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Disclaimer: Does this taste fishy to you?
Brady420: Dunno about XMen, but yeah, basically that.
RockLobster8994: I've answered this in another review response. Copy/pasting here for clarity: I'm mostly using the 'trigger at birth' bit as a plot device which seems feasible even from canon!Worm standpoint; additionally, the concept can aid the Crawling Chaos' aims, so of course he's gonna abuse the hell out of it!
On with the story! Huzzah!
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Worm: Babel
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5
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It is the Saturday of the Thanksgiving weekend, and I am truly in a tizzy, for Amy is coming over and everything must be perfect!
Fortunately for my frayed nerves, still raw from meeting Baat'ko'ept and condemning four people to a fate worse than death, I have not dreamed of any unusual or looming locales these past two nights; maybe an artifact of being tuckered out due to shopping, and gorging myself on food most delicious, of course.
Whatever the reason, I cannot complain, and Daddy has been ever so understanding of my plight!
Although I do wish he would aid me in my tidying of the house, as opposed to sitting at the kitchen table and chuckling at my worried puttering about in my favorite blouse and skirt, a matching blue number with a bronze sash about my waist.
There is ever so much dusting to do, and I still have yet to put in order the images of the worlds and lands I've seen through dreams, scattered as they are about the house from Daddy and I's brainstorming session after shopping yesterday!
Though the primary reasons they've been scattered are due to: one, Daddy might have gotten rather distressed at seeing my sketch of R'lyeh; perfectly understandable reaction, as even Emmaline got somewhat unnerved on seeing the sketch the day after I'd drawn it, two years ago. Back in the strongbox that one went, but Daddy needed a constitutional to settle his mind afterward.
It's also how we discovered that I have an immunity to the thought-scrambling effect the odd angles and features displayed in the labyrinth seem to possess. Still not surprising, given that I've not gone completely psychotic with fanaticism for the nigh-incomprehensible beings there portrayed.
The other reason my notes and pictures are strewn about is that the both of us tend to pace while thinking aloud, and the sheer number of things I can do with the First Language, with respect to the Labyrinth (capitalized by Daddy on the dry-erase board in his study), needed to be thoroughly examined before any experimentation could take place.
And take place it did, but that was yesterday, and today Amy is coming over!
"Daddy, could you please stop chuckling at my worrying and sweep up or something?" I ask as I collect six pages from atop the refrigerator, images of the Deep One's city, Gn'th-Ot-Ah'Lloigshogg, the Dread Sea Citadel, and the quite beautiful constructions of phosphorescent coral, aqueous vegetation and stone they've sculpted over the ages.
It's actually one of my favorite series of pictures; despite their terrible countenance and generally barbaric inclinations, the Deep Ones do have a grasp of aesthetic beauty that truly titillates the senses…
Shaking my head to clear the distracting thoughts, curly pigtails with blue ribbons flipping about, I look to my Daddy, who is still watching me with an amused expression, "Amy will be here in," I check the clock, and feel my heart skip with dread, "two hours. Oh, why couldn't she have messaged me last night rather than this morning?!" I cry, dashing out of the kitchen to place the decorated papers in the steadily thickening folder on the living room coffee table.
And the flowers in the vase over by the window need to be changed! Oh, if it's not one thing, it's another! I'll have to put the vase in the curio cabinet next to the entertainment center after emptying it into the flower bed out back, and thank goodness it hasn't snowed yet!
"I have to be at work in an hour, honey, and you know how traffic gets this time of year," Daddy says, obviously apologetic, as I dodge around him with the pottery and dried carnations, he having stood while I was in the other room, "Otherwise, I'd be right here helping you get ready for your day with your friend, rather than steeling my mind for a meeting with the Union President."
I silently curse the forces of misfortune that have brought this matter about, and so soon after that terrible day!
Not that I am displeased; no, I'd much rather converse with Amy than continue to experiment with my powers, which I did last night whilst Daddy watched… at a safe distance, from the top of the basement stairs… with Grandad's rifle from the Second World War in his hands.
An understandable precaution, given the being I brought into our comparatively innocent world.
I'd successfully summoned a Deep One hybrid; specifically, I summoned one of the many servants to the actual Deep Ones (who are large enough that they wouldn't fit easily in any room of our house), a silver-skinned Steward named Ix, who somewhat resembled a remora, what with his flat-topped head and the black lines running from the outer edges of his fishy eyes, down the sides of his gilled neck and under the… slightly water-damaged tuxedo he wore.
Returning to the house, I huff at Daddy, "Then could you please wash your mug, at least," I give a pointed glare to the mug held in his hand, 'My Other Car is a Dragon-Suit' in bold letting across the side, "I still have to dust the curtains, vacuum the living room, stairs, upstairs and downstairs hall and my room, light a candle in the lavatory, prepare some snacks and a healthy luncheon for us both, select a movie that will make good background for any conversation we might engage in, and oh goodness what if my powers come up, is she already aware-"
"Breathe, Taylor," my Daddy calmly says, placing a hand on my shoulder when my voice gets alarmingly high-pitched in my panic; clutching the clay vase tightly, I listen to Daddy's soothing words, "I'm sure Amy won't mind if there's something you miss, or out of place. She's your friend, not the Triumvirate. Remember, Rule Number 1: don't panic."
"Yes," I nod to myself, remembering the first rule I wrote down that fateful night, "Don't panic. I am in control, this is not a crisis. I can handle this."
"Good girl," he pats me on the back, which brings a smile to my face, though it becomes a grimace at Daddy's next words, "And look on the bright side, your friend visiting can't be as bad as what that… Steward, Ix, told you last night."
Happily, that discourse was both brief and fruitful, though the details were fairly alarming: the Deep Host had just finished off a world that had, until their arrival, been victimized by some vampiric, multi-dimensional parasite.
The parasite, whose powers rivaled even those of an Old One, was dead, of course, but the Deep One's losses were understandably high.
Given that their preferred tactic is a self-sacrificing mad charge in an attempt to overwhelm their enemies through sheer attrition and as a way to please and summon their gods, Dagon, Hydra and… the other one… the battle must have been horrendously gruesome even by their standards.
Therefore, their legions were currently licking their wounds, seeing to their children and servants, like Ix, and, as such, their leader, the Overlady Azure, Subordinate-General of the Deep Hosts, answerable only to Dagon and Hydra, would not be able to entertain me for the next week at least.
Which I am perfectly fine with; I need that time to put together a dress that extols the beauty and subtlety of the sea, as well as some green eye shadow and appropriate footwear, so I may impress this Overlady most imperious who, according to the well-spoken and informative Ix, has never been defeated or slain in combat, yet is both fair and firm with all those who call the Gn'th-Ot home, be they Deep One, hybrid, or mortal servant. But these are worries for another day.
Amy's impending visit is the first time I have had the opportunity to entertain a guest my own age since Emma's traumatic break, and she is a world-class heroine and healer, to say nothing of the friendship I have forged with the amazing girl!
Everything must be perfect!
With a breathy sigh, I reply tersely, "That meeting should go off without a hitch, Daddy, so long as the Overlady is willing to listen to our proposal; this day, on the other hand," my nervousness rises back to its previous tiers of intensity, "there is so much that could go wrong!"
"Just be yourself, kiddo; if the subject of your powers comes up, just stay calm and explain. Amy's a hero, I'm sure she'll understand," Daddy says calmly, collecting his work bag before looking at me seriously, "Now, remember what I told you?"
I nod swiftly and recite, "I am grounded, so we are not to go any further from the house's walls than the backyard, no summoning incomprehensibly powerful eldritch creatures that may or may not be capable of leveling the city, no bringing Amy anywhere in the multiverse where she might come to grievous harm, and only use the DVD player for film-watching, as the Internet is for research and not tomfoolery."
"Atta girl," smiles Daddy, giving me a kiss on the cheek while I give him a tight hug of farewell, worrying slightly for his safety; though he is the strongest man I have ever known, he does work in the Docks!
As he departs, he informs me over his shoulder, "I'll call before coming home. Oh, and no calling a Deep One priest to marry Amy's sister. Or the two of you."
"Daddy!" I cry in blushing affront, "W-We are only friends, and-" I trail off at Daddy's chuckling; must he tease and needle me so relentlessly?!
"Have a good day, kiddo," he smiles warmly at my indignant pout, showing that the teasing is just that; I realize now that his ribbing is not only all in good humor on his part, it has also somewhat eased my anxiety over the coming day.
So I return his smile and bid him farewell, "You too, Dad," dropping my diction with a force of effort, for his sake more than anything else.
The door clicks shut, I engage the locks, and turn back to evaluate my abode's interior.
My trepidation returns in full force, shortly before, determined, I square my shoulders and make for the foyer's closet and the upright vacuum within; there is much to do, and less time to accomplish it in!
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{/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\}
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Two grilled cheeses are baking in the oven, and Grandmother's tea set is in full readiness for serving. The house is spotless and at perfect relaxation temperature throughout. Our lavatory smells delightful with the lingering scent of pine needles, and the sounds of nature and woodwind instruments are softly issuing from the stereo.
Everything is perfect, I decide, falling onto our slightly worn but perfectly serviceable couch with a sigh of accomplishment; I made sure to work quickly yet not so quickly that I'd come down with a sweat or inhale a large amount of dust.
A glance at the cuckoo clock (Mommy's Great-Grandfather's) shows that Amy is due to arrive any moment now, a mere ten minutes to eleven; that will give me time to reflect on my overall situation, and the folder of images and words most unusual resting upon the coffee table before me.
Such an innocuous and seemingly harmless thing, that folder is, at first glance; a thickly-filled manila binder with sheets of paper neatly organized within, one would not find such a thing out of place in a doctor's files, or those of a scholastic institution.
A pair of white voids set in a visage of obsidian flashes across my mind's eye, bringing a shiver to my being despite the pleasant conditions of the air.
Innocuous, indeed. I am perhaps the only person, barring Daddy, who knows just how dangerous this collection of paper, ink, crayon and watercolor truly is.
What will the PRT, the Protectorate, think of my abilities? Will I be touted as a savior, given my power to summon beings that could give trouble to even the deadliest of humanity's foes? Will I, for I do intend to inform the established authority at some point, be reviled by those who keep the peace in these troubled times, spoken of in the same breath as Nilbog and Bonesaw?
Should I even care what they will think of me, given that I intend to use my powers for the good of all, to rehabilitate my city even as I turn it into a fortress against the terrors that plague us?
'The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.' Never has that quote been more appropriate than now; the Crawling Chaos has taken a liking to me, an interest in my actions and deeds, though the reason is still clouded to my senses.
I must be careful, I decide with firmly pursed lips and a determined nod, gazing upon that folder of wonders and terrors; I must be kind, and generous, but I must remember that many cruel and callous people, or even other people who have only good intentions in their minds, will see my empathic generosity as weakness and either exploit this supposed chink in my person…
The terrified faces of the ABB gangsters ripples through my memory once more.
I all but killed them.
No! They dared attempt to violate the temple of my body, nearly destroyed my dear Emmaline's faith in others, and ruined the lives and dreams of who knows how many others like us! I should not have sympathy for them!
And yet…
I try to keep myself from breaking down and ruining the light makeup I've applied, hugging myself in shameful self-loathing, still staring at the not-at-all innocent folder before me.
I gave them to Nyarlathotep, who delivered them to Leng, a violent, inhospitable hell-scape from which only Randolph Carter, the Dreamwalker, who defied the Crawling Chaos and lived, has ever entered and returned from. Or so my brief visit to the museum in Celephais, while at camp this past summer, revealed.
That was not responsible or kind behavior on my part, but I'd just been so angry with them! They'd attempted to rape me! They'd nearly destroyed Emma! Their punishment was more than warranted, so why do I regret my actions?
Is it because it was not my voice which laid down their final judgement? No… I didn't want their blood on my hands directly…
But I still all-but killed them, in my delivering them to the non-existent mercies of the Crawling Chaos.
A shuddering breath runs through me, and a realization passes through my thoughts, revealing the true source of my melancholy:
I could have done so much worse to them.
For the briefest moment, I consider retrieving the candle lighter from the drawer in the kitchen and burning the whole folder to ashes. It is only the reminder of what I'd promised myself for this day that stays my hand.
I need a second opinion on the form and function of my powers, and Amy is both a dear friend and more immersed in the world of Parahumans and capes than Daddy or I. Surely she will have some advice regarding my unenviable situation… provided she doesn't flee screaming from my house.
No, that should not happen; Amy is a calm and even-headed, if slightly cavalier, force in my life, has seen the terror the Endbringers can deliver firsthand. My condition will no-doubt seem humdrum by comparison.
Yet I worry still.
Truly, my powers are both blessing and terrible curse: there is so much good I can do through these beings most awful at my beck and call, and I know they will listen to me, religious fanatics and slaves to their cruel gods as they are.
For one of their strongest is assisting me. That if nothing else will assure the assistance of every being I know the name of, from the Ghouls and Gugs to… the Star-Spawn of the Great Old One (absolute last resort, my Daddy and I agreed).
Yet… I cannot help but wonder…
What will be the price, the toll, I pay for their assistance?
BING-DONG!
"Eep!" my heart leaps up into my throat at the sound of our door chime; a glance at the clock shows it is nearly eleven. Amy is at the door!
Shoving my insecurities and worries aside, I wave my face to regain my color, having paled with fright at the sudden interruption of my melancholy musings, put on a warm, happy smile, and trot over to the door.
It swings wide at my opening to reveal Amy. Amelia Dallon, my closest friend at Arcadia, and only surpassed by Emma in closeness to myself; yet I do not think of her as my sister, as is the case with Emmaline, but more of a colleague, an equal in intelligence and diligence, though our fields of study are vastly different.
"Hello, Amy! Welcome to my family's house," gush I, taking in her appearance; she is dressed in a dark purple peacoat and… jeans. Hm. I do think the blue blouse I barely see below the collar, cut to show just the slightest hint of chest, must look good on her; but anything looks good on Amy, just like her sister.
Her mousy hair looks as though it's been tamed into a straight curtain about her ears, no doubt by one who works with lions given its usual mousiness, and has been decorated with a Red Cross beret above her left brow, crinkled as those brown eyes of hers are in wry humor.
She is also carrying a messenger bag, which she shrugs off as I beckon her in; I wonder at its purpose, as it seems laden with quite a few items.
"Jeez, Taylor, are you ever not politer than a whole nunnery?" she quips with a teasing smile on her freckled face, removing her shoes and slipping into the house slippers I've set out for her.
I roll my eyes and smile, as this has already become an old ritual with us, "As I have related on many an occasion, it's… difficult for me to use modern diction. Besides, that's not why you're here for, is it?"
"Nope!" Amy smiles brightly, the sight warming me as a summer day while I lead her into the living area, "Like I said in the email, Mom's got some meeting going on at home today, lawyer thing or something, and told me and Vicky to get out until dinner, and hanging out with you is loads better than watching Vicky and Dean slobbering all over each other," she looks around the living room curiously, gaze lingering on Daddy's cacti collection in far corner of the living room and the family bookshelf just to the left of the entryway, while I suppress a wince at her sentence structuring, "Nice house, by the way. Very homey."
"I'm sure yours must look better; you are New Wave after all," a ding sounds from the kitchen, "Oh! Grilled cheese, I hope you like," I add whilst rushing away, pointedly ignoring the dread folder.
"You are a saint, feeding me grilled cheese. Vicky's gonna be totally jealous," she calls over as she hangs up her coat, while I set some plates on the kitchen table and place the seasoned, triangle-cut sandwiches on two of the everyday plates, adding some chips and a small cup of salsa to each, "And not as much as you'd think, my house that is. Mom thinks every room needs a theme, and, well, with how big our house is, it kinda makes for some confusing chaos. This a real cuckoo clock?"
I walk back into the room, a plate in each arm, to find Amy looking at the artifact in question, "Oh, yes. It was my Mother's Great-Grandfather's; I think he worked for a company that made them," my friend's attention is distracted by my setting the plates down near the folder, at which point her eyes widen in surprise. "Something wrong?"
Then the wry smirk I like so much is back, "You're spoiling me, you realize that?" she approaches and takes a seat on one side of the couch, her bag between our seats, "Grilled cheese, chips and salsa? Forget being a saint, you're Elvis."
"Well, you're the first friend I've had over since my starting Arcadia. And really, Amy," I reply around a laugh and smile, finally starting to relax, "Elvis doesn't hold a candle to my dancing skills," butterflies successfully calmed as Amy giggles and reaches for a chip, I take a seat myself.
Then I realize, "Oh, I haven't even given you the tour!" I'm already messing up, oh no!
"Taylor, it's fine," Amy pats my shoulder, smile still in place, "I didn't get a chance to eat before coming over. Lunch, then you can show me around your convent," she finishes with another giggle, to which I reply with a sophisticated sniff.
"I thought you said I live in a nunnery," I reply, enjoying the byplay and placing a napkin on my lap; to my pleasure, Amy does the same.
"Same thing, and you know it, walking dictionary," I chuckle at her barbless observation and join in tucking into our food.
Light conversation is made: we touch briefly on the warming of the Earth's weather due to the interventions of the Endbringers, but segue nicely into discussing Latin class at school, which occupies us nearly through the rest of lunch and my popping quickly away to bring over the tea service whilst my friend uses the necessities.
Amy actually admires the bone china set that's likely older than the house we're occupying, and congratulates me on making tea 'properly', as opposed to what gets served at the chain cafés Victoria frequents around the city, much to my private pleasure.
After dipping and munching down a scone, Amy finally brings up the manila elephant in the room, gesturing at the vile folder with a wave of her cup, "Your Dad leave some of his work out?"
I stiffen, which makes her look at me curiously, and somewhat warily; steeling myself with a healthy gulp of tea, I set down my cup and give my friend a desperate look, "Amy… does your power allow you to detect whether or not someone's a Parahuman?" I have my suspicions, given how her abilities allow her to see a person's internal workings as she does her healing, but I'd like to hear it from the girl herself.
Not because I don't trust her, because I do, given the lack of PRT agents calling to try and recruit me to the Wards, but because… I need to know, if she knew about me being a Parahuman before even I knew of it.
Daddy knowing is one thing. Amy is another.
That wary frown increases slightly as she gives me a slow nod, "Yeah… I, uh, didn't want to bring it up, what with the Rules and all," I can hear the capital letter, but, clearly, my understanding of the world of villains and heroes is lacking on this matter.
Amy must've noticed the confused expression I'm displaying, as she asks curiously, "Um… you do know what the Rules are, right? I mean, you're a cape-"
"No, I am not a… 'cape', Amy," I reply tensely; goodness, but I dislike that word, and say so with the addition, "It implies that everyone with powers walks around in costume, and has always done so. No," I shake my head, before smiling bitterly, "I am not a 'cape'. I didn't even know I was possessed of powers before…" a shiver of cold runs though me, "…Wednesday afternoon."
I then reach for my tea, for I need to be calm, and remembering the desperate faces of those I doomed is not doing good things for my confidence, at the moment. Tea will help with my nerves, as it has always done.
Amy, on the other hand, is looking at me with great surprise, "…Wait, seriously?!" she squawks, drawing another confused look from my person, "You… really didn't know?"
"No… why? Did you notice me using powers?" I ask, dreading the answer. I dearly hope I have not been using the First Language unconsciously…
I am assuaged by Amy's light laugh, "Oh, ha, no, unless you're a Thinker or something, given how good you are with languages; I figured it was that, but I haven't told anyone yet. You seemed so… flighty, those first days," and she gives me an eager look, her tea forgotten. No doubt she wants me to relate my powers to her, to hear of how someone else views the Parahuman condition; aside from myself and her sister, after all, Amy doesn't have many people to confide in.
But I still have a query, and ask, "Ah, before I go into details, what are these 'Rules'?" I presume they are some kind of guidelines all those who go out in costume follow.
Happily, Amy verifies this! "Oh," she begins with a dismissive hand wave, "Those are the Unwritten Rules. Basically, it's a form of common courtesy, guidelines so open war doesn't break out between the heroes and the gangs. It boils down to: don't go after civilian identities or family, don't kill or rape other capes, no rampaging or creating a lot of property damage, no killing kids. Barring the Nine, and Lung… sorta, anyone who breaks the Rules is fair game for everyone else to take down."
I tilt my head in confusion, "The… Nine are exempt?"
Amy nods, grimacing in disgust, "Kill-on-sight. Except Bonesaw. Her body's loaded with plagues, from what I've heard." Ah. Of course. "And Lung gets a pass on the 'no rampaging' rule because… well," she shrugs with a bland expression, "it's easier and less destructive to just let him work it off, rather than try to take him down."
This fits with what I've researched over the years, along with my own experiences; when he arrived here in the Bay, Lung was able to take on the entire resident Protectorate team and rout them!
Strangely, the revelation that open conflict with the Dragon of Kyushu is being actively dissuaded calms me… slightly. I still worry that he will discover what I'd done to his… men, but I am less worried than before that the terrible man will call at my home; and besides, there are more pressing matters to deal with.
"And you never mentioned my being a Parahuman because of these Rules?" I ask politely.
She gives a sheepish laugh, "Yeah. After Fleur," we share a wince, "everyone takes the Rules seriously. That, and it's not a good idea to out a cape in the middle of Arcadia," while I digest that, Amy grins regretfully, "I mean, what if you'd been Purity or something?"
After an affronted gasp, I join Amy in laughing at the very suggestion of my being a destructive Nazi! Honestly! I have no issue with the color of someone's skin; we are all human, after all. As for the Empire's views on sexual orientation…
I have always been more enamored with the female body than the male, and after making the acquaintance of both my male and female peers, I found I much prefer the mindset and company of girls to boys.
Emma never gave me trouble for it, and made her own preferences quite clearly known. Not that I'd ever pursue my dear friend; she is more my sister than a potential partner in life and love.
In plain speak: she isn't Amy. Not that I intend to reveal my desire for a more affectionate relationship with her; I still don't know her own preferences, and it wouldn't be polite or tactful to pry, not this early in our friendship.
Regardless, I would be a terrible addition to the Neo-Nazis plaguing our city. If anything, I may become their bane, should they try hurting those I care for.
"Wait," the object of both my friendship and, hopefully, affection, cuts across our shared amusement and implores, "What happened on Wednesday? Last I saw, you were getting ready to leave school and get on the bus!"
Ah. And now we come to the edge of the proverbial cliff, where my faith and courage will be tested.
I will not be found wanting, but goodness, this is going to be difficult…
"I… ended up missing the bus, Amy," I admit tensely, looking down at my lap and my hands there folded, "You know how flustered I get when Victoria uses her aura on me."
My friend rubs my shoulder encouragingly, "Yeah, and she went a little stronger on you than usual; I laid into her when we got home, and she's sorry. She was just excited about the party, you know?"
I nod, shoving dread memories aside and manage to speak around the lump in my throat, "Yes, I deduced that the next day, once my mind had settled somewhat," I sniff and look at Amy; she looks so very worried, "While walking home, I was accosted by ABB slavers."
Her entire demeanor suddenly changes, becoming extremely serious. So shockingly swift is this change, I don't notice her laying a hand over both of mine, such is my surprise; then she blinks, "You're… fine. A little too much pumpkin pie a couple days ago, but other than that…"
"I happen to enjoy pumpkin pie," I squeak around a bright blush, both from her holding my hands and the reminder that I'd consumed nearly an entire offering of the delectable dish at Kurt and Lacey's on Thanksgiving night.
Amy shakes her head, looking mildly frustrated, "But you're not a Brute, and I don't see a regen factor anywhere; your larynx is a little above baseline human, durability-wise, but it's been that way since I met you," a small smile appears briefly, and she says something too low for me to hear, but I can see the light affection in her eyes before it disappears, replaced with disbelief she meets mine again, "You got away without so much as a light bruise?"
I take what comfort her hand on mine gives me, and reply after a steadying breath, "Amy…" I glance minutely at the terrible folder before meeting her eyes once more, feeling my resolve begin to crumble, "…the people who… assaulted me…" I cannot say it, cannot give voice to the horror I visited upon those slavers.
Not to Amy.
"Hey, Taylor, it's okay," another shoulder rub, Amy coming to sit by my side as I feel tears fill my eyes, "Whatever happened, it's okay. Don't panic," I chant those two words, immortalized by Douglas Adams, in my mind while Amy tries to comfort me, though her next words of encouragement are more than a bit flinty, "Whatever happened, if they were slavers, they probably deserved it."
Leng.
"Pleash… Pleash, no."
"You're just a fucking kid!"
I extract one of my hands and wipe the unshed tears away, "Amy… have you ever… harmed someone? With your powers?"
To her credit, Amy doesn't flinch before shaking her head, though her voice still holds some stiffness, "No… I mean, I can, but it's one of my rules not to hurt anyone," she lifts her hand to pat my face, smiling at me, "But if you did, that's okay; it's not like you knew what would happen, right?"
I don't answer. Instead, I slowly look at the folder on the table.
Amy follows my gaze after the silence becomes uncomfortable.
At length, I respond woodenly, "Not only did I know I was condemning them to a fate worse than death, Amy," now she stiffens, which makes the lump rise higher in my throat, "but… I know, more intimately than I know my Daddy's face… I know I could have done so much worse to them."
For some time, we simply sit there, me softly crying in self-loathing, and Amy hugging me in comfort; Amy speaks soft, encouraging words in my ear, admitting that she's considered giving wounded gang members cancer or an STD as a deterrent measure to their continuing activities, while I slowly and steadily compose myself, warring with the awful memories from atop the Pyramid of the Moon.
Eventually, Amy huffs and mutters, "Gentlest girl I've ever met, and she's got some awful power," then she shakes her head and asks me, gesturing at the folder for emphasis, "Mind if I take a look, Taylor?"
I take another deep breath to steady my troubled mind, and favor her with a watery smile.
"Before we go there, Amy, I have to warn you: the contents of that folder," I stab a finger in its direction with a curled lip, "are dangerous, and some of the images and words portrayed therein will disturb you… but I have dreamt of these things and more my whole life, in a maze that seems an endless art gallery of carved stone, mosaic and fresco. It contains my research into a lost language that I learned in those dreams, taken from the myriad images I've seen… and the monsters who invented that tongue to bend, and even break, the laws of reality.
"So, welcome to the proverbial rabbit hole, Amelia Dallon," I finish with a quirked smile that may have been slightly mad, given Amy's returning wary expression, "I suggest not doing an Alice and tumbling down, because you might not survive the unforgivingly hard landing."
"…Damn, Taylor," Amy laughs nervously, giving the folder one last wary glance before favoring me with a smile, "I think… I'd rather take a guided tour, maybe see what else this language power of yours does. I've only been a cape for a little over a year," she continues when I frown in silent query, "and while powers tend to have multiple uses beyond the obvious, like Vicky's aura and her super strength, this sounds like it's a little outside my comfort zone."
From the small, apologetic smile she holds on her face after this declaration, I know Amy is trying not to freak out or panic, which is what I'd imagine someone not as well acquainted with me might do.
I nod in agreement, finally beginning to relax, "Yes. Yes, exercising caution would… indeed be better, for both of us," after her reply of 'No duh.' I shake off the last of my stress, and stand, "But first, a proper tour of my house. Then we can tour and test the bounds of reality," and hopefully avoid any insanity.
"Sounds like a plan," my dear friend chirps, joining me after another distrustful glance at the folder, "Let's see this convent you live in."