Sonata 1

Four Months Later

'Arc here, shade here, dot here... hmmm...'

Taylor tapped her pencil on her notepad, absentmindedly mouthing the lyrics of the song that was playing over her earbuds.

She was wearing a black hoodie with white tribal markings on the sleeves and collar. She had green pants with a brown fanny pack hanging on her left side and a chain on her right. She had a red bandana tied around her neck.

She chewed contemplatively on the eraser of her pencil. 'What now, what now...'

Taylor looked up from her drawing and gazed silently around the bus. Suddenly, a detail jumped to her attention.

A passenger, sitting about three rows in front of Taylor. He was a teenager wearing a red hoodie with the hood up and had a camo-style bag hanging on his side.

What caught Taylor's attention were the tribal wings drawn on the back of the guy's coat.

Acting quickly, Taylor dug into her pocket, withdrew an eraser and chucked it at the back of the guy's head.

Her aim was dead on. The writing implement struck him in the back of the teenager's head, prompting him to whip his hand to the area that had been hit and snap his head around, searching for the origins of the projectile.

Taylor waved her arm, trying to draw his attention.

When he noticed her, the guy focused on her almost instantly and opened his mouth to shout something.

However, before he could, she whipped her notebook up, showing him what she had been working on.

The teen's jaw snapped shut instantly, his eyes bulging in surprise.

Taylor flashed him a smile, then tapped her pencil on the notepad and shrugged her shoulders, an inquisitive look on her face.

The hood-wearing guy blinked in confusion for a second his mouth turned into an 'o' of realization. He then dug into his satchel, fished out a sheet of paper, and unfolded it in her line of sight.

Sketched on the paper was an abstract image, full of looping lines and letters that seemed to simply pop off the page.

Taylor scanned it for a second before her eyes and smile widened. She flashed the teenager a thumbs up.

She didn't see him return the gesture. She was too engrossed in her work, drawing new shapes and forms the rest of the ride, losing herself to the sweet rhythm of her art.

-o-

Taylor hummed in synch with her music as she walked up to the school's entrance. It was an average day, other students streaming into the building around her.

Average... save for the stream of teenagers heading off to the left and gathering in a crowd.

Taylor eyed them curiously for a second before grinning eagerly and walking up to join them. She had a good idea what was going on,and she was eager to see it.

She wasn't disappointed.

The crowd was gathered around a teenager who was currently working on defacing the school wall.

The teenager was a black girl, a teenager. She was wearing a camo vest jacket over a red t-shirt. Her face was obscured by a bandana with a skull-teeth motif and her hair was hidden under a beanie with a flame pattern on it. Running down her exposed arms were a pair of tattoos shaped like the bony outlines of a pair of wings.

The teen had a spray paint can clutched in both her hands, and was actively waving her arms around as she layered the wall in a brand new coat of paint.

Everywhere the paint touched, it didn't stay. Instead, it shifted, flowing across the stone wall, shifting into varying shapes and thicknesses. Colors flashed and dimmed, mixing with each other in a myriad of ways.

Truly a spectacle.

Sadly, as usual, all good things must come to an end.

"HEY!"

The crowd reluctantly parted, allowing a rather flustered Mr. Gladly to push his way through and confront the tagger. The girl stopped her spraying, turning around to face him, her arms crossed.

"Look..." The teacher raised his arms in a placating manner. "I can appreciate your creative talent. Really, I'm sure that whatever you're drawing is very nice, and I would never dare impede your work, or that of your comrades! But..."

The girl tilted her head to the side in curiosity.

Mr. Gladly took that as an encouraging sign to continue. "But look, this school? It's city property! I'm sorry, but there's still going to be some trouble, but I'm sure that it won't be anything major. So, look, how about this?" He held his hand out. "How about you give me the paint and-"

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. The girl instantly snapped both her arms out, pointing them straight at him. On the undersides of both the cans she was clutching were a series of cogs grinding against each other, musical notes in their centers.

The teacher paled considerably. "Oh dear."

PSSHHH!

Before he could react, the girl depressed both the nozzles and blasted him with a coat of paint.

While Gladly was coughing and trying desperately to wipe the stuff off of himself, the tagger spun around and flailed her arms in precise, deliberate movements, laying down several more streaks of paint before hightailing it into the crowd and out of sight.

Mr. Gladly struggled for a minute longer with his clothes before groaning as the paint stopped moving. "Not again..." To the amusement of the onlooking students, his shirt was now covered in green and white stripes and his pants were a garish purple and orange polka dot pattern.

"This is the third time this month!" He sighed tiredly and clamped his hand over his eyes. "Please don't let the school be too bad, please don't let the school be too bad..." He cracked his fingers open a notch. Only the presence of the students surrounding him kept him from cursing.

The paint the girl had been using had finally settled. It depicted a cartoon teenager, most of his face apart from his cocky smirk hidden by the shadow of his baseball cap, bursting out of the walls of the school in a shower of rubble, both his hands were held up in a pair of peace signs. Written above him in graffiti-style letters was the phrase SCHOOL'S OUT FOREVER!

Mr. Gladly swallowed heavily as he looked it over. "The superintendent is going to love this. Just like he loved the last ten." Finally taking notice of the students milling around him, he cleared his throat and drew attention to himself. "Alright everyone, show's over! Get to class, it'll still be here when you get back!... and about a week after that..." He added ruefully to himself.

And with that, the gathering dissolved, students walking away and milling about. Friends talked with each other, socialites snapped pictures with their phones and posted them online, and so on and so forth.

And Taylor?

Taylor remained where she was for a moment long, simply taking the time to appreciate the beautiful stanza of color and liberty arrayed before her.

A content smile firmly painted on her face.

-o-

Taylor tapped out a steady beat on the floor with her foot as she sat at her desk in order to replace the earbuds that were currently hanging in her hood, her pencil sailing across her notebook.

Suddenly, her artistic liberties were interrupted by a wad of something wet and solid bouncing off her temple and landing smack in the middle of her paper.

Slowly, almost languidly, Taylor put her arm around the seat of her chair and turned around to stare towards the back of the classroom.

There sat Madison Clements, all prim and proper, innocently sipping her soda through a straw. Noticing Taylor looking at her, she smiled widely and gave a little wave.

Taylor sighed exasperatedly, rolling her eyes as she faced forwards again. She absentmindedly flicked the spitball away and began drawing again, nodding away to an unheard rhythm.

Finally, the door to the classroom opened up and in walked Mr. Gladly, who was absentmindedly fidgeting with the jacket he was wearing with one hand, and running his other hand through his hair and checking it. To Taylor, it was obvious he was checking for something potentially left over from earlier. An event that while no longer completely obvious thanks to a changed pair of pants, was still evident from the neon belt that held them up and the off-color tone to his loafers.

Mr. Gladly sighed, before seeming to surrender to the fact that he wouldn't be able to avoid his embarrassment and sat down at his desk. "Yes, yes, let it all out. I look like I was dressed by a color-blind clown, I know. Heaven knows that this one is going up on the hall of fame that's growing in the teacher's lounge."

There were a few minutes of chuckling before he held his hand up to silence them. "All right, all right, that's enough. Now then, to business! Today's class is on the impact that Parahumans have had on our culture. Now, can anyone give me some examples?"

Several hands went up in the class.

"Hmm... Greg?"

"Internet culture?"

"Good, good! An excellent example! Yes, the website Parahumans Online is extremely popular, and a great source of speculation and cape/civilian interactions! Anyone else? Madison?"

"Music, Mr. Gladly!"

"Hmm, a good example, Madison. I suppose the most relevant example of this would be Paige Mcabee, aka Canary. Her singing voice was lovely, but her unfortunate... incident also extends to affect Parahuman/civilian interactions. Now, one more. Anyone have one more? Taylor?"

Taylor put her hand down, her mouth quirking into a serene smile as she tapped her pencil on her paper. "Art."

Scoffs and giggles erupted throughout the room while Mr. Gladly blushed and sighed good naturedly.

"Well, I suppose we couldn't avoid it forever. Yes, art. The most relevant example right now would be the Reapers. Let's get them out of the way first. Now, are there any questions?"

One hand raised in the back of the class.

"Yes, Richard?"

"Umm, I don't really pay a lot of attention to that kind of stuff and I don't use the computer that often. Why are they called the Reapers?"

Mr. Gladly smiled gratefully. "An excellent question, Richard! To answer it, we'll need to backtrack to their origins. Now, how would most of you describe them?" He began calling out students who put their hands up.

"A gang."

"A secret society."

"A following."

"A movement."

"Yes!" Mr. Gladly clapped his hands in agreement. "A movement, excellent, Taylor!"

The teenager nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Mr. Gladly." She then rolled her eyes again when another spitball pegged the back of her head.

"Yes, a movement. More specifically, the Reapers are what could best be defined as an underground artist movement. As one of their members demonstrated ever so eagerly this morning, the Reapers spray paint their art anywhere and everywhere they desire at the drop of a hat. Their central theme is liberty, a desire to break free from the shackles of everyday life. They got their name thanks to a performance by several of their members over three months ago, where several Reapers decided that City Hall needed a facelift. The slogan of this piece of work was 'We will not let our freedom be handed to us. We will reap it ourselves.' This work was led by the only known Parahuman in the Reapers, as well as their founder and leader."

"The Composer, right?"

"Exactly right, Taylor! The Composer is a very reclusive parahuman, and works hand in hand with the Reapers. He, or she, as gender has never been confirmed, has created many works of his or her particular brand of art in the city, as well as encouraging the Reapers to follow in their footsteps, not to mention supplying them with the ability to do so. The Composer's powers allow him or her to, well, compose incredibly complex and intricate pieces of art. He or she also provides unique paint to the Reapers, which allows them to replicate the Composer's skills in their own works, as well as providing them with means of defending themselves or escaping from any law enforcement that try and apprehend them. Some of you may have already witnessed or watched such an escape already."

Nodding and murmuring went around the classroom, as a few students confirmed this to their neighbours with smiles and boasts, before Gladly held up his hands, quieted them down and continued.

"As one can expect, this has also enabled a number of the more...creative works… you might have seen around the city. Specifically, their more visible ones as well as a number of more exclusive ones that can only be seen from the tops of certain buildings in Brockton."

"Or at the tops!" A student quipped, setting off a round of laughter.

Mr. Gladly rolled his eyes. "Yes yes, or at the top of some buildings. Anyways, the Reapers are an invitation-only group, extending offers to artists who they feel meet their criteria. Considering the amount of notoriety they've garnished, suffice to say that pickings have not been slim. Accurate numbers are hard to come by due to the Reapers not having any specific colors or styles, but estimates say that there are currently somewhere around fifty or so Reapers in Brockton Bay. And by the day, this number is growing. It only goes to show how influential a single Parahuman can be on an entire city's culture."

"Hey, wait!"

"Yes Greg?"

"What about tattoos? That Reaper girl who did the school, she had those wing tattoos on her arms! And I saw them on some other guy yesterday, and-!"

"An excellent point, Greg. Yes, those tattoos can be considered a sign of a Reaper membership I suppose, but considering the Reaper's talents in artistry, finding them on people is an especially difficult task, especially considering how the Composer's paint isn't as susceptible to removal as the usual brand. As demonstrated by my necessary wardrobe change... and my laundry."

Mr. Gladly smiled and nodded along indulgently to the laughter. "Yes yes, now that's enough. Well, I think we've covered the world of art quite enough for one day, let's move on to music. Now, Miss Macabee's career started..."

Taylor half-listened to Mr. Gladly talking, smiling to herself as she doodled away on her notebook, etching out a small ode of satisfaction.

-o-

Taylor bobbed her head along with her music as she dug through her locker, searching out her textbooks. She was looking forwards to computer class. Paper and pencil was traditional, but the precision of computers was undeniable.

So enraptured was she with her thoughts that she didn't notice someone approaching her until her earbuds were yanked out and replaced by a pair of headphones belting out rather explicit lyrics.

Taylor yelped in surprise, a spike of pain from the sound in her head suddenly being thrown into disarray encouraging her to rip the headphones off.

Her ears free and the noise in her head partly placated, she was able to hear a very familiar laugh.

Taylor sighed tiredly, resting her forehead on her locker. "I've told you before, Aisha. That's not funny."

She could almost see the playful smile as the girl leaned on the locker next to her, popping the headphones back around her neck.

"And I've told you that it is. You have to stop listening to that soft stuff all the time and give something with a little spine a try."

Taylor just smiled weakly and shook her head.

"But I like my soft stuff. And it's not like I listen to it exclusively..."

The dark-skinned girl snorted and light-heartedly poked her.

"Only because I jack the pod I gave you and switch out your music with something fresh now and then."

Taylor gave her a flat, semi-amused look. "Your 'fresh' taste has greatly expanded my vocabulary against my will."

"And that's a bad thing...?"

Taylor sighed exasperatedly as she shook her head. "You're incorrigible."

"But creative! That's why you invited me to your little group, after all."

The lanky teenager couldn't help but to nod in agreement. "True enough. You certainly earned your wings with that stunt you pulled this morning. You also weakened any faith I might have in your fashion sense."

"Hey, I intentionally made his clothes look bad, my clothes are ironically bad! There's a difference!"

Taylor looked the girl up and down before cocking an eyebrow. "I don't see it."

Aisha gaped at her for a second before tilting her head back and breaking down helplessly. "Oh man, every day you get better at that! I love it! Ahhh, man I love you guys, so. Much. Fun."

Taylor chuckled along good-heartedly. "So, is there a particular reason why you decided to meet up with me, or were you just bored?"

Aisha's grin shifted slightly, going from teasing to downright devilish. "Me and a few others are planning a piece. A big one. Spread the word."

Taylor's gaze sharpened, becoming far more intense. "Where?"

"ABB territory. A few recruiters came after Canto, I say we make our displeasure rather obvious."

Taylor hummed lightly as she thought intently. "It'll be dangerous. I heard from Grunge that they've got a new member. A tinker named Bakuda. A bomb-maker."

"Psh, her bombs might affect the body, but can they affect the soul?"

"Depends on how motivated she is."

"... I'll risk it."

"Aisha."

"Kidding, kidding! Geeze, you sound like my brother."

Taylor sighed tiredly, rubbing her eyes. "Alright, who else has agreed to this?"

"Drone, Chicago, Bluegrass and Industrial. Hop said she might come, but she hasn't gotten back to me yet."

Taylor tilted her head back, blowing her breath out. Finally... "Alright. I'll let the others know, but only so that word gets back to the boss. If you're doing this, she'll want in."

"Sweet!"

"And make sure that you have as many cans as you can carry. Stop by Southern's and pick up a fresh batch if you have to. I don't care how useful you say those tattoos are, you're taking every precaution, understood?"

Aisha nodded eagerly, her mouth affixed in a Cheshire grin. "You got it! We're gonna put on a show they won't forget! Night of the dragon, woohoo!"

"Greeeeat. And when exactly is this 'night of the dragon'?"

"Tonight, why?"

"... you know you're way more trouble than you're worth, right?"

"Indubitably!"

Taylor rounded out her day's performance by beating out a despairing rhythm on her locker to the tune of Aisha's amusement.