Chapter I: Nature Versus Nurture
The Drifter
Barbarous Bar Brawl
He always did like this city.
For two years he's been missing, and for two years she's been searching. Hopefully, she'll bring about an end to that today. If not, she'll carry on. Just like before, and just like always. But she hopes not. Hoping doesn't change the situation, but it helps when moving on to the next one. A mere rumour is what brings her here, and if it proves just a rumour, so be it. Another one will bring her to the next place.
She knows that those back home don't believe in her, that they haven't any hope left. They've given up on finding him, but she hasn't. She can't.
There's no hating them for that; it's been so long and the world is so large. Without any progress to show for, she understands why and how they feel. Sometimes, she feels like they do, feels like giving up, like they have. But she hasn't. She can't.
She'll search to the ends of the world and then some; she'll search until she finds him. If necessary, for years. If necessary, alone. If she doesn't find him, who will?
So here she is in the Sapphire of Soumerc: Station Square. Population: 77,000,000. As the only part of the Federation in the Western Hemisphere, the city-state is far removed from the rest of her sisters by the Alexandry Ocean. While she holds a fondness for her, she isn't here to enjoy it. Not this time. She's here for one reason and one reason only: Her friend.
She walks up to the kiosk screen and taps on it several times. These are a recent addition, she thinks. She can't quite recall when they were set up. Whatever the case, there's no complaints from her; finding her way around the labyrinth that is the Square is always a fresh challenge that requires reconquering, no matter how many times you've been to it. She wonders if the locals are using these things too. They may call Station Square a city, but it's more akin to a country, extending just as far outward as it does upward and downward. She taps on the screen to activate it. "Hello, and welcome to the City Circuit."
She winces at the sound of the voice, generic as it is grating. Her search for a mute button proves fruitless, much to her dismay. After some searching, a button labeled 'Map' comes into her view and she taps it. It reads 'You are here'. A quick combing over the map reveals her destination is not so far from her current position. "Nice, some good news for once."
Good news is something that seems to get rarer and rarer as time goes on. So many false leads, so many dead ends, so many failures. She's tired, but only a little. Really. Besides, this one will be the one, and then she can go home with her friend in tow. Everyone will come back together to be happy again, and they'll all cheer her for being the one to do it. If not this time, then the next one.
She traces the way back from there all the way to where she is now, then plots a path and memorises it as best she can. With the track set, she makes her way there. Through winding sidewalks and streets, down stairs and elevators, across train and tram stations, and between crowds of people, most of them much taller than her. Though she likes the city, she doesn't care for the crammed nature of it, especially these crowds, not one bit. Though she can shove and jostle with the best of them, as she's doing right now, she prefers an open field to run free. Northamer was like that. Still is, actually.
Maybe that's just the homesickness speaking.
As quick as it comes up, she buries it right back down. Sure, she hasn't been back for six months now, and the better part of these past two years have been spent abroad rather than home, but that's not important. If she's homesick, she can't begin to imagine how he must feel. Away from everyone and everything he's ever known for over two years, she knows that he must be hurting even harder than she is. There's no time to spend on feeling sorry for herself, her friend depends on her. "Ughh!"
Her red and white shoe has found itself in a pond of watery muck. Absolutely appalling. She lifts her shoe up and moves over to the side to avoid getting pushed or trampled by the crowds; they never stop. Unfortunately, the stains aren't minimal, not in the slightest. Cleaning clothes is such a trivial task, which means it's such a waste of time. That reminds her, she'll have to get him to finally make those non-stick fabrics for her clothes she's been wanting for the longest time. "Just one more thing to the list."
She resumes the walk into this section of the city, marked by its dirtier streets and general grime. A neon sign in the distance catches her eyesight for a second before someone walks in front of her and blocks it. She's heading the right way.
It's strange to think about how this could be it. Two years and it might just end here. There's a lot to catch up on, and there's a lot she's going to say to him. Plenty of it would be from anger and not fun for him to endure, but that's the price he'll have to pay for ghosting them all. But after that's done, she'd hug him, let him know how much they all missed him, and then get him back home, dragging if she has to. She's smiling now. Really smiling. Finally, the search would be over, and she'd be free. "You don't run from family, Tails. It'll always find you."
The sign glows strong in the darkness, in spite of a couple dark letters. While it is daytime currently, sunlight becomes largely irrelevant this far down in the Square. All together, the letters spell out 'Colin's Canteen'. The neon lady at the end of the sign strikes a rather… telling pose. She can only shake her head and roll her eyes. "Boys..."
The rumour that brings her here is the alleged mention of the name 'Prower'. She's not sure why he would be here, in a bar, with a bunch of Overlanders. But she is sure that being too discerning regarding leads could very well end up in her missing the one that gets him back. She's no beggar, but certainly no chooser either. Once at the entrance, she pulls the door open and walks inside. It's a crowded scene, though not as noisy as expected. "-a glass to that!"
A great cheer of approval roars out from a corner and the sound of clinking glass follows. Shatters sound from the left, but she ignores it to head straight ahead. She motions for the bartender to come over as she sits on the leftmost stool at the bar. His face turns from sour to downright displeased when she does. "I think you walked into the wrong place."
Her teeth bite her tongue to hold back the rebuttal she so desperately wants to let loose. In the end, self-control wins out, thanks only to some pretty robust training. She's trying to do better, really, and answers how she imagines she should. "I'm not here for that, but thanks."
"Then what the hell are you doing in my establishment?"
The swift rebuff of her cordiality, and with such callous ease, forces her to bow her head, take a deep breath in, and wonder how Ms. Perfect manages to do this sorta thing so often and so calmly. She chalks it up to just being born that way; that, and everyone treating her like royalty, literally. Her head comes back up, her eyes lock with his again, and she keeps her cool, somehow. "I'm looking for someone."
She retrieves a photo from her hammerspace and examines it for a moment. It's the last one they took, only a couple months after Robotnik's empire had totally fallen apart, in celebration of their victory. Sonic and Sally stand front and centre of the frame. Shadow with a stern face is on his right while Tails with his trademark smile is on her left, a pair of goggles rest on his forehead and his fur still has some stains of oil and ash on it. She remembers having to drag him by the ear away from the Tornado for this picture. Those were better times.
She herself is standing next to the fox, leaning on her Piko Piko Hammer while Charles is behind Tails. The hedgehog has his hands placed on each shoulder of the boy with a proud look on his wrinkled face. Nicole hugs Sally from behind and Antoine and Bunnie are locked arm in arm while Rouge sneaks in bunny ears behind Knuckles' head as she shoots a suave and sly smile to the camera. Finally, Rotor and Omega are on either end of the group, and each forms an outline of the group with their tall statures. Omega has Hope and Blaze seated on each shoulder while Blaze has Marine on her own, putting the raccoon above everyone else present. The photo is only four years old. The time it's showing feels further back. Those were better ti-
"Hello? Looking for who?"
The annoyed, annoying voice drags her back into the moment. So many things are like that in this world. To add insult to interruption, he's also snapping at her. She almost yells at him that she's not a pet, and that being treated like one isn't appreciated. Almost. Instead of giving into the urge, she shows him the photo and points to Tails. "Him. I heard he was mentioned around here."
His eyes shift to it and she can see the gears turning in his head. A picture with him and Sonic always made people understand who exactly they were talking to. Everyone else present helps too. "Oh, you're one of them Freedom Fighters, aren't you?"
At last, some recognition for her and her hard work. That's nice, and nice things seem to get rarer and rarer as time goes on. One friend gets shackled, another disappears, and the rest drift apart, like debris after a shipwreck. She's not sure what she is in this analogy: A piece of driftwood? One of the passengers trying to stay afloat? The rescue crew? All three? Whatever the case, something nice makes her smile once more, this time out of pride for the past rather than nostalgia. "Yeah, I am."
"Never met one of you in person."
"Well, whatcha think?"
"A little disappointing, to be honest. Would've liked to see the blue one…"
And it's gone as soon as it comes. "Whatever. Have you seen him?"
"I thought that'd be self-explanatory…"
"Not Sonic, Tails."
"Oh. Well also no then."
He doesn't bother to look back at the photo, even though she's holding it right in front of him. "Are you sure? Look again."
"My vision is just fine, and so's my memory. Trust me, I'd remember seeing him. Especially with how… distinct he is."
That isn't an insult, strictly speaking, but she feels it verges on being one. At first he annoyed her, now he's starting to get on her nerves. She stores the photo back in her hammerspace. "What about his name? You hear that?"
"I'm pretty sure I'd recall someone with a name like 'Tails', and with two of them to boot. My answer's the same, girl, no matter how you ask it. Now, unless you've got anymore stupid questions for me, get out."
He shifts around in order to attend to the shelf behind him, stocked with liquers, liquors, wines, and ales, and even more. "Well what about Miles? Miles Prower?"
His hands stop where they are and he returns right back to her. "Yeah, Prower's mentioned around here. What of it?"
"Who, when, and where, exactly?"
He looks to the side, for reasons she isn't sure. "Why do you care? You got a problem with the name of my establishment? Look, I don't even care for the guy; as far I'm concerned, he's an idiot who got himself and a lot of good people killed. I just put his name up 'cause I thought it'd help attract the rest."
"I don't care about that. Like I said, I'm here because my friend is missing. I heard a fox by his name was mentioned around here, and you seem to have as well."
His eyes snap back down at her. "Not his name. I've never met a Miles in my whole life."
"But you have a Prower."
"Not really. And even if I had, it's definitely not yours."
"You seem so sure of it, maybe some questioning might fix that?"
A fire lights up in his dull brown eyes and he leans back ever so slightly. The top of her head only rises to his neck now. "You threatening me, girl?"
Before she can even think, her hand shoots out and grabs his shirt collar and drags him closer, till they're only a nose apart. The motion is smooth, natural even, in same way a snake shoots out at their prey. "That depends on you, really, or your answer to be specific."
Her venomous display douses his temper and leaves him still and silent as he stares at her. His hot breath slams into her face, but she smiles in response. "Nothing smart to say now, huh?"
"L-look, I-I don't want any trouble-"
"Maybe I do. Maybe it's been a while since I've had a proper scrap. You think you're up to the challenge?"
His eyes at last break from hers, darting left and right, at everyone around the two of them. "There's-there's other people here, ya know? Don't do do anything hasty that you might-"
"You'll have better luck getting someone in here to buy me a drink than barking up that tree." she says while lifting him up and towards her enough so that only his toes can touch the floor. "You know what they call me, back in Acorn?"
He merely shakes his head, and she can see how afraid he is that another word out of his mouth might result in a concussion, if he's lucky. "Royal. Rough. Rider. So go ahead, sic your patrons on me. My hammer and I are a little rusty after all, what with this peace that me and my friends have won you and everyone else. Or did you forget that while tending to drunks and old, bitter folks?"
He doesn't say anything, which is just the answer she wants. "Smart. More than me, that's for sure."
She lets go of his collar and he quickly regains his posture after a brief stumble back to the ground. A patron several feet to the right gives the two a side glance. "Well uh, you drive a hard bargain, miss, but I'd be happy to offer you a drink on the house. How 'bout a daiquiri?"
"No. Like I said, I'm not here to drink. What I want is my question answered. Now."
"Uh… to be real with you, I uh… don't really know. But uh, maybe those folks in the corner over there might know something; the ones with-"
"Shattered glass on their table."
"Yeah, them. Pretty sure they talk about Prower the most. I think they've mentioned some kid too. Didn't put much thought into it before, but maybe it's your friend."
"Gotcha."
The bartender nods before meekly waddling away to check on others down the line of the front bar. As her blood settles and her temper cools, she realises how close she just came to letting loose. She gives her forehead a rub. "You're better than that…" she mutters to herself, repeating what her friends have told her time and time again. "You're supposed to help people, not hurt them."
A shake of her head and the thoughts fly away; distractions can't be tolerated, especially now of all times. She looks to the left to see the group. They appear to have pushed most of the shattered glass out of their way—as much as you can on a table that size—and it seems to not bother them. Not wasting any time, she gets up and walks straight to them, doing her best to listen to what they're saying.
"Hey Jay, you hear what Bullyani said a few days ago?"
An enormous, middle-aged man laughs at that; he's easily the biggest of the four and has a great deal of scars as well as strange marks across his arms and side of his face, though so do the rest of them. Humans are already way bigger than her and most other Mobians, but compared to this guy she looks like a baby. "No. I don't give two shits about politics. Day he picks up my tab is the day I bother to go vote."
The younger redhead who asked the question, in his early thirties if she has to guess, displays displeasure with the answer, but also a lack of surprise. "Listen man, you may not care about this stuff, but it cares about you, same with all of us. The guy said that he agreed with what Elise had said regarding Mercia, and that the two of them would try and 'convince the rest of the Council to involve the Federation in the situation in favor of the legitimate government'. Guy wants to get us more involved with animals, and on the side of the Acorns no less!"
"Hey there."
They all go silent as they turn and stare at her. The redhead has a cataract in his right eye. That milky film sits in the dead centre of the socket, girded by the green ring of his iris and it shines a sickly sheen under the light; she feels her face betray her thoughts regarding it. They're still silent as they continue to stare at her. "Uh, I heard you guys know about someone by the name of Prower."
Their stares turn into smiles and they start laughing. They're more amused by her simple statement than anyone has ever been by any joke she's ever told, though she never was much good at comedy. She doesn't really know what's so funny, but presses on regardless. "I take that as a yes?"
"Listen here, little girl, and listen good." says the blond man with nasty facial scars. He points his left hand, which is missing a finger, at her. "Every one of us here knows your precious Prower very well; more than you do, that's for certain, considering how young you look. Damn fox fucked us all up, as you can tell. Though there's plenty of scars that can't be seen."
She swallows the indignity of being referred to as 'little girl' while they hum agreement with him. The brunet angles his head to explicitly display the left side of his face, which is marred by a grotesque burn scar. It's clear they're talking about the other Prower. "Well, I'm not talking about him. I'm looking for someone else: My friend. I was told you've mentioned a kid. He's not, but I can see how you might mistake him for one. Take a look."
From her hammerspace she retrieves the photo, the sudden nature of which is noticed by them, unlike with the bartender. The redhead is the first to comment. "Woah! Where the hell did you pull that from?"
The giant laughs, the bass so deep it rumbles in her ears. "Looks like little Ms. Missy over here is a magician. Why don't you pull a rabbit out my shoe, or a coin from my ear?"
A roll of the eyes is the only response she gives before handing the redhead the photo. "Look, see the fox with yellowish fur? His name is Miles Prower. Have any of you seen him?"
"Wait a minute, that's the fox who rolls with the speedy blue."
"Yeah, he is."
"I thought his name was Tails?"
"Yeah, it is."
"But you just said his name was Miles Prower."
"It's complicated."
"Oh." says the redhead as he studies the photo with genuine interest. "So, he's Prower's kid?"
"Yeah."
The redhead nods and shows the picture to his friends, with the blond having a chuckle at it. "Who'd have thought the two-tailed kit was related to the one-eyed bastard?"
"Goes to show, Lucas, the universe likes her irony. Curse the dad with disability, curse the son with deformity."
"Heh, damn Jay that's fucked up, even for you."
"Not as fucked up as Al's face."
"Deformity? What are you talking about?"
"Missy, just look at your boyfriend: He's got two tails! It's in his name for cryin' out loud. That's strange, even for you animals." the redhead says. Hearing this derision reminds her of Sally's dad; that was the only person she knew who didn't like Tails, aside from people like Robotnik and such. It seems these Overlanders have a similar opinion, though clearly for different reasons; While Amadeus may be these guys' most reviled foe, he was Max's best general and close friend, and so was Rosemary. Charles and Rosie had said so many times during their reminiscing on 'the good old days'. She never did find out what exactly was the king's issue with Tails. 'Was it just cause of Sonic?'
Regardless, she's no intention to let this slander of her friend go without challenge. "He's not deformed or strange! His tails allow him to do stuff like flying all on his own. If anything, he's better formed than any of you lot. And stop calling us animals."
"Whatever, not like any of us give a damn..."
Jay stands up and interrupts the conversation, and in doing so further demonstrates the absolute disparity in size between him and her. She can't help but look up in awe at him. "I've gotta take a leak. Don't any of you touch my drink, or I'll know."
Lucas waves him off dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, go on you giant freak."
"Least I still got all ten fingers."
Now everyone at the table is laughing at Lucas instead of her as Jay leaves. "Very funny, guys. Keep it up and maybe soon I'll be the one with the most fingers out of all of us."
"Look, can any of you just tell me if you've seen him?"
The redhead gives her a fierce look, with both eyes—normal and not—full of ire. "No, we haven't seen your friend. And if we did, I'm sure you'd know about it."
"What do you mean by that?"
"His dad wronged us along with fifteen million other people. And while everyone at this table, hell this whole place, can raise a glass to his death which was so soon to follow," he says with a smirk which infuriates her, "that doesn't even come close to making up for it. So believe me, if we saw his little brat, we'd get some payback."
"If you've lain a finger on him, I'll-"
"Relax, missy. Like I said, we haven't seen him. Besides, I'm not saying we'd hurt the kid or anything like that. We ain't psychos. Still, me personally? I'd offer him a drink, only to then toss it right in his face. Make him wet, messy, and embarrassed all at once. Nice and simple."
"Derek, you know that kid would knock you down to the ground in two seconds flat, right?"
She smirks at Al's comment, and silently thanks him for the correction. Derek tilts his head back in disbelief and gestures to the photo. "Nah, look at him, he's around half my height. And see? No muscles on those bones."
"Yeah. And still, he'd knock you down in an instant."
"What makes you say that?"
"I saw him in action once. It was back when that flood was happening."
"That giant tsunami monster thing?"
"Yeah. Kid was zooming about almost as fast as the blue one. Then I saw him come to this robot, and he just cut it in half with those tails of his, like nothing. All that solid steel might as well have been butter for all the good it did."
"Woah, you serious?"
"Of course I am. Why the hell would I lie about that?"
"I-I don't know, Al. It's just.. just nuts."
"Yeah, exactly."
Derek finally looks back to her, and becomes quite aggravated. "What the hell are you smiling at?"
"Oh, nothing. Nothing at all."
The snide remark doesn't slip past his notice, and he rises with a rush. "Now listen here, yo-"
"Derek, shut the hell up man! I know you've only got one good eye, but for heaven's sake, use the damn thing!"
Lucas points at a spot on the photo before gesturing to her. Derek follows the path, though in delayed fashion. "See? She's the same one, which means she's one of them. Don't start a fight with a Freedom Fighter. The only ones coming out on top of that will be her and the doctors at the hospital footing you the bill."
"...Fine." he grumbles as he sits back down. "You've got our answer. None of us have seen your fox, so get out of my face."
That smirk on her face grows even wider, she can feel it. "Gladly. That cataract of yours is a real eyesore, you know?"
His face is now scrunched up like an angry animal, which only provides her with even more satisfaction. "I just need my photo back."
Without looking away, he takes hold of it with both hands and tears it in half. The sound of paper ripping cuts right to her through all the other noise. She's shocked, and isn't sure which emotion to respond to first. Desperately scramble for the two halves, that she might somehow fix them? Sadness at the damage done to this memento? Guilt for handing the photo to hostile strangers? Shame at her fault in pushing things to this point?
Before she can decide, Derek, still maintaining ironclad eye contact, smiles at last. "Here. I couldn't possibly keep it from you." he says before flinging the two parts forward and over her. She looks up and spots the photos flying above as they drift in the air. She tracks their trajectory, jumps up to catch them midair, and holds the halves in her palm, dejected at the state they are in, as well as everything else. "Not again…"
This lead is a dead end, just like every other one. She didn't have high hopes going in, not really, but the weight of the failure hits harder than she expected. The damage to her photo makes this expedition worse than a nothing-burger though; it's now a net loss. And at the end of it all? Her friend is still missing, in spite of how hard she's trying. Is it not enough? Is she not enough?
"And as for your foxy friend, I only wish him the best. 'Like father, like son', I say!"
All those thoughts, doubts, and other emotions fall away. Only one idea shines in her mind now. Only one dives down to the bottom, beckoning her to follow into the dark pit with its passionate flame. Not anger, fury; fury and her daughter, revenge. She knows that if any of her friends were here, they'd tell her to not to do this, to walk away, to be the bigger person, and that this isn't what she should do.
But she doesn't care.
In one swift motion, she stows the photo away and summons her Piko Piko Hammer. Its hefty weight settles naturally in her arms and her peripheral vision fades away as she turns around to hone in on Derek. His disgusting white eye stares out at her from the socket, his stupid red hair sears itself onto her mind, his ugly clothes stain her sight, his obnoxious, wide-open maw mocks her, and a million other things antagonise her. The world goes mute as she goes through all the things she hates about him, about his friends, about this place, about this situation, and about everything in the world. In truth, she could go on forever.
Her foot digs into the floor and shoots off at him, wood planks splintering beneath the force of the kick. "What the h-" is all he gets out of his mouth before the hammer knocks him right in it, sending him flying through the air, through a window, and most certainly out cold.
Lucas stands up and tries to punch her, but she pivots and brings her hammer right into the path of his fist. A crunching noise sounds upon impact. "AHHH!"
He clutches the five-fingered fist with his four-fingered hand as he looks at the damage. The distraction proves a mistake, and she uppercuts his jaw with her hammer, sending him flying up into the ceiling. He falls back down with a thud, and groans while clutching his head and curling up into a ball. She then turns to deal with Al, but when she looks at him he's not moved an inch. He stares at her with a burned face that has an expression she's not sure of. Fear? Shock? Resignation? Who knows? Not her, that's for certain.
Then she recalls that this man had done nothing wrong to her, let alone say anything disparaging. She lowers her stance to signal that she isn't going to attack, but her reward for halting is a glass slamming over the back of her head. Stumbling as it shatters, she regains her composure and swivels around to see her assailant is not alone; it seems most of the bar isn't happy with her. With a swing of her hammer, she sends the man flying, and then another. A woman lands a blow on her face from the side, a scuff really, but she repays it in spades by knocking the lady in the stomach and off onto a table.
After a few more hard knocks going both ways, the people grow hesitant to charge her. They spread out to her sides, forcing her to look back and forth as they eye her up, looking for any opportunity to strike. The tense quiet ends when a door is slammed open from behind. She turns to look and sees it's the behemoth of a man: Jay. "What the hell is goin' on?!"
Before she can rush him, another man attacks while her back is turned. He delivers a strong kick to her knee from behind before tackling her to the floor. Her leg holds firm against the kick but his tackle knocks her off balance. They wrestle briefly before she manages to rotate to face him. Placing her foot on his chest, she kicks off, which sends him up into the ceiling. His back shatters the wood and she rolls out the way as he comes crashing right back down.
She stands herself up, but a chair collides with her from behind, splintering into many pieces. She looks back and sees Jay charging her with another chair held in hand; he must've thrown the previous one at her. He makes a swing and she goes to hit him with her hammer first, utilising the ranged advantage, but is thrown off by yet another chair slamming her from behind; it splinters same as the previous one. Jay brings down his own chair on her, hard, and right in the face. Something wet begins to seep out her nostrils now as wooden fragments fly.
The hammer rises up and hits the giant right in the chest, forcing him onto his back, though not as hard or far as she wishes. Standing up, she goes to knock him out with another hit, but he lures her in enough with false stillness to kick her straight in the abdomen. Now the hammer is no longer in her hands, and she's back on the floor again. Breathing is a little difficult now.
Someone kicks her in the head, but she returns their kindness by sweeping their ankles with her arm, and they fall chin-first into her fist as it rises, flipping them up and onto their back. Jay is on his feet and rushing her now. She places her palms on the floor and rocks back so that her legs are clear off the ground. With one good push, she launches herself into his chest feet first, knocking him down again as she bounces off a good distance away. When she touches the ground, she sticks the landing and takes her first breath in several seconds. This is more fun than it has any right to be, which is none. "Hahahaha!"
She places a finger under a nose and pulls it back to see red on the white of the glove. It's not right, it's not okay, and it's definitely not normal. And yet, something in her likes that red on her glove. It's her red. The people before her who are all itching to kick her teeth in? She doesn't see them as dangers to be avoided, but as challenges to engaged, then surmounted. Her challenges. "C'mon, let's get rough!"
Her heart pumps, and each beat reminds her that she's alive. It's euphoric. She hasn't felt this way in years, but it feels as regular as stretching when waking up. This is her normal, this is who she is, who she was always meant to be. The life of a pleasant and polite lady never fit her, never would, and never will. She knows that her friends don't like this, don't want this; not in this time of peace. She knows that they'd rather her be someone else. She's tried to do that, but never gets it right. She's always imitating, always mimicking, always two steps behind those she's looking to copy, if not more. Sometimes, in the case of the one person who has everything she's ever wanted and more, she's six whole years behind. Being someone else isn't working out, it never did, and it probably never was going to either.
And now she doesn't care.
Instead of waiting for them to come to her, she rushes a man and rolls into his legs, which knocks him off balance. Before he can hit the floor, she grabs and picks him up and, after a swing around, flings him out another window. The shatter of glass is applause to her ears, and she giggles at its sound. She'd bow if not so preoccupied.
Now back to the important issue of the massive fight that she started. It seems in the time she was distracted, most folks have cleared out, and only Jay is left standing in opposition. He's holding her hammer, and appears rather comfortable with its weight. That should be bad news, hell, it is bad news, but it brings a smile to her face and a spark of joy to her soul nonetheless. Her fingers interlock and her hands press together. The sounds of popping joints from her knuckles to her neck is a sinewy symphony, and she's the musician, instrument, and conductor. "What the hell's wrong with you?! Guy pisses you off, so you decide to trash a whole bar?"
"Wasn't just him. You, the blond, the bartender, and everyone else. Knocking some humility into everyone here is the best day I've had in years."
"You came in here, not the other way around!"
He's right, and that's the truth of it. She came despite knowing the odds of Tails being here were next to none. She antagonised these people just as much as they did her, if not more. They didn't start this. And even if they did, she's stronger than all of them, she knows that. Everyone her whole life has told her that when you have power, the right thing to do is to show restraint. Of course, that doesn't matter, because: "I don't care."
Understanding that she holds an incredible edge in speed and agility, he advances on her. They're both aware that strength is the one thing that he has at least some shot at succeeding with. Still, she's aware that it's far and away a long one. But pummeling this beast down with brute force, while viable, doesn't sound satisfying. She has something else in mind while backstepping from his first swing. "Missed me!"
He continues to swing at and slam at her, and she continues to dodge, duck, jump, and generally outmaneuver his every attack. She makes silly faces, laughs, giggles, spits raspberries, and even does a flip over a few swings, just to show off. "Woah, who'd've thought the towering behemoth would turn out to be a lumbering oaf? Maybe someone with two eyes, ten fingers, no scars, or perfect skin could've told you."
His assault becomes more and more aggressive, less and less reserved. Grunts, growls, and yells pour out his mouth, along with a copious amount of spit. "No wonder you had no idea; none of your friends fit the bill. What a shame!"
It takes a bit, but he's getting slower and slower, swinging wider and wider, getting sloppier and sloppier. "But really, out of the circus show that is you lot, you really are the star attraction."
The hammer rises up high and comes plummeting down right where she is, or rather where she was a split second ago. Instead of her pink head, it crashes into the floor, shattering planks like they're balsa wood. It's clear that he's at the edge of his rope as he pants and fails to lift the hammer up; it's stuck in the floor.
A smile then a touch is all she gives, and the mighty hammer dissipates into thin air, as if only a mirage. "Got ya."
She resummons the hammer, gripping it tighter than before this time, though that's simply due to how engrossed her mind is right now. Instead of a swing, she elects to finish this with a mere kick to the face, knocking him to the floor. He lets out a pained sigh, and is unable to even lift his head, let alone get up. It's over.
With victory secured, she relaxes and leans on her hammer for support as the adrenaline flies away, having done its job. Flushed with the fight and triumph, a proud smile forms itself on her face as her legs wobble and her hands shake. There's no deluding herself that this was justice. This was payback, plain and simple. Justice may be blind, but revenge never forgets. But now the Lady Fury has departed, and she's left with the cold aftermath. It's going to be a pain for her to explain to the authorities what exactly has transpired here. She'll get out of it though, just like always. The word of a Freedom Fighter against that of a bunch of drunk Overlanders is not a contest she's concerned about, even with this many of them.
Once her balance is acceptable, she walks up to the bar, her hammer dragging along the wood, and sits herself on the stool. She retrieves the two halves of her photo from her hammerspace and lays them on the counter. Now that she can really examine it, she sees that the tear is right in between him and her. Her smile is gone, as is her satisfaction. "Nice while it lasted, I suppose."
Above her is a television which is silent. Closed captions display on screen for a few seconds before being replaced by their successors in a mute procession. 'What consequences Charlemagne's resurfacing and entry into this year's mayoral election will have on the Square are hard to predict, except for one word: Major. Time will tell whether the ten million strong Overlander base will respond to their former leader's return with acceptance or rejection, as well as what his agen-'
That doesn't interest her. Politics never did. Her eyes drift back down to the bar thanks to a soft sound. She leans forward, and a peek over the shelf reveals the bartender below on the floor, cowering in fear, and rightfully so. "About that drink on the house…"