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Crimson Claws

16.

I caught Nora Sykes's fist without her being able to hit her target. Something the enraged woman hadn't expected and something that unbalanced her already unstable stance even more. She would have landed roughly on her butt had I not wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against me. For a moment, I had her form pressed firmly against me. Soft flesh of hip, abdomen, breast, where the woman had proven in recent weeks to be basically all hard and sharp edges.

Then the moment was over and she pushed me away. Or to be precise, she pushed herself away from me, probably finding a more comfortable hold on the table she had jumped up from. And did nothing but glare, a furious madness in her eyes that landed on me and then immediately on the person who had poured his orange juice down her neck in the dining room. Michael's eyes were still wide, startled by the realization that he had almost been punched by an adult. It wasn't as if Derek and Maggie had been particularly overprotective of their first-born.

At twelve, Michael knew all the horrors New York had to offer in its deepest darkest bowels. He was a child - the first true child of the Labyrinth - and he was neither deaf nor blind. But violence. Violence directed at him - there was a first time for everything. But not today. And not from Nora. And never if I was around. Okay, presumably that blow would have gone over his head because Nora had clearly acted on reflex after her shrill scream about the unwanted shower had faded. That a woman with a leg in plaster could have jumped up and whirled around so quickly. But all at once - apart from Nora's snorts of rage, the main hall was almost dead silent. I didn't have to look up to know that all eyes were on us, but kept myself between Nora and Michael, who was just bending down to pick up his cup and dab the liquid away with his serving dish. Most of it had landed on Nora Sykes. Just as he had probably planned.

"What's going on here?" Derek thundered, storming towards them with feline grace and an aura of menace around tables and people because his catten was involved in something. The impression was somewhat diluted by the kicking baby - his baby - in his arms. Diane Abigail (an chubby cheeked angel with a light brown head of curls named after her two grandmothers) was wriggling in his arms, wide awake and squealing bubbles as if amused by her father's loud voice. It was a good thing that Abi liked her dad's loud and grim voice because he tended to be loud and grim. What did it say about the child that she liked it and what did it say about Derek that his anger made his baby happy? Despite the situation, I couldn't help but give her my purr reserved just for her, causing the baby to gurgle excitedly. It was a little early for her to be smiling at me- but we were getting there.

Derek's demanding eyes went back and forth between his son, me and Nora. He handed the baby to Benny, who immediately put distance between them and the situation.

"Your golden child spilled his juice all over me," Nora groaned as she bent down to pick up her fallen crutch. By now she was only using one, was moving faster and was more practiced at using it. Her anger had clearly fizzled out again, instead she fixed the boy with cold disapproval.

"It was an accident!" Michael proclaimed loudly and indignantly. And I raised a questioning eyebrow, whereupon my "nephew" began to knead his hands and lower his gaze. But it wasn't enough for him to give up his lie altogether.

"I mean, I was distracted and-"

"BULLSHIT!" Nora hissed.

"And she wanted to punch me! With her fist!"

"WHAT!" Bellowed Derek, his voice echoing in the high wide space and probably still audible in the upper world. His eyes had lost their pupils as he turned to the human woman, only electric fire in them. I felt my fur bristle at the electric voltage, saw the hairs on Nora Sykes arms stand up. But courage or lack of self-preservation or both - she withstood his gaze and his fatherly anger.

"Is that true?" he asked in a deep gravedigger's voice, while his child showed a tiny smirk behind his wings, aware of his strong ally.

"Yes!" shouted someone somewhere behind them. And someone else from the side agreed as well. Various voices joined in helpfully.

"Everyone saw it."

"It was definitely an innocent mistake and she lunged right away!"

"If Claw hadn't intervened-"

"She's dangerous!"

Nora Sykes huffed in amusement at the last assessment and raised her eyes to the ceiling as if to bid a higher power for succor or patience.

"There you hear the opinions of your court. I think ... in this situation, it doesn't matter what I have to say."

"My dad doesn't have a court. Everyone's equal down here. Everyone who isn't a mean child-beating douchebag," the child commented precociously.

Nora bared her teeth. "You little-" And she hadn't even taken a step towards the child when Derek's index finger was already on her chest. Along with an extended claw. I didn't even think about it, my arm shot out and grabbed my clan leader by the wrist. Derek looked at me briefly. I shook my head slowly, releasing my friend from the admonishing grip. And Derek took a deep breath before speaking more calmly

"Not like that, Nora. And we don't talk to each other like that." Without taking his eyes off Nora, this time without electricity but ice cold, he addressed his son.

"That we don't talk to each other like that applies to you too, Michael. Go to my office. We'll talk about it and get the dispute out of the way. I don't want a simmering conflict in the community, even if you're involved."

"But Dad, I gotta go to school!"

"I'll write you an apology for the first period. Go."

With that, the child scurried off.

When Derek tried to grab Nora's arm, she broke free, pushing chairs aside so she could stumble away with her crutch. Remnants of orange juice coated her hair and her T-shirt was soaking wet and discolored, especially down her back.

"We're not finished yet," Derek said indignantly and it was hilarious how much a Young lady, as long as you have your feet under my table-, was missing at the end.

Nora must have thought the same thing because she laughed maliciously.

"Yes, super-daddy - doesn't work on me. Your little prince can shove his phony apology up his butt. I got the message."

"Nora, get back here, we're sorting this out," Derek shouted firmly.

"You're the boss here, but not mine," she shouted back and hobbled towards the laundry -room. It was remarkable that none of the people had tripped her up on the way through the atrium, given the amount of dirty looks she got and ignored skillfully.

Derek huffed unhappily and I gestured for him to come into the office as he had wanted to do anyway. On the way there, some thanked me for stopping "the nut" from hitting Michael. I smiled and waved their kind words away, not feeling comfortable with it because I, who had been closest to - or most attentive to - what Nora Sykes did and didn't do and how she did it saw it a little differently.

But just with what people assumed and with what had been the general consensus before this event - Nora Sykes wasn't going to have an easy time continuing to live here in the Labyrinth.

To say that after almost two weeks in the labyrinth and in the community she had settled in would be the exaggeration of the century. Instead, she had managed in record time to ensure that nobody liked her with her all too often missing brain-to-mouth filter, her snotty, vulgar nature and her tendency to fly off the handle far too quickly. It was basically normal for "newcomers" to be alienated by the structures of the labyrinth or their unusual caretakers. Rumors traveled fast down here and many had let Nora get away with a lot considering she had been maimed by the wayward mutant of the first hour - her own brother. But even the understanding, friendly people were now saying that Fang might have had reason to give her a thrashing.

At first I had thought of her as a grenade. Small, with a short fuse and scattering shrapnel everywhere. In the meantime - and I knew the irony! - I found more and more comparisons with a cat. An abused feral cat that bristled its fur at the slightest irritation, made an aggressive hump, scratched and bit even the new people and … was later too proud or incapable to come and lick the wounds inflicted on them discreetly to express how sorry it was.

For I had no doubt that Nora Sykes regretted some of the things she said or did. She didn't really seem to take pleasure in deliberately hurting the non-humans or the human inhabitants with her verbal transgressions. The conflicts, the rejection she experienced, seemed to really bother her instead. Often she even seemed sorry but unable to apologize. And no one wanted to hear apologies. Not from someone who they didn't believe was sorry. Which in turn led to Nora keeping her distance but appearing more annoyed and bitchy than remorseful. At least that's how I interpreted my observations.

I didn't really stalk her. But ... I kept an eye on her. Which is why I had been able to intervene so quickly.

Nora Sykes had phases of absolute physical agitation and verbally boundless irritation. In these minutes or hours, she could be triggered by little things that could lead to her lashing out, depending on how the other person reacted. And then there were the other hours, often after she had become abusive and alienated others. In which she withdrew, if not always physically, then inwardly. Then she was introverted and silent, always with that fuming or irritated frown.

After a research session in our remarkably well-equipped library, I was none the wiser. Rather unsatisfied and confused. Not everything could be explained by atypical bipolar disorder. Or could it? I had always found it cheap and disgusting to try to understand someone on the basis of a diagnosis. It just wasn't fair to people, I thought it was even rude. I had a lot of previous experience of reading and understanding people from my time in the asylum and from my years with the clientele of the labyrinth. But Nora Sykes was ... challenging among the challenging. So for the first time in many years, I found myself in the uncomfortable situation of knowing a person who was a complete mystery to me.

Which inevitably led to me watching Nora Sykes whenever I had the chance. She was confusing and at the same time disconcertingly easy to read. Her face, her eyebrows, her forehead, her mouth - all an open book even before she opened her lips. When Nora Sykes was angry, she was angry with her whole body and being. When she was crestfallen, she was with every fiber. And I, for one, wanted to know if there was more. More than short fuse and defense.

Which no one else seemed to feel.

"She really wanted to hit you?"

Derek plopped down next to his son, who managed to look extremely dejected on the couch in his office. The boy already had his satchel in his arms, ready to head off to his responsibilities like a good child. He wasn't the best student in his class, but he was pretty good. This year hadn't gone so well for him because none of his friends from the labyrinth had made it into his class. Without his clique, he was "alone", the guy with the mutant parents. Something that had become known before the first parent-teacher conference because nowadays 7th graders obviously googled their classmates and there was an older photo that clearly showed Michael in his mom's lap at the Labyrinth open house day. I didn't doubt that some kids might think it was cool to have a classmate with a mutant family and gargoyle uncles and aunts. But some parents were less enthusiastic about a child who was on a first-name basis with such creatures, some of which could tear a car in half. And then there was the acquaintance with (mostly former) bums and drug addicts. Michael was pretty isolated himself.

Derek and Maggie had talked about it with the teachers - a strange thing for everyone involved and the parents' evenings where all the parents were present had been a real joy. The petition that Michael should not go to school with "normal" children organized by the most obnoxious helicopter parents had disappeared along with a generous donation. Another Xanatos intervention that had set Derek off. Xanatos was his kryptonite, his well-meaning meddling not redress for Derek but a reminder of what he himself lacked in leadership of his community and his clan and family.

At least it was summer vacation in a week and the world would look different again next semester.

"If she raised her hand against you - whether the juice was an accident or not - then she will leave the community. It's one thing for her to get into fights with adults. But violence against children is punished immediately," Derek said, more frustrated than angry.

"Yes, she should go," Michael immediately jumped at the opportunity. "I want the police to protect her from Fang. She shouldn't be our problem."

I grumbled and Derek and Michael looked at me, the kid immediately averting his eyes because he knew from birth how to read me and my look didn't exactly speak of contentment and pride.

"You have a different opinion? I don't want Miss Sykes to fall into her brother's clutches either, but not at the expense of the whole community," said Derek. And yes, he was right and wrong at the same time. A leader had to consider the welfare of many. But he didn't throw someone to the proverbial mountain lion either.

With a few quick signs describing my observations, I made Michael jump up, his voice shrill.

"I'm sorry about that, okay? That was really childish and mean. But SHE is far more so and always! She's mean to everyone! She doesn't belong here."

Derek rubbed the fur on his skull, sighing, his ears flat in distress over Michael. He respected my opinion, believed me because he knew I loved Michael and wouldn't defend others at his expense if they didn't deserve it.

"Michael, many people here have problems. We try to help everyone."

"She doesn't want help, Dad! She doesn't even want to be here or she'd try harder! Everyone has to make an effort, that's part of coexistence!"

"The real reason, Michael. Pouring drinks on other people - you're not like that. It's disappointing that you didn't talk to one of us before. Where do you get the right?"

The child sucked his lower lip between his teeth defiantly, clutching his rucksack tighter like a cuddly toy he had to hold on to.

"The day before yesterday she was standing in the dinner line," he began in a low voice, "and there were women in front of her talking about Abi and how cute she is and how she's so sweet and has little dimples like an angel and no one asked Miss Sykes for her stupid opinion but she blurts out how crazy it was that no one who didn't know could tell what her parents were. And that that was pretty lucky. And I was standing three people behind her and people were looking at me and and I ran away before I - but at that moment I would have liked to kick her in her good leg. She can't - Dad, she CAN'T say something like that and -" . Michael's voice had become hateful during the story where he now ended in despair, taking a deep breath and pressing the pads of his hands against his eyes to keep himself from crying. I looked up to where the light flickered above our heads and Derek began quietly cooing reassurances as his child huddled in the crook of his arm. A muscular black arm wrapped tighter around the boy and one of Derek's wings wrapped around him, giving him privacy.

I knelt in front of the child and placed a paw on his knee, which peeked out from under the wing, whereupon a child's hand clasped one of my fingers and squeezed. Under the protection of warm, fatherly wings, Michael began to sob quietly.

"It's okay," Derek murmured as he cradled him, "it's okay, you're a good boy. You have a right to be mad about someone insulting your family. That was really stupid again, but it's a good thing you didn't kick her. Shhh it's okay, let it out. Let's keep this between us. It wasn't okay that you called her a douchebag and spilled the juice on her but ... well, I probably would have done worse in anger in years gone by. At that point you're better than I was, I'm proud of you. But we mustn't give in to the impulse for justice because that doesn't satisfy us in the end anyway. Or do you feel particularly better? No? You see. It's hard to deal with certain people. But a lot of them... act like idiots because they are hurt themselves. Inside." As he cradled his child, his eyes found mine and his next words demanded my participation. "It's okay, we'll think of something." And that was fair because I was Nora Sykes' advocate, even if not really by choice. So I nodded as Michael peeled out from under his dad's wing and rubbed roughly at his red-rimmed eyes.

"How long is this going to take?" he asked critically, looking from his dad to me. I scratched the fur on my neck with sharp claws, thinking before I gestured:

'I'll think of something. Punishment. And how Nora doesn't make people angry so often anymore.`

Michael grabbed his backpack, which had slipped off his lap, and huffed sarcastically. "What, are you going to play the decency police for her 24/7? Or an electric shock collar that zaps her every time she says something stupid?"

Derek laughed, where I grunted mirthfully and shook my head even though I secretly feared it actually required such a thing. On a slightly happier note, we broke apart. Because Derek and Michael (basically everyone) were relying on me to handle Nora Sykes' attitude problems - oh man, I couldn't even talk and yet my big mouth had gotten me into a situation like this.

Our leader stood up, went to his desk, picked up a ballpoint pen and wrote Michael's apology. The pen looked tiny in his paws. It would even disappear in mine. We'd all had to relearn fine motor skills, but Derek and Maggie always went the extra mile when writing messages for others, both in grammar and handwriting. I didn't know if calligraphy was more likely to win the teachers over to this unusual family. But perhaps it was a tiny part of making a good impression even by apologizing for the child's tardiness. He put the note in an envelope and gave it to his son.

"Put it between your books so it doesn't get wrinkled. But hand it in straight away, don't forget."

"All right," the child mumbled and was hightailing it out of the office. But not without giving me a smiling nod that was clearly an encouragement. Wonderful.

"Where is she now, what do you think?" asked Derek, raising his eyes to me.

`Laundry` I gestured and he nodded.

"Good. Wish she was always there. Far away where she can antagonize as few people as possible. Oh, what a joy to have a Sykes in the community again."

I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant and feeling sorry for Nora because everyone probably felt that way about her.

I made my way to where I would probably meet her, because this place was practically ... her fortress of solitude.

We had our own laundry where everyone could wash and dry their clothes and where the communal laundry was done. Nora Sykes had chosen this area when she had healed enough last week to be able to use her hands intensively again.

I had secretly hoped that she would sign up for kitchen duty because I often helped out there (I had found joy in cooking in recent years - among other things). That way I would have been able to unravel the mystery of Nora Sykes sooner, accepting that I would often be made fun of or insulted, but it might have been worth it. But one look at me and Nora had put her cross next to "laundry service".

I was disappointed but not really surprised because anyone who could read facial expressions could see that Nora constantly avoided all mutants and also Delilah, who she put in the same "non-human monster" category. That was understandable. When someone was bitten by a dog - wasn't it normal to be cautious, fearful or even hostile towards all other dogs for a while? I had lived in an asylum for too long, had dealt with the problem-ridden residents of the labyrinth community for too long not to have thought about that.

That was on my mind as I made my way to the laundry area to "punish" and educate Nora Sykes - however I was supposed to do that.

No one, not even our often stubborn clan leader, could blame her if she was afraid and this fear broke out like this. But just because I could understand it didn't mean that I found Nora's behavior acceptable. I found her just as unpleasant as everyone else probably did.

She was not an active but socializing bully like her brother had been (or still was). But she was anything but likeable with her insensitive words and quickly belligerent attitude. And yet ... Her glances, her gestures, her words. It didn't really seem to be fear. Maybe it was - but first and foremost it was mistrust, disgust, maybe even loathing. Something that all non-humans had experience of in all possible forms and manifestations. No matter how often, with whom and how strongly it happened - it always hurt. Always.

But that really didn't mean that she got on well with any of the humans. Many people, those who didn't show disapproval, avoided her because of her temper tantrums and lack of acceptable social behavior. The day before yesterday, one of the children had fallen over her crutch while jumping around and cried terribly. Nora Sykes had simply said so brats would learn to watch out and had hobbled off. Two days before that, Nora had slapped one of her roommates she'd gotten into a fight with over "general hygiene" and it was kind of sureal that I'd had to keep the two women apart, who had gone at each other like wildcats. And before that, Nora had broken the nose of one of the new guys because he had pinched her butt - something that unfortunately happened and that nobody had reproached her for because it was UNACCEPTABLE down here. All just little pieces in the overall Nora Sykes picture.

But ... what no one saw or wanted to see. What perhaps only I noticed were other episodes.

Sad little things that said nothing on their own but together really stung. How most conversations broke off when she came near because no one wanted her to add her usually offensive five cents. How she managed to clear an entire table in the dining room within a few moments at mealtimes because everyone was suddenly "finished" eating or had found better seats.

Saturday was movie night for the kids (and teens and parents who didn't feel or want to feel too grown up). There was also a TV for educational movies in the library and almost every family had one in their rooms but the movie nights together were just wonderful. Every week a different animated movie was projected on a linen cloth in the main hall, almost like in a movie theater. I loved these evenings where the adults grabbed chairs but most of the children snuggled together on rugs, poufs and couches that Thomas and I had carried in. All the children climbing over each other, giggling, whispering and later watching with spellbound yet dopped lazy looks, their faces bathed in the colorful glow of the pictures. Some of the parents and I were usually in the middle of it and often brutal rock-paper-scissors tournaments were held beforehand to determine who was allowed to sit next to me on the floor because only four children could comfortably wrap themselves in my wings at the same time. On more than one occasion, a video of me buried underneath children made its way through the community, which made everyone laugh and tease me for the next few days. And it was hot and stuffy and it felt like family, smelling of feet, the last supper, the damp second skin of sweat and satisfied knowledge that you were safe and sheltered for those hours down here. And that was more than I or many of the children had ever known.

Last week, almost at the end of the movie Bolt, during the most emotional moment where everyone thought the brave dog would die, I looked to the side and saw Nora Sykes sitting there. Far behind the adults in their chairs, in near darkness on the stairs to the second floor, her neck stretched out to see the screen and her cheeks wet with tears like those of most of the children around me. And I hadn't been able to avert my gaze, had stared so intensely that some of the adults had turned their heads too, causing Nora Sykes to flee immediately, although I couldn't be sure if they could even recognize her in the semi-darkness. I had the impression that this Nora there all alone on the stairs, tragic in her isolation and her genuine, raw reaction to the end of the movie had been more authentic than any scream of rage or raised fist.

Sorrowful was not a word anyone wanted to think in relation to Nora Sykes because no one sympathized with her the way she often acted but I thought Nora was a sad person. An angry one too, but that was a symptom of other things. She was always visibly frustrated, even if in her quiet hours it was impossible to tell whether it was with herself or others. She ate alone, she was alone in the dormitory, she hobbled through the public areas of the labyrinth alone, she did her laundry duty alone because that was a crappy and exhausting job, especially in the summer when the tunnels were already oppressively humid. None of this seemed like deliberate seclusion. There were people who were born to it and felt comfortable as a lone wolf, but this woman didn't give that impression. So if Nora Sykes didn't really want to be alone, an outcast, why didn't she make any less effort to repel everyone? COULDN'T she simply because of her issues? Or didn't she WANT to?

Thanks for reading, Q.T.

Translating sign language into coherent flowing text is basically not possible, but in fiction it is done for the sake of utility. Circumstances, situations or other complex things sometimes have only one character or you have to invent your own characters for people or things and you need practice and context to understand them.

For example: "We were at a Knicks game on Sunday and Deborah got a ball to the head." You can express this with gestures by gesturing Deborah and Knicks with the individual letters (which hardly anyone does - nobody has that much time) or Deborah has her own sign, for example a wave running downwards for long wavy hair. And Knicks have their own sign invented by the presenter, for example a cheering gesture because he loves the Knicks and the general dribble gesture.

I'm sure I've explained it completely unsatisfactorily, I just wanted to ramble a bit that Claw doesn't really express these elaborate sentences with sign language the way I'm writing it as a sentence for you - but he's only understood excellently in this way because he uses sign language around his family. What he interprets to Michael - these three sentences he can express in a few seconds and a few movements. The structure is also different. The full sentence structure in ASL is [topic] [subject] verb [object] [subject-pronoun-tag]. Topics and tags are both indicated with non-manual features, and both give a great deal of flexibility to ASL word order. So ASL is incredibly individual and dynamic, but when strangers "talk" they understand each other by bypassing what is not quite clear.