Montage 2.1
June 29th, 2007
For the record, I hate dancing and every event associated with dancing including proms, hoedowns and especially fancy balls, be theyeverso charity driven.
I scowled at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. Irritatingly, plaque formed despite the indestructibility of the enamel; if I didn't keep up with the brushing, I'd end up with (otherwise perfectly intact) yellow teeth and gross breath. I finished, wiping my mouth with one hand and replacing the brush.
"This event's stupid," I called downstairs. "Besides, it's a kind of a hero thing and I won't be old enough to join the Wards for twelve days. There's no reason for me to be there."
Hannah walked upstairs, looking unusually formal in a long flowing dress. In one hand, she had a small tuxedo - the same one I'd worn to the funeral so many years ago. I wanted to buy a new one, but to be honest I couldn't justify the cost of a brand new outfit when one was already available.
"There will be people other than heroes there, and twelve days is basically nothing," Hannah said irritably, leaning against the wall so the weight was taken off her feet. I got the feeling she didn't wear heels often. "Also, it wasyouridea to donate, so really this whole thing is your own fault. Now, take this and put it on."
I rolled my eyes and threw a mock salute. "Yes Ma'am!"
She snorted and threw the tux at me. "Brat."
The moment she left I started to change, which was a trial in patience. I could move at extreme speed, but nothing taxed motor coordination like delicate materials. My strength was still increasing, though my durability had petered off (what does 'double' even do with complete invulnerability?) and I hadn't had the right opportunity to test my speed.
No flight yet either, though I'd discretely jumped off some high objects when Miss Militia was occupied. I took a deep breath, then dampened my ability. I hadn't told anyone I could do that yet; it was the sort of vulnerability that villains could cash in on.
The door burst open as I finished and in swept a pink blur, lunging with arms outstretched.
With one arm of my own I caught Riley and whirled her around, slipping my other arm smoothly into my jacket sleeve.
At first, being the older brother was weird, but I'd gotten used to Riley's quirks (barring the incident of the missing barn cat. Poor Texaco was never quite right afterwards.)
"Josh!" She exclaimed, laughing as I set her down. "Look! I have a princess dress!"
Good God, it was like a pink and frillytyphoon. Couldn't she have built some sort of horrifying organic monstrosity to wear instead? Maybe something with an extra head and lots of teeth?
"Cute," I told her, forcing a smile. "Are you ready to go?"
"Yup!" She said happily, doing another spin. "Miss Militia said to come get you, so hurry up!"
With that, she twirled her way down the stairs.
"She probably told you to knock first!" I called down after her, shaking my head.
I looked myself over once more and sighed.
I wouldn't call myself handsome. I had inherited my mother's bone structure and my father's tanned complexion, manifesting in a slightly Asiatic eyes and a narrow, sharp face. My dark hair was cut practically short - my invulnerability wore off after about an inch, and I preferred to keep it as close to that inch as possible.
Despite a few years of aging, I was still a ten year old in a tuxedo. At best I was cute, a little kid trying to be a grownup, an event prop to take pictures with like you would with someone in a novelty costume. I didn't mind being underestimated; it was the best part of my age, and I had no qualms about taking advantage of what I couldn't change.
Still, I was beginning to despise the sheertimeit took humans to mature.
I grimaced and started downstairs, tugging (gently, gently!) at my tuxedo. It was a little tighter across the shoulders than I remembered, but that could easily have been shrinkage in the wash.
Hannah's car, like the house, had been upgraded in the last couple years. What was once a sporty two door with barely enough room to haul our meager belongings was now a more comfortable four door.
It may have been alittlesporty.
It's really, really hard to have a lot of money without spending a little extra here and there.
As usual, I sat in the backseat with Riley. If I didn't, we'd end up arguing and one of us would spend the rest of the trip pestering the other and kicking their seat. Since I refused to sit in a booster seat and Riley wasn't going to suffer if I wasn't, Hannah didn't even bother installing it.
"Where did you get the dress - and the tiara?" I asked, staring at Riley's bejeweled head. Riley preened.
Hannah sighed, pulling out of the driveway. "A mall up in Boston. I let her choose."
I winced. Those were probably rhinestones - I mean, nobody would actually buy a ten year old a real piece of diamond jewelry, right? Not evenRileywas that persuasively irritating.
I didn't ask - just in case.
...
It was a quick trip.
The Forsberg Gallery was one of the largest buildings in town, being over twenty stories tall and very distinctively designed to look like chunks had been taken out at random and filled with Christmas lights. It was a popular place among the unreasonably rich and powerful to host parties of all types.
Riley liked it I think. Hannah and I were probably just jaded.
The guard obviously knew Hannah on sight, though I didn't recognize him. I'd been more or less separate from hero work for the last couple years, and though I kept abreast of the current gossip Hannah refrained from discussing work at home.
The room set aside for the fundraiser was massive and well lit. We were on the top floor, and the ceiling was almost entirely glass.
For one inane moment, I imagined Taylor riding through them on a bone-plated monster, shouting a war cry and waving a can of pepper spray.
I snorted.
"Alright," Hannah said brusquely, giving the crowd a once-over. I was immediately reminded that were it not for us, she would likely be helping with security. "Just remember what we talked about. There are a lot of heroes here, but that's no reason to relax your guard. No powers, no tinker babble. We're here strictly as donators, and if anyone asks I work in real estate. I'm going to chat with Armsmaster for a minute. Our seats are over there at the guest of honor table, and Josh - make sure you and Riley get something to eat, then go ahead and sit till I get back, okay?"
I nodded. Riley barely noticed, still transfixed by colorful outfits and bright lights. I grabbed her hand and lead her off to the side, aiming for the classy buffet. Once I'd loaded up three plates, keeping them expertly balanced with one hand and leading Riley with the other, I made a break for our reserved seats.
The moment I sat down, I was immediately bored. The food was good, but it was amazing how extreme senses could ruin your appetite. The whole place reeked of a million varieties of perfume and cologne, giving everything I ate a distinct chemical taste. I could turn off my powers again, but it wasn't really worth it in this charged environment. I sighed, staring despondently at my Swedish meatballs, and did my best to 'lower' my sense of smell.
As always at this kind of fundraiser, the most interesting event was when the people arrived. Our table, more or less deserted on our end, began to fill up. On one side, we had the rich folks - the crème de la crèmeof Brockton Bay's who's-who, the ones who donated to the PRT and miscellany hero teams. As I understood it, there was a fairly hefty tax exemption involved.
On the other side,capes.
"Wow," Riley breathed, looking ecstatic.
I blinked as someone sat down across the table. "Wait, are you Manpower?"
He grinned, turning to look at me. "Ah, a fan. Nice to meet you. . .?"
"Josh," I told him brightly. "This is my sister Riley, and Mom's not here yet. Her name's Hannah."
"Hannah, huh?" He gave me a thoughtful look. "I'll have to say hello. Are you enjoying the fundraiser?"
Riley nodded furiously. I opened my mouth to answer, but before I did a commotion near the entrance drew my attention. I turned to look with the rest of the table.
It was a suit of armor - a big suit of armor, nearly seven feet tall. Unlike most Tinker gear, this one was constructed out of what looked like premium materials, meaning it was high end indeed. The aesthetic was a sort of friendly, streamlined white with black mesh underneath to imply a humanoid figure, but I could tell there was no one in the suit - if there had been, it would have been functional only as very heavy armor.
PRT soldiers seemed to materialize from the woodwork, most of them using netguns. Opening fire with real weaponry would put countless civilians at risk, and worse, most of those people hadlawyers.
"It's alright," Armsmaster interrupted, striding forward. "She's on the invite list. Hello, Dragon."
"Armsmaster," the synthetic voice echoed out from the suit, one hand extending to take his. "It's a pleasure to finally meet in person, so to speak."
"So to speak," Armsmaster said, a note of irony in his voice. The PRT troopers relaxed, lowering their weaponry. The normal flow of conversation resumed as though it had never been interrupted.
I suppose that being a politician in today's world of capes required a certain amount of nerve.
"She's that up and coming Tinker from the Guild," Manpower muttered in an aside voice, presumably for our benefit. "I'm surprised she managed to pry herself away from the workshop - she's supposed to be busy enough that no one sees her."
"It's not actually her," I told him. "Probably an unmanned drone."
He gave me a look I was familiar with, the it's-weird-that-you-know-this inspection. Whatever questions he had were postponed as the rest of his family finished socializing with their neighbors and moved to sit down.
As if marking them off on a clipboard, I began mentally moving down the Brigade's roster.
Manpower, check. Lady Photon, check. Flashbang and Brandish were easily recognizable, though Glory Girl wasn't in costume and was sitting to the side; I could only guess she hadn't triggered yet, or at least hadn't made her debut. Laserdream and Shielder were still wandering around the room talking to friends.
That made the last two sitting down Fleur and Lightstar.
I found that particular change far less disturbing than Panacea's utter absence. I'd have to look that up later - Marquis had definitely been defeated on schedule, but where did Amy go? I wanted to ask, but there were few ways to do so without being utterly tactless.
The room quieted gradually as the man I recognized as Mayor Christner stepped up onto the stage. Hannah sat down on Riley's other side as he waited for the whispers to subside.
"Now that we've all been wined, or at least sufficiently dined, I'd like to start off by thanking you all for coming." Christner swept the room with a charming smile. "I'm sure you're all very aware, this city wouldn't be where it is today without your generous contributions. Thanks to increased funding, I'm proud to say that crime in Brockton Bay has dropped an additional thirty five percent in the last year, which is the lowest its been in the last twenty!"
Polite applause; I couldn't bring myself to clap. If I'd been out there, the only criminal acts occurring would be tax fraud. As it was, it felt too much like tempting fate.
Soon, I promised myself.
"And on that note, allow me to introduce the woman of the hour, the vanquisher of Marquis and head of New Wave, Lady Photon!"
Never let it be said that Photon Mom lacked charisma. She stepped onto the stage, teeth flashing every time someone took a picture.
The experienced cape shook the mayor's hand, took the award, and began a short speech. I tuned her out disinterestedly, looking at Victoria instead.
She looked. . . glum. Sitting across from Riley, she couldn't have provided a better contrast if she tried. Riley was practically bouncing, still riding the dessert buffet sugar high, while Victoria had her head in her hands.
The youngest Dallon looked up, catching my eye. I waved. She reddened slightly and sunk down in her chair.
Strange; I was expecting her to be confident, outgoing, and brash; from what I could tell the future Glory Girl was the exact opposite. She honestly reminded me of Taylor in that moment - not the Taylor of the present, but the Taylor of the not-so-distant future.
It was still weird thinking about that. What would I even call that timeline - Earth Bet Squared?
"- and we couldn't have done it without the generous support of Brockton Bay's upstanding citizens," Photon Mom finished, more enthusiastic applause ringing out as she did. After a moment of basking, she ceded the floor.
The mayor stepped up again. "Thank you, Lady Photon. Our next award goes to a hero who, while previously unknown, is already working to save lives all over the globe. I would like everyone to give a warm welcome to the Guild's premier Tinker, Dragon!"
This time, I noticed that the most fervent applause came from the heroes. Even the troopers looked like they wanted to join in.
Hannah, seeing my confusion, leaned over. "I've heard she's providing Tinker support to the Protectorate and PRT at cost. She's never been seen without the suit and rarely ventures outside Canada. Still, some of the medical supplies she shipped over got used on the Mayor's son, so she's been gaining a certain amount of support in higher circles."
"Huh," I mused, considering her sleek, armored form. "You know, I actually wouldn't mind an action figure of her."
The increase in nonlethal combat potential from netguns to containment foam would be extreme. As it was, there weren't very many nonlethal options for stopping high level brutes.
Dragon accepted her award with grace, then retreated without a speech. Just for that, she was officially my favorite hero.
A few other people came up after that, and unfortunately there were two more unjustifiably boring speeches. Hannah got a plaque for her rather large donation. Armsmaster took his award on behalf of the Protectorate and posed for a picture, trying for happiness but only managing to look surly. After the speeches, there was a raffle containing several memorabilia artifacts ranging from cool to creepy.
God I loved being a parahuman.
Next time I donated to an organization I would check for fancy award balls - actually, scratch that, I just wouldn't let Riley get the mail. There was very little I could do to dissuade her when she saw (and opened!) the gold embossed envelope, especially after Hannah took her side. Apparently, I needed more socialization.
I sank a little lower in my seat. It was boring, but at least the speeches were over.
Then the music started.
"Oh, what fresh hell is this?" I moaned, considering ducking under the table.
Manpower snorted and stood, stretching in a way that made several opportunistic socialites swoon. "Don't be so dramatic, kid, it's just a dance."
I sighed. "I guess."
Most of the dancers were adults, which was nice; us kids got to sit on the sidelines until later.
Thus, before I could be conned into dancing, I fled.
I wasn't the only one; there was practically a support group for awkward teenagers congregating around the fringes of the room. To my immense surprise, Victoria Dallon was one of them.
"Not a party person?" I asked her.
She rolled her eyes. "Not a schmoozing person. Mom's got that handled."
I snorted. "Don't buy her press, huh?"
Victoria gave me a quick grin. "Exactly. People always assume that New Wave is some beacon of family stability, but we're people just like anyone else."
Getting started on the teenage angst a little early, huh? Then again, she was a few years older than I was.
"I'm going to guess-" I put one finger on my temple "-you didn't want to come."
She laughed and turned back to watch the dancers. "Thinker 12 for sure."
I grinned. "More of a seven, really."
Before she could respond, Riley caught up with me. I wasn't sure how she'd managed to spot me through the crowd of dissatisfied socialite children, but I wasn't ruling out some sort of X-Ray prosthetic.
"Josh!" Riley said, grabbing my arm. "You promised!"
"I don't like to dance!" I protested as she dragged me. "Just because you're having a princess moment-"
Things chose that exact moment to go to hell, providing clear cut proof that the devil answers selfish prayers.
Glass shattered and rained down from above. I activated my powers instantly, and moving myself and Riley away from the falling shards as the world slowed to nothing.
Time sped up again as people screamed. My wake had helped break up the heaviest concentrations of glass, but there was still a lot falling. Socialites went everywhere, ducking under tables, running from the hall and generally scattering like quail. A blurred object fell, hitting the marble floor with a heavy thump; in the chaos, the only one likely to have spotted it was me.
Women - and men - screamed. PRT troopers rushed everywhere, netguns at the ready and frantically barking into radio sets. Heroes were flying, glowing, and raising shields in their general vicinity. For a full minute, pandemonium reigned as security attempted to restore order.
Then Dragon raised one arm of her suit and let off a cannon blast.
People flinched away from the suit, covering their ears. Some measure of sanity returned as people picked themselves off the floor. The only sound was the moaning of the wounded and the crying of small children.
"All Guests, Please Proceed To The Exit In A Calm And Orderly Manner," Dragon's voice boomed from her speakers. "If You Are Wounded, Do Not Touch The Injury. Removing The Shards May Worsen The Damage. Paramedics Are On Standby In The Lobby. Proceed To The Exit In A Calm And Orderly Manner. Attending Heroes, Please Coordinate Movement With The PRT."
Riley was shellshocked but otherwise untouched. I glanced up, meeting Hannah's eyes. She shook her head slightly, then pointed at the ground. Don't leave her sight; message acknowledged. PRT troopers, with less of a distraction, were already corralling guests. We'd been lucky - it didn't look like there'd been any major injuries.
Now that the ballroom floor had mostly cleared, I got a good look at the object. It was a bag - a standard black sports bag that I wouldn't give a second glance in any other setting. In this room, it immediately sent chills down my spine and thoughts of an early Bakuda racing through my head.
"Hannah!" I snapped, pointing. She turned, her eyes widening.
Not trusting human reaction speed, I lunged for it. The moment I picked it up, I knew something was wrong. The weight distribution was uneven, and things were shifting around - not something you'd want in an explosive you meant to carry and throw.
Suddenly, Hannah was there, Dragon hot on her heels.
"Not a bomb," I told her, frowning. There was a peculiar odor - a distinctive smell, one I recognized.
It was the unmistakable coppery scent of blood, mixed with the telltale stench of biological decay.
"You might want to call the medical examiner," I added.