Leaf
Chapter One
Miss Militia studied the prisoner through the one-way mirror in the interrogation room. The girl was about Vista's age with long black hair, a round face, and big brown eyes. She looked Hispanic, though Miss Militia couldn't say for certain.
If it weren't for the villain label on her prisoner uniform, Miss Militia wouldn't have looked at her twice.
"So this is Leaf," she stated.
Leaf had been about a minor a villain as villains could be, even compared to people like Uber and Leet. She had a gimmick where she would only steal food, robbing pastry shops and country clubs. With a kill count and an injury count of zero each, the Protectorate would have never gotten involved with her if she hadn't tried to rob the PHQ.
Miss Militia had been out on patrol when it happened, but what kind of neurosis drove someone to rob the PHQ? Apparently Leaf had gotten pretty far, too. Assault claimed to have found her in the break room with her nose in the fridge asking for the location of "the good stuff" before she tried to escape.
A blood test later suggested that Leaf was not, as was initially assumed, on drugs.
Armsmaster nodded beside her. "We will try to recruit her into the Wards. And by we I mean you. I ... I expect that I may lose my temper."
Miss Militia nodded slowly. Armsmaster could remain professional when dealing with villains like Lung or Kaiser, but the juvenile D-rank villain had embarrassed the entire Protectorate when she had attempted to rob their headquarters, and as the leader of the Protectorate East-Northeast, Armsmaster felt the shame twice over.
"Would she join the Wards here or would she be transferred to another branch?"
"She has kept a low enough profile to stay here with minimal rebranding. And ... I would rather keep this matter in house."
She nodded again. "Why me for the recruitment?" Usually Wards recruited Wards, and she hadn't been a member for over a decade. "Wouldn't she be more receptive to someone closer to her own age?"
"If she were an independent hero, I'd agree with you," he said. "Her actions so far have been frivolous, and it will not matter how much she likes us if she doesn't respect us. Afterward, we can worry about getting her some friends."
He said the word as though he had read it in a book somewhere. Miss Militia could empathize with the sentiment. Being a hero in Brockton Bay was often a matter of life and death. Enjoying the company of one's teammates was secondary to having teammates who would do their job.
"Besides," he continued, "she is, as far as I know, a homeless orphan, and you are a woman approximately one generation older than she is. She may respond favorably to a maternal presence."
Miss Militia didn't exactly appreciate the way he phrased that, but she knew him too well to take offense. Armsmaster insulted people directly and he praised them directly without anything in between.
"And she is a Mover 2, Shaker 1 with phytokinesis?"
"She's received a Breaker designation as well," Armsmaster said. "She can negate the effects of friction, making her immune to air resistance and allowing her to slide on the ground at high speeds, and she can make plants grow in a small area around her. Not the most impressive powerset, but ..."
But she had snuck into the PHQ and it had taken Assault, Battery, Velocity, and Armsmaster to pin her down. Her powers weren't useful in a fight, but she could move, as her cape name implied, like a leaf in the wind.
WWW
"You can't keep doing this, Mistress," Wyndle whined, growing along the walls. "Haven't I warned you that this would happen? But no matter what I say, you always go looking for trouble, and do you know what? You found it."
Lift looked around the small room she was in. "Really? Don't see it." Sure, she had gotten arrested, but that was part of the risk that made stealing fun. She could leave any time she wanted to. When she made herself Slick no one could grab onto her, which was fun, but the real trick was making other stuff Slick. A locked door? No problem. Either it unlocked itself, or the screws popped out. Honestly, she wasn't sure why they bothered putting her in handcuffs.
And that wasn't even including using Wyndle as a Shardblade. If she did that, breaking out of here would be so easy it would be nearly cheating.
The door opened and a woman in green walked in. "Good morning" she said, sitting down across from her. "How are you feeling?"
"Kind of hungry," Lift said. "Got anything to eat?" Honestly, the only reason she hadn't broken out already was because she figured that if she was going to be arrested, she might as well get a free meal out of it.
"I'll see if I can have anything sent over to your cell. In the meantime, there are a few things I'd like to discuss with you, Leaf. It is alright if I call you Leaf, isn't?"
"It's Lift," she said. Why did everyone call her Leaf? Sure, she could make plants grow, but she lifted things way more often.
"Lift, then."
Lift nodded. "Who are you?"
The woman hesitated. She had the lower half of her face covered, but her eyes looked surprised. "Miss Militia. I take it you don't follow the cape scene, Lift. I find that odd, considering your profession."
Lift shrugged. "I've worn capes before. Turns out they make me look silly."
She was joking, of course. Capes were what they called people who were awesome around here. Kind of a silly name, but easier to say than Surgebinder or Knight Radiant.
"I see. Well let's get down to business, shall we? First off, I understand you have waived your right to legal council. Is that correct?"
Lift looked up at her. "How'm I supposed to wave? My hands are tied up."
"No, I mean that you have decided that you do not want a lawyer."
"What's a lawyer?" she asked. She knew she had heard that term before. "Can you eat it?"
"No," Militia said. "A lawyer is someone who understands the ins and outs of the legal system, and can give you advice."
"Oh!" Azimir was practically the kingdom of lawyers, but they called them things like scribes, viziers, scions, and a whole bunch of other names for people with big words and bigger robes. Lift just called 'em noodles. "We got those where I'm from too. Do yours come with funny hats?"
"No. They do not."
"Aw." Their hats were the best things about them. "Nevermind then. There's not much point to having a lawyer without a funny hat."
"Is there anyone you would like notified about your situation?" Militia asked. "A parent or legal guardian we could contact to let them know that you are safe?"
Lift thought for a moment. Lift knew she was safe, but she hadn't expected Militia to know that. "Nah. My parents are ways away. Besides, they're both dead."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
She shrugged. "Don't be. If they weren't, they'd be missing bits. And they'd smell really bad."
"I ... see." She seemed nice, Lift decided. Most people were, but after you started working for the law you were supposed to try your starvin' best not to be.
The combat knife at Militia's hip turned into a ball of green energy, then into a small gun. They didn't have guns back home, and she couldn't get Wyndle to turn into one. Two many little parts. He could turn into a bow without the arrow (or the string) or an arrow without the bow, but he couldn't be both.
Militia glanced down at her gun, turned it into a sabre, and set it on the table between them. Within arm's reach, even. Militia looked at the big mirror—there were people on the other side, and Wyndle'd told her that they could see through it like a window—and Lift reached over, slipping her cuffs, and grabbed it.
It wasn't a Shardblade, even if it could change shape like one. Definitely still alive; it hummed a bit. She held it up to her ear to see if she could hear anything. "What's his name?"
Militia watched her, not exactly concerned—she could probably call her weapon to her hand as quickly as Lift could call Wyndle—but certainly more cautious. "It doesn't have a name."
"Don't he talk to you?" Lift was certain that he was a he. That was just the way things worked. Boys got girl weapons and girls got boy weapons.
"Mistress," Wyndle said, "I am ... ninety percent sure that is not a spren, not in the sense you're thinking of."
Lift ignored him, not that she could talk to him at all right now without sounding crazy.
"No," Militia answered.
"Huh. Mine never stops whining."
"That is not true!"
Militia frowned, giving Lift the same look grown-ups always did when she told the truth and they still didn't believe her. Lift didn't mind. If they were a bit more credulous, she'd have to lie more, and that was just too much work. "By way of proceeding, do you understand the charges placed before you?"
"Uh, sure, it's ..." She glanced down at Wyndle. He had a good head for boring stuff, even though he didn't have a head at all.
"Theft, trespassing, breaking and entering," he said.
"Right! Thievin', going where I ain't supposed to, and breaking entrances." She frowned. "I never broke nothin', so you can't accuse me of that."
"Normally you would be sent into the foster care system after a short stay in a juvenile detention center, but as a parahuman, the situation is more severe."
Lift looked up at that. Foster care? That meant you got a fake family. She gripped Militia's sword handle tightly, but she didn't say anything.
"Any detention center holding you would be designed for parahumans, and any foster family willing to take you in would need to be informed of your abilities. It is difficult for young criminals to find foster parents willing to take them in, and for young villains it is nearly impossible. It is quite possible that you could remain in the detention center until you turn eighteen."
Wyndle began to moan, though Lift couldn't tell what his problem was. She had never been sent to prison before, but she had broken out more of her fellow thieves than she could count, like, ten. Breaking herself out would be a piece of cake compared to figuring out how starvin' old she was.
"Okay."
Militia gave her the second most common look adults gave her, which said that she didn't appreciate her levity. "Your other option is to join the Wards as a junior hero. You would stay in the Wards HQ until a suitable foster family could be found, and you would be enrolled in school ... does this amuse you, Lift?"
Lift tried to hold back her laughter before giving up entirely, but as soon as she stopped trying not to, the joke wasn't funny anymore. "You want me to be a lawman?"
"It is not so strange. Many former villains have been able to turn their lives around."
Lift shook her head and set Militia's saber back on the table. "What do you think?" she asked Wyndle, not caring if Militia thought she was talking to herself.
Militia glanced at the spot on the wall where Wyndle was, but she couldn't see him. "Um, I think that some structure would be good for you, Mistress, and her offer does seem better than the alternative, but ... but I did not bond a Skybreaker."
Lift nodded, for once in agreement with the mass of vines and crystals that made up her spren. Darkness, the starvin' Herald of Justice himself, hadn't chased her across half a continent to recruit her, that was for sure.
It was like ... it was like the law was a great big gardener, keeping everything in place. That was great if you were a flower or a tomato, but Lift had always been a weed. There wasn't no place in the garden for weeds. There never had been.
"Thanks for the offer," Lift said, "but it ain't for me."
Militia's brow furrowed. "You would rather go to a parahuman detention center than join the Wards? This is not a decision to be made quickly or lightly. Perhaps you would like to speak with one of the current members, Aegis or—"
Lift shook her head. "No, I'm good." She knew who she was. She was a thief, and a starvin' good one, and if Wyndle had anything to say about it, she was an Edgedancer too, one who listened and remembered and ... and did whatever else Edgedancers were sworn to do. Skybreakers and lawmen kept order, but they didn't know how to listen. Darkness couldn't hear his own heart until long after there was nothing left, and Militia had been carrying her weapon around with her for the Almighty knew how long and still didn't know what his name was.
Cain reverted to his green energy form and appeared in Militia's hand as a long, black rifle. "If that is your decision little one, I can't force you. Let me know if you change your mind." She stood up and left, and two people in PRT uniforms put her handcuffs back on and escorted Lift back to her cell.
WWW
Lift's decision wasn't entirely unexpected, but Miss Militia felt disappointed all the same. Miss Militia had been an orphan too when she was younger, and a foster family and the Wards Program were the best things that could have happened to her. If she had made a more impassioned argument ...
But the choice was Lift's and Lift's alone, and if the girl would not cooperate with the PRT, then the PRT would find some other way to use her, as sad as it was. They always needed more heroes, but harmless villains like her gave the heroes someone to practice on without risk. Instead of giving her the help she needed but didn't want, they would put her in a prison they knew she could escape from, then hunt her down and catch her again, and again, and again, all because she was a child too fond of her game to let go of it.
Miss Militia knew the routine well enough to tell how it would end. Lift would spend so much of her life in the chase or in the cage that even when she tired of the game, the game would be all she knew. Eventually her crimes would escalate and she would fight back more viciously to evade capture until when the heroes finally did capture her, they would send her to a prison that she could not escape from. The heroes would congratulate themselves and the people would cheer, all for the arrest of someone who never should never have become a villain in the first place.
All for the sake of a game. Sad, yes, but one day Lift would learn that she couldn't stay a child forever.
WWW
Lift waited until midnight.
She sent Wyndle back and forth to the nearest clock, if only for something to do. She hated waiting. Waiting made her think about things that she'd rather not think about, like that she'd never find a way back home, or that she'd never see her friends again. Sure, she'd been excited to see a different world when she'd left with the queen of Alethkar, but only Jasnah knew enough about Shadesmar to get in and out at will.
Where was she? She had probably made it to Ashyn by now, if she hadn't turned back and returned to Roshar.
Lift looked down at her plate of food. It was some kind of meat-pasta thing with steamed vegetables on the side. She was surprised by the last bit. She wondered if she could bring the plants back to life and attack her enemies with a forest of broccoli.
No, no, that was dumb. She ate her food instead. It had gone cold hours ago, but it filled her stomach.
"Ooh eady?" she asked with her mouth full.
"I've studied the layout of this facility to the best of my ability. The Wards have gone home already, it being a school night, and the building is as empty as it is likely to get. Which, by no means should suggest that you should be careless. The Protectorate still has one of its members on the premises, the one named Battery. You've met her before, so please be careful."
"Ooh, ee?"
"Yes, you. I expect that an alarm will sound as soon as you exit this cell, so I have determined the fastest route to the exit, not the quietest."
Lift swallowed. "Great. And did you find ..."
"Your lucky chip? Unfortunately, no. Your effects seem to have been moved to another location."
"Balls!" She had liked that one! Lift had never gotten used to money, but a bit of light came in handy. Okay, she could glow whenever she wanted to, but still.
Well, that sort of thing happened when you got arrested. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and stood up. "Let's go."
Wyndle appeared in her hand, a long blade of silvery steel, dripping with dew, and Lift cut a hole through her cell wall. Sure enough, a siren started blaring and containment foam started raining down from the ceiling. Containment foam was super sticky, but Lift was awesomely Slick when she wanted to be, and the foam dripped off of her like water.
She ran down the hall, awesomeness trailing behind her like white smoke, and she made her escape.