"Oh Taylor, how great to see you! Tell me, did you go shopping? Because you've got some nice bags under those eyes!"
In. Out. Breathe. Mask on.
The other girls in the hall titter as I walk past Emma into Computer Science. Mrs. Knott glances at me as I walk in, then to the door. The bullies stick around, hurling backhanded compliments for a few more minutes until Mrs. Knott clears her throat and looks pointedly at the clock. They leave giggling, and Mrs. Knott takes role. I dutifully announce my presence when requested and turn in the calculator she had us make from Basic. Absurdly simple, but half the class has trouble with search browsers and email. Mrs. Knott knows she can't teach me anything without leaving everyone else behind, so after the first ten minutes she lets me do whatever. A small consolation for her lack of interference with the bullies, but it's something.
I log onto PHO, the hive of tinhats, cape fetishists and academics that is the closest thing civilians have to a cape database. I go to the homepage and start scrolling though. A new warlord gets eaten by Mord Naag, Eidolon shutting down a tsunami, Gesellschaft ties found to a prominent politician, ho hum. Another day on Earth Bet. I click over to the Brockton Bay section.
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Topic: Lung Killed by New Cape!
In: Boards ► Board ► News ► Events ► America
Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)
Posted On Apr 12th 2011:
Late last night, a cape fight went down in Brockton Bay. Yeah, and water is wet. What's your point? Well, if you read the title of the thread, you know why.
The dragon's been slain. Not by a Nazi or a Protectorate hero (or even by a druggie), but by a new cape. Lung, that one guy that once fought off the *entire* local Protectorate on his own [link], got iced by a complete rookie.
To make sure the conversation stays focused on the event and not the new cape, I'm linking her new thread [here]. Speculate there.
Anyway, let's talk about it!
EDIT: [Link] to the Protectorate statement. Long story short, they're investigating and examining the law to see if the killing was justified, and encourage White Rose to join the Wards so she doesn't end up in the situation again.
(Showing page 1 of 12)
►XxVoid_CowboyxX
Replied On Apr 12th 2011:
Hell yeah! Fuck Lung, guy was pox on the city!
PSA: Do not antagonize Dragons. Or the servants of Dragons. That is all. -Tin Mother
►Haven't_Had_Enough_"Apple_Juice"_Yet
Replied On Apr 12th 2011:
Ah, what better way to start the conversation than Cowboy getting slapped down.
In all seriousness, wow. I did NOT expect to wake up to this. When it's five o'clock in Brockton Bay, I'm going to celebrate this with something nice.
►V0L1T1L3
Replied On Apr 12th 2011:
Post Removed
User received a 2-week ban for this post: Do not make death threats. Enjoy your ban. -Tin_Mother
►2nd_Tier_Laughtrack (Not Funny)
Replied On Apr 12th 2011:
Well, without the rage-man dragon the Protectorate down, do you think they'll use this opportunity to push back the E88 or ignore it like the other nein? Or will they weed out the Merchants?
►R8me8/8
Replied On Apr 12th 2011:
Well, I'm glad to know the streets are safer at night. I wonder how the new cape looks under the armor, and who she's going to join?
►AlephLooksNice (Wannabe Dimension Hopper)
Replied On Apr 12th 2011:
Probably the Protectorate, R8me8/8, given that she fought a villain on her first night out. I mean, SURE she could be a new cape for one of the other gangs, but I can't imagine Kaiser or Skidmark holding in news like that and also allowing them to go out on patrol.
►Bottl$&Blah4+20
Replied On Apr 12th 2011:
I mean, its a rael question. Like, the Merchents could totally hok her up.
►OneGoddamnMonocle (Tries To Hard) (Not Quite a Hipster)
Replied On Apr 12th 2011:
As this grammatically challenged fellow denotes, killers rarely make good heroes. The natural counterpoint is Shadow Stalker, our own little redemption story, but she is hardly a social butterfly.
If the cape in question would want to defend herself, this poster would welcome a formal statement on their stance.
►CharlotteHolmes
Replied On Apr 12th 2011:
I'd actually like to offer this new cape some employment. PM for details
End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 10, 11, 12
I look at the message from CharlotteHolmes and lean back in my chair. Who hears that a new murderous cape is in town and offers them employment? Two answers spring to mind, neither good. One, the person is stupid. Occam's razor and all that. The same impulse that sends Brocktonites to the streets with their phones out when two capes start whacking away at each other probably also inspires people to approach murderous parahumans.
The other reason is that the person wants a murderer in their employ. In which case I don't want to work for them. I'm not looking to add 'semi-professional hit woman' to my resume. Still, I allow myself a moment to entertain the possibility.
On the one hand, employment. Presumably with a decent paycheck. Parahumans rarely make less than six figures. Hell, the Wards get minimum wage plus a 50k a year trust fund. I figure that number only goes up on the villain side.
On the other hand, villain. I grind two of my toe bones together and use the pain to refocus. No working for villains. No doing villainous things. Don't let them break you.
The bell rings, signaling the end of the one halfway acceptable class of the day. On the way out, I see Mrs. Knott looking at me with something close to pity. I deliberately break eye contact. She lost the right to feel sorry when she walked past my sobbing form in the hallway after Emma burned me out of her family photos.
Next class starts off with a bottle of orange juice poured over my usual seat. Madison, most likely. Childish and inconvenient, but ultimately worthless. Sophia's the same, honestly. Turns out a Brute rating is wonderful for pain tolerance. I grab another seat near the door and wait for class to start. One guy walks in and stands near me, looking down awkwardly. Guess I took his chair. I look him in the eye. He looks away after a few seconds, flush rising to his cheeks. He's one of the ones who dislikes my situation, but is too much of coward to do anything about it. So he lets me win when he can, giving up his seat to the poor little social outcast.
Victim perks.
Gladly groups us into fours, putting me with Greg (a dumb nerd), Sparky (a drummer) and one of Madison's flunkies (a bitch). Greg starts to go on about some game, Sparky puts his head down, and the flunkie promptly starts chatting with another group of girls. See, half of my academic failure is constant sabotage and emotional distress. The other half is working with people who wouldn't learn if I held a blade to their throat and whispered in their ear to listen to me or-
I idly snap my toe bone to refocus. I guess that killing Lung didn't get rid of all the rage. On the other hand, only one murderous thought before lunch time. Progress!
Fifteen minutes later, Gladly looks around for groups who are ready to present. I make the mistake of looking into his eyes, and he takes it as a sign of interest. Fuck. While walking through the aisles and stepping over an outstretched foot, I idly wonder about how he got a job as a teacher when he was so completely incapable of reading a room.
Once I'm up front, I start bullshiting.
"The thing everyone really focuses on when they think about capes is the entertainment industry. People like Bad Canary, Limelight, and Glamshow who baseline humans can't compete with. Slightly less noticeable are the advances in technology, which came shortly after scientists started trying to reverse-engineer Tinker tech." Mr. Gladly is paying rapt attention, and he's the only one. Madison's group is chatting away idly in the back while the other students are paying just enough attention not to get called out. "They couldn't replicate anything, but the scraps that they could pull out were enough to advance civilian technology almost a decade ahead of previous schedules. Even less noticeable is the effect parahumans have had on the economy." Fucking NEPEA-5 bill. When you look at how Brutes aren't allowed to work in construction, Movers can't provide civilian transportation, and Shakers are banned from landscaping, you really start to feel for The Elite. Until you look up Bastard Son, at least. "This is partly due to legislation attempting to keep the market fair, and partially due to most people's lack of interest."
"Crime is at an all-time high as well," I add casually, "Given that heroes are outnumbered at least two to one in most areas." A few people shift in their seats at the mention of outnumbered heroes. Probably thinking about how E88 has more capes than the Protectorate and Wards combined. "Honestly though? The biggest change is that people are more afraid now. You've got a bunch of random people running around in civilian clothing with the ability to tear down city blocks on a whim." A few people flinch a little at that. It's amazing what you can get used to when you don't think about it too much. "On a related note, gun ownership is also at an all-time high. Most of these purchases are motivated by a desire for self defense," I add. No idea if it's true, but it seems reasonable. I walk back to my desk, ducking out of the way of a spitball and stoically take some pencil shavings to the face. Daring to be a reasonable speaker in class is going to come back to bite me in the ass.
Fuck 'em.
The rest of the groups shamelessly add pieces of my presentation to theirs, but Gladly waves it away as 'being inspired by a classmate'. Some random group ends up winning an inane prize of some sort, and I sleep through the rest of class.
When I hear the bell, I jolt awake, disturbing the plastic bottle on top of my head. Fortunately, it falls forward, spilling soda all over my borrowed desk and drawing giggles from a group of girls. Oh, wow, practical jokes! They're so funny, with no cost to us whatsoever! The height of comedy and sophistication!
On my way out Gladly makes eye contact. "Taylor, can I talk with you for a moment?"
I walk next to him. "Moment's passing fast," I comment idly. Gladly registers as only slightly more important than, say, a mangy dog, but it's school. Students listen to teachers. Except when they don't.
"I'm not an idiot, Taylor." I bark out a laugh, but he keeps talking. Like by taking my criticism he gets to be a bigger man. "I know you're getting bullied. You probably know by who. But I can't help you without names. Tell me, and I'll do my best." He thinks it so simple, it makes me want to shove splinters into him until they're the only thing keeping him together and the floor is painted red with his blood and-
I cut off the thought and look Gladly in the eye. Turns out that makes people uncomfortable. Which is exactly what I'm going for.
"Do you think I'm an idiot?" I ask him, blunt as possible. He opens his mouth to respond and I give it exactly as much respect as he gives me. "I've talked to administration. I've done it with a teacher backing me up. I've done it in torn up clothes and covered in cat pee. They systematically refuse to punish the people I name, based on 'a lack of evidence'. My aggressors are popular and make the school look good, so they get away with it." I lean over the desk, invading his personal space. He backs up, his chair creaking as he tries to make more space between us. "Every time I tried, I have suffered 'revenge' that was far worse than the punishment the bullies got. There is no path you can think of that I have not considered. No idea that you can come up with that works better than taking my lumps and hoping the bullies get run over by a karmically-guided semi truck." Gladly looks like he wants to interject, like he wants to talk about how physical violence isn't proportional to talk. I stand up straight again. "Tell me Gladly, who actually laughs at your stupid jokes? Who likes having group work? It's always the same damn people, and it's always the people who laugh the hardest whenever tacks or glue are on my seat. Rub your two brain cells together and figure it out."
I leave him like that, stepping out the room and into a semicircle of girls, who quickly pull me to the side, away from the doorway and prying eyes.
"What a fucking nerd. Maybe she's hoping to make some money in the future so she can pay a Merchant to fuck her."
"Nah, she's too stupid to get a job and too ugly to get fucked. She's probably just looking for the best way to kill herself."
"Betcha she'd spread her legs for Gladly if he promised to help her grades."
"Nah, he wouldn't fuck a frog on two legs. Maybe she could ask Squealer for tips on sucking diseased Merchant cock."
"I wonder how her father feels when she grumbles about not having friends as he fucks her?"
Abuse, vile, verbal and unrelenting. Everyone knows how it goes. I stand here, taking it, expressionless. Eventually, someone breaks through, usually Emma. I shed a tear, they all laugh, talk about how I can't take a joke, and then they leave me in the hallway so I can go snap off some roses.
The insults are barely coherent. One minute I'm stupid enough to eat dog shit because it looks like chocolate. The next I'm a pretentious bitch that will never make it in the real world no matter how well I play the school game. I'm going to die a virgin, but I'll take it up the ass for a fucking lollipop. I'm an attention whore, I'm an antisocial serial killer. It's a rambling, self contradictory mess designed to hurt.
In. Out. Mask on. Take it, condense it, and pack it away with the rest of the rage. Maybe Hookwolf wants to go a round or seven this weekend.
"Hey Taylor, you look like you're holding up pretty well here. You probably won't cry for a week from just this, right? Like you did when your mom died?" Emma leans forward a little, trying to ape the intimacy we had not even two years ago.
Blinding rage. It takes every ounce of reason I have not to explode into a whirlwind of blades and cudgels to turn their insides out, warp bones beyond recognition, and leave them flayed on the ground. Turn their bodies into ornaments, left on the side of the road as a warning not to EVER fuck with-
Mask Taylor. Mask. In. Out. I barely feel the tears flowing down my cheeks. The girls have their laugh and head off to class, leaving me alone with my fury in the hallway.
Options. I can head to class. This will probably be the worst thing that happens today. I managed not to kill them, so chances are the rest of the day will be hassle free. I could also go Carrie on the school, run away to Canada, and then murder Heartbreaker to get enough cash to pay people to leave me alone.
Or I could leave and do something as White Rose.
By the time I consciously decide to place my education on hold, I'm already halfway to the doors.
