Amy's smirking.
I glare.
She smirks more. "Honestly," she says, "it's not that bad."
"Really." I mutter.
"It's only a couple hours of socializing."
"Fuck you."
"And then your speech."
"Fuck you so much."
"And then-"
At this point I tackle Amy and she squeals trying to throw me off.
"Ladies!" our driver winces as our car shakes as we grapple, "Please!"
I throw myself back into my seat, my glare fiercer than ever.
"But seriously," Amy laughs, patting down her pristine white dress, "how bad could it go? You dealt with the Fortress meeting right?"
I scowl, "Barely."
Stuck in a room full of men in suits who all looked at her and saw a stupid little girl trying to play business. It wasn't the first time I'd taken over for Kurt and having the name 'Darling of the Docks' all but assured that I would be doing more than less, but talking with people who looked down on me, trying to take advantage of me was something I'd never get over with. It reminded me too much of school.
I rest my forehead against the window, feeling the cool glass press against my skin. Despite everything Amy was right. Today wouldn't be anything special. It was just another fundraiser-slash-celebration gala for the privileged in the city where everyone gave themselves a little pat on the back, shook hands with each other and gave a small portion of their money away to the poor.
And as much as I hated it I'd be doing a lot of 'rich people' stuff as well. Protectorate representatives who I planned on convincing to take on more patrols by the docks. Fortress Constructions would be there who I needed to see (again) and congratulate (again) while seeing how pleased they actually were with the deal that we made. The mayor who continued to be an ass about expanding the docks despite the fact that he'd been riding on my success to win the last election. I'd hate it, but I'd live.
The limo softly rolls to a stop and I sighed, fidgeting with my tie. I'd chosen to where a matte black tuxedo instead of a dress like Amy did. She wore a white dress with lines of red, flowing, elegant and if you looked it almost seemed like a robe. The message in hers was clear.
Amy offers a smile, this time a sympathetic one. "Ready?"
"No." But I open the door anyway.
Immediately I was blinded by a flurry of camera flashes and I cover my eyes briefly as they adjusted. Stepping out, I ignore the calls of my name and offer Amy a hand who takes mind and steps out. Immediately the journalists are calling her instead.
Questions. Questions. So many questions. A comment on her relationship with my family. A comment on her breaking ties with New Wave. Were the rumors that she was going to charge people for her services true? A comment on whether it was true that she was in a relationship with me-waitwhat?
Amy openly laughs at my frown and tugs my hand leading us into the Forresta Citadel where the gala was being held. It's a very very tall building of stone and marble, built like a medieval castle which gives the gala an even more posh look than the normal. I was surprised that they didn't tell everyone to bring masks to make the whole thing into a masquerade. Or maybe that was a bit inappropriate considering the number of capes in the damn city.
Shut up and follow the yellow brick road really expensive red carpet Taylor. At this rate you're going to spend the whole night sulking in a corner.
I imagined that in Amy's voice.
It seemed fitting.
We passed the guards, flashed them our invitations and we were in.
The entire hall was one of shining marble, lit up with white binding lights, white pillars, white everything really. So much white. Except for the carpet. That was red. A souring ceiling with a ridiculously huge chandelier glowed with a hundreds of miniature crystals that reflected the light. On one side of the hall were tables covered with silver platters of small snacks; biscuits, fruits, pastries that sort of thing and on the other side a bar and finally in the middle the center stage stood.
People mingle in the middle of the hall, pompous jackasses in expensive suits and dresses most which I recognized and shit I'm really one of them now aren't I.
Drinks. I needed drinks. Giving Amy's hand a weak squeeze I head to the bar and ask for whatever wine that's popular right now.
A vesper martini huh. How unoriginal. I take a sip.
At least the drinks are nice here.
"A martini?" a man walks up next to me, "I think I'll have one too"
I glance at him and internally groan. Couldn't I at least finish my drink before I got cornered by reporters?
"Come now." the man smiles or maybe he's smirking. I'm too busy finishing my drink. "We reporters aren't that bad are we?"
"Aka the creepy stalkers who have no shame in stalking a young girl to her house?" I sigh, "I think I called the cops on you lot, what. Half a dozen times."
"Reporters or Paparazzi?"
"Is there a difference?"
"I'd like to think so." the man offers a hand, "Curtis Adler. Brockton Bay Bulletin."
I shake his hand and pause, "I've..." I knew that name. I rack my head, going through every newspaper article I've gone through, "You're the one who wrote about the Marquis attack, and the Allfather. You got interviews from both of them."
This wasn't just any reporter. Curtis was a field reporter, going after capes, disasters, crime. Every big crime event, his name was on the papers, reporting findings that took other newspapers days to verify and publish. Him coming to me? That wasn't good.
"You know of me?" he sounds surprised, "That's flattering. I believe my best headlines were a bit before you were born."
I shrug, "I'm an avid reader."
"Very avid it seems." His eyes search me for something and I knew he was on another case. One that involved me.
What does he know? What does he want? I'm consider my next move push or pull? When I see another problem. "Excuse me." I grab two glasses of alcohol and march towards Amy, ignoring the reporter's calls. What was it with all the assholes stopping her from getting a proper drink tonight?
"-ly embarrassing yourself."
The Dallons have cornered Amy at one of the tables, Carol Dallon towering over her estranged daughter while the non-estranged one hovers anxiously behind her.
"Who's been embarrassing who now?" I cut in, handing a grateful Amy one of the glasses, "I do love a good gossip... as long as it's not about me."
"Please stay out of this Miss Hebert." the older woman gives me a cold smile, "This is a family matter."
"So friendly." I mutter drinking from my glass.
"Amy." Victoria Dallon, Glory Girl gives me a short nod, "Please. We're just worried about you."
"Well I wasn't."
Gods forbid. Gala's were terrible even without this much family drama. I regret giving one of the glasses away to Amy.
"Stop this childish rebellion Amelia." Carol says,
"Must be hard." Amy smiles casually but her fingers are tight on her glass, "Without Panacea New Wave isn't really doing much aren't they?"
"Not that you were doing much before anyway." eyes turn to me, and I blink as innocently as I can as "What?"
"Leave me alone Carol." Amy turns her back towards her foster mother, "I'm not going back to New Wave. No. I'm really not and you have no grounds to force me to. Goodbye. It was nice seeing you Vicky."
Amy tries to walk away but Carol moves quick, stepping in front of her, "We're not finished here."
Amy doesn't flinch, stepping forward, "If there's one thing you taught me, besides the fact that I'm going to end up being a monster someday, it's how to make someone stop bothering you." she whispers, "Try me."
Mother and daughter glare at each other, their hate fierce in their eyes.
I look away.
I disliked Carol Dallon as much as anyone who knew her outside of her cape life (or maybe inside of her cape life too) but this wasn't how family should be. Family should be helping each other, watching each others backs not be at one another's throats. This was... wrong.
It's Carol who backs down first and Amy doesn't wait, grabbing me by the hand and leading me away. "Thanks for the help." and then. "I'm sorry."
"Not your fault." I whisper back.
She looks around. "You know, I kind of miss it when we snuck into these things."
I snort. "We'd get thrown out for being pompous jackasses."
"Oh the horrors of being rich." she sighs dramatically, leaning into my shoulder, "How else are we suppose accomplish our daring deeds?"
We do that.
We drink. Mingle. I slowly check people of the list of names I had to meet today. I don't get to talk to Director Piggot about the possible changes in patrol routes (maybe for the best considering how well we got on with each other) but I do meet the Deputy and I manage a promise for him to look into it more.
I meet with the CEO of Fortress Constructions and we congratulate each other in our new deal.
Someone sends some of the Wards after me and I'm forced to exchange notes on the differences between billionaire and superhero.
"Why are you drinking so much?" Vista asks once.
I gesture around, "How else are you supposed to endure this circus?"
She doesn't have an answer to that. She does have a very good glare though.
I catch a glimpse of Lieutenant Jackson and stare clear of him.
I talk to the mayor who's nervous for some reason. The conversation was physically painful to get through. We're both thankful when the the lights dim and the host steps onto the stage.
It's time for the speech.
I head to the side of the stage where I'm expected and Amy fixes my tie for me, tries to make sure I'm not drunk (no Amy, I chose to be drunk, you see? You don't have to fix me) and gives me a hug. "You'll be great." I give her a small smile before she disappears back into the crowd.
The host isn't half bad, I recognize him from a few TV shows. He makes a few jokes, a few lines about how we're all here to make a difference in the world and then he introduces a young boy who begins to sing Ave Maria.
.
"Ave Maria
.
Gratia plena
.
Maria, gratia plena"
.
"What a lovely voice." I glance at the man in the white tuxedo next to me.
It was a lovely voice. But why was it bothering it me so much?
.
"Maria, gratia plena
.
Ave, ave dominus"
.
I catch a glimpse of a guard running in the shadows, one hand at his ear, the other at his pocket. He's not the only one.
.
"Bendicta tu in mulieribus
.
Et benedictus"
.
The PRT Director and her Deputy are being led somewhere as are the wards. The Protectorate veterans stay though.
.
"Et benedictus fructus ventris
.
Ventris tui, -"
.
There are shouts and suddenly there's a man thrown stumbling through the main doors. He looks familiar... and wrong. His hair despite being damp with sweat shows clear signs of being combed and looked after. There's makeup on his face. His shoes are expensive as are his pants but he's wearing an oversized bulky coat that look like someone fished it out of a trashcan his hands are shoved into his pockets like his life depends on it. But the point are his eyes, their red with tears and fear.
And he's running straight for the stage.
I tense ready to react but someone else tackles him to the ground and they both go stumbling, falling onto the carpet. There they struggle and the heroes and the guards look like they're about to step in-
Bang
People scream as one of the bodies fall, a red spot growing on the jacket. The coat man stands, trembling. "Please." he rasps and he raises his hands in surrender showing off the gun bolted to his right hand. "Please I didn't mean it. Please help."
"Don't move!" the Protectorate heroes surround him. Armsmaster with his halberd, Velocity, Battery and Assault all ready for a fight. There are a dozen other people too. Guards from the hotel, armed with pistols and some of the police force with Lieutenant Jackson leading them. "Lie on the ground"
"Please." the man repeats again, "I can't! I just-" his coat falls off of him and I see it.
Underneath the coat was a jacket, covered with black boxes with wires and lights traveling between them. It doesn't take long for the crowd to figure it out and start screaming.
"Please..." the man sobs, "I have to do it. I have to. Please."
"Do what?" Armsmaster growls.
"I.. I..." the man searches for something in his coat sending the crowd in a panic but he only brings out a small piece of paper. "I... You have five m-m-minutes after Wyatt" he begins to read, "begins to read to empty the Gala. A-a-after that- After that no one may enter. You may only wa-watch as you as always have do-done. Interfere and I will know. I am not so blind. Stick to the rules or else he- I suff-ffer."
"Interfere with what?"
"I-I don't know." he stammers, "He was talking crazy! I don't know! Please! You have to do as he says!"
"True hero?" Armsmaster growls, "What does he mea-"
"Not now!" Jackson barks, his face grim. "Let's clear this place out! Now!"
Armsmaster turns towards him, "You have no-"
"Civilians first." Jackson snaps, his gaze not leaving 'Wyatt'. "We have less than five minutes left."
The hero looks like he wants to argue but he manages to steel himself. "Fine." he growls.
There's a massive surge of movement as people begin to run for the exits but I stay frozen at my place.
.
I am not so blind.
I know those words.
.
I look at the coat more closely. Black fur and... there's a scarf torn loose around the neck.
.
I look to Wyatt as he collapses on the floor shaking and sobbing.
.
I remember Horace's warning. Someone was looking for me.
Using my old look. Using my old words.
.
.
.
.
Looks like they found me.
.
.
"Ave Maria"