefully-cleaned guns, Chrissie was trying to imitate Butcher's bug-tornado by surrounding herself with a storm of force fields.
The unpowered Teeth with her were at least smart enough to leave her some space. It was no secret that the Empire had better minions, both in guns and training, but the Teeth made up with it with a 'we will fuck you up' attitude that couldn't be matched!
There was a reason most retreated from the Teeth, and it wasn't just that one of the most prized trophies was a tanned Nazi tattoo framed on your wall. In fact, several of the guys around her right now had bits of Nazis adorning their costume, including Big Robbie's three shrunken heads. Fucking insane bastard, but he was awesome to drink with! He had been with the Teeth back before they originally left the bay. The man lived and breathed Teeth and told the craziest stories of past glories.
The fireflies turned into five little clusters in a line, counting down the start of their part in the job. Chrissie dismissed her force fields with an excited wave — this was it, the start of something huge. Not just kicking the Empire in the balls and running away, but a new era for the Teeth and the Bay… assuming the drunk and high idiots around her didn't ruin it for everyone.
As though he had read her mind, one of Chrissie's drunken squad members proved what a dumbass he was by stumbling over and falling to the ground; she had to resist the urge to turn and hit him. The party was supposed to come after they made the bigoted Nazi fucks bleed!
Chrissie was the first one out of the alley when the countdown hit zero and turned into an arrow, her Teeth charged out of the alley behind her and down the street at the Butcher's direction. Chrissie's little squad practically fell on top of an unsuspecting group of Empire thugs defending a side door. They didn't stand a chance against the Teeth onslaught, but it wasn't their screams of pain that echoed through the Docks.
No, that was the Empire idiots inside, who were being chased by a fucking biblical plague of insects. Weaver said that she was going to shut down the lights, too, so the panicking neo-Nazis had little option except to make a break for the outside doors… right into the waiting Teeth.
Chrissie didn't bother to hold in her laugh when the first tattooed skinhead ran dick-first into her wall of force fields.
Shit got busy a few seconds later when Hookwolf burst out of the front door and tried to murder blend his way through Spree's oncoming tide of clones. Stormtiger and Cricket were backing him up, exactly as Weaver planned; the meat grinders were choked on an unlimited supply of meat. Animos rampaging on the inside of the warehouse should keep the Empire capes out while Hemorrhagia and Reaver looted the place of its merchandise.
Then Weaver's little signaling bugs pointed them past the door, indicating on the wall where their sapper (which was a weird as hell word, but that's what Weaver called them) should put the explosive charges. While he worked, Chrissie formed up a protective half-sphere as fast as she could — fast enough, luckily, to deflect gunfire from a group of Nazi thugs that appeared from around the corner. Their cries of "Shit, cape!" were the last thing they said before the Teeth and Weaver's bugs were upon them.
"We're clear," the sapper said, and Chrissie wasted no time getting away from the explosive charges. She flicked the detonator while she was still a bit too close, but her swiftly applied force fields helped direct the blast into the wall — she hadn't needed Weaver to tell her that trick. Gotta love how Aleph shows about busting myths can teach you so much useful shit!
"Come on!" she yelled with a wide grin, which thankfully dragged the other Teeths' attention back from where they were beating one Empire thug with pieces of another. They actually had an important task, here — the breaching charges had gone through a reinforced outer wall and into a hallway, which Chrissie promptly turned into a deathtrap. Fireflies blinking by the second door indicated a room filled with cash, and the Teeth hardly needed instructions to loot the place.
A sudden nausea made Chrissie stumble as she exited the room with a duffle of cash, followed by a pained howl when that asshole Cricket ran full-force into her razor wall blocking the rest of the hallway. While the Empire cape tried to pry her stuck armor from Chrissie's force fields, she opened enough of a hole for her foot and kicked Cricket solidly in the stomach. Fucking bitch ass cunt. The blow sent her sprawling backwards, but even downed, Cricket was annoying.
"Oh fuck," Chrissie groaned as Cricket pumped out another round of nausea-inducing… whatever, which made it that much harder for Chrissie and the others to escape with their bags. Stumbling and lurching, they re-emerged onto a street in chaos.
Hookwolf was still attempting to murder blend his way through wave after wave of Spree clones, but the tide was turning against him. Stormtiger was trying to help, but instead spent most of his effort dispelling the biblical swarm of bugs that had formed over the street. Weaver's control of the battlefield was breathtaking to behold and Chrissie found herself just taking it all in.
"Above and behind!" a cluster of bugs buzzed urgently, and Chrissie spun around to find two rapidly-growing bimbos jumping off of Rune's floating dumpster. Chrissie cackled like a madwoman as hundreds of force fields sprung into place right below the left bimbo, and the Nazi collapsed to the ground with a thousand painful cuts. Her screams were glorious!
The right bimbo, however, was deposited safely, and still growing. Worse, Rune levitated a whole storm of fuck-you chunks of concrete from within her dumpster.
Shit.
"Retreat," the swarm ordered. "Draw them away, I have a plan."
"You heard the scary boss lady!" Chrissie yelled, tossing her own bag to one of the minions. As they ran, small swarms moved beside the other Teeth, who then began to split off at orders she couldn't hear. Of course, the enemy capes were still following Chrissie and her swirling forcefields, which led Rune and Norse Barbie number two towards her conveniently parked escape Jeep.
"Fucking drive!" Chrissie shouted, vaulting into the back seat. Luckily the dumbass normie followed her orders, peeling out and speeding past the ongoing battle. Chrissie began to gather her force fields as Stormtiger eyed her jeep, but he was thrown back with an echoing CRACK. Chrissie couldn't help but gape as a six foot javelin pierced through Stormtiger's shoulder and pinned the bastard to the ground before the swarm engulfed him. Quarrel's love of the bow was still delivering the pain! Now if only Weaver had the minigun…
Chrissie was snapped out of her revelry thanks to the rude bitch raining concrete all around them and a Godzilla-sized Fenja (or was it Menja? Fuck, not important) chased after their car. Chrissie wasn't worried however, she knew Weaver wasn't going to leave her out to dry — her plan was going off perfectly so far after all!
She just had to hope their driver wasn't too much of a pussy and would actually follow Weaver's signals. It was equal parts terrifying and thrilling to be chased by an inflated pin up model in nothing but an open top Jeep, but Chrissie wouldn't be anywhere else. She lived for this shit!
Bugs relayed the next stage of Weaver's plan, and Chrissie just had to trust that it would work. Not that she had any doubts about their new Butcher — the girl was intelligent as hell, with a mind for strategy and shit. Weaver gave Butcher VII a lot of the credit since she was using his power, but that wasn't how it worked with the Teeth. Weaver was the Butcher now, so this was all her.
Rune began to scream right on cue. Chrissie directed her fields as instructed, using the clouds of fireflies as guides, and then Fenja cursed in what sounded like German (hard to tell when everything in that language sounds angry) as Chrissie's razor sharp shields shredded the unarmored portion of her leg like she'd gone through a cheese grater. The Nazi barbie went down hard enough that their Jeep bounced from the impact. Yes, Chrissie was indeed cackling as the driver muttered curses and skidded to a stop.
Weaver burst into existence between her and the fallen capes with her trademark flare. She was about a dozen feet in the air and seemed to hang there over the struggling bimbo. Lashing out with a fist, Weaver sent Kaiser's blow up doll back down to the ground with the extreme prejudice that only a Brute could deliver.
Weaver landed in a perfect three point stance that cracked the road beneath her, then she rose to her feet with a deliberate slowness. Chrissie's skin broke out in goosebumps at the sight of the fuck off swarm that exploded out of every crack and crevice to descend upon the downed Nazi.
What followed had her driver vomiting over the side of his door. Well, it seemed Chrissie was getting her question answered.
Fenja let out a much more panicked, bloodcurdling scream as the bugs began to feast. Bugs scoured the flesh from her left leg, starting from the cuts Chrissie inflicted right below her knee and worked downwards. Weaver easily dodged the giantess's flailing swipe with the pop of a short distance teleport, but soon the latter was shouting out cries for mercy and begging to be turned over to the PRT.
The Butcher didn't relent, nor did she even need to use Fester's ability; Chrissie imagined this would leave a longer lasting impression. The feast continued while Weaver remained inhumanly still and out of reach of the whimpering baby. Within a few short, yet impossibly long minutes the swarm dispersed. There was nothing left of her shin but bones as Fenja twitched and writhed on the ground.
Goddamn that had been fucking awesome! Too bad she hadn't thought to record it.
The Butcher's attention then turned to Rune, who had crashed nearby. Sabrina the teenage Nazi was still crying from what almost certainly had been a pain blast, or maybe a fuck ton of bees. Chrissie couldn't tell, given how layered her costume was. Weaver made sure Rune was aware of her approach, her movements slow and deliberate, yet completely relaxed.
"I want you to deliver a message to Kaiser for me," the Butcher declared, her chittering echo in full effect as Rune stiffened in terror. "I'm coming for him. Brockton Bay is mine and I will drive him from it. This is his only warning, for the Teeth ride to war."
Now that was how you delivered an ultimatum!
Weaver then left Rune and the debilitated Menja (still too confused to give a shit) to their own devices as Chrissie suddenly found the newest terror to grace Brockton Bay seated very closely beside her. Suddenly the cool night had gotten quite warm.
"Drive," she ordered the minion; once in motion, she turned her attention to Chrissie. "Good work. They didn't realize that the rest of us were a distraction until you had made it out with the cash."
"What about the guns?" Chrissie asked.
"Hemorrhagia and Reaver made off with what they could of the guns and drugs while we put on our little shows. Everyone is returning to the Arena as we speak."
Chrissie crossed her arms as she tried to wrap her head around the complexity of the plan that Weaver had just carried out. "The Nazi dipshits won't fall for it a second time, boss."
"Correct," Butcher agreed. "We'll need to step up our game."
Chrissie spared one glance back at the chaos they had left behind them, then burst into laughter even as the sounds of sirens in the distance signaled the PRT was on their way, too late as per usual. "Oh, this is gonna be fucking great!"
After the fun they had just had, Chrissie wanted nothing more than to take this girl out for a night on the town, Teeth style!
"For the Teeth!" Elliot — Animos, but they had all ditched their masks — shouted, hoisting his bottle overhead as the gathered members all cheered. "For the Butcher!" The rest of the Teeth downed their poison of choice and the revelry began in earnest. They had much to celebrate after all: there was a new Butcher, and she was sheer, condensed, nightmare fuel.
Thanks to Weaver's intel — Chrissie wondered how long it would be until the city sold out of bug spray — their single raid tonight had been wildly successful. The Empire capes had run around like chickens with their heads cut off while the Teeth stole the cash right out from under their nose. Kaiser would be feeling this one for weeks to come, but Chrissie suspected that the neo-Nazi fucks were going to have much bigger problems very soon.
Hopefully they were too stupid to actually read the writing on the wall, because this shit was far too much fun to give up on after only one night. Chrissie wanted them to bleed slowly; Butcher XV deserved the chance to play with her prey.
Weaver had (thankfully… finally?) taken her customary spot in the middle of the party, drinking alongside the rest of the team as though she had always belonged. However, Chrissie was already starting to spot chips in Taylor's façade even as the newest Butcher threw knives with pinpoint precision at a poster of Armsmaster. Her last throw was lazy and almost negligent, but Quarrel's power ensured that the knife hit the hero's visage square in the dick.
The grim smile that accompanied the ker-thunk of the dagger sinking into the plywood did little to shake the stoic determinism from Weaver's face. It was hard to be truly relaxed as a supervillain, but even among her teammates XV was still obviously anticipating… something. Chrissie had seen the look before, on the face of the girl who had suffered as one of Winslow's favorite punching bags.
Just how much of that beaten-down girl remained beneath the veneer of the Butcher that Taylor was so desperately projecting? Why had Weaver chosen now to return to the Teeth when she had wanted to be a hero forty eight hours prior? Spree's instincts had been spot on — the newest Butcher was nothing like her predecessors, dominating the voices to the point that she had been a hero, even for a short time. Chrissie tried not to wonder if Weaver would have turned them all in, had she been given the opportunity.
More importantly, her style was completely different from Quarrel. Instead of charging into battle with bloodlust, rage, and wild abandon, Weaver had calmly described the interior of the Empire distribution center and explained how to deal with the security. The subsequent attack had been much more coordinated than Teeth standard, which left the rest of the gang obviously confused… and now, hungry for more.
If this was the 'change' Weaver was bringing, Chrissie suspected that she might be around for a while — and Chrissie wanted to be there for every bloody moment of it!
Speaking of blood, Hemorrhagia had thrown a crystallized blood dagger of her own at the Armsmaster poster, painting the whole thing in a grisly red and prompting a round of laughs.
"Nice shot," Taylor said, and to Chrissie's amusement, the much more senior cape looked utterly confused at the compliment. The Butcher never offered comments, just grunts of what were hopefully agreement and punishment for slights.
Right, Chrissie really needed to find a way to get to know this new Butcher, especially if they were both going back to Winslow. Sure, there were rumors of Wards also attending that hellhole of a school, but Taylor was clearly the biggest fish in the pond and the Teeth were not going to let that opportunity go. Meek little Taylor, walking down the hall in Teeth colors, only for her to snap at someone deserving her wrath… The thought sent Chrissie into a fit of cackles. Monday was going to be a riot, maybe even literally!
Those cackles turned into an involuntary blush when she instead imagined what Taylor looked like under those colors, because holy hell she looked good in that costume. Her lithe figure, endless legs, and tightly corded muscle had set Chrissie's heart racing nearly from the moment she had seen Butcher up close and personal.
If she was being honest, so did the way Weaver had mowed down Spree's clones.
Chrissie downed the rest of her beer and grabbed two more off of a table before making her way over to Weaver — only stumbling a bit as the room spun around her like a damn traitor. She handed the Butcher the extra (and better) beer and threw an arm around her boss's shoulder, causing the terrifying girl to go completely still.
"I suggest you unhand me before I consider doing it myself." Faster than Chrissie could follow, and despite having set her weapon harness down, Weaver produced a dagger out of a hidden sheath and pointed at the offending limb.
It was now or never.
Chrissie laughed, only some of it forced. "Come on boss, you of all people should be enjoying yourself." The dagger twitched. "Seriously, take this chance to unwind." Another twitch. "Are you really going to just stand there glaring all night or are you going to fucking party?"
Weaver resheathed the knife, but to Chrissie's surprise, she didn't push the shorter girl's arm away. That might be because she was arguing with the other Butchers, which was accompanied by the usual distant staring and tiny mouth wiggles. "I'm fine," Weaver said eventually.
One of their unpowered lieutenants walked by smoking a blunt, which gave Chrissie an idea. She seized the opportunity, snatching the smoldering roll of paper right out of his mouth. "Look, boss," she said, shooing the man away and leaning in close to avoid eavesdroppers, "I don't believe those bitches in your grade any further than I could throw them, so I doubt you go around getting wasted at parties."
Weaver did her human statue impression for another long moment before nodding once.
"Right, so, I figure you don't know shit about drugs or alcohol. But see, you're the boss now, and that means doing shit the old you would have found uncomfortable." She wiggled the blunt. "Here. This is a… baby step, nothing too bad, and it might help you relax."
Butcher XV just looked at Chrissie, her face devoid of expression. It was hella creepy how she could just turn off her emotions like that — almost bad as her mask, actually. Without warning, Weaver plucked the blunt from Chrissie's hands and took a long hit… only to start coughing immediately after. Chrissie laughed again and slapped the Butcher's back.
"Gotta break in the new lungs I guess," Chrissie declared, waggling her eyebrows mischievously. Weaver's eyes widened in surprise, and Chrissie took the opportunity to grab her boss by the hand and drag her towards Chrissie's private room here in the lair. "Wonder what else you need to break in?"
That was when she heard the swarm.
Chrissie was engulfed by millions of insects in an instant, and though not one stung her, she was nevertheless proud for not immediately screeching in terror. Any sound she might have made was cut off when Butcher XV pulled her close, bugs buzzing ominously around them like a cloak.
"Just what are you playing at?" Weaver asked without a hint of echo from her bugs. No, not Weaver. This was Taylor speaking.
Chrissie just needed to be open and honest and hope to any bastard god out there listening that the mask didn't reappear in order to make an example of her.
"Listen boss, the others may be blind but… you're clearly uncomfortable as all fuck right now. If you want to… walk away, I guess, and unwind, feel free to drag my happy ass back to your room or mine. We don't even need to do anything fun, but these assholes will think you're living it up. Offer's open anytime you need it."
As the seconds stretched into what felt like minutes, Chrissie became increasingly nervous and worried for her long-term survival. Taylor was obviously conversing with the other Butchers, and Chrissie could only hope they were putting in a good word with their new boss. She was very much not trying to think about whatever the worst thing that could happen right now, even as Fenja's screams echoed in the back of her mind.
Yeah, that would be pretty fucking shitty reward for trying to look out for the girl stuck with fourteen assholes in her head.
The consolation prize was almost as bad — Chrissie squawked in surprise when her Brute of a boss suddenly hoisted her over her costumed shoulder like a ragdoll. No warning, no way to wiggle free… and no way to signal anyone else through the curtain of bugs.
Then the swarm parted, and Chrissie found herself back in the middle of the common area as Butcher XV held out her hand dramatically. A relatively small swarm (that was small, now?) lifted her mask on invisible threads and dropped it into her waiting palm. "Teeth!" Weaver shouted, the swarm chorus echoing her words. The room went silent immediately, including someone killing the music. "Tonight is a night for revelry! Celebrate as you see fit!" She gently jostled Chrissie on her shoulder. "I certainly plan to."
The Teeth cheered and whooped at the Butcher's declaration as Weaver confidently carried Chrissie through the parting crowd and into the hallway, escorted by her swarm. On their way out, Chrissie flashed a pair of middle fingers to the other capes — she hadn't been invited to celebrate when Quarrel took over. Then whichever asshole was near the music picked a new song, the speakers thumping out "I like big butts and I cannot lie," and the Teeth broke out into another round of cheers and lewd commentary.
Once they arrived in the relative sanity of her room, Chrissie shut the door behind them before leaping off Weaver's shoulder — she barely stuck the landing — and twirling to face her new boss. Here, away from the party and the noise, Taylor's unease was unmistakable. Chrissie had seen the exact stoic, suffering expression when that red-headed bitch cornered her earlier this week.
In retrospect, it was not surprising at all that the girl had triggered.
Damn.
Chrissie, however, was undeterred. "So, whatcha think?" she asked, darting over to the table she used for cape supplies and starting to remove her armor. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, but you can plop right down on that beanbag if you want. Or, if you're feeling adventurous, the bed."
"I… um, my armor," Taylor tried. "I'd rather not rip —"
"Here," Chrissie replied, abandoning her legplates to rummage through the clothes she had here in the lair. They were nothing fancy, mostly just loose, comfortable stuff for sleeping or wearing under armor. After a quick search, she tossed the longest shirt and shorts she could find in her pile of clean clothes to the taller girl.
Taylor held up the change of clothes. "Are you sure?"
Chrissie just waved her off, then made sure her back was turned so Taylor wouldn't think she was peeking. She wanted to peek, quite badly in fact, but there was little doubt in her mind that either Taylor or one of the others would notice. Then she would run away, and all of Chrissie's efforts to help Taylor get acclimated would go up in smoke.
That didn't stop Taylor from peeking, of course, so when Chrissie heard a sharp intake of breath upon stripping off her leggings, she smiled mischievously and made sure to give her butt a little wiggle. Soon they were both changed, and Chrissie got a very different view of Butcher XV, sans armor.
"Damn girl, do you run or something?" Chrissie asked, seeing the taller girl's legs for the first time.
"Yeah, I've been running to keep in shape," Taylor replied, absently playing with the end of her braid. Chrissie recognized the tic — Damascian would do the same. "So, what now?"
In response, Chrissie made a beeline for the big beanbag chair in the corner. Taylor briefly resisted when Chrissie attempted to drag her along, too, only to give in after a few tugs. The beanbag was big enough for both of them to sit comfortably and apart, but that was no fun at all. Taylor didn't seem to realize what Chrissie was doing until the latter was flopping onto her lap, which gave Chrissie front row seats to the scariest cape on the East Coast blushing an amazing color of red.
"You doin' alright there, boss?" Chrissie asked, twisting so that she was laying across Taylor's lap. "I can move, if you want."
Several emotions ran over Taylor's face in quick succession before she shook her head once. "It's, um, fine."
"Right," Chrissie said, wondering just what was going on in Butcher's crowded head. "Well, what do you think of your first Teeth party? Having fun?"
Taylor's expression hardened. "I don't have anything to compare it to. The others… but not me."
Chrissie's mouth moved before her inebriated brain had time to process that statement. "Really? We go to Winslow; people throw ragers like this pretty regularly." Sprawled out as they were, Taylor's sudden death glare was all the more intimidating. Her eyes seemed to bore into Chrissie, sparkling with danger and leashed violence — a stark reminder of how much the girl underneath her had changed. "Ah, right, sorry about that. I forgot you don't, uh, hang out with those people." Taylor shifted slightly, and Chrissie braced to get dumped onto the ground.
When that didn't happen, she carried on with her original plan. "Anyway, my first Teeth party was crazy! I sort of followed the Teeth when they went after the Merchants, and Skidmark tried to be his usual slippery self when Damascian put their feet to the fire. In retrospect, it was a hella dumb move, possibly getting between the Butcher and their target, but I had a great idea for a trap…"
Chrissie went on to tell about the rest of that crazy night — drinking the weird liquor that Damascian kept around, dancing on the table in the common room, and setting fire to one of the unpowered members' long hair, to name a few. By the end, Taylor had laughed a few times, and Chrissie counted each and every one of those laughs as a win… even the ones that were laughing at her.
Taylor was also being entrapped by Chrissie's siren call of cuddles, as the two of them sank ever lower into the beanbag. It was figuratively, and painfully obvious (with the Butcher, one had to specify) that Taylor was not completely sure what to do, so Chrissie made an effort to be a bit more clingy to make up for what she suspected was a very touch-starved existence.
"Um, Vex —"
Chrissie blinked in confusion. "Boss, we're in civvies, you can just call me Chrissie."
"That's a nice name," Taylor said.
"Wait…" Chrissie suddenly felt a pit in her stomach. "Did you not know my name? I thought that memories were part of the package deal when you inherit."
"They are," Taylor confirmed. "None of the Butchers remembered your real name."
Now it was Chrissie's turn to be confused, but it transitioned into hot rage almost immediately. For all of her dedication, for all they had been through, none of the Butchers bothered to remember her actual name? Those bastards. If they weren't already in Taylor's head, she'd be tempted to kill them herself and inherit just so she could tell them all of the ways they could go fuck themselves!
"Can they hear me?" Chrissie asked, and Taylor nodded. "Okay, none of this is meant for you, just them, alright?" Taylor gave her an adorably inquisitive look, then blushed furiously as Chrissie shifted atop her, cupped Taylor's cheeks and pulled her in close, glaring deep into her eyes. "You FUCKERS! I've been with the Teeth for months now, how the fuck do you not remember my goddamn name!? After everything I've done for the gang, this is how I'm remembered? Consider yourselves lucky that the new Butcher is fucking cute and awesome or you might be dealing with me for the rest of time!"
"Chrissie, could you put the forcefields away? Not sure I'm ready to be a voice in your head if that's how you'll talk to me."
She snapped out of the moment, realizing that yes, she had summoned dozens of her tiny razor sharp friends all around her, and that Taylor was now wound tighter than Spree after snorting a line of coke before a job. She dismissed all of them and sagged down as the tension drained away.
"Sorry, boss… blame those dumbfucks in your head. I don't like being ignored."
Chrissie lifted her head off Taylor's shoulder and looked down at the terrifying but vulnerable brunette; Taylor was sporting a deep crimson blush and staring anywhere but at Chrissie. She was also pretty sure that XV was taller than her by a noticeable margin.
Oh, right. Chrissie was still straddling the girl.
Rather than untangle herself, she decided to seize the opportunity and kissed the Butcher.
It was a gentle thing, barely a peck, but it was still a kiss. Taylor went rigid at the surprise contact, which was exactly the impetus that Chrissie needed to leap up from the beanbag and go looking for more drinks. "Hey Taylor," she said, flashing the other girl a cheeky smile, "want a drink of something? I need another beer or two."
"I, um, drink. Sure," she replied, very obviously distracted with whatever was going on inside her head.
Chrissie gave Taylor a little wave as she pulled open the door. "Alrighty, I'll be back in a jiffy!" She tried not to smile as she emerged back into the party, walking with a bit of a limp as if she'd just had a rough time with the Butcher. It was important to sell the illusion to protect Taylor (and wasn't that a strange thought), but it would also tweak the noses of the other capes.
Bass music washed over her as she opened the door out to the old concession space. The area in front of the bar had turned into a dance party, and Chrissie froze in her faked shuffling to stare out at the dance floor. She wanted to be out there, dancing and enjoying herself, grinding up against Weaver as her hands wandered…
Chrissie shook herself out of those thoughts. Taylor was still new to all of this; Chrissie couldn't push her too hard or she might run again. As she made her way to the fridge where the good shit would be, she absently noted Damien was doing lines of coke off some chick's exposed tits.
That prompted her to look around a bit more and she saw that Elliot had a guy and a girl on each arm that he was drunkenly leading back towards his own room and Alice was making out with Michael. Chrissie sighed in disappointment — it was looking increasingly like she was once again going to be the only one to not get laid at the new Butcher party.
A quick check of the fridge resulted in more disappointment. All the good beer was gone, leaving only fruity cocktails and the unlabeled bottles that Quarrel had found in Damascian's workshop. They were supposedly drinkable, but Chrissie didn't want to chance it. To be honest, she didn't want the fruity shit either, which was ironic considering how open she was about her sexuality.
She grabbed four different wine coolers and made her way back towards her room, keeping up that unsteady wobble as she walked. Before she could get to the hallway door, the wolf whistles began. She held up the bottles and cheered, "Round two bitches!" Chrissie hurried back towards her room as the crowd echoed the cheers behind her.
"Hey, sorry about that," Chrissie said as she snuck back into her room.
"No problem," Taylor replied, clearly preoccupied with… something. Her cheeks were faintly pink. "The Teeth, uh, really know how to party, huh?"
"Hell yeah we do!" Chrissie summoned a pair of forcefields to pop the top off of the first bottle, then offered it to Taylor. "You probably don't drink much, so I brought something you might like better. Wine coolers are mostly fruit juice. Do you like cranberry?"
"No," Taylor hissed, her voice suddenly and absolutely venomous. A look of trapped panic flashed across the seated girl's face before being replaced by that eerie void, though Chrissie didn't miss how Taylor was trying to put distance between the two of them. It didn't work, due to her being in a bean bag chair, but it was clear that something had triggered Taylor's flight-or-fight reflex.
Not for the first time tonight, Chrissie considered herself extremely lucky that Weaver was willing to take the first option. Still, damage control was the name of the game, now. "Shit, sorry boss, I didn't know…" She didn't know what she didn't know, but Chrissie still backed up and set the bottles down on the table. "Are you allergic or something?"
"No," Taylor said, voice flat. "Just a bad experience."
Chrissie almost opened her mouth to ask 'with cranberries?' before a half-heard rumor bubbled to the top of her brain. "Oh fuck me. That was you?" Taylor gave her a single, stiff nod. "Fuck. Well, I wanted to bring you something that you might like more, except those bitches have ruined that, too. I'll —"
"It's okay," Taylor interjected. "I was just surprised. Enhanced smell, you standing there… I'd like to taste it, I guess."
Chrissie gave the other girl a supportive smile, but still grabbed the lemonade flavored drink instead before easing herself onto Taylor's lap again. Taylor sniffed at the new drink, then took a long swig. "This isn't half bad."
"I know, right?" Chrissie said, taking the bottle from Taylor and gulping down some of the sugary drink. "Usually I don't go for fruity drinks, but…"
She trailed off, finding Taylor staring down at her with a confused and vaguely sad expression. It was probably a trick of the light, but Chrissie swore that she could see tiny specks of wetness pooling in Taylor's eyes.
"Why?"
"Why what, boss?"
"Why help me? No one else does," Taylor replied, voice turning small at the end.
Chrissie shrugged, snuggling closer to the vulnerable, terrifying parahuman. "Honestly, Taylor? You're probably the best thing that has happened to the Teeth in a long time. But I'm not stupid — you did something to the voices that leaves you in charge, so if keeping you happy keeps you around, then I'll do it. Clearly no one else is going to help you. Plus, you're pretty cute."
To Chrissie's delight, Taylor blushed bright red at the final comment, and in the momentary confusion that followed, she threaded her arm around the other cape's back. "The others are laughing at me," Taylor murmured, wiggling on the bean bag so she could lean her head on Chrissie's shoulder.
"Fuck 'em with a rake," Chrissie retorted. "You're the most badass, terrifying Butcher that we've ever had. They're just jealous."
Taylor let out an amused huff at that, which Chrissie returned with a tight hug. Taylor hugged back — hard, goddamn girl — and if Chrissie felt a few stray tears soaking into her shirt, she certainly wasn't going to say anything.
They sat in silence for some indeterminate amount of time, drinking wine coolers and snuggling closer as the bean bag chair turned into a donut. Chrissie couldn't help but feel giddy when she remembered that Taylor — Butcher XV, as if Chrissie could ever forget — was wearing her clothes.
She was sorely tempted to push things beyond a simple kiss tonight, but even the Teeth had a line in the sand for 'too crazy.' Her boss needed a friend more than anything, because Chrissie was pretty sure she didn't have any in the rest of her life. That would all change Monday, of course, because the entirety of the Teeth would be behind her. It was hard not to smile when thinking about the days to come, even if Taylor did give her weird looks.
Like Taylor could talk — she literally had voices in her head.
Given that Weaver was a Noctis cape, Chrissie was the first to yawn. "Hey boss," she said, freeing her arm from behind Taylor to stretch. "You're staying here tonight, right? Want to stay with me? No funny business, I promise, but I can get grabby in my sleep."
Taylor raised a single eyebrow. "I can't imagine what that is like."
Chrissie just chuckled at that, prying herself out of the bean bag to flop face-first onto the bed. "Come on, hit the light —" The light flicked off, and Chrissie's heart seemed to jump in her chest. "What?"
"Beetle." Chrissie's eyes hadn't adjusted enough to see by the glow of the electronics in the room, but it didn't matter — the mattress bent as Taylor's weight settled onto it, and Chrissie was so surprised that she almost forgot to help with the blankets. A few confused minutes later, and they were laying side-by-side.
Even with the lights out, Chrissie was absolutely certain that the other Teeth would leave them alone. There were few hard and fast truths in the world of capes, but 'don't barge in on the Butcher and their fuckbuddy(s)' was as close as one could get to 'don't break the Endbringer Truce.' Other good rules were 'don't kill kids' and 'don't unmask someone if you can't deal with the fallout,' but those were hardly relevant right now.
As they sat in the dark and listened to the party happening in the rest of the lair, Chrissie held out hope that Taylor would get curious, lean over, and start something. But just when she was starting to wonder if Taylor had fallen asleep, the other girl told her a horror story.
"They wanted me to send myself to the Birdcage…" Taylor's whispers were full of pain and tightly controlled anger. "I'm in control. They knew it, but they were afraid the next person in line wouldn't be as lucky. They wanted us off the board and when I refused, they tried to force the matter."
Holy fuck! Chrissie rolled over and pulled Taylor into a hug, she felt her tense for a moment before the dam broke and tears began to flow once more. Chrissie let her cry it out until the tears slowed, when Chrissie spoke, it was barely a whisper. "Fuck those self righteous assholes. They didn't deserve you."
"All I wanted ever since I was a kid was to be a hero. They took that from me."
It took Chrissie a long moment to collect her thoughts, and she silently swore to never repeat this conversation to anyone. "That's why you came back to the Teeth, boss? To spite them?"
"I needed a team. People who would have my back in the face of anything, especially assholes who want my power. The others reminded me I already had a team waiting for me to come home; all I had to do was step forward and claim it."
"Well shit. I can't speak for the rest, but I'm glad you did. I promise you this, I'll have your back no matter what comes your way."
The dull, rhythmic thump of the music continued in the background as they laid there in relative silence. Chrissie had almost dozed off when Taylor finally spoke again.
"The others… don't like my plans," she grumbled. "Even after tonight, only a few of them kind-of like me. The rest think I'm too soft."
"You killed Quarrel, Lung and blinded Oni Lee by eating his eyes with bugs. Never mind what you did to the Nazi bimbo just a few hours ago. How the fuck was that soft?"
"Because I refuse to kill the heroes for what they tried to do to me," Taylor said. "I'm not refusing to kill them because I still want to be a hero, I just don't want to deal with the attention that sort of shit brings. We have so much work to do and Legend showing up would complicate things needlessly. Besides, it's better to make the heroes irrelevant than to eliminate them." Taylor's voice was starting to rise at the end before she cut herself off, taking a deep breath before she calmed. "You should get some sleep, I'll still be here when you wake up."
Chrissie may have only been with the Teeth for most of a year, but that was more than long enough to know that Taylor's attitude was bug-fuck terrifying. The Butcher wasn't known for organization or long-term planning, and XV's power was stupidly powerful if she had the patience to use it correctly. Weaver would have been hell on wheels as a villain by herself, but with fourteen more powers and the Teeth? Nobody else even stood a chance.
But she could tell that Butcher XV was also a broken girl who needed someone there for her. If that person had to be Chrissie, then she would be glad to do it.
"I'll say it as many times as I need to — screw the others. You're the Butcher now, and you do what you think is best. If it's anything like tonight, then this is gonna be the Golden Age of the Teeth, and it will all be because of you."
Taylor was going to do amazing things alright, and the heroes were going to regret every moment of it for pushing her away. They deserved all that and more for what they tried to do to her, and if a few of them ended up more maimed than usual? Chrissie really didn't give two shits if a certain bitchy healer had to work a bit harder some nights.
As the emotional exhaustion from the whole damn day caught up to her, Chrissie twisted around and snuggled closer to the Bay's most awkward and adorable walking nightmare. Taylor hesitated before threading an arm around her, murmuring, "Uh, Chrissie…"
"Yeah boss?" she murmured quietly, enjoying the warmth.
"Thanks. For everything."
"No problem, Tay. See you in the morning."