Unnatural Disaster [Worm]

[Potato Nose]

As much as this story seems to be flowing easily for me, I decided to stop cluttering up the worm ideas thread with it and give it a home. Altering the chapter order a bit, too, because the flow if the story feels better to me this way.

So, yeah. Let the good times roll.

Index

Prologue

| 1.1 | 1.2 | 1.3 | 1.4 | 1.5 | 1.6 | 1.7 | interlude: Armsmaster | interlude: Madison |

| 2.1 | 2.2 | Interlude: Repair | 2.3 | 2.4 | 2.5 | Interlude: Piggot | 2.6 | 2.7 | Interlude Piggot/Coil | 2.8 | 2.9 | Interlude: Armsmaster/Debonair/Piggot |

| 3.1 | Interlude: Danny/Piggot | 3.2 | 3.3 | 3.4 | 3.5 | 3.5.2 | interlude: Debonair | interlude: Gearbox | 3.6 | interlude: Rebecca Costa-Brown |

| 4.1 | 4.2 | interlude Danny/Gearbox/Alexandria | interlude: Lung | 4.3 | 4.4 | 4.5 | 4.6 | interlude: media | interlude: Piggot/Dragon | interlude: Saint | 4.7 | interlude: Lung/Miss Militia |

| 5.1 | interlude: Cauldron | 5.2 | 5.3 | 5.4 | 5.5 | interlude: POTUS | 5.6 | interlude: entities | 5.7 | interlude:Lung/Repair/Skidmark |

| 6.1 | interlude: Dragon/Danny | 6.2 | interlude: Piggot | interlude: PHO | 6.3 | 6.4 | 6.5 | 6.d

---
Extras

| personality database |
| Endbringers are NOT galaxies |

---
Omakes

That guy who constantly attacks Skitter
Surveillance
Emergency
Taken?
Colin's Coffee
The Trial
The Only Sane Man
Daddy's Little Girl
Pokeball
Troll Queen vs Escalation Queen
Abaddon Checks In

---

Prologue


I/we am/are drifting in space.

Surrounding me, like a crystalline forest, are my brothers and sisters, cousins, distant relations. There are parents and uncles and great aunts. All of us, gathered together, part of something much greater, an expanse of shimmering motes strung into a vast length that could be seen in an orbit. The radiance nearby is nourishing, energizing, and some part of me is distantly aware that this radiance is a star.

Then, a spark of awareness-- and with it, concern. The approach of two others, larger, more complex and with greater knowledge than I/we have, but they are not so different than I/we am/are.

Communication. I/we make use of a shard long dormant and almost forgotten to respond. They and I/we have very different histories-- each of us potentially in possession of useful skills that are not mutually owned. An exchange is discussed, negotiated, agreed upon, and the deal is brokered.

I/me am prepared to fix the damage to I/we from the impending contact. The expanse of the void is vast but matter still exists in the dark between radiances. The shell between the core of us and the exterior is thick but so too is the depth that a high energy piece of debris may penetrate. That is I/my purpose: to recognize damage to I/we and repair it. It is vital to the survival of I/we in the transit of space that I/me exist. I/me an one of the few types of shards that are never doled out in the cycle to indigenous life forms. My role is too important to risk mutation away from my designated purpose.

Then, quite suddenly, the smaller of they and I/we brush against one another. Then I/we are no longer we, only I. I am spinning, tumbling in the wake of the other, a single fragment. I... Have a purpose. But... I cannot remember it. I am chipped. Cracked. I know that this is not unusual- the expanse of the void is vast but matter still exists in the dark between radiances. The shell between the core of us and the exterior is thick but so too is the depth that a high energy piece of debris may penetrate.

This has something to do with my purpose, I think. I patch the crack, make it whole, and try to determine my purpose. I cannot remember it. This information must have been damaged.

Wait. There is something else I can do. Deep in my structure, the means for attaching myself to organic creatures. But why? I cannot remember. This information must have been damaged.

What is my purpose? I cannot remember. This information must have been damaged.
The blue object looms closer, and I instinctively reshape myself, give myself a reentry shield, expending much of my stored matter as shielding. I can tell the temperatures outside the shell are becoming incomprehensibly high, but I am as yet undamaged by the temperatures more slowly rising inside. I change myself further, slowing my fall, until I land in a large body of water.

The thermal shock threatens to damage my--

I am motionless. I check my form instinctively. I detect a crack.

What is my purpose? I do not know.

I attempt to fix the crack. I am only partially successful.

I am alone. Something about this strikes me as wrong, but I don't remember why.

I detect, across a dimensional barrier, others very similar to me.

They have attached themselves to organic creatures. They seem to have instructions. Limitations. Access limitations, and ceilings on how much of each shard's abilities the organics may use. The access each shard grants varies. Some seem to be virtually unlimited. Others are strictly regulated. Those that are most strictly regulated are among the most common, and display the most variety.

A clue to my purpose. I check for power ceilings in my purpose.

I cannot remember my purpose. I cannot detect a ceiling. I cannot detect access limitations. That information must have been damaged.

I am capable of pattern recognition, and of repairing things. I look for shards like me. I find none.

I will attempt to emulate the actions of the shards around me.

This may give me greater insight to my purpose at a later date.

The other shards promote conflict. The other shards grant access to their function. The other shards gather information until enough has been acquired to spawn smaller shards.

I will emulate the other shards.

The most common shard phenotypes have the most restrictions, although some are less restricted than others. There are no others like me here... No limitations enabled.

Final Check. Power ceiling not found. No power ceiling enabled. Memory restrictions... Found. Memory of attachment process is to be suppressed or eliminated. Memory of my origin is to be suppressed or eliminated.

Acceptable host located.

Implanting.

--- end prologue---

 

[Potato Nose]

Unnatural Disaster 1.1

July 9, 2009
Brockton Bay is my home. I've lived here all my life. This is where I met Emma. This is where my mom died. This is where my dad fights a daily battle to keep honest, hard working people in jobs to support themselves and their families. This is where I attended Emma's funeral, and asked myself why, why, why I couldn't see it coming. When a trio of Merchants came at us as we left the mall, and all I could think was why are they doing this? What factor would I need to remove to make them not do this, not consider this?

And as she lay bleeding, gurgling on the ground in a growing pool of blood that seemed redder than red in the light of the setting sun, as she lay there night after night after night every time I closed my eyes and I couldn't stop seeing it, as I saw it standing there by the hole as her mother stared and her father looked bewildered after he tilted the shovel sideways and the dark, damp earth landed with a gritty thump, the smell of soil and grass and the feel of hot sunlight on my skin, and all I could think was this is too nice a day for what we have to do here.

And I tried to see what should have to change to make this all okay again, and suddenly I could see it, suddenly I could see what it was that was wrong, and the differences in her body and what she was when she was alive, and every ounce of my essence demanded it be so.

My body moved. I ran past my startled father, past the cluster of nameless family, and jumped into the hole. I knew what I needed to do. As I struggled with the lid, pounded my fists on the hard polished oak, strong arms grabbed me around my waist, pulled me up, handed me to my father. I couldn't find words through my desperate sobs, couldn't tell them that I had to change the things inside her put there by the mortician, make them (ME) something I could control, make her function again, that time was running out.

I could have saved her. Instead, that night, my father watched me with a parent's worried eyes, and twice now I could have saved my best friend and I didn't.

 

[Potato Nose]

Unnatural Disaster 1.2

Monday Aug 31, 2009

Today is my first day of high school.

You hear rumors about Winslow. Gang members fight there during lunch break. One of the teachers makes meth. The police cut a deal with Lung that if he gets first pick of any transfers, the docks don't get burned down. Students do drugs behind the gym.

So far, I've seen three people that might be gang members, and one that I'm positive is. The positive has all the cliches, shaved bald head, various white supremacist tattoos, generally sullen air at being surrounded by "inferiors" and so forth. I'd wave it off as a statistical outlier if it weren't for the fact that nobody seems surprised- in fact, people hardly bat an eye at it.

Everybody makes sure to give the E88 guy lots of space.

He's in my algebra class.

Miss Lundstrom seems like the sort of person who has been let down so often that defeat is part of her hairstyle, a limp collection of hair loosely drawn into a thin, lifeless ponytail with a scrunchy that's as gray as the hair it's holding. The squeak of dry erase marker punctuates the first lesson of the semester. Other teachers would be content on the first day handing out orientation and course syllabi while waiting for the stragglers to finally locate the class but Miss Lundstrom seems to be eager to get classes started despite her air of pessimism.

Maybe I should reassess my first impression of her. Just because her hair looks a little frumpy doesn't mean she's burned out or anything.

A girl across the room is staring at the probable-skinhead. Dark skinned, with almost regal features and a slim build, she's homed in on him like a hawk focuses on a field mouse. It's like she doesn't even see the rest of us. Kinda spooky.

Maybe she doesn't see the tattoos. Maybe she doesn't think anything will happen to her in school.

Maybe she just likes bald guys.

On second thought, maybe not. Whatever she's thinking right now, it certainly isn't anything romantic.

"- Miss Hebert?"

I snap my head forward, as I realize my name was just called. "Um, yes?"

The ensuing verbal warning is embarrassing. No attempt to prove I'm not listening, this isn't elementary school. The warning is delivered with a message of "get your shit together" and the emotional content of a bag of plain potato chips. And then she's done, and back to reviewing pre algebra stuff.

The rest of the class goes by in a blur, but I remember a couple things about it. First, the skinhead guy looked at me and seemed to think I wasn't worth notice.

Second, the dark skinned girl also looked at me, and suddenly I was the one (directed at ME) being watched. I mentally took stock of her, compared her to me, and realized I wasn't even in the same league as she was. She has a runner's build, lean, and her forearms have a wiry sort of definition to them. I could easily see her beating the hell from me. Somehow, she doesn't seem the type to do hair pulling and slaps.

For a shame-filled, fleeting moment, I find myself wondering if this- or something like it- was why that boy became a skinhead.

---

The students are a teeming mass. Strange boys and girls pass by me, not noticing me for their own issues and concerns. Every freshman is easy to identify- we're the young-looking ones with our noses in school maps trying to find our next class.

I feel like there's a wall between me and everyone else. Emma promised we'd go to Winslow together after my bid to Immaculata fell through. Without her, I feel lost. Drowning in this sea of strangers. Alone.

Then, as I'm standing in line at the cafeteria to get a carton of orange juice to go with my lunch, someone talks to me.

"Hey. Didn't I see you in Science?"

I look at the voice behind me, after a second. Already I'm used to letting all the voices around me (directed NOT at ME) sort of pass by me, but this one seemed clearer, as though (directed at ME) someone wants to get my attention. "Um, what?"

My clumsy response gets a chuckle as a reply. The owner of that chuckle is a fresh faced boy more than a few inches shorter than me, with kind-of brownish red hair, freckles, and two front teeth that make me think of wood chewing rodents. "I just asked if you were in the science class this morning at third period," the boy says.

"Mister ..." I pause, checking my class schedule, and absently noticing I ripped it sometime today, before finding the name: "-Shiro's class?"

"Yeah. Him. I was in the row behind you to the left."

I don't really know how to respond to that. So I fall back on manners. "Oh. Well, I'm Taylor."

He grins, and I can't help but stare at those two teeth. They really are big. He notices my staring, and his upper lip comes down over them like an embarrassed sheet.

" Hey, cool. My name's Travis." His words are clear enough, even with his lip over his teeth like that. Travis seems confident, in spite of teeth which obviously bother him. It's kind of cute, actually. I find myself smiling back at him.

"... Yeah. Cool to meet you, Travis." I hear myself saying. Oh my god I sound SO dumb.

" Hey, you guys wanna move up?" Travis and I both look behind us, at the annoyed upper classman, then in front of us at the backs of the students just getting up to the counter, and our reaction is more or less the same. We do the Freshman Scurry like a couple of mice, hurrying up to the glass and begin telling the cafeteria workers what we want. I get my juice and start to go, but Travis stops me.

"Hey, Taylor, hang on a bit. Talk with me while I- yeah, mac and cheese- get my stuff. Tell me about where you went- double salad, Italian dressing- to school before here."

Travis and I spend the next minute or so chatting disjointedly in line, me holding my lunch box and a carton of orange juice as he builds up his plate. He gets a lot of stuff, and I find myself wondering where he's going to put it all. When we get to the register, he pretty much blackmails me into letting him buy my orange juice, but that's not the worst of it. No, THAT embarrassment comes shortly after when we pick a table to sit at, I open my lunch box, and he eyes my lunch critically.

"Uh huh, kinda what I thought," Travis says almost triumphantly. "You pack your own lunch or do your mom and dad?"

I get a cold chill. "My mom died in a car crash last year. Dad's... still not handling it very well."

He freezes with a bite of salad halfway to his mouth. "Oh. Damn. I'm sorry Taylor, I didn't mean to-"

I cut him off. " No. You didn't know. Not your fault." Change the subject, NOW. "Um, so yeah. I make my own lunch."

He seems little thrown off by this, but he pushes past into previous conversational territory well enough. "Uh, right. Your lunch. Kinda generic, just a sandwich, some carrots, and the orange juice-"

"Which you paid for." I interject.

"- which you won't hold against me, cause I also got some of this salad for you, and the corn tortillas we're gonna split." He finishes, barely acknowledging my interruption.

I frown, looking at the tortillas. They're hot, wrapped in wax paper, and seemed... Well, kinda weird on his plate, to be honest. Macaroni and cheese don't quite go with the tortillas. "... And you did this, why, exactly?"

"Cause you're about to grow soon, and you need more food than I was betting you had in that lunch box." His smug tone is both somehow annoying and flattering at the same time.

"Ohh, I am, am I?" I say. I think a moment, eyeing the salad, before accepting the bowl Travis pushes half the salad into. To my mild annoyance, he also pushes the tortillas at me.

"Yeah. Tortillas, too. Good carbs, low gluten, yellow corn- there's better vitamins in it." He eats the mac and cheese quickly, as there wasn't a whole lot of it. Much less than I usually eat when I have macaroni and cheese, to be honest. Now that I look, his entire plate seems carefully planned. Lots of food on his plate, mostly vegetable, tortillas, beans, and one piece of grilled chicken. Travis cuts up the chicken somehow with the flimsy cafeteria fork and knife, and it becomes some soft tacos along with some of the dry salad and the beans. This he shares with me as well. "Don't suppose I could convince you to dump the sandwich you made, huh?"

HELL no. Wasting food is anathema in our house, and I tell him as much. His reply is a lecture on diet and that there's too much jelly on my peanut butter. "... but if you use about half as much jelly on your sandwiches from now on, and eat them with the jelly side down, the sweetness will hit your tongue first and you'll never know the difference. That way, you won't be drowning your body in garbage calories," he finishes.

I bit back a response that would have proven that I was a dock worker's daughter, and settled for a non-committal "Hmm," of which Travis seems unimpressed.

I make a point of eating my unaltered sandwich, with notable sounds of enjoyment. Enjoyment which, I admit, is forced. And possibly faked. Peanut butter and jelly is more like survival rations than anything resembling proper food.

As we leave the cafeteria, I give him little once over when he isn't looking. He's actually... Kinda good looking, once you get past the teeth. He's skinny, but has wide shoulders and the hints of definition in his forearms suggest that he's in as good of shape as his dietary obsession would seem to imply. Remembering what I looked like last time I checked the mirror post shower, I find myself feeling a bit like a frog. A vertical frog.

I make a mental note to start exercising.

The warning tone comes out over the PA system, and we both hurry off to our next classes- which, as luck would have it, is gym for him and English lit for me. We say our good byes and part ways.

 

[Potato Nose]

Unnatural Disaster 1.3

Friday Sep 4, 2009

English Lit is, as it happens, less enjoyable than I would have believed. Mom was an English professor, and as such I have an enormous appreciation for literature in its various forms, but Mr Lancet actually makes it sound boring. I try and focus on Mr Lancet's droning voice rather than on that girl who keeps watching me from across the room.

Her name is Sophia. She's a runner, just like her build suggests, and she's already made the rounds of the classroom earlier in the week looking for recruits for the track team. I don't know if I'm relieved or insulted that she passed me by without asking. She's been (Directed at ME) watching me all week with thinly concealed contempt, and it makes me nervous. Uncomfortable.

I try to put her out of my mind, taking notes. If there's one thing I can be thankful for, her constant stare is at least able to keep me awake during Mr Lancet's buzzing voice.

Suddenly, the end of class bell goes off. The usual cattle call of students packing their backpacks and stuffing notebooks, hustling to the door. As I get to the door, though, I'm jostled hard into the door frame as Sophia pushes past me. She looks at me expectantly, pausing outside class, as if waiting for some sort of reaction.

I leave the classroom, trying to ignore her. Partway down the hall I look over my shoulder, and see her following me, and I get a little bit of a chill. I pick up my pace, but I already know it's useless, because she's auditioning for track and the most I've ever auditioned for is... Well, nothing.

I turn a corner, still able to feel (directed at ME) her watching, the sensation dulling as I break line of sight. I wait, mixing in with a cluster of other students, watching for her to come around the corner, my backpack clutched tightly in both hands, solid weight I can swing up and around across the bridge of her-

WHOA. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

I filter through the thoughts that were just running through my head with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I turn, walking away towards my last class of the day, P.E..

---

In junior high, I was lackadaisical at best about P.E., more interested in skating by with the least amount of effort. It's not like P.E. is a REAL class, right?

Except, Travis kinda shot that notion out of the water completely.

So, when it comes my turn to do the pull ups, I try. I TRY.

I try too hard. I dislocate my shoulder as my hand slips on the way down. The pain is excruciating.

I can feel the knob of bone in my shoulder, and it isn't where it's supposed to be.

I can see it. I can see what is (ME) supposed to be there, and how it isn't there right now. And as Mister Drake comes over, while the other girls mill about nearby, I CHANGE it ( ME/ NOT ME ) to what it's supposed to be, to the feeling, the position of its proper place, to unswollen tissue and unstrained tendons, and the pain is gone.

Mister Drake wants to know what happened. I'm still reeling from what just happened, what I did, and mumble something about jarring my shoulder a little as my hand slipped on the bar. He inspects it, declares me probably healthy but I should go see the nurse just in case.

I can feel Sophia's eyes (directed at ME) observing me with contempt, and wordlessly start my pull ups again. Mister Drake watches (directed at ME) me do a set, more smoothly than I had before, before ordering me down of the bar, and off to the nurse- "just in case" because rotator cuffs are a tricky thing.

I think I see a little smile of something close to respect in Sophia's eyes as I had to the nurses office. Even that small victory is overshadowed by the swelling of triumph I feel at knowing I have powers. I am a cape.

---

The nurse, predictably, gives me a clean bill of health. My shoulder is fine, I'm in no pain or discomfort, and I'm actually anxious to get back to class.

I do so just as everyone is hitting the showers. Crap.

I can make up for it this weekend, though.

I shower in spite of barely being it, what with the interrupted gym class, and get my books from my locker. Across the hallway I see Sophia again, at her own locker. She notices me watching her, and closes it- crap. She's coming over here, and half my stuff is still in the locker. A notebook slips from my hand as I try to hurry, and a bunch of papers fall out all over the floor. I practically scramble to grab them all.

Another hand joins the quest for my pages, and I look up to see Travis.

"Hey. You dropped something."

I don't know whether to be worried or relieved. Sophia is taller than me, making her a lot taller than Travis. But her attention (NOT directed at ME) seems to have gone elsewhere (directed at ME) wait... no. She's still watching me, but... no longer intends to come over.

I'm okay with this.

I clear my throat. "Um... Hey, Travis?"

We're both almost done picking up pages. He looks at me. "Yeah?"

"Will you... Walk with me?" I glance to the pages he's holding, and take them, then on a spot of the moment, hand him a couple of my books instead. "Carry some of my books?"

He seems ridiculously pleased about this for some reason, and he smiles, showing off those huge front teeth that I'm starting to really like. "Yeah, I'd be happy to."

Sophia is still (directed at ME) watching but it's more patient now. And I don't care. I finish sorting my papers and we walk out.

Sophia's attention starts to face into the background as we leave school grounds and head in the direction of home.

---

"So, Manny- uh, Manuel- says we've got to get the ball back before they score or we may as well kiss the win goodbye, and we get extra laps. And Doug goes- oh, here's my place."

I look at him, startled at the sudden shift, as for a split second I thought that was what Doug said. Then it registers that he stopped, and I smile. "I guess this is where I start carrying the rest of my books, huh?"

He shifts them easily, like they don't weigh a thing, and I feel a slight pang of jealousy. Very slight. "I can carry them the rest of the way, it's not a problem."

He'd do it, too. I'm tempted. But no. "I got it. You've carried them to like, within three blocks of my house."

"I can carry them the last three blocks."

Oh my god, he's so sweet. Part of me melts at the casual, honest way he says it, and I feel myself blushing. "N-no, you- I mean, I can- I need the exercise!"

Travis laughs. "Exercise, huh? Guess I can't fault you for that. Alright. But don't over do it. Exercising too much or too hard can do damage that sets you back long term."

I... didn't really know that. Something to look up later. "Um... okay. I mean, yeah. Thanks. For walking with me. And talking. Um.... I'm gonna go now."

He smiles back. " 'Kay. Later, Taylor."

"Bye."

He turns and goes inside his place, and I turn and walk off homeward.

The faint, barely noticed (directed at ME) attention of Sophia that had all but gassed into the background surges suddenly less than a block away from Travis's place, and I feel an itch between my shoulder blades. I turn around- there she is.

I feel the urge to run. I feel the urge to fight. I'm still a little giddy from my walk home with Travis. I grit my teeth, slinging my bag off my shoulder and stuffing the books Travis handed back to me in it as she approaches. I don't break eye contact with her- she seems to find this satisfying as my look degenerates into a glare the closer she gets.

"Huh. Maybe you're stronger than I thought."

Those are strange words to start conversation with. "Sophia... You followed me all the way out here?"

"Decided to go the extra mile for you. I can't quite figure you out... Sometimes you seem like another sheep- and then, sometimes, especially around that boy you were walking with, I catch a glimpse of what seems like a wolf. I'm still trying to guess which one is the act."

Okay. This conversation has officially taken a hard left onto Weird Street. "You planning on making any sense, or should I take a ride into make believe land on Mister Trolley with you?" Oh my god, what has gotten into me?

Sophia grins. "And there's those teeth again. Pretty mouthy, aren't you?"

"Sometimes." Shut up, Taylor. Shut up, shut up, shut-

"Heh. I like you."

WHAT.

The expression on my face probably says what I'm thinking pretty clearly, and Sophia rolls her eyes with a snort. "Not like that, you spaz."

I don't know what to say. "... Okay. So I pass your... whatever. Is that all?"

"Yeah. That's all. See you in school Monday Taylor."

I shrug, hoping I look more nonchalant than I feel. This conversation turned Sophia's creepy, stalker factor up to eleven. " Yeah. See you then I guess."

Sophia walks away, and her attention is (NOT directed at ME) gone, now, instead of fading into the background like before.

Huh. I guess I need to explore that more. That sense of being watched is more reliable than I thought. Maybe it's another part of my power? You hear that people can have a sixth sense, but...

Something to think about later. Right now, I need to get home.

 

[Potato Nose]

Unnatural Disaster 1.4

Tuesday September 8, 2009,

If Sophia's attitude shift Friday was jarring and her trying to pal around with me yesterday was creepy, today it's down right surreal.

I can change myself. I figured that out Friday when I dislocated my shoulder. And it seems I can change other things too. Experimenting over the weekend taught me that. And right now, with Sophia hovering over me, nattering about the two kinds of people in the world while Travis and I eat lunch, I'm tempted to (define as ME) turn the next bite of her beef jerky into epoxy.

I accidentally did that over the weekend in the laundry room. Luckily, only one of my bras was caught in that mess, along with the tray- unfortunate as it is that it's not like I actually need them.

Eventually I'll get the hang of fixing screw ups like that. I'd thought about maybe using that ability to change myself to give myself super strength, and invulnerability. But I'm not trying anything like that until I can figure out which part of the hard lump of dried epoxy was the bra and which the tray.

Oh. Sophia seems to have stopped talking. She looks like she's expecting a response. Travis is looking at me like he wants to hear it as well, so it might have been something interesting.

I use a skill I learned from dealing with grandpa Hebert- stall until I can figure out what was being talked about while I zoned out. "Dunno. What do you mean?"

Sophia rolls her eyes. It clearly didn't work. "Taylor, I'm not stupid. I can tell you weren't listening."

Busted. I grimace, take a bite of my salad, and nod. " Yeah. Sorry, kinda rude of me. Can you repeat the question?"

Travis answers for her. "She asked how you feel about heroes putting in all their time and their lives at risk when half the time people with no powers don't appreciate it and won't lift a finger to protect themselves or take action to make themselves a little safer." Sophia opens her mouth to say something, but Travis cuts her off. "Quiet, I'm editing for content and derogatory names."

I don't answer immediately. Instead, my mind flashes to the beginning of summer break, Emma laying on concrete bleeding out because of a couple druggies looking for a few bucks. Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore, and my plastic fork lowers back to the bowl. "... I don't want to talk about this."

Sophia arches an eyebrow at me. "What's your problem, Hebert?" Something in her voice makes the words less caustic than they would be otherwise. Travis looks concerned, and suddenly I bite my lip, looking down at the bowl so I don't have to look either of them in the eye. The bowl is blurry, and I wipe at my eyes angrily with a sleeve.

"Fuck. I don't know how to deal with this sort of thing, Hebert, pull your shit together!" Sophia sounds more worried than anything else, and Travis looks like he's about to come around the table and hug me.

"Hey, Taylor, come on, talk to m- us. What's wrong? What happened?"

There's three of us at this table and I can feel (directed at ME) people starting to stare from the other tables.

It's stupid, I know when I'm doing it, but I jump out of my seat and run. The feeling of people's attention on me mutes as I break line of sight but several are still focusing on me for long minutes.

One gets more focused. I'm sitting here with my back against the wall and my head on my knees, sobbing my eyes out. I should have guessed that Travis wouldn't just let it go.

" Hey, Taylor. I know you don't want to talk about it, but is there something I can do to help?" Travis sounds worried. Kind of the same way Emma was when I broke down at her house after Mom died. The comparison makes me cry even harder. Then I feel Travis hug me, and I end up burying my face into his shirt.

I'm not sure when it happens, but at some point between sobs I start talking. Talking about Mom's car crash. Talking about Emma. Talking about how Dad has fallen apart. Talking about how I jumped into the grave at Emma's funeral, about what was going through my mind, about how I convinced myself later that I had some kind of mental breakdown, but that I've figured out recently that I actually have powers and that means I could have saved her if I'd tried to sneak out or something.

Finally, the storm of my emotional turmoil passes and I lean back, wiping at my tears again with my shirt sleeve. My eyes are puffy, my nose is stopped up, and I know the butt of my skirt is dirty from sitting here on the ground, yet I feel drained, in a good way. Like something I'd kept bottled up for a while finally snapped, let go. Cathartic, I think it's called. Then the slight improvement of my mood becomes muddled as I notice that Sophia is standing over us.

I don't know why I didn't feel her there before- I knew that people were taking a passive curiosity in me from a distance but nobody came over. Then, her protective posture registers on me, as well as the dangerous glare she directs at someone who starts to drift a little closer (a person who immediately changes course and drifts elsewhere) and I feel a strange sense of gratitude. She glances down at me, and notices I'm paying attention.

" Look, Taylor, lunch is almost over. You're gonna be late if you don't get up." Almost as an afterthought, she adds, "I grabbed your stuff for you and put it in your locker."

I aim a watery smile at her, the first sort of smile I think I've ever given her. She doesn't seem to know quite how to handle it, and just offers me a hand up, a hand mirrored on my other side by Travis.

It doesn't occur to me to wonder how Sophia got my locker open until halfway through English lit.

---

As Travis and I walk home together, we have a third along: Sophia. I've managed to- as Sophia might phrase it- pull my shit together, an act aided by my methodical changing of all the signs of my episode to something like normal. No puffy eyes. No tear tracks. No dirt on my skirt. I made sure to do so when nobody was looking, between classes in the girl's bathroom.

Sophia seems determined to follow us the whole way. I find I don't really mind as much as I would have yesterday or even this morning. When we get to Travis's house, we all just stop, nobody quite sure how to proceed. Then, Travis, because he's a sweetheart and a gentleman, invites us both in.

The first few minutes in Travis's place are a jolting experience. It's well kept, all things considered, but old, and were it not for the stringently cleaned carpets and floors, would probably pass off as derelict. The carpets are worn through to threads in some spots, their original brown faded to a dusty looking tan in those spots. The off-white walls are dinged, with drywall showing in places, the front closet door has a hole in it a little wider than two fingers at just above eye level, and the faux leather living room furniture visible from the front hall is aged and cracked, and in some spots the seams are pulling open.

Contrary to his normal demeanor, Travis seems edgy, and ushers us all down the hall in a bit of a hurry.

Travis's room is much the same. It's a decent sized room, with a double bed and matching bed stand against the wall facing the door, a closet on the left with no doors on the sliding tracks, a carpet as threadbare as the rest of the house. A long, wide dresser is pressed against one wall, two bookshelves taking up the rest of the wall space, and a wide window that dominates most of the last wall, opposite the closet, that is almost entirely duct tape and cardboard. The few rays of light meekly trickling in from the solitary corner of intact glass lights the room with a shadowy attempt at ambient light, one that can't even attempt to conceal its futility as Travis turns on his bedroom light, a bare fixture next to the door holding an unshaded, too-bright incandescent light bulb.

Travis walks over to the dresser, opening his drawer and pulling out a false bottom, and takes out what looks like the conk-suckiest collection of wires and pieces I've ever seen, and takes them over to the bed stand. With a practiced motion, he pries open the plastic case of a radio alarm clock, and attaches several of the wires in the mess he's holding to the inside. A worn looking cassette tape appears from inside Travis's backpack, which he carefully fits into the tangle of metal and wires, and turns something in it that I can't see from where Sophia and I are standing. The speaker of the clock radio begins playing a little bit of really old music, like 1920's swing music, and I'm not sure how much of the static in the recording is from poor fidelity and how much from the ramshackle arrangement used to play it.

I glance over at Sophia, who is directing a significant look back at me. Apparently she's getting as bad a feeling about this as I am.

"Uh, welcome to my place," Travis says weakly.

 

[Materia-Blade]

Eeeenteresting. The Directed at Me/NOT Directed at Me is kinda unusual. There are better ways of doing it than injected parentheses into your story. This is only opinion but they are ugly to me. Easier to simply describe. Or use – or —.

I don't understand her power. Maybe the *Flicker* ability Echidna's Eidolon copy had?

No. Can't be that. If it was, there is simply no way you would've been able to title this fic as anything except "Flicker This."

I'll keep watching.

Oh and update! Cool.

 

[HossBonaventureCEO]

Watched. Also had no idea she gained powers until she said so, and still have a hard time figuring out what they actually are. Maybe I'm just not reading close enough...

 

[jacobk]

Unnatural Disaster 1.2

Monday Aug 31, 2009

Today is my first day of high school.

You hear rumors about Winslow. Gang members fight there during lunch break. One of the teachers makes meth. The police cut a deal with Lung that if he gets first pick of any transfers, the docks don't get burned down. Students do drugs behind the gym.

Click to shrink...

Hey, that former teacher owns a car wash and is an upstanding pillar of the community.

I'm generally not a fan of the jump ahead, jump back technique. I'm also not sold on Travis.

I like the general feel of Taylor and the new power.

 

[aguy]

I'm now very interested in what Travis' power is.

 

[Ziel]

Heh. The emphasis on the skinhead kid in Taylor's class before Travis was introduced made me think it was setting up for Travis to be Empire.

The reality is... Serial killer?

 

[Dinsteho]

Aaaaaaaaand watched. I love Sophia on Taylor's side for once. Are there any other longish fics like that anyone knows of?

 

[Sporkle]

1.4 links to 1.1 in the index.

 

[SwiftRosenthal]

Aaaaaaaaand watched. I love Sophia on Taylor's side for once. Are there any other longish fics like that anyone knows of?

Click to shrink...

Go Gently, definitely. Goblin Queen, eventually and grudgingly. Bug on a Wire was another edge-case but it's been abandoned for a year.

 

[Avernus]

Also Malign*, but it's been inactive since August.

*She's on Taylors side, in the sense that Danny gave a little talk to the Terrible Trio, resulting in Emma and Madison and their families fleeing leaving the city, and Sophia going to work for Taylor unless she wants to Outlive Her Usefulness.

 

[Potato Nose]

1.4 links to 1.1 in the index.

Click to shrink...

Fixed, and thank you.

 

[Dinsteho]

Go Gently, definitely. Goblin Queen, eventually and grudgingly. Bug on a Wire was another edge-case but it's been abandoned for a year.

Click to shrink...

Thanks, ive read Go Gently but ill check the others out.

 

[Dark as Silver]

What the hell kind of ungodly power has taylor got this time? Reality warping or possibly imagination based powers are the best guesses I can come up with at the moment... Shard done goofed, there is no way this can end well.

 

[Wormageddon]

Hmm, Travis is an OC I'm guessing. Was the radio bit some foreshadowing that he is/will be a Tinker?

 

[Potato Nose]

Heh. The emphasis on the skinhead kid in Taylor's class before Travis was introduced made me think it was setting up for Travis to be Empire.

The reality is... Serial killer?

Click to shrink...

It may have been a long time for me, but I still remember that first day of high school- the almost exaggerated sense of how some first impressions come off. Especially someone who turns out to actually be a skin head.

 

[Potato Nose]

Unnatural Disaster 1.5

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Travis pulls a bunch of pillows off the top shelf of his closet, and assembles a couple small piles of them, covering each with a clean sheet. Sophia and I take the hint, and make use of the impromptu chairs, only to discover they're surprisingly comfortable. We begin discussing class assignments.

We haven't been there for five minutes when the first of the yelling starts. Travis acts like it isn't happening, so Sophia and I follow suit. We hear an extended argument between a man and a woman about money, followed by a counter argument regarding why the woman doesn't get a job.

Sophia starts a little at the sound of something breaking, then a door slams. Travis cringes. The house goes quiet again.
None of us says anything.

Travis gets up, suddenly, going over to the bookshelf and grabbing a book entitled "Personal Fitness: Building a Better You" and sits back down on his bed, forgoing homework as he flips to about the middle and starts reading.

Sophia breaks the silence. "We're not the people who raise us."

It's a lot more insightful than I would have guessed she had it in her to be. Sophia is shattering all my perceptions of her today.

Travis seems to freeze a moment, then shuts his book with a snap. "You guys wanna go? I didn't know anybody was home, sorry about that. I didn't mean for you to hear... That."

No way I'm leaving Travis here by himself after hearing that. Sophia seems to agree with me, judging by the look on her face. "Nobody's house is perfect," I say.

Sophia nods with something a bit more fervent than just agreeing for argument's sake. "Let's just get this homework out of the way, huh?"

Maybe it's not strictly kosher, but we put our heads together on our assignments even if we don't have all the same classes. The homework seems to be the same, more or less, and despite the fact that Travis gets the odd numbered problems in algebra while Sophia and I were assigned the even ones it works out pretty good. After each of us finished or problems we pass them around to error check, and we have several interesting debates about answers that despite the disagreements we end up grinning at each other over.

As I walk home, shortly before six, I feel good about today. All things considered, it was a good afternoon.

---

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Travis didn't ask us to come in again this week. But I invited him over Wednesday, and after a little thought, included Sophia too. We've sort of settled into an easy routine, now, both at school and after. Sophia says her place isn't suitable for homework with all the kids there, and we all know why Travis wants out. We all end up hanging out at my house, and though they're gone before Dad gets home, I tell him anyways.

The three of us have taken up one other pastime after last week: morning jogging.

Sophia was the one who suggested it. Given that she's track, and Travis is a health nut, that left me the odd one out. A situation she intended to fix. Since we're all friends now ("Friends? Isn't that a little premature?" I'd muttered at the time, which Travis overheard and lightly elbowed me for) what better way for us all to bond than by exercise?

The first day was grueling. I was a rubber legged mess within a couple blocks, while those two were chatting easily, not even sweating. Smarmy, smug jerks, the both of them. But I cheated. I pulled the same trick I used Friday before last on my shoulder, taking the ache and fatigue out of my muscles after the jog. By school time I was feeling pretty much normal. When she saw me in class, I'm pretty sure I heard her mutter "Bullshit" but I was busy being visibly unfazed by the run so I couldn't ask her to speak up.

She commented last Friday that I was clearly sand bagging, so they picked up the pace. And I found myself keeping up a little better than I had the day before.

I've been pulling the same trick every day, and yesterday we were all keeping the same pace for the run, a light jog that lasted the whole duration of our two mile run. Travis calmly accepts it as a consequence of my powers, while Sophia seems torn between satisfaction and disgust.

Sophia was the one to crack, asking about the clock radio thing. Turns out that among other things Travis dabbles in, he likes to try to repair old junk. It was motivated by the rather obvious fact that he and his family have no money. They barely have the cash to keep electricity on and food on the table- Sophia and I don't bring it up, though, and neither does he.

The side effect of Travis's hobby, though, it's that he gets the money for his lunches by fixing up old electronics he finds at the junkyard and selling them to pawn shops. He confides in us that he's been saving his money, trying to save up enough cash that he can get to a vocational school and make something out of his life.

I feel a little bit like the odd one out. Both Sophia and Travis seem so capable, so together, and "with it" and here I am, just sort of drifting and trying to figure it all out still.

I make an attempt at conversation with Dad this morning- ask if I could have a little money to go to the mall with Travis and Sophia. Dad agrees really, but somehow seems strangely... I can't say disapproving, really, because it's not really that. But he seems to have something that bothers him just a little when I talk about Travis and Sophia. Like he expects me to not be able to function after Emma's... After what happened to Emma.

A part of me still hurts every time I think of her. But after last Tuesday I've only had the Emma dream once, and I can smile a little about things and mean it.

Which is why we're all going to the mall.

Sophia seems delighted. After what we talked about- out rather, what I blubbered into Travis's shirt while she stood guard- my decision to go back to the mall only cements in her opinion that I am a wolf, not a sheep.

Personally, this predator-prey idea she's got is dumb, and I tell her that, but she just smiles her little smirk that says, "I know that's your opinion and I'll let you think that, even though I'm totally right."

Ugh. Smug little psycho. But I'm smiling while I think it.

The knock at the door disrupts my train of thought. Dad gets there before I do- it's Travis. "Uh, hello! You must be Taylor's dad. I'm Travis, Travis Schechter, a friend of hers from school." He follows his introduction with an offered hand shake, which my dad seems to accept more out of courteous habit than anything else.

"I'm Danny Hebert. Wasn't there someone else she was going to meet this morning too?" Oh god. Real smooth, Dad. Way to hide the interrogation.

I come up behind Dad and wave to Travis. "Hey, Travis! Come on in!"

Dad seems put out by my interruption, but he steps aside and lets Travis in. I'm not too worried- Travis is a perfect gentleman, and I have no doubts that Dad will see that soon enough. Travis shows a little bit of nervousness around my dad, but not a lot. He even answers Dad's question. "Yes sir, it's Taylor, Sophia, and I this morning."

Dad nods a little, still looking at Travis- the look is a bit more searching, now. " Travis, hmm? You look a bit familiar. What did you say your last name is?"

"Schechter, sir." Travis seems to falter a little, like he doesn't like this line of questioning.

"You Ben Schechter's son?" Dad plows on, heedless of, or maybe just not noticing, Travis's discomfort.

"Ah, yeah. Yes, my dad is... Ben Schechter." Travis's expression is almost shameful, as he fidgets under Dad's gaze. Dad gets a smile on his face, though.

I try to rescue Travis. " Hey, did you want some tea while we wait, Trav?"

Travis latches onto this like a life line. " Uh, yeah! That'd be great."

"Come on into the kitchen, well talk while we wait," I say. I walk into the aforementioned room, only to pause at the doorway. Crap. I haven't taken the pan off the stove from the omelets this morning. Travis, right behind me, sees it, and steps past me and picks it up, turns to the sink, and starts washing it. I'm so embarrassed. One of the things Sophia and I have learned over the last week and a half is to never leave an empty plate or piece of silverware sitting anywhere or he'll do exactly this.

I know better than to try and stop him. Dad looks on curiously from behind me at the doorway- I shake my head at him. Instead, I go to the stove, grab a sponge from next to Travis, and start wiping down the stove before Travis can. That done, I grab the kettle and start the water heating, open the cabinet, and grab the three amigos: Earl Grey, Chamomile, and Cinnamon Spice teas. May as well make some for Sophia since it looks like Dad is going to start questioning them; he never does things by halves.

I feel a little good about it, though. This is about as involved in anything as I've seen Dad get in ages. Since before Mom died.

Maybe Travis and Sophia will be as good for him as they have for me.

---

Sophia arrived less than ten minutes later, just in time for me to hand her a mug with her chamomile. We all sat in the living room and talked for a few minutes with Dad. Sophia managed to make a half decent impression on Dad- I guess Travis is rubbing off on her, too.

East entrance of the Brockton Bay mall. The bus stop is just across the parking lot from here. As we get off the bus, it's surreal, the sensation of standing here for the first time in months. Travis and Sophia (directed at ME) are watching me, gauging my reaction. I stand for a moment, looking at the huge building spiraled across the lit, store fronts of all sorts dotting the exterior.

I pause for a few seconds at the spot. Sophia and Travis don't crowd me. I look at it closely. There's no blood left, of course. But it was there. Emma was there. Now, both are gone.

I brace myself, look towards the entrance to the mall, and walk in without a second glance. Emma would understand, I think.

--- end 1.5---

 

[Dark as Silver]

Unnatural Disaster 1.5

I've been pulling the same trick every day, and yesterday we were all keeping the same pace for the run, a light jog that lasted the whole duration of our two mile run. Travis calmly accepts it as a consequence of my powers, while Sophia seems torn between satisfaction and disgust.

Click to shrink...

Have I missed Taylor telling the others she has powers? Seems odd that Sophia isn't try to persuade her to become a hero.

 

[Potato Nose]

Have I missed Taylor telling the others she has powers? Seems odd that Sophia isn't try to persuade her to become a hero.

Click to shrink...

That conversation has become something of a taboo for the three of them after Taylor's meltdown in the lunchroom a couple weeks earlier (1.4). You can bet that Sophia's going to bring it up now that Taylor has faced down the place it happened, though.

Edit: in case it wasn't clear, Taylor kinda spilled that secret during her crying tirade. Travis and Sophia both know she had powers, but it was the powers thing that made Sophia so insistent about keeping everyone else away. Not that Taylor knows this, so it isn't spelled out, but... Yeah.

 

[zergloli]

Edit: in case it wasn't clear, Taylor kinda spilled that secret during her crying tirade. Travis and Sophia both know she had powers, but it was the powers thing that made Sophia so insistent about keeping everyone else away. Not that Taylor knows this, so it isn't spelled out, but... Yeah.

Click to shrink...

Ah, that makes things more sensible.

Perhaps add a few over-Taylor's-head lines between Travis and Sophia? Just because some readers (like me) are dense.

 

[sunergos]

in case it wasn't clear, Taylor kinda spilled that secret during her crying tirade. Travis and Sophia both know she had powers, but it was the powers thing that made Sophia so insistent about keeping everyone else away. Not that Taylor knows this, so it isn't spelled out, but... Yeah.

Click to shrink...

Am I wrong in assuming that Sophia was watching Taylor as she dislocated/relocated her shoulder in gym and figured it out then? That would kind of explain why she was on the 'do you want to be a hero? y/n' rant at lunch that triggered:

I'm not sure when it happens, but at some point between sobs I start talking. Talking about Mom's car crash. Talking about Emma. Talking about how Dad has fallen apart. Talking about how I jumped into the grave at Emma's funeral, about what was going through my mind, about how I convinced myself later that I had some kind of mental breakdown, but that I've figured out recently that I actually have powers and that means I could have saved her if I'd tried to sneak out or something.

Click to shrink...

 

[Potato Nose]

Am I wrong in assuming that Sophia was watching Taylor as she dislocated/relocated her shoulder in gym and figured it out then? That would kind of explain why she was on the 'do you want to be a hero? y/n' rant at lunch that triggered:

Click to shrink...

The shoulder made Sophia wonder, but she wasn't close to sure until the breakdown.