I sigh silently behind my mask, rolling my wrist as yet another teenaged girl comes forward, blushing and bubbly in equal measures. Was setting a time and place for signing autographs a good idea? Yes. It keeps people from harassing me on the street, shows I'm a reasonable person, and lets me make sure my hours of public time are low enough that I don't burn out on caping.
That doesn't make it any less tedious though.
I write out 'White Rose' in the same painstakingly-clean way Amy taught me, loopy enough to be 'fancy' but also legible to people who didn't learn cursive in high school. She also taught me how to personalize the message, add that little bit of uniqueness that made them immune to being ebay'd through a combination of proper nouns and sentimental value. Those lessons would eventually devolve into flirting, which led to kissing, which sometimes led to-
I cut off the thought and sign another autograph.
It's been a few months since we broke up, and things are better. We can eat at the same table, make small talk in groups with the other person in them, and generally coexist without sending each other into a depressive funk. That doesn't mean I still don't think of her when the itch finally gets too much to bear, when the loneliness gets so bad that I need to call Dave and just blabber until I feel less like garbage. It doesn't mean that the two of us can hold a conversation alone.
Maybe one day.
It's the door chiming open accompanied by the clink of metal on metal, too much to be anything a civvie might wear, that tips me off to my new parahuman visitor. I cast my gaze towards the entrance, subtly preparing myself to fight. None of the locals bother me much anymore, but the Teeth have yet to die out, and out-of-towners have historically been stupid enough to think they can bully me into-
The world stops as I watch Caress walk down the main aisle.
She has a new eye. The right one is still green, still terrifyingly expressive, but the left one looks like it's made out of some kind of crystal, the iris pink as cherry blossoms and the rest of it the same emerald shade as her other iris, both very clearly visible now that she's ditched the veil. The chains around her are finer now, with a wider variety of weapons at the ends of them, everything from hooks to blades to axe heads. It's probably a custom job, made of some dark metal I can't place off the top of my head, and I make a mental note to try and figure out who her supplier is.
"Like the view?" Caress asks, and I can hear the smirk before I see it, my eyes snapping up to meet hers.
"I've seen better," I snap back automatically, sass trained into me by Amy coming to the forefront of my mind. Instead of a veil, she has chains tracing around her face like a balaclava, so close to her skin that I imagine she has to be bald underneath it. "What brings you here?" I ask, trying to buy time. A civil conversation with a known villain is not yet the most bizzare thing that has happened to me in my shop, but it's heading in that direction with increasing speed.
"Payment for services rendered," she says airily. "Due about six years and two months ago, but who's counting?" She laughs, throwing her head back and letting loose great peals of laughter, mirthful and clear as silver bells. I think about the date, then wince behind my mask. Leviathan. Right. "Now, mind cutting your public hour short?" she asks, casting a glance at a nearby fan who cowers under the brief gaze of steel. "I'm always down for a brawl with the local white hats, but I don't think your shop could take it."
I weigh my options carefully, thinking about the impact of taking a walk with a known villain. Of not going on the walk with a known villain who claimed that I owed her something. I flick my eyes to the side and take in the reaction of the crowd. Shock, mostly, but a few of the more adaptable people are already pulling out phones.
Then I sigh, put the public out of my mind, and ask myself what I want to do.
"Let's get out of here," I say, standing up and pulling my throne back into my armor. Caress doesn't so much as blink, the mischievous smile on her face never shifting. I make eye contact with Alyssa and make a subtle motion with one hand. Get everyone out, shut down the store, and brace for the PR event afterward. Low priority, make sure everyone can buy what they want, but don't let in new customers. She nods once and promptly starts calling orders to sales people and shepherding various shoppers to the cashier stations as Caress and I exit .e.
"Let's get somewhere high and quiet," Caress says, chain hissing against chain as she lifts herself off the ground. "Unless you have a better place to talk?" she asks, challenging, tilting her chin slightly as she drifts up into the air, inches of scarred olive skin bared by the unraveling metal.
"As a matter of fact, I do," I say, savoring the trace of surprise I catch in her expression. I tilt my head down the street. "There's a bar that's cape exclusive on the outskirts of town. It's largely independents and heroes only, but I can vouch for you. If you promise to be on your best behavior," I add, turning away from her and stilting up. After a moment I hear clicking behind me, like a jar of pennies being upended on the sidewalk, and soon enough she's beside me.
We see two other capes as we approach the White Flag. The first one is Vicky, green robes and blonde hair unmistakable even at distance. I grow out a limb of bone and wave her off, forming a circle with it before pulling it back in, a prearranged sign that means 'peace'. She flies in a loop, signaling reception, then darts away. Shortly thereafter a vaguely-red figure starts hopping rooftops with us, maintaining a constant distance while bounding between buildings.
"You've got it in with the local Protectorate, then?" Caress asks, shouting to be heard over the wind.
I shrug as we launch ourselves into space, only barely clearing the street below us. "I pay taxes, don't make trouble, and show up to Endbringer fights. Since you and I aren't trying to kill one another, they're not about to start anything that might endanger civilians." Rule one is stay alive. Rule two is keep your team alive. Rule three is keep the bystanders alive. Only after that do you start thinking about taking down the villain.
"You still fight those things?" Caress asks, voice dropping as we slow down. "After what happened last time?"
I nod as we descend to street level, the Protectorate cape closing the distance between us in great leaps that speak of super strength without an actual Mover power. "My power works well with Isidis," I explain, managing to speak the name without wincing, even internally. "I grind up a regenerator, she heals people. In the aftermath when I'm not needed, I move onto Search and Rescue." That's probably because Isidis has never been anything but professional, just as Rose has been nothing but courteous.
Those two know their limits.
"Metal," Caress deadpans. "I just throw around cop cars."
I look at her, mask firmly neutral. She smiles back at me, all straight teeth and sharp-edged joy. For a long moment, we stare at each other.
I turn away first. "Let's just have a drink and talk," I say, a note of exhaustion creeping into my voice. "Get this over with." Day's over anyway, and once this is done I'm looking forward to a nice, long, bath.
"Don't have to make it sound like a chore," Caress mutters and I feel a pang of guilt as she starts walking towards the stairs, a neon sign pointing down them proclaiming "drinks for capes" in lemonade pink. I could've phrased that better.
The White Flag is a squat, ugly building, an old apartment that Maudlin bought for possessing two key features: a terrible location and a lot of space. The area immediately around the bar is so low income that the local gangs don't bother trying to hold it, and reducing a few square blocks to rubble would probably only increase the local property values, what with all the free demolition work. The bar itself takes up the entire lower floor, and any brawl of note would almost certainly knock over a load bearing wall and kill every non-Brute on the premises. One of the many ways Maudlin makes a multi-cape gathering something other than a fight to the death.
"No bouncer?" Caress asks as we descend the steps to the entrance of the bar.
I shake my head, twisting the knob. It turns. Good. It would've been embarrassing to invite Caress out to a closed bar. "It's where the neutral and good capes go to drink. Most of them keep quiet about its exact location, and anyone who tries to break in will either see no one of note or half a dozen capes nominally on the side of the law."
"I like those odds," Caress says, cackling as she steps in behind me. I reach back a tendril to close the door and feel an unexpected resistance. I look back. A chain of black metal is twined around the knob already attempting to drag the door shut. I look at Caress, who raises an eyebrow. I pull the bone back in, looking away from her and into the bar.
Capes break things. It's a fact of life, like taxes or lying to friends, and Maudlin furnished the bar with that in mind. The furniture is cheap and pleasant, comfort prioritized over style and conformity, all of it ultimately replaceable. That means a lot of stuff scavenged from moving sales, from Craigslist, from whatever source Maudlin could get. Six tables, each large enough to hold six people, and three stools at the bar, itself a blocky metal thing covered in thick plastic, the alcohol locked behind it in glass cabinets. There's a fireplace on one side of the room, with two couches and a loveseat facing the single coffee table in front of it.
Argus is taking chairs down from tables, a few eyes on his back focused on me, a few narrowed at Caress, and a few more rolling around in their sockets and looking at nothing in particular. He straightens up and turns around, the single eye on his forehead blinking twice as it looks at me, then at Caress. He nods once, then goes back to his task, the expanse of skin where his nose and mouth should be as unchanging as ever
"He's the bartender?" Caress asks, walking over to the bar and settling down on a stool of spun chains, the much-abused floor receiving three more small cuts as the blades stab into the ground. "Not sure I trust a guy without a mouth to make me drinks," she adds, shooting a vicious smile at Argus. He doesn't visably react.
"He can see most Strangers and is partially immune to Master influences," I explain, forming my own chair. "Makes getting payment easier. Maudlin does an outreach program for Case 53's, found Argus, and offered him a job." The click of wood on wood stops, and I pause as Argus pads around behind us. He flips up the divider, walks behind the bar, then flips it down. He reaches under the bar, pulls out a small legal pad and pen, scribbles something on it, then passes it to Caress.
I work as a PI in the off season. Pays quite well.
"Didn't ask for your life story, Eyeballs," Cares replies, smile moving to something almost respectful. "You got Heineken?" she asks. Argus looks to me, jerking a thumb at Caress with a questioning look in his eyes.
"My tab," I say, waving dismissively. "The usual." The fact that I have a usual at a bar is a fact of no small concern to me, but it's been less of an issue lately. Certainly it's been less of an issue than when I started going out drinking with Maudlin, and as of now I would almost qualify it as a simple habit, rather than a problem.
Argus leaves us for a moment, pulling a pair of keys out of his belt and unlocking the cabinets above him, pulling bottles and glasses down. While he does that, I lean back in my chair and make eye contact with Caress.
"Why are you here?" I ask quietly.
Caress's smile transitions into a smirk. "You promised me compensation. Now, I'm willing to be pretty generous with the interest-"
"No," I say, shaking my head. "You don't travel cross country, away from your territory, away from your allies and resources, because you want some art." At least, I wouldn't. "If you're on the run, looking for a place to hole up, I'm not going to-"
"It's not 'cause I'm fucking running," Caress says harshly, metal scraping against metal as she clenches her fists, easy demeanor turning into a glare. "I don't fucking run."
I decide not to bring up Endbringers. Instead I look at her, waiting, expecting. She doesn't back down, face twisted in anger.
"I don't need anything from you," she says, hands unmoving. "I didn't come here for help, for payment, for- fuck," she finishes, finally breaking the staring contest and looking to the side, then back to me, a softness in her gaze I don't recognize. "I didn't come her for a fight," she says quietly. "Didn't want things to get heated."
"So you walked into my store, in full view of the public, and ask me to pay back an unspecified debt?" I ask dryly.
Caress shrugs, smile slowly returning. "I could have sent an email, but if you respond to requests for hookups over the internet I'm going to have to ask you to get tested, " she answers, flashing some tooth as the smile momentarily widens. "Next time I'll roll up with my entourage."
"Big word," I shoot back, nodding to Argus as he brings me my drink. "Did you look it up before you came to Boston?" The AMF is not a drink I can order in front of anyone who knows what it is, but I've grown to like them too much to let them go without a fight.
Caress laughs at that, shaking her head as Argus gently places a green bottle against the countertop, then bring his fist down, send the metal cap flying off. "Nah. Went back to school, got my degree, looking at a masters in chemical engineering."
"Really?" I ask, looking at Caress in a new light.
"Psh, no," she replies, shaking her head and tilting the bottle at Argus in gratitude. "One of the capes working under me is a lit freak, and some of it's been rubbing off on me," she explains. "Fucker can tell you all about the old white guys that wrote all the plays and stuff, but needs someone watching over him twenty-four seven to make sure he eats." She promptly starts chugging the beer, bottle slowly climbing to vertical, Adam's apple bobbing in time with her gulps. I stare stock still as she finishes it all in one go and drops the bottle on the table. "Another!" she says, grinning at Argus, who again turns to me.
"If you're just here for the drinks, I'm cutting you off after two," I say evenly as I nod to Argus, sipping at my own and savoring the bite of the alcohol. Argus reaches under the bar, pulls out a second bottle, and places it in front of Caress. "Now please, why?" I ask, more quietly. I still can't think of a plausible reason for her to be here, and I don't want to have to fight her over something that can be avoided. Best to just rip off the bandaid.
"Well, there goes that plan," Caress mutters, grabbing the drink and placing a single finger on the cap. It peels off with a slight cry of rending metal, then falls away. "Can we get some privacy?" she asks, looking at Argus with a toothy grin. "We need a minute." He sizes her up, then shrugs, turning around and walking through a small door. Once he's gone, Caress's smile drops away. I wait for her to begin.
And wait.
And wait.
Caress slowly sips at her beer, silent, until the alcohol is gone. Then she growls and throws the bottle at a trash can, nearly tipping it over as glass rattles against glass. "Fuck, here it goes," she mutters. Then she turns to look at me.
"You have any idea how fucking lonely being a villain is?" she asks, words hot with rage and fury. "You can't talk with the henches because they're too weak to matter, can't talk with your capes because they can't ever see the facade crack, and you can't talk with other villains because they're trying to kill you half the time. Can't go out with a civvie because I'm not stupid enough to tie myself to someone who fundamentally doesn't get it, and the next person to recommend me a therapist is going to get their skin peeled off," she growls, chains writhing across her face.
"You wanted to talk?" I ask incredulously.
Caress groans, dropping her head to the bartop. "No, I'm dancing around it, like I always fucking do. Like I did at Leviathan, like I did when I tried to explain to my goons why I was just chilling in Lincoln Park once a week for three months straight, like a whole lot of shit," she says, words muffled by the plastic. "I can't say this shit straight out because that's not me. I really, really fucking wish I could just go out and talk about shit but I can't. I avoid talking about it, stop thinking about it, and try to pretend like it doesn't exist but I fucking crave it like nothing else." There's a pain in her words, like fishhooks left broken in a bird, and I find myself moving closer to her, reaching out a hand. "I can't fucking say it, but I can point at shadows, at outlines, glance at it sideways and pray that someone gets it. That's all I can fucking do, because I can't look at the root cause without falling into a fucking wreck," she says, hissing out the last word. "Please, please tell me you get it, Rose," she says, quieter, somewhere between furious, hopeful, and so sad that it's its own color of misery, still hunched over, a geist of chains left staring at the bar top.
Slowly, oh so slowly, I let my hand settle on her shoulder. I think back to the conversation in the rain, to the tone of her voice. I think about Amy, even a little bit about Ames, and I kind of see it. Not the same shape, not the same way, but a sort of mirage that lasts for exactly long enough for me to understand.
"You kind of picked a bad time," I say quietly.
Caress snorts, almost a hiccup. "There's a good fucking time for this? I just ran here before I bitched out and started paying professional escorts." I laugh at that, the statement too sudden to guard against. That prompts Caress to laugh as well, a cascading series of nervous reactions that leave us both breathless, supported only by our powers and one another.
Slowly, I sit back up. Caress gets back up too, standing tall. She's only a little shorter than I am, probably a hair taller without heels.
We don't talk for a while.
"This was really fucking creepy," she says eventually, turning away from the bar. "Just wanted to get this off my chest."
"It was," I say, watching her head for the door. "But I still owe you those flowers."
She pauses, then looks back, a carefully guarded smile on her face. "What do you mean by that?" she asks, teasing, challenging. I shake my head.
"I mean exactly what I said. I still owe you flowers," I affirm, downing the rest of the blue liquor mix. "I'll make you any bouquet you want. Just one, and you have to be able to carry it on your own." I leave my glass on the bar and walk over towards her, shrinking just enough to be exactly eye level with her. "Anything more would go beyond the bounds of what I owe you. It would mean starting an official something. That's not something I can do with a villain." I stop, bare inches from her face. "I'm not going to stop being me, anymore than you're going to stop being you," I say quietly. "I'm sorry."
Caress looks at me for a long time, a small smile still in place.
Then she shakes her head and turns around again, chains rustling freely against one another like a hundred wind chimes all at once.
"I'll think about it," she says, opening the door outside. "Anyway, give me a heads up the next time you're in Chicago. I'll pick up the bouquet then, alright?" Her voice is just as upbeat as ever, and I can see new energy in her limbs, a vitality that wasn't there a few minutes ago.
I nod, even though she can't see it. "I'll do that," I whisper as she walks out the door, disappearing in a swirl of chains.
