Marcus sighed even as he left his apartment behind, carrying nothing but his own clothes and his darkroom equipment, wondering where to find a cheap motel outside merchant territory.
While he had benefited from the fight, apparently the fight had damaged the building enough to require some serious repair. Meaning, every single resident was homeless, receiving some promises of a payout for the future.
Marcus doubted that they would receive such a thing. It was a weird sensation, leaving another house behind. It was a tiny ugly apartment, but it was his.
Still, even as he ended up homeless, with no money to get a motel for more than a week, he was happy. Super strength — even if it was firmly in the limits of Brute 1, and required some kind of force field to appear in his hand to activate — was a good trade for a shitty apartment.
Especially since it gave him the confidence to take some risks. Not a lot, but some.
However, he decided to leave the question of finding a residence for the future. For the moment, he had a date with Taylor. A photoshoot, more accurately, one that might potentially increase his powers further.
Her powers were incredibly useful. Without them, he could never dare to talk with Glory Girl.
He pulled in front of Taylor's house earlier than he promised, hoping that she would be alright to have the photoshoot in her home. And, if not, outside.
The moment he pulled to the driveway, Taylor appeared at the door, no doubt catching his arrival with her bugs. "Hey, Taylor," he greeted her with the biggest smile he could manage, and took a picture of her without warning.
That activated Taylor's power, and gave him a weak connection, giving him a real-time feed of her emotions. She was excited, yet confused at the same time. "Hey, Marcus," she replied. "I thought that we said eleven."
"Yes, but some complications happened," he replied, feeling her disappointment. It was good. The more enthusiastic she was for the shoot, the easier she would agree to an alternative. "There was a fight near my apartment … and long story short, I'm homeless."
"Oh, no," she gasped. "We can reschedule if you want," she offered.
"Actually, if it's alright, I prefer to do it immediately. That way, I can spend the rest of my day searching for a place to set up a dark room," he said. "Unless, of course, you're alright with me using your basement."
"No! No basement," she gasped.
He guessed that there was something about her powers there. "It doesn't have to be. Any room without a window is acceptable. I just need to replace the light bulb with a red one."
"We have an empty room upstairs. You can use it," Taylor accepted immediately, her relief palpable through their connection.
Success. Not that it was too shocking. Taylor wasn't afraid of opening her home, because she was confident that she was secure. Considering her power, he couldn't say that she was misguided. She had every reason to be confident physically.
"Really, you're the best," he said, giving her the biggest smile he could achieve. She blushed hard, feeling shy yet excited … before her emotions suddenly dimmed.
Marcus turned his attention to his stuff, and pulled out his darkroom equipment. He did so to keep his sudden frown hidden. Her sudden emotional shift caught him surprised. It was clearly not normal, and he doubted that it was healthy.
Maybe he should have focused on that, but the prospect of getting a nice boost to the power he had received from her felt more tempting.
"Do you mind if we set up in the living room?" he asked.
"Sure. My father will be out all day."
He nodded. "Good news. It means we can work on the details for a long time. I need to warn you. It's going to take a while. It's really important for me to get accepted to college."
"Don't worry, I promised to help," she said, determined. Her willingness to help him might have made him feel bad if he wasn't already planning to help her. "Now, let me show you the windowless room."
Marcus nodded happily. "Yes, please," he said. "And, while I set it up, why don't you change."
"I don't know what to wear," she said.
"We're going to have a portrait project. The aim is to show every aspect of your life. So, why don't you pick something you feel comfortable in, and we can start."
"Are you sure?" she asked. "I'm not the best when it comes to fashion."
"I trust you," he replied. He did not. He saw the way she dressed to the school, but considering he was taking her pictures for an imaginary college application, it didn't really matter. Supporting her confidence was far more important. He just needed to stay friendly yet professional.
And, it wasn't like having a very extended photo shoot all around her house was a chore.
He couldn't wait until the results.
"I think that was the last set," Marcus called. "With those pictures, we show off the exercise nut Taylor as well, completing the set."
Taylor blushed horribly as he called her that. "S-shut up," she stumbled.
"It's good that we already finished Poet Taylor earlier," he said. It didn't solve her blush, but she ignored the temptation to just shunt all her emotions to her bugs. It had been such a long time since someone had flirted with her, so she decided to enjoy the novelty.
She still didn't know what to feel about Marcus. Another random, faceless boy from Winslow, complicit to her suffering. She wanted to blame him at first, but learning he had been at the hospital at the same time due to an Empire lynching prevented her from brushing him with the same brush.
He was also the only one who actually helped her. Oh, a lot of people conveyed their sadness about the bullying, but none of them actually did anything. But, Marcus did the opposite. He never mentioned it, acting like he was unaware of it, but through her bugs, she had seen him interfering with the trio or their lackeys multiple times.
All day, Taylor expected him to tell that, maybe ask for a repayment. As for what repayment might be, her mind had been active. He might have asked for a place of stay — which she might agree — or he might act like a sleazy jock and ask her to pay back for his help — which would end up with him surrounded by bees.
Yet, he shocked her by not mentioning it even for a second or the bullying. If it wasn't for his help, she might have even believed that he had never noticed her bullying.
Instead of lording his savior complex like others would have — as that asshole teacher Gladys or Greg did despite doing nothing but watching from the side — he had spent most of his day moving her lamps around to catch the light.
It was refreshing.
And, Taylor couldn't exactly argue with the results. She didn't think of herself as a good model. She was tall, lanky, and awkward. But, Marcus proved to be an even better photographer than he suggested, carefully directing her until she was able to operate as a half-decent model.
However, she knew she shouldn't have taken Emma's claims — from where they were still friends — too seriously. Modeling was much easier than she claimed. Just trust the expert and do her best. Simple. He had already shown the first few sets, and they looked much better than she had expected.
"Well, it was a fun way to spend my Saturday," Taylor said. In actuality, it might have been the best Saturday she had since she lost her mother, but she didn't say that. She didn't want to sound that pathetic.
"So, would you like to go out to celebrate, or order takeout," he said. "My treat. It's the least I can do for you to save my ass."
"You don't need to," Taylor said. "You already promised to give me a lift when I need it. That's more than enough."
"Nonsense," he said. "You have saved my ass. Even an amateur model would have asked for at least a thousand dollars for a full-day session like this. Dinner is the least I could do."
"A … a thousand," Taylor gasped.
"At least. Not to mention, I would need to rent a studio as they wouldn't open their house for me. It might have cost us two thousand at least."
"T-two thousand?" Taylor gasped. "That's more than what the average dockworker makes in a month!"
"Dockworker?" he asked.
Taylor blushed. "My father works for the dockworker's association," Taylor explained. "I can't believe they make that much."
He shrugged. "Not exactly. They can only charge that kind of money to amateurs like us. Any job with decent exposure, they are willing to work for much less. Sometimes for free, and even then, the competition is stiff."
"Sounds unfair," Taylor commented.
It earned a laugh. "No one claimed that the art world is fair. It's even worse when it comes to fashion. It's one thing that Winslow teaches us. Life isn't fair."
"That, and how do dodge gangs," Taylor responded, then blushed, remembering that he had suffered in the hands of the gangs badly enough to end up in the hospital.
"True," he said with a dismissive chuckle. "That's an important life skill. I can attest. But, let's talk about something more important. What kind of pizza you want? Except pineapple, of course."
"Hey, they are not that bad…" Taylor responded, which ended up with them chatting about the merits of various toppings, turning into a generic discussion about Winslow, including the worst teacher … a difficult competition.
However, even as they chatted, she found herself thinking about how much money models were making. A thousand dollars a day was an incredible amount. Even a fraction of it would have been incredible. She had been working hard on her armor, but that was a slow-going process, mostly due to a lack of funds.
If she could get that kind of money, her costume would be much better. And, the sooner she started acting like a hero, the sooner she could save herself from the torture of the trio.
So, as their discussion stalled, Taylor found herself asking that critical question. "So, you told me that the models could make a lot of money," Taylor said.
"Yes. Of course, it's mostly fashion shoots that give that kind of money. Artists willing to pay for their portfolios are rarer."
"Fashion," Taylor muttered, already wilting. She wasn't Emma. She couldn't do fashion.
"You need a proper portfolio ready to show the clients of course," he started.
"Can't we just send the copies of today's pictures?" Taylor asked. "They are my best photos."
"No, the style is all wrong," he said. "The whole point of today was to tell a story. The fashion photos are the exact opposite. You need to be a mannequin for the clothes … a sexy mannequin, but not something you'll have trouble with."
Taylor blushed, unprepared for the compliment. At the same time, he stood up. For a moment, she was scared that he was about to leave. Then, she got even more scared when he started walking toward the stairs. "Where are you going?" she asked.
"Well, you're clearly interested in a modeling career, and we have time. Let's go and see if we can put together a decent portfolio together."
"You don't have to. I don't think I can work as a model," Taylor whimpered.
"Nonsense. With those legs, you'll look amazing in some skinny jeans, and there are some local brands that work with your style."
"Still, I don't have to make you work for nothing."
He waved it off, and smiled at her. She felt her insides do a tumble. "Nonsense. I never say no to some extra photos for my portfolio. And, maybe I can find a job where we both work together. Believe me. I'm currently homeless, and need money even more than you do."
Already tempted by the idea, his words had proved decisive. He was right, what was the harm in trying. If it worked, she would have enough money to finish her costume. And, even if it didn't, it wasn't like another photo set was a hardship at this point.
How different a fashion shoot could be?