The trip home is a quiet affair. I get back around five, well before Dad. Lacking anything better to do I start cooking dinner. I'm still a little full from the pasta but meat loaf takes time to cook.

While I'm cutting up onions I take stock of my situation. I've been approached by both of the major powers in Brockton Bay, along with a minor one and some random person preaching the virtues of a life of villainy. None of them made a good offer but none looked hostile either. I wonder how long that will last with the Nazis if (when I chide myself) I start going after the skinheads. I don't think New Wave or the Protectorate want to bring me in (yet) but the whole killing-in-self-defense thing has definitely burnt bridges.

I toss the onions into a bowl and start adding other ingredients, mashing them together with my hands. I haven't talked to Parian yet so that's something to plan for tomorrow. On the other hand, I have no idea how to contact her. She's probably got some sort of online presence so my first stop is the library. Once I'm finished checking out her schedule I'll take a second look at the NEPEA-5 and the plain speak annotations to see what I can actually do. That and a medical textbook to see if leaving a bunch of bones lying around is going to accidentally re-start the Black Plague. Given that Battery didn't bring it up I'm probably fine but you never know.

After putting the mash into a pan and throwing it into the oven, I set a timer and go upstairs to Dad's room. He keeps Mom's old things in his closet including a certain book that's oddly appropriate.

The trunk has a thin layer of dust on it, thick enough to remind me about just how long it's been since Dad and I have talked about Mom. I gently brush it clean and lift the lid, drinking in the sight of neatly folded dresses, old pens in fancy cases, and books. Perfect. I lift them slowly, reading every title. A Clockwork Orange. To Kill a Mockingbird. Candide. I can almost hear her voice from when she used to read me these at bedtime. I eventually light upon one of the few pieces of nonfiction in the stack. A thick brick of a book titled The Flower Dictionary, resting just below Don Quixote. I lift it free, opening it to a random page and taking a look at the illustration. Heather, for luck. Helenium, for tears. Exactly what I needed.

I replace Don Quixote, taking the dictionary's place above As I Lay Dying, and put the rest of the books back. I head back down to the kitchen, open up the dictionary to page one, and start expanding my repertoire.

The meatloaf is being kept warm in the oven and I've made it almost halfway through the 'I's when I hear the creak of the front porch. I hurriedly drag the bone back into my arm and close the book, setting it to the side. The door rattles a little as Dad opens it, revealing a conflicted expression on his face. He gives me a perfunctory nod before striding over to the table, sitting down and staring intently at his clasped hands. He's thinking then. I pull the meatloaf out and cut some generous slices up for us. He smiles, transparent and awkward as glass, when I hand him a slice. A bad day at work then. I return it.

For a while there's only the sound of silverware against ceramic. I keep trying to think of a way to broach the subject of skipping school but every starter seems like a terrible idea. Dad must catch on at some point because he puts down his silverware and looks me in the eye. "Is there something you want to talk about?" he asks.

Crap. "Yeah," I say, keeping my voice even. I wonder if I could form a lattice around my heart that could keep it from pounding so fast? I feel a flush rising and grind some bones together. Calm, calm. In. Out. Mask on. "I wasn't feeling well in school today, so I was thinking about skipping tomorrow." Really? I feel sick? That was the best I could come up with?

Dad seems to buy it though. His face immediately moves from interest to concern. "Do you need to see a doctor?" he asks. "I can drive you in the morning if-"

"No, it's not that bad," I interrupt, shaking my head and waving a hand. I'm not sure how many different ways there are for a doctor to determine if a person is a parahuman and I don't want to find out. "I was just thinking that maybe I should take a few days off. Don't want to get anyone sick," I add with a shaky smile. Now that I think about it, I wouldn't mind Emma coming down with a case of osteoporosis-

I grind my toe bones together. Not in the house.

"Well, if you're sure," he says. After a few more bites, he sighs. "I'm just worried about you missing school," he confesses.

"I'll be fine, Dad," I assure him, forcing a smile. It hurts lying to him. On the other hand, telling him his daughter is a killer and is playing hooky to try and join a group of capes is also probably not a good option. Hopefully this hurts less.

We finish the meal in silence. After a perfunctory good night we head to our rooms and attend to our nightly rituals. Dad spends some time with a picture of Mom, remembering, and I twist bone into webs in the moonlight.

Wake up. Run. Return to a quiet breakfast with Dad. Bus to the Library. Nothing of note happens, and I'm glad for it. That can wait until I have a plan.

I hop onto a computer and login as a guest on PHO. Parian, Parian, Parian, wherefore art thou Parian? Apparently working as a living advertisement for some toy store for the next three weeks, somewhere on the Boardwalk. I pull up NEPEA-5 in a separate tab to check if it's legal. Yes, so long as you aren't a Master that can affect humans. Interesting, and something to look into. After taking some more time to consult the legalities of working as a cape I log off of the computer and head to the Boardwalk.

Brockton Bay is famous for two things: one, an insane amount of criminal capes per capita. Two, tourism. Whether you're a veteran traveler looking for new food and new sights or an overworked parent looking for something to get the kids to sit down for a minute, there's something for you, and it's probably on the Boardwalk.

After making sure no enforcers are looking at me, I duck into an alleyway, strip, and armor up. When I emerge the crowds parts, and something in me is pleased. If only I could pull out a bone pike or seven at school, force them to bow to-

In. Out. Mask on. No murder thoughts near people who don't deserve them. I think about the statement for a moment, and revise it. No murder thoughts near people. Much better.

Soon enough I come upon the store. Given the lack of animated plushies, Parian probably hasn't arrived yet. Odd, but her profile stated that she tends to work around lunchtime. I head into a cafe, order some tea, and settle in for a wait.

About halfway through my third cup, a green and black giraffe about the size of two men steps out of the storefront, receiving applause and laughter from passerbys. It's followed by a monkey of some sort, no smaller, who has a blond woman in a white full-face mask riding on it's shoulder. There she is.

I settle my bill, wait more than a few minutes for the cashier to figure out whether or not she can break a hundred, and eventually leave about ten bucks short of what I'm owed. Parian's still making her animals dance and I watch on from a respectful distance. It would be rude to interrupt her while she's working.

I get more than a few stares but after seeing me studiously ignore anyone asking for an autograph most people don't bother me. Parian's routine goes on as normal, toys and clothes are bought, and all is well with the world.

Eventually, someone comes out of the store and makes a motion towards their wrist. Parian nods and waves goodbye to the crowd, with many 'aww's being drawn from the younger members of her audience. I take that as my cue and move towards her. The crowd parts, creating a two-foot space between their soft flesh and my gently clicking bone plates. I follow Parian into the shop, praying that she'll listen.

"Excuse me?" I say. Parian glances over her shoulder, then freezes. Fuck. She must have heard about Lung and drawn the wrong conclusion. I raise my hands in surrender. In. Out. Mask on. Don't be threatening.

"I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions," I state, staying a comfortable distance away. "Over lunch," I offer. "My treat." I'm burning through the cash from the rich guy faster than I want, but you've got to spend money to make money. That, and I need to come across as non-threatening as possible.

She stares at me. I can't make out her face but it's probably got something close to apprehension on it.

"I'm not interested in joining any sort of team-" she starts, speaking slowly. I quickly shake my head. Parian's explicitly stated her neutrality multiple times and infringing on it wouldn't look good. That, and it'd be wrong.

"No, nothing like that," I state. "I was actually wondering if you could give me some advice on how to monetize my power," I explain. "Who to talk to, what sort of laws I should be aware of, that sort of thing."

She looks at me, and I get an idea about what it must be like to look at my own mask. Just a blank expanse of white with two little black marks where the eyes should be. I wonder if she's as creeped out as I am?

"Lunch," she agrees, and behind my mask I wince at the tone. It sounds like she's worried about being shanked if she refuses.

"You really don't have to-" I begin, but this time she cuts me off.

"No no, it's fine," she says, moving towards the door, "Perfectly fine," she finishes, walking carefully around me. I follow with a sick feeling in my gut. What did I do wrong?

She takes us to a little cafe and gets two paninis with tomato, avocado, and swiss cheese. Not something I'd normally enjoy, but it's edible. Parian has a word with a waiter and we get taken to a secluded room on the second floor.

She sits down at a small table, unwrapping the sandwich with slightly shaking fingers. After fiddling with the side of her mask the lower half falls off and reveals dark skin. I sit down across from her, more than a little surprised. Somehow she picks up on it and sighs. I feel myself begin to flush. Damn

"Yeah, no one expects it," she says, a tired note seeping into her voice, and this time I see the frown at the edges of her mouth. "Anyway, lunch. Please, just ask your questions." She takes a bite out of her sandwich.

In. Out. I form the lower half of my mask into a jaw and have a conservative taste of mine. Not bad but it could use some meat. I swallow and decide to ask the most pressing question.

"How can I stay neutral?" I ask.

She laughs, a note of incredulity in her voice. After a moment, she composes herself and stares at the table top. "I," she stresses her own pronoun, "am not powerful enough to scare people, and I make sure not to help or hurt anyone." Fuck. I feel something writhe in my stomach. Neither of those statements apply to me. "You," she points at me with her sandwich, "Already have the enmity of one gang, and the rest of them will try to spin that into an invitation to one of theirs." She shakes her head. "That ship has sailed," she mutters, taking another mouthful.

I lean back into my chair, feeling a sense of weariness. Well, it was worth a question. "What about resources?" I ask. "Like, if I wanted to sell something made from my bones?" Maybe I can get rich enough to sue anyone who attacks me into the next time zone.

She pulls out a pen and scribbles a number down on a napkin. "This is my lawyer. He's got a whole firm that specializes in helping Rogue capes. Call between four and seven from a pay phone," she continues, pushing the napkin across. "Be respectful, be professional, and it shouldn't be hard." I tuck it away into my armor and eat some more mediocre sandwich. There's one productive thing done today. Something to look into after helping Isidis out.

"Is there any law I should be careful about? Not just NEPEA-5," I clarify. "Little local laws that don't show up on basic web searches." I've done some research but there's only so much legalese a person can look through before they fall asleep.

Parian shakes her head. "Brockton Bay is pretty cape friendly. Kinda has to be, with Isidis." I nod. Limits on parahuman abilities would hit the corpse-grafter first, and no politician wants to be known as the one who stopped one of the world's few healers from working.

"Thanks," I say. I extend a hand and she waves it away, a serious look on the exposed part of her face. I try not to feel hurt.

"You are really scary," she says, and the fear in her voice is palpable. "Please please please don't try to talk to me again. I work very hard to stay free of fighting, and even this much might put me in the firing line." There's no guile on her exposed face. Just desperation mixed with fear. I try to contextualize, to imagine how I would react if a gang banger showed up at school and asked me how to get a job.

Well then.

"I won't contact you again," I say, nodding mechanically. We finish our food in silence. Parian re-attaches the bottom half of her mask and walks away. I leave shortly after, dropping a few bills by the cash register and processing her words.

I need a walk. To clear my head. Then I need something to do so I don't go insane. I check the clock. One in the afternoon. I need to walk for four hours, and then I need to be at the hospital to meet Isidis and see what good I can do.