Episode 8: Pier Expectations; Or, A Series of Arrivals to a New Paradigm

They sat around the table at the Storybook, letting everything sink in. Narma was getting drinks from her boyfriend but had only just gotten up as everyone tried to come to terms with what the heck had just happened the previous night.

"So," said Gwen from the other side of the table. The girl sat with her hands twined over the tabletop, which was kind of amazing because there were six chairs jammed in about the tiny surface and there really wasn't the elbow room. "Sailor Soldiers."

Rory nodded slowly. "Right." She brought her hand down to their secret seventh party member, scratching Celene behind the ear. The cat had been reluctant to explain anything the previous night, insisting that Rory get some rest after the battle and then having to explain to her mother why she was late getting home.

Gwen peered over to her sister, who was rubbing her bandaged leg. "And we have some kind of space powers, from another galaxy."

"Trappist-1," Celene advised quietly. "It's a far-off star system. The celestial bodies your powers hail from are designated by this planet's people as Trappist-1 f and g, but their true names are Fortuna and Gyges."

Narma had returned and was passing out drinks like it was her solemn duty. She took the bench beside Rory, and Rory felt oddly guarded by her presence.

Sylvia was leaning way far back in the booth; Rory got the feeling she didn't like the close quarters. "Hm. Does that make us aliens, or something?"

"Reincarnated," Narma jumped in, voice still a little smug. "Used to be some kind of space princesses or something, but we're all human now. At least in body."

Sylvia gasped, and said in monotone. "I'm a princess?"

Gwen quirked a brow at her incredulously. "'Space superhero' doesn't faze you, but 'princess' is a shock?"

"Shut up," Sylvia said mildly.

Gwen shrugged, her attention shifting back to the group. "I would say I don't believe you, but I saw it. Fills in a lot of blanks, got to tell you."

Rory peered across the table. Mallory hadn't said anything, watching the other two with visible discomfort. She'd been quiet ever sense the previous evening, when they'd banished the Cryptids, called an ambulance, and then decided this would be better explained once they'd had time to recover. She had no idea what the girl was feeling; she'd been so sure they were working against them. She was usually so outspoken.

Carmen, on her other side, folded her hands on the table. "How did you end up investigating the news reports? That seems like a pretty big coincidence."

The two sisters looked at each other.

Gwen said, "What do you think?"

"It's not the craziest thing we've heard today," said Sylvia.

Rory eyed the Narma with mutual apprehension.

Gwen turned back to them. She straightened the shoulders of her quilted tan jacket. She said, "When we were about seven years old—well, let me back up. My parents had just adopted Sylvia, and it was our first family road trip. They'd stepped out to check us out of this little motel we were staying at in New Mexico, and it was just me and Sylv alone for a few minutes." Her voice held the timber of someone who was telling an old ghost story—they'd really missed an opportunity there, having sat around a fire only two nights prior. She leaned in closer to the table. "While we were waiting for them to come back, the TV came on. All by itself. For a second, we though one of us must have sat on the remote, or something. 'Did you do it?' 'No, did you?' …and then we realized it was us on the screen."

Beside her, Carmen's eyes narrowed. "It…couldn't have been a reflection, could it?"

"Oh, no," Sylvia chuckled. "No no no. You see, it was us on the screen, but the thing was we were like ten years older."

In her periphery, Mallory's hands thumped down on the table. "Excuse me?"

Gwen waggled her eyebrows at her, grinning. "Yeah, I thought you would like that." Her blue-green gaze flipped back to Rory. "While we were trying to figure out what the hell we were seeing, the images of us on the screen started talking. All they said was, 'Sylvia and Gwen, pay attention. In ten years, go find the superheroes of Seattle.' That's it. And then it cut off."

The table was totally silent, stunned.

Eventually, Gwen shrugged. "Our parents didn't believe us. We couldn't prove it, and from that day we never had an explanation for what had happened. But we never forgot." She held up a finger. "And then a couple weeks ago, right around the 10-year mark, we see this report on TV of some kind of vigilantes running around…"

"Oh my gosh," Carmen breathed.

"That's nuts," said Narma. She…didn't look entirely like she believed them.

Mallory's brows were furrowed, and Rory could practically see the gears turning in her head. "Hold on. You said you thought you looked ten years older."

Rory nodded, "Yeah, that's kind of specific." Wait. "Duh, wait a minute, you said it's been ten years! That means you sent the message—"

"—from now, yeah." Gwen nodded slowly. "And there's the million-dollar question for you: I'm about to send a message 10 years back to my past self, to an old TV in a crappy motel room in New Mexico. Now, how the hell did I do that?"

They all looked around at each other, seeing if any of the others had any ideas. Eventually, Celene peeped up from under the table. "Time travel…" she murmured the words with a sort of awe. "…I'm only aware of a few Sailor artifacts that hold that kind of power, and only in the hands of their wielders."

Artifact? Celene had never mentioned anything like that, but the word called to mind the box sitting on her bed end at home. Rory bit her lip. "That couldn't be whatever's in the Cosmos Treasure Box, could it?

Narma raised her brows at her, and they all turned to at Celene.

The cat's fur bristled at the attention. "…all of the time-based artifacts I can think of are much larger than such a box. I don't believe so."

Sylvia brought a finger to her chin. Her other hand rubbed over the corner of the tablecloth aggressively, the same circular motion. "Hm. But we did see you pull some magic wands out of your forehead. Could it work like that?" Her question seemed surprisingly earnest.

Oh, that was true, wasn't it? Her little forehead pocket dimension. Why couldn't it work like that?

Celene placed a paw to her chin; it almost looked like a normal cat thing; just washing her paws or something. "I suppose…"

The six of them agreed to keep it under wraps. For now, she needed to go home and try to get that box open.


The next morning was full of birds and coffee smell. Narma's waking thoughts proceeded as thus: Mm, someone made coffee. Then, it's summer, I don't have to be up for school. Finally, her eyes slid open. The internship starts today.

She'd never been a morning person, but she flew out of bed, heading for the shower without being fully conscious as though a very productive ghost had possessed her body. She showered half-awake, then pulled on her most fashionable kurti before speeding out into the main room, a living room/kitchen combo.

Her father and mother were in there, reading the paper. A pan of upma sat on the counter, which she gravitated towards immediately. "Good morning, everyone."

Her father was distracted—he always got absorbed in the paper, but her murmured back a morning. Her mother peered back to her from the kitchen table. "I made breakfast for your big day."

"Thank you." She hugged her mother round the shoulders. They didn't always get along, but they were considerate of one another's stresses and took extra steps to show support. "I'll have to eat fast; I have to catch my bus."

"Not good for you," her father tisked, and she knew he had already been up for a couple hours, going through his own routine. "You should get up earlier. Have breakfast with your parents."

"I am," she said with a pout, gathering a bowl and sitting at the table, mouthing through a short prayer.

"When are you going to be home?" Her mother asked, continuing on her meal as the prayer was finished.

Narma paused, then said, "Oh, probably around eight."

"Eight?" Her mother recoiled, wrinkling her nose. "Why, this place is stealing my daughter. That seems very late."

"Well," Narma fiddled with her fork for a second. "I actually have a date after my first day is done."

"A date?" Her father lowered the newspaper. "Who is this, then? You haven't mentioned anyone to me."

And you wonder why. She resisted rolling her eyes. "He's just some guy I met at the café. It's no big deal."

Okay, it felt like a big deal, but the less serious she made this out to be the more likely they were actually going to let it happen without a fuss. She and Manuel had hung out before; there was just a monster attack the last time. This was just going to be them? So, she was siked, but also, yikes.

Her mother looked horrified. "A new boy? So soon after the last one…I hope he's a better man than the last you were involved with!" She looked about ready to fret.

Narma wasn't sure what they were talking about for a second, and then she had remembered—the strangulation bruises from her first fight as a soldier. She'd told them it had been a boy she'd met. Oh, no wonder they looked about ready to pop. "No, no, he's a very sweet boy. You would like him. Maybe you can meet him sometime."

"He'd better shape up if he's coming into this house, I won't have some brute dating my girl." her father huffed, then gave her the stink eye over his paper. "What's his name?"

Narma winced. "…Manuel?"

He said tch. "We need to find you a nice Hindi boy, that's all there is to say about it."

Oh, Krishna, not this again. Time to go. She quickly cleaned up her now empty bowl, giving her mother a kiss on the cheek, and then her father to spite him. "I'll be safe, have a blessed day."

"We'll talk about this later," her father warned.

She let out a sigh of relief the moment she was out the door.

She had an internship (!) to get to.


Upon entering the building, Narma was blindsided by just how many people were clustered around the stairs. There had to be twenty, at least. Of course, with this sort of limited opportunity, a lot of people would have gone for it. The sight sparked a twinge of doubt. How much individual instruction am I actually going to get here?

As she approached the group, she recognized one of the girls standing there as the girl who was interviewed before her: bright, curly red hair. "Hey, you made it."

The girl blinked, realizing she was being addressed. She turned to stare at Narma in utter confusion (and something that twisted her nose—maybe disgust,) before recognition flashed in her eyes. "Oh, it's you. Yeah, I got the job. Thanks for noticing." She rolled back her shoulders, shaking out her ponytail before firmly facing the front of the group again.

Narma raised an eyebrow, before leaning up, reading the sticker nametag the girl's chest was emblazoned with. It had Sarah written in the same measured font Narma had received her own in, but it was crossed out with a dark black line. Above it, in scratchy, cramped writing, was Antoni!, written with an exclamation point.

"It's…Antoni?" Narma asked.

Antoni made an affronted sound. "Oh, yeah, that." She waved her hands. "I keep telling these people I go by Antoni and they keep putting down the wrong thing, it's so annoying. I swear, if they can't keep that one little thing straight, are they even going to be worth my time to be here? Obviously not detail oriented."

Narma leaned back. Wow, what a brat. I'm sure there are dozens of folks who would love to take your place, princess.

Ahead, Narma saw the elevator open up and someone in a sharp beige suit stroll out, coming towards the group. "Welcome, all of you! My name is Valerie Cunningham; I'm the internship program director. How are you all this morning?"

There was a chorus of positive voices, and Narma contributed herself. Beside her, Antoni just crossed her arms under her chest.

Valerie said, "I'm the one you are mostly going to be reporting to throughout this little endeavor, and I'm going to make sure you get a taste of several different specialties here at the institute. I'm excited to work with you all! How about we take a little tour, hm?"

Valerie first led them to the work room, which was the room with all the sewing machines she'd passed through before. "This is where the students work on their projects, as well as our professional seamstresses, who work commissions for our more esteemed clients."

Wow, so they share the same place as the students? It must have been really relaxed.

She showed them the cafeteria and an area with stages called the "showing" space, used for photo shoots and for shows of student work. Along the hall, mannequins displayed the work of famous designers who had also attended the school.

They saw the marketing sector, and then a little block of offices, where they stopped.

"This is going to be the main focus of the internship. You'll work with our commissioned seamstresses to log and complete orders with the upmost care. On rotation, you will get to work with our marketing and budget departments to get experience with creating pitches, and advancing your own brand. I know you all received your special projects due at the end of the internship based on your areas of interest—I look forward to seeing what you come up with."

Finally, she led them down the hall to a large alcove leading to a set of smaller rooms.

"You all also may be aware that we have a residential program for designers with complex, long-terms projects. Those rotate out every three years. Currently, we have had the privilege of partnering up with some aeronautics engineers from Dover at Skylab as they work on developing the next generation of aerospace textiles."

She pushed open a set of double doors.

"Hello, everyone! Just bringing the intern group by to say hello."

"Hi," said a group of people in lab coats, gathered around countertops along the walls. The counters were covered in microscopes and test tubes. Whoa, this was way sciencier than she had been expecting. There were scraps of fabric shoved under the lens.

"They're working to create advanced, durable textiles for NASA to utilize on upcoming missions. She leaned through a door at the back to shout through. "Can you guys come out for a minute? I want to introduce the summer group."

Wow, they're developing that kind of technology in a place like this? Narma raised her eyebrows. Impressive. I would have thought the most advanced pieces of tech here would have been their sewing machines. Cool ass sewing machines, but still.

A trio of people in nicer lab coats moved through the door: A woman with long, dark hair, a man with large eyebrows and furrows of wrinkles, and another woman glued to her clipboard, tucking strawberry-blond hair behind her ear. "Hey everyone! Good to meet you," said the dark-haired woman. "I'm Professor Sasha Wu, these are my colleagues, Professors Hester (she indicated the man) and Mooringer (and the other woman.)"

Professor Hester raised his impressive brows at them. "Stop by some time, and we'll show you what we're working on!"

They shook hands with the team before heading out again. Valarie spoke back to them, "We're working on all kinds new developments in fashion here, both practical and technical. I'm excited for you guys to see everything!"

Beside her, Antoni snorted. That was fine. She could scoff all she liked. Narma was going to take advantage of being here whilst she could.

At the end of the tour, Valerie brought them all to stand in the center of the floor again. "Well, do we think we got our bearings a little bit?" Some murmured affirmations. "I know you guys got the program manual already, but this is just some specific information about the building for you. It also has you listed out by your groups, so hopefully some of you will get to know each other a little better throughout this experience. Learn and grow!"

She passed out the papers, and Narma took one, examining her group when her eyes found the listing. Her stomach dropped.

The majority of them were there with design aspirations, it seemed.

Including Antoni. Her name sat like a hex beneath Narma's.

"Alright! Now, we just need to take you guys to your areas, and you can get started in your areas!" Valerie clapped, the remaining papers fanning in her palm. "Isn't this exciting?"

Narma took a deep breath. This was going to be a long summer.


Carmen had been trying to be more assertive with her father as of late, and that worked in starts and stops. But it didn't mean she was entirely out of the woods.

No school meant her father saw no problem with making her the company's errand girl, and the knowledge of how much responsibility was on his shoulders made her feel too guilty to say no. So, there she was again making deliveries on a Wednesday morning, bike newly repaired, still half-asleep.

At least, in this case, it was a pick-up and go. She didn't have to lug the package the entire way.

She slowed, dismounting her bike next to the flower shop and clicking the little lock to tether it to the pole. She wasn't totally sure how she was going to do it…she sighed. She would probably end up juggling both vase and bike the rest of the way, huh? She was supposed to be meeting up with Alyssa that evening to catch up. The skating ring had just opened up again a couple weeks ago, and they'd been getting a ton of business, so she'd been too busy to hang out outside of work. It was probably for the better that she hadn't been so out and about lately; Carmen wouldn't want her to get involved in this mess again.

Hopefully, this wouldn't take too long.

She entered the shop, fishing into her pocket for her wallet. Might as well get this done as quickly as possible.

She jumped when she looked up to see a familiar face staring back at her. "Oh!" She yelped, placing her palm over her chest. "Geez, this just keeps happening, doesn't it?"

Sylvia peered back to her from her place at a little worktable off to the side. "Carmen," she acknowledged. She was seated, an arrangement sitting in front of her half-finished, shears in her hand. "Did Gwen ask you to come check on me?"

"No!" Carmen brought her hand down. "That's what I mean! I had no idea you worked here. I'm doing an errand for my father."

Sylvia laid her head sideways on the tabletop. It was littered with little clippings of flower stems, which were made nigh invisible by the color of her hair. "Huh." She didn't look like she totally believed her.

She glanced down, to where Sylvia's leg was still wrapped. Apparently, she'd taken a nasty fall while the bus was being thrown helter-skelter, and she could see a faint pink tinge to the bandage. "How's your leg?"

"Fine, thank you," Sylvia said lightly. "We thought it might have been fractured, but this morning, the gash was all that was left. I'm still trying not to walk on it."

Carmen nodded slowly. "That's good. We do seem to have some sort of advanced healing…I'm not sure how that works, as for all intents and purposes our bodies are supposed to be entirely human."

"Good thing," Sylvia closed her eyes briefly, face still smooshed to the tabletop. "I'm not sure how much more of Gwen's hovering I could have taken. One day was enough."

Carmen raised her eyebrow. She had always wondered what it might be like to have a sibling, but it kind of seemed like it might be tougher than she had expected. "She does seem…pretty protective." That lined up with what Sylvia had told her before. It seemed like she'd been being pretty honest, given that they were nearly strangers.

"Yes," Sylvia said overly loudly, raising her head up only to thump it back down on the table. "She's always like that."

Carmen scratched her chin, laying the order card down on the counter so she wouldn't misplace it while they were talking (her mind always envisioning such possibilities.) "She said something kind of weird, back at camp." She hesitated to ask, but Gwen did basically tell her to, so? "She thanked me for being nice? Said something about people not really getting you sometimes?"

Sylvia sat up, one hand rubbing insistently at the woodgrain on the edge of the table. "Oh, that? Ugh, it's not like it's some big secret," she said. "I'm autistic. People think that means I need coddling, sometimes. Or they don't know how to talk to me, or don't want to. Gwen knows that gets on my nerves, so she grills people sometimes. Doesn't stop her from trying to coddle me herself."

Carmen took a second to process that—she'd thought there was something different about the way Sylvia interacted with her, though she'd had no idea what. She really didn't know that much about autism, but if Sylvia didn't want her to make a big deal about it, then she wouldn't. Hm. "Is that why you thought Gwen might have sent me?"

"Wouldn't be the first time she'd done something similar." Her gaze rose. It passed over the misty green walls of the flower shop, the rows of arrangements and freshly completed orders in cool cases. There was nothing especially expensive looking about the shop, the way her father usually preferred. It could have been any shop. "It is weird. You, just happening to come here. It seems like the universe is set to keep us all revolving around one another. Magnetizing our auras. Seeing as we're teammates, I mean."

"Yeah, it does." Carmen leaned back against the counter, urgency to get her chore done waning. She hadn't really gotten to talk to Sylvia yesterday when they met up at Storybook—it was mostly their two groups sharing intel. "It's too much of a coincidence otherwise. Rory and Narma were best friends for years before the first attacks, and I go to the same school. Not to mention how Mallory just found us one day. I…actually, I guess that kind of explains why she was so determined to go after your sister? Maybe she just knew, subconsciously."

Sylvia's pale blue gaze flicked up to her for a second. "Yeah, that is one reason." Her monotone was especially dry. "Didn't help that Gwen was having so much fun egging her on."

That was interesting. Carmen wasn't one for gossip, but that might have been a little different when the gossip concerned an immediate friend. "Hm. So she was doing it on purpose?"

"She says that wasn't what she was trying to do," Sylvia said, "but you saw them. Your friend is a mystery, but I know what Gwen's expressions mean. It was very suspicious."

Carmen breathed through her nose, laughing softly. "I thought maybe I was imagining it."

"I hope something comes of it," Sylvia said bluntly. "Maybe, if she's distracted, she won't spend so much time on my case."

Oh. Well then.

"Plus." The chartreuse-haired girl peered down to her hands for a moment, rubbing her thumbs and forefingers together. "She deserves to find something that makes her happy. She spends all her time trying to make me happy. She should spend some of her energy on herself too." The tiniest hint of a frown worked its way on her face. She looked to Carmen, bright eyes unreadable. "…am I a bad person, for getting annoyed when she works so hard?"

That was…that was a difficult question. Her immediate response was no, but…she shrugged mildly. "If you are, I am." It was a mentality she wore herself on any number of occasions. "I feel like that's a pretty natural response."

Sylvia nodded shortly. "I don't think you're a bad person," she said definitively, "so I must not be either."

She stared slightly open-mouthed as Sylvia stood—pieces of greenery dislodged from her hair, falling to the tile from her impromptu lie-down. Lord, but Carmen wished she were that decisive.

She grabbed the vase and, pivoting on one leg, she placed it on the checkout counter with an impressive extension of her arm. As Carmen watched on, she hopped over to stand at the register, where she pulled out a little box of paper tags, beginning to fill one out. Suddenly her eyes lit up. "Oh!"

With enthusiasm, she reached below the counter again to pull out a thin case in deep red velvet. It reminded Carmen of the box her father kept the fancy cake knife in that he used at parties, except it was closer to the size of a piece of paper than knife-size.

"I have them today!" Sylvia gushed excitedly, her monotone going high.

Leaning over the counter, she turned the box in Carmen's direction. In a practiced motion, she clicked the little latch free, and opened it.

"Oh!" said Carmen.

Beetles.

Beetles sat in neat rows along the inside of their case. Little pins kept them in place, their shiny wings and strange mandibles made distinct by the red of the velvet. Carmen was honestly not at all a bug person, but even she could admit this was an impressive variety of beetles.

Sylvia began to point a couple out. "This one is a Tin-Lined June—he defends himself by vibrating really fast if you touch him. This one is an Emerald Ash Borer—he's a troublemaker, they wreak absolute havoc to forests if they get the chance. This big guy is my favorite; he's a Fiery Searcher. He's basically the big boss—he just eats everybody else. I like the green ones best, but really any of them. There's a couple I'm trying to get, but they won't ship them to the US because it's illegal." Taking a deep breath in recovery of the flood of information, Sylvia looked directly up at her, hey. "You see?"

"They're very nice," Carmen said, even though she honestly thought they were a little gross. The case did help, made them feel more like intricate little sculptures than bugs, and she could admit the iridescence that several of them boasted was beautiful. She obviously loved them.

Sylvia grinned, the first shift out that consistent blank affect she had seen on the girl from the beginning. "Thank you," she said, "for complementing my beetles."

She gently put the case away, tucked back under the counter were it wouldn't get plant debris on its fancy case. "I have this online boyfriend," Sylvia said.

"Oh?" That…seemed like an abrupt shift?

"His name is Brad," she sighed, expression serene. "He likes insects too."

Ah.

She returned to the little tag, finishing the inscription. "We met on this forum where he was trying to identify this bug in his backyard, so we've bonded over that. He's a bit of a musclehead, but he's really sweet. I'm trying to get Gwen to drive me up to this entomology convention in the fall to meet him, but she doesn't like him very much. I told her she has no room to talk when she'd such a mess." She blinked back to her. "What about you? Are you dating anyone?"

"Oh, no," Carmen tugged at the hem of her shirt. A familiar discomfort arose at the question, and she glanced away as Sylvia tied the little tag onto the arrangement. "I don't really like anyone like that."

Sylvia paused, tilting her head. "Your aura went all queasy when I asked that. I'm sorry. Is that a bad question for you?"

She wasn't sure how to respond to that, though objectively she thought it probably was. It took her a second to recognize why the question felt familiar. Oh. "No, it's not your fault," she said. "Just…family things again, I suppose." Under had hand, the pick-up order crinkled. "Oh, yes, I almost forgot what I came in here for! I have a flower arrangement to pick up, when you get the chance."

"Let me see?" Sylvia took the paper from her, reading over it for a second before handing it back. "Got it." Sylvia hopped over to the cold case, water sloshing at the bottom of the vase in her hand.

Carmen bit her lip. Actually, she did kind of want to talk about it? Sylvia had listened to her before. "My father keeps trying to set me up with his client's sons," she admitted.

Pointedly, Sylvia looked back to her.

"I'm sorry," Carmen sputtered immediately. "I don't mean to keep making it all about me when we talk."

Sylvia ignored her distress. "Are you joking? I know I was rambling for at least ten minutes just now. Most people would have cut me off. If anything, you should talk more."

"Mm, well." Carmen shrugged reluctantly.

She located a vase in amongst the shelves and turned back. "You don't like them."

For a second Carmen thought she was talking about the flowers, before understanding. "They're not as bad as their fathers," she said finally, which was maybe more than Sylvia needed to know.

Truthfully, she was underselling them a bit. Some of them seemed like perfectly nice guys. When they tried to flirt with her, though, no matter how innocent it just made her uncomfortable. Really, she couldn't recall a time when any hint of anything more than friendship didn't make her uncomfortable. She just...didn't know how to react. She should know how to react, right? She was halfway through high school. She rubbed her arm. "I'm just...not interested in them."

"Hm." Sylvia tilted her head consideringly, fluorescents tinted green from above falling across her face. "Could you be interested in different things? As in, maybe not those men? Like Gwen is."

Carmen frowned. She had thought about it, but, being honest with herself, it still felt off-base. "I don't know." She'd had less experience with that, but Mallory's fumbled passes, though she knew she was sorry about them, did not feel like an improvement. "I don't know."

Sylvia gave a soft hm. "Well you don't have to know now. For now, little things might be easier, like you were saying last time. You did talk to your father."

"I did," she had to agree. She felt the weight lessen on her shoulders.

"New, important task, then: tell your father you don't like them. Just that." She referred back to the order, plugging a series of codes into the register. "Then you could go from there."

Carmen set an elbow on the counter. "You could be some kind of guru, you know."

Running her card, Sylvia handed it back between her fingers, as though offering a business card. She slid the vase across the counter. "I try."


Narma hadn't spent a lot of time at the pier, which was another wasted opportunity.

On the positive, that meant when Manuel showed up after her bus ride from the Institute, she had already spied a myriad of new spots along the way she was interested to check out.

He waved her over to a little restaurant along the way. "Hey, this place has sweet potato fries. Sound good to you?"

A man after her own heart. "Absolutely," she gushed, striding over to him.

He eyed her little suit jacket over her more traditional kurti. "Look at you, all professional." Seriously, he lowered his voice. "Don't let the industry change you," he said. Then grinned.

"You're too late," she stuck her nose up, handing over her bag when he reached to take it. "I have sold out entirely. This is the last time you will see me. After these fries, I'll be taking my helicopter to New York post haste. It was good knowing you. I will remember you when I speak about the little people."

"Oh, the humanity." He grinned, eyes sparkling.

She couldn't hold it, and she cracked up into her hand. "No, no, but it was good. Mostly. There's this girl in my group who is just...the most stuck up. She was so pissed because people wouldn't call her by her pretentious nickname. Also, I feel like I really didn't understand what kind of place the institute was."

They said they had clients; maybe they had a label out of the institute as well? It bothered her that she didn't know. Also, she hadn't realized there were people coming to be there that weren't actual designers. That would made sense, though—it wasn't as though the only thing the Institute taught was design, so of course it would have its own little subcategories of business, construction…modeling? Were there models there? Okay, she really needed to look into that.

"But you still thing it's going to be good for you?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Hell yes!" She shot back, a grin coming to her face. "I am so freaking zazzed, honestly."

He smiled, puppy eyes glistening. "Great." He sighed, then. "All I've got is the café, for now. Feels pretty sad by comparison."

Aw, damn, she hadn't meant to make him feel bad. She pointed a finger. "You are the best, though."

He seemed to consider that, before shrugging. "That is true." He gave a small grin, showing his teeth just a little.

It was a noisy little place, sort of rustic to play into the feeling of the pier. A band played pounding in the background as she stripped off her jacket. "How was work today?"

"Oh, you know," he peered nonchalantly from the corner of his eye. "This huge group came in and sat in the corner. They were having mysterious meetings, and really causing a spectacle. Then they just stayed there forever."

Her lip twitched up, recognizing the jab. "Well, they'd better not get used to it; that's our designated loitering area."

He leaned back, the fries they'd ordered on the way in coming up for him to snatch one. "So, should I be expecting two more drinks on the order from now on?"

Narma frowned. She…wasn't sure she was ready to say that yet. They had really just met these guys. "I don't know. Maybe." She picked through her fries. "We don't really know them that well."

"Hm." Manuel's smile waned a little. "Okay. Are you…alright?"

"Yes, yes, sorry," she said. Agh, but they were part of their party, yes? Members of their squadron. She didn't need to be doing this jealous thing again. She shook off the thought. "Enough about me. What have you been up to?"

"Mm," he sat us suddenly. "I did find out my uncle is coming into town."

She blinked. "Oh, really? That's funny, we were just talking about that."

He quirked his jaw—he had the faintest beginnings of stubble, one of the things that reminded her he was a few steps ahead of her in life. I do appreciate a mature guy. How old was he, actually? She wasn't sure if he was in college or high school. She should really know that by now. "Well," he said, "our recent conversation might have spurned someone on to reach out to his estranged family."

Hold on. "Estranged?" Hadn't he said his uncle just didn't get around well?

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck with his clean hand. "Yes, I may have been a little dishonest about that whole situation. It's kind of a tense situation, to be honest."

She sat back. "Why? What happened?"

He sighed, eyes falling to his food. "Eh, my uncle and my mother had a big falling out when I was a kid. He had this…gambling problem? And he didn't think it was a problem, but my mother thought he was a bad influence." His eyes were a bit far away. "He was a great uncle, though. He really cared about my sisters and me. Even once my mother passed away, though, he felt like he wasn't welcome. I'm trying now to get him and my father to talk, but it's…a work in progress."

"Oh." Narma was a little taken aback at the confession. She understood why he didn't come out with that outright, though—that was really heavy. Quietly, she said, "I'm sorry you're having to deal with that."

To her surprise, he raised his head and smiled, but it was a little weak. "Hey, this is a good thing. It's hard, with the tension, but I know if they can work this out than everyone will be happier."

That was a nice way of thinking about it. She hated to think he was in that kind of tense situation, though—it put a tender pang in her heart. "Yeah, definitely."

Manuel stared back at her for a moment, and her pulse jumped a little at the focus. As her cheeks reddened, he took a deep breath and said. "Well, we're both about done. Would you like to check out the pier?

She breathed. "Yes, let's go."

She realized then she might have been in big, big trouble.

They moved out to the boardwalk proper, which seemed to be mostly a tourist trap. There was an arcade, and they spent their spare change being not very good at anything. They explored the little shops, laughing to each one at the not at all disguised pot paraphrenia and gaudy trinkets with SEATTLE stamped all over them.

"Look at this thing, it's dreadful." She held up a little creature made of shells with googly eyes, I LOVE SEATTLE written across its feet. There wasn't even a beach here!

"Aw," Manuel took the thing, holding it delicately aloft by its keychain links, "I think it's cute."

She furrowed her brow, lips twitching. "Sorry, I think we have to break up."

"Ah, what? No."

Suddenly, a crash echoed out over the pier. She and Manuel ducked to the floor, covering their heads and she tried to pinpoint the source. The ground shook, but it didn't feel like another earthquake. Narma grit her teeth, the twisting knot in her belly confirming what she already guessed. Seriously? Again?

"What was that?"

She peered back to Manuel and his eyes were wild, wide with apprehension and searching around frantically. Her stomach sunk. She wondered if he already knew two. "I don't know, but we should probably lie low for a moment." Her mind raced—if it was a cryptid, she had to find a way to get away.

Manuel frowned, but didn't get the chance to argue as a pounding outside insisted screams from around the boardwalk. She shrunk back as enormous legs came into view through the shop window—she recognized the zappy texture as belonging to Spindly, but they were wider, reminding Narma of the Urchin's fin-like appendages. Someone's decided to mix and match.

She warred with herself. If I send him out, he'll be exposed. There's no way he'll let me go by myself. What can I do?!

He grabbed her arm, just then. Eyes caught on hers, he said, "We have to get to the back. The more hidden we are the less likely we'll get hit."

Her mouth parted, and then she said, "Of course," a plan forming.

She left her bag on the floor as they went to the back.

The storeroom was tiny, and the walls lined with cardboard muffled the screams outside. They ducked into a tiny corner. "This should be safer," He whispered, as if the creature would hear their tiny voices.

She gasped suddenly, acting surprised. "My phone is still out there," she said. "I'm going to go grab it, should take two seconds. We need to call for help."

Manuel immediately protested. "But—"

"It will just be a second, you won't even miss me."

Not giving him the chance to stop her, she ducked through the double doors at a run.

Liar.

She retrieved her bag. Inside was her scepter, and her phone—she ran out the door with it as quietly as possible. She didn't want him to come looking for her, and she knew she was leaving him alone. Sorry, Manuel.

She ducked into the next shop. It was empty, the patrons having fled—this probably had the same type of storeroom, as the shops were cookie cutter copies of each other. Quickly moving to the back, she quickly scanned for anyone who may have been left behind and then she pulled out her scepter. "Egeria star power, Make-up!"

The starry light descended over her.

Once suited, she ran outside to find her target. There, further down the pier was Spindly with an upgrade. It was using the metal structs of the lamp posts as conductors to suck in energy from fleeing tourists, were they dropped like stones on the pier. Well, at least this guy was stupid enough to make the same mistakes it had made before. Dumb enemies were the best.

"Hey big and ugly!"

The creature turned when her cry met its…ear? It recognized her; she knew it would. It chittered angrily, and it began to pound in her direction, huge. One of its fin-like feet came down and she let out a tiny scream as it smashed down on top of someone. There was a piercing crunch. Oh shit, oh shit! She eyed the guy, trying to determine what kind of condition he was in. She had to get this thing out of there!

As it neared, she prepared her attack. Focusing on directionality the way she had seen Rory do, she dropped to the ground horizontally and fired. "Typhoon Strikedown!"

Geysers blasted from the window behind her, and she covered her face in protection as the glass followed. As she had hoped, the beast was knocked from the board walk and into the sea. Hope you like fritzing out, buddy.

But there was no screech, no disappearing blip.

She waited, and slowly grew pale. Okay, maybe it went for the honorable death approach? It had the right to remain silent, I guess. Cautiously stepping forward, she moved to look over the edge.

She didn't have to. As she got close, one spindly-fingered hand grasped the edge of the pier. She cursed as the top of its head appeared, then it's electric maw. It seemed just fine.

She clenched her teeth. Shit, it's both of them! Spindly 2.0 is water resistant!

Whelp, there went her only advantage.

Like a grasshopper, it leaped the rest of the way onto the pier, the wood cracking beneath it. Nearby, a group of school-age boys covered their heads and wailed. She grit her teeth—there were way too many people here. She had to lead this thing away or these people were going to be worrying about worse than a coma.

She stumbled back but held her ground. Okay, what else hurts this thing? She eyed its skin, still buzzing with electricity. Magnets, right? Unless that's gone two.

Oh, she hoped it wasn't. She had no other ideas.

Crap, but where could she find a magnet?

Eyes widening, she turned back to the arcade nearby. Didn't some arcade machines use magnets? But, ah, would it be enough?

Might as well try.

She didn't have to goad the cryptid; it already looked hungry for her energy, or whatever. It already knew it could drain them without end, apparently. It slashed after her, prior mantis-like silhouette now something like an electric stilt-walker. Arguably worse. She scrambled into the arcade with an absolute lack of grace, hip-checking the machines as the cryptic ducked into the cramped space behind her like a nightmare.

She turned, watching the thing bend its limbs into all kinds of backwards angles, what the fuck, opening its maw towards her as the energy-sucking began.

She hissed, pushing her back up against the back side of a pin ball machine at the far side of the room. That was the one disadvantage to the cramped space, dammit. She could feel it, still faint and causing the simpler machines to wig out, but it didn't bring her to her knees. The magnets…maybe they were doing something.

She only had a second to marvel before a fin-like arm came crashing down over top of her.

Pain rocked through her shoulder, but she managed to move without getting smashed or sucked dry like a Caprisun pouch. The machine didn't make it, crunching like a scrap car. Blinding light kicked out, and she winced back, shielding her eyes as the creature jolted angrily.

Again, it was doing something, but not enough. Her heart pounded as the electricity failed, letting the creature go.

Think, think! How else had they killed this thing? Last time Mallory had overcharged it. She glanced around. There were a lot of machines in here. Maybe she could do something like that?

Fwoom, the sucking energy. She staggered, her leg getting caught in the stream full-stop. Her knee failed, and she crashed to the floor. No—she dragged herself behind the prize counter. It seemed to be fading, a little—maybe it was only incapacitating for them at full force?

She raised her arms. "Typhoon Strikedown!" She had to wear it down; if it went after her like this she was done.

The water crashed the creature to the floor. It hissed, squashed, but the storms of geysers were not stood enough to penetrate. But it took it a minute to get up.

She eyed the water wearily, skirting around it as pins and needles stabbed at her limbs. She pulled herself around to another machine, crying out for attention. Please don't shock me, guy.

It thrust out, stabbing into the machine. The electricity caught, and it seized, energy flowing into it too strong. Still, not enough.

Could it get to enough?

For an excruciating ten minutes, she played the same games, carefully dancing around the puddle and leading the beast around to receive systematic shocks. It wasn't doing it. Internally, she was holding back frustrated tears. She'd never been stuck alone like this. She hated it.

(Manuel must have thought she'd ditched him.)

Finally, out of breath and haggard, she faced out into the arcade, escaped to the counter once again. She was surrounded by busted machines, flickering with electricity, loaded with magnetics like monster mines. She shook her head—she had to kill this thing. It was too strong, and it was going to just keep taking people if she didn't stop it now. There were plenty of scared people hiding on the boardwalk. And then she saw it.

It was all laid out before her. She stood with the water splashed across the floor, the exposed wire showing on her left and right. The open-faced machines, the water, the monster with limbs carefully avoiding them but drenched. Her hands, closing enough to reach the machines on either side. Her clean, un-damp boots. Not rubber.

Oh, fuck, she realized, understanding falling over her. I've got to complete the circuit.

Her Typhoon could hit three of them. Not all. And she needed all. And the creature was coming towards her, no machines left to lure it in.

A coldness spread through her chest. Could…could she survive this? She's healed from all kinds of flesh wounds, but this was her brain, her nerves. She could end up crispy.

This could kill her.

If she didn't, though, the monster would.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. She was out of time. The creature surged towards her. Oh, no. She raised her arms. "TYPHOON STRIKEDOWN!"

The rain fell. She thrust her arms to either side, kicked her boot out into the water. Touched the wires. All at once.

Her mouth opened. She could feel it in her teeth, for a millisecond.

BZZZZZZ ZZZZZZZZTT

White-out.


Awareness came and went. There was fire coursing under her skin. It was dark. It was darker.

She opened her eyes for a second and could see a dust mote, drifting past her face. Fade-out.

She couldn't move. Something felt weird about her heart, the only thing she could pick up on. She could feel her lips move, form parts and particles of words she couldn't understand.

Blue, flickering light, somewhere. There was a tingling like rain on her face, or pins and needles.

Dark.


Slowly, awareness came back.

She sat up. It was a smooth motion, sudden, but tremors trickled through her as she did.

Ooooh boy, that was a bad one.

She brought her fingers up. She felt her face, but it didn't feel numb anymore. Her fingers—they were painted deep plum and so she turned them over and so were her fingerbeds. Static traveled through her hair.

She felt over her body, taking stock. She could feel everywhere, though there was a lingering tingling sensation. The floor was dry. Must have evaporated it all. Damn. She was near in shock that she seemed relatively okay.

She transformed back in utter quiet.

It was semi-dark outside, and she hoped it wasn't past seven. She grabbed her bag, and found her phone—battery was drained, of course. A clock on the wall let her know it was 7:45. Still time to get home.

Anxiety twisted in her gut when she thought about the messages that would be waiting for her. She took a couple minutes to straighten her pedestrian clothes—make it look like she'd been having fun, not fighting to the death. Krishna, she remembered the bruises she'd gotten when she was first starting out. How was she this okay? She peered at her reflection in a busted shop window. You almost couldn't tell.

Boy, she hoped that thing hadn't just left.

On the outskirts of the pier, there were news vans lingering. It seemed like they had mostly packed up. She didn't know whether to feel depressed or relieved that somehow, they hadn't noticed her.

She just had to play it cool. She would come up with an excuse for Manuel later.


She wasn't expecting to get bombarded the second she came in the door.

"Oh, my baby, I saw you on the television!"

She breathed an oof as the air was pushed out of her, her mother's stout body coming to grasp her in the arched orange doorway. "Mom? Television? What are you talking about?"

"That creature at the pier," her father barked, tone harsh as he hovered behind them.

Narma's eyes flew open. She'd seen the vans, but she hadn't thought they'd seen anything whilst the attack was in progress. What all had they seen?

He didn't hesitate to tell her. "You were right there in the line of fire! And where was that boy of yours? Surely not protecting you."

Okay. So, they must have seen her wondering around looking like a normal human being. That was good. Then again.

Two different defensive instincts sprung up within her: firstly, I don't need to be protected. She defended her life every day, and the lives of others. They didn't have any idea that battles she was thrown into everyday! She had almost died. And here she stood, whole and full of power.

Second, to making a defense of Manuel. She'd been the one to run away from him, not the other way around. "What does he have to do with that?" She pulled away from her mother, who stared back at her with worry. "He didn't know it was going to happen! How was he supposed to know? These things just keep popping up, and he's just as shocked as everyone else—"

Her mother breathed, "This has happened before?"

Oh, shoot. Narma paused, mouth hanging open for a second. "The boat party. It showed up there. I was fine! He wouldn't have even been there if it wasn't for me!"

"You came home alone," her father's grumble cut in, and she went silent. "You came home alone, after that had happened? He didn't stay to check that you were okay?"

That wasn't fair! "Everybody was just trying to get to safety, like everyone else! It was chaos out there, Bāpa."

"You can see where his priorities lie," he said, fists balled. "This boy is a disgrace. He is no good for you—I insist you stop seeing him."

Narma scowled. "Bāpa!"

"I don't want to hear any disrespect," he folded his arms gravely. "That's final. A man who leaves my daughter in danger is no man at all."

"I agree," her mother said, nodding stiffly. "We are so grateful you are safe, but this cannot happen again."

Narma wanted to scream—they spoke as if they knew anything at all! She nodded roughly, then showed herself out. She didn't need to hear this.

She could handle herself.