Chapter 52: Have a nothingburger.
Blake IsleyThursday, February 17, 2011Type: N/A
I had nothing today. It had happened several times now, but it always caught me off guard. Having all that power one day, only to lose it at the stroke of midnight was never a good feeling.
Rather than head out for my daily morning jog, I sat down to meditate. Thanks to Victini having shown me the way, I could now visit my mindscape, or at least, a representation of it.
It was an odd mix of a cathedral or temple atrium built atop a revolving gear. The gear’s eighteen spokes rotated freely, pointing towards eighteen gates. Up above, there was a stained glass panorama of Arceus and the Legends, each of them depicted in their most glorious moments. At the center of the gear sat an altar, a dais that acted as the axle around which my power revolved.
Atop the dais sat two pokemon, a kirlia and a lampent, two forms I knew I could switch into even now. They were imprinted into my soul, distinct from Arceus’ roulette. I’d had a eureka moment but I hadn’t been able to replicate the feeling. Perhaps, had I been able to access this mindscape back then, I could have had more information about just how I’d pulled it off.
I looked around with a dissatisfied frown. The gear and axle were stuck. The polished marble surface held a compass of sorts, which would point to one of the eighteen gates. Right now, it was caught between two gates, and only incrementally inching towards the next.
Victini had said that this wasn’t Arceus’ doing. He wasn’t the one stopping me from switching type energies. Theoretically, that meant the obstacle could be overcome on my end.
I searched for a way to move the gear faster, but there was nothing for me to hold on to. Curious, I fed it my own aura. The axle ate it up like a hippowdon that had finally found an oasis after weeks of wandering. Yet, it still refused to move. I couldn’t tell if it was because I still wasn’t strong enough, or because I needed to do something special.
Frustrated, I returned to the material world. I realized I was expecting too much of myself. It’d only been a month and a half since I’d regained my aura. Attempting to master a blessing granted by the Alpaca Almighty was probably a bit beyond my abilities for the moment. I’d try again, maybe when I didn’t have to go to school.
X
We had a substitute PE teacher today. Coach Mooton was out due to a family event, something about his daughter getting married down in Boston. So, instead of the grizzled PRT veteran, we got a middle-aged, football superfan with a beer belly big enough to hoist a graveler.
“Coach” Singer had a loud, shrill whistle that made me want to gouge out my own eardrums even without aura-enhanced senses. Thankfully, he kept it up for about two minutes before tiring himself out blowing into the damn thing. He sat down on the bleachers to catch his breath, picked two team captains at random, and told us to play dodgeball.
I stayed “in” until I was one of eight people left. I then dove to the side, just slow enough that a ball grazed my shoulder. Dramatically, I fell to my knees then rolled off the court.
“Avenge me, Dean,” I croaked as I slowly held out my hand.
“I’m out too,” he said with a wry grin. “You didn’t seem to be trying very hard out there.”
“Can you blame me? I don’t like dodgeball.”
“Really? Didn’t you start working out this semester?”
“I did, but this isn’t a workout. We’re just standing around ninety percent of the time. Dodgeball is a waste of time.”
“You sound like a gym rat, you know.”
“You take that back, Dean. Besides, they’ll get you in again.”
“I don’t know about tha–”
“Dean!” some kid shouted over us as he caught the ball. That was the rule: Catch a thrown ball and someone who’s been tagged gets “revived” while the one who threw it gets knocked out.
I laughed and shoved him back onto the court. “See, Mr. Popular? Of course they’d want you up there.”
“I’m not even the most athletic,” he griped.
I hadn’t gotten much exercise this morning. And, because I’d been trying to figure out how these lull days worked, I didn’t get to practice with my aura much, either. I felt lazy, like I was disappointing myself.
Really, Dean was right. I was turning into a gym rat.
X
Unfortunately, my day did not improve. After school, I headed to the Camacho Clinic. The highlight of my shift was having to help put down a Saint Bernard. He was an old fellow, nearly ten years old, with a bad case of arthritis and partial blindness in one eye.
A part of me wanted to heal him, but there was no way to do it without outing myself. Besides, aura didn’t work like that. I could relieve some of the symptoms of arthritis, but the underlying age and wear of his old bones? That was far beyond even Titania. There was a common saying among those who knew the truth: Time is Adamant, unmovable and unforgiving.
Having aura made it all the harder. I often used my empathy to make the animals we took care of feel more comfortable. It meant I could feel their anxiety, their pain, their fear. And, this time, there was nothing I could do but clean the needles and make sure we found the vein the first time around.
After my work-study, I bought an ice cream sandwich from a 7-Eleven and took a big bite. It wasn’t a true fix for the melancholy, but the sugar did help me pretend I’d had a better day for a few minutes. I was waiting for the bus when my phone rang.
“Hello? Lisa? What’s up?” I asked as I stuffed the rest of my sandwich in my mouth.
“Ew, swallow first, you brute,” the blonde made faux gagging noises. She cleared her throat a moment later, “Anyway, you. Come to the college. We need to chat.”
“Got it.” I turned on my heels to head to the old ferry station. “Is there something going on?”
“Maybe? I got some new intel that I want to brief you on in-person.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I began my walk down to the coast. It was close enough from the clinic that an evening stroll didn’t sound so bad. In hindsight, the rock type specialization I had would have been a good time to close up the hideout and move it to my new “island.”
Public reception had been generally positive. People quickly figured out that every statue was a pokemon, though I’d not transformed into any of them. That left them guessing.
Half of them wondered if this was a weird, fantasy tabletop RPG advert, fictional gods modeled after my pokemon to create a pantheon. Others thought the Legends were hints at a new Pokemon Mystery Dungeon game. A few claimed I was being mostly serious and that these were the most powerful beings I could turn into.
Just thinking about PHO gave me a good chuckle. I’d probably have to go on some divine quest or other, but I really hoped I’d get the chance to turn into one of them someday. The reactions alone would be worth it.
I changed into my armor before shifting into a kirlia. With brief, teleporting hops across rooftops, it didn’t take long for me to arrive. There, I found Sabah weaving some kind of lace out of silk, Lisa typing away on her laptop, and someone I wasn’t expecting.
“Hey, Lisa. What’d you want to talk about?” I asked as I slipped into the room. “And Emily?”
“Hmm? Bl-Menagerie,” my favorite painter said. She’d commandeered a corner of the studio and had a notebook in front of her. “What are you doing here?”
“I called him. And you can say his name,” Lisa, snorted. “I figured out his identity not too long ago.”
“W-Well, it’s still polite, right? And Sabah doesn’t know.”
“True. Do you actually care, boss?”
“I’m not your boss,” I told her. “Atelier Alpaca is its own thing. If anything, Sabah is your boss. She’s the CEO.”
“I am,” the older girl said. “Good to see you again, Menagerie.”
“Same. And no, I don’t really care if Sabah knows. I figured out that she’s Parian so it’s only fair.”
“Y-You know?”
“I do. I’m a thinker too, remember?”
“You have so many powers that it’s hard to remember them all.”
“Fair enough. We’re not being spied on?”
Lisa laughed. “Nope, took care of that already.”
“Then feel free to tell her whenever you want. Anyway, I didn’t expect to see Emily here.”
“She reached out to us for business advice. Or just the fastest way to get a place of her own. For now, the plan is to add her to Atelier Alpaca. An atelier isn’t just for clothing anyway; paintings work just as well.”
I looked to Emily. “You’re okay with this?”
She flushed lightly. “Y-Yeah, I am. It sounds like a good way to sell my paintings and I’ll be able to save up money more quickly. Until then, Lisa agreed to let me stay at her apartment.”
“Really? Thanks, Lisa, I owe you one.”
“Emily owes me one already, but I’m happy to double-dip favors,” the thinker said. “Besides, she’s really low maintenance, definitely a better roommate than any of the Undersiders.“
“Well, that’s good. Was this what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Not really, no. Atelier Alpaca is mine and Sabah’s business. You don’t actually need nor want updates on everything we do, do you?”
“Truthfully, no,” I admitted. “Business really isn’t my cup of tea.”
“That’s fine,” she stood and tucked her laptop under her arm. “Come on, let’s go somewhere else. Sabah doesn’t actually want to hear about the cape stuff and Emily’s practicing her poetry skills.”
“Wait, why is Emily writing poetry?”
“You told her that she’d get more control over her powers if she learned to rap, remember?”
I froze. Lisa eyed me with a smug smirk that was at once bemused and judging. Now that she mentioned it, I had said something to that effect.
Back in January, I turned into a delphox to read the future. Emily had been the very first person who’d acted as my psychic anchor. Using Future Sight, I got to chat with her future self and future-Emily had told me to play a little prank on her past self.
“Oh… right…” I chuckled sheepishly. “She’s still doing that?”
“She is. You’re an awful person,” Lisa said, chuckling.
“Shit.” I poked my head back into the studio. “Em? You know that time I told you that rapping would help?”
She looked up from her notebook and threw an eraser at my head. “I do. Lisa already told me you were lying to me, you jerk. Thanks for that.”
“Sorry… I was supposed to tell you in a week or two but it slipped my mind.”
“I caught her trying to mumble-rap Eminem’s ‘The Real Slim Shady’ into the bathroom mirror,” Lisa said with a shit-eating grin. “It was cute. I should’ve recorded a video.”
“I’ll set all your pillows on fire, Lisa.”
“You wouldn’t. You actually like having a roommate who doesn’t steal your toothbrushes.”
“Ugh, whatever. Go away, you jerks.”
“Sorry,” I apologized again. “Wait, why are you writing poetry then? You’re not trying to write a rap song for fun, are you?”
“No, I just wanted to try something new. I read somewhere that I could reformat my brain a bit if I switch from visual to literary art forms. I’m not sure it’s working, but it’s pretty relaxing.”
“Huh… Well, enjoy.” I allowed Lisa to tug me out of the room. “So, where are we headed?”
“Rooftop access, duh. We can chat alone there and see anyone coming.”
“You’re okay with that? If people see you with Sabah, they assume I’m there to talk about her clothing business, but if we’re alone, then they might figure out that you’re a cape.”
“Too late. It’s not common knowledge or anything, but everyone who matters already knows I’m Tattletale. It’s not that hard to put the pieces together.”
“Everyone? Who’s everyone?”
“Okay, not everyone. The PRT, definitely. The dean of this building, too. I just outright told him because he’s not a total asshole and having his cooperation makes life easier for everyone.”
“Fair enough.” Once again, I chose not to question the thinker. If she wanted to use her former villainhood as some kind of bargaining chip, that was on her. “Just don’t threaten to ruin people’s lives or something.”
“Hey, now. I’m on my best behavior, thank you very much. I’ve been an angel lately.”
“Right…”
“And… Thanks,” she said softly. I could see the visible struggle those words took. “You know, for Brian. Someone at the Palanquin gave him a call. He’s got an interview coming up.”
“That’s good. How about Rachel and Alec?”
“Rachel’s willing to give the PRT a try, but she’s going to need representation. Alec thinks he might just stick with Rachel, too.”
“I’ll see if I can get Mr. Calle to take them on,” I promised. I hadn’t wanted to mention those two in front of Carol Dallon, but I did have his email.
“Good. That’ll take them off your hands. The Undersiders are officially taken care of, then. Anything beyond this is going to be up to them.”
“Yeah, that’s the idea.”
We ignored the “No Unauthorized Personnel” sign. I barely blinked when Lisa picked the lock with a bobby pin she’d hidden behind her ear. She locked the door again behind us and set her laptop on the ground.
“Okay, so, I’ve been doing a lot of research on different villain groups who might be interested in the city now that the underworld is basically free real estate,” she began.
I nodded and took a seat beside her. This was definitely intel I wanted. “Awesome. Should I be worried? I understand that I can’t have zero crime in a city, but I’d at least like to keep things moderate.”
“You want to stop having to monitor everything. Basically, you want minimal violent crime. Gangs in the city should be within the ability of the Protectorate to handle. In an ideal world, you’d spend your day doing your funky martial arts and goofing off as random pokemon. Is that right?”
“Absolutely. I don’t want to be the city’s Big Brother. I most definitely don’t want to be the only reason the city is peaceful. Really, Lady Photon is my idol. I want to retire.”
“Pft, that’s hilarious. Like it or not, you are the only reason the city is peaceful. As far as I can tell, even the peace we had after the Empire’s fall was because different gangs weren’t sure about how you’d react to newcomers.”
“And they’re sure now?”
“No, but they’re willing to take a chance. At least, some of them. Which brings us to this briefing.”
“Alright, Lisa. Lay it on me. Who am I looking for?”
She moved the laptop onto my knee and brought up a PowerPoint presentation. Each slide was dedicated to a gang, with its cape leadership, estimated number of unpowered mooks, and their primary modus operandi.
My new thinker pal had literally made a PowerPoint just for me. I felt touched.
“Shut up,” she said, eyes rolling.
“I didn’t say anything,” I replied mirthfully.
“You didn’t have to. You’re thinking too loud, idiot.”
“You’re not a real telepath.”
“Do you want my help or not?”
“Fine, fine. I’m sorry for thinking too loud.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Okay, first up, the Merchants. They’re technically the strongest gang in the city right now.”
“Are you serious? Maybe it’s a bit arrogant of me to say this, but I really don’t want to bother with them,” I scoffed. They’d been keeping their heads down and I was happy to continue to let them.
“Maybe, but I have it on good authority that the Protectorate will be moving in on them tomorrow. After your showing, they really need a win under their belts or they’ll look as useless as they feel.”
“The’re not useless. They’re just…”
“Slow? Ineffectual? Bogged down by bureaucracy? They’d probably feel better if a Protectorate cape took down Oni Lee at least, but Photon Mom and Laserdream did that with only minimal help from Dauntless.”
“Okay, so let them take the Merchants. They want a PR win, so let them have this.”
“I thought you’d say that. They’re still worth mentioning as the only gang in the city with more than two capes.” She scrolled down to the next slide. “Next, the Teeth. These guys are way more dangerous and you’ll definitely want to be careful with them.”
“Teeth, huh? I remember them from my own precog sessions. They’re originally from Brockton Bay, right?”
“They are, and they want their old territory back. They’re pretty much guaranteed to come here. I’d be surprised if a few of their less obvious members haven’t already trickled in to snoop around.”
“Modus Operandi: Migratory & Indeterminate…?” I read out loud. “The Butcher doesn’t seem like a particularly subtle cape.”
“She’s not. Problem is, she’s the opposite. Every Butcher has led the Teeth differently. Her? She turned them into a migratory warband of hedonists. Every few weeks, they enter a city, rob select targets, and then move on. They're a lot like a locust swarm in that sense.”
“But since Brockton is their birthplace…” I trailed off. I was starting to understand what she was getting at.
“Exactly. The gang might decide to stick around and claim territory. And since they're a bunch of anarchists who do anything they want, they're pretty hard to predict. I likely won't know more until they arrive in force.”
“What about Butcher? She has this weird inheritance thing, right?”
“Right. She's the absolute last person you should kill. Whoever kills the Butcher takes on all her powers, along with the voices of every previous Butcher. Right now, we’re on Butcher XIV, Quarrel, whose main power is perfect accuracy. No one wants to see you become Butcher XV.”
“How does that work exactly?” I asked.
“I don't know. No one does, not even her. All I know is that if you kill her, even accidentally, you'll be stuck with over a dozen raving lunatics in your head. It's why she can fight like a berserker. She'll always fight to kill, but you can't do the same. Capture isn't easy either since she's a teleporter.”
“Find out, please. I think I might be immune. If it comes with that, I could–”
“Absolutely not,” Lisa cut me off. “Risking your sanity on a maybe is stupid. Even if you are immune with your bullshit power, how do you know it won't just skip you and go to the last person she fought?”
That was a good point. Victini's presence alone probably guaranteed my safety, but that wasn’t to say the inheritance would die with me. Victini could cut the connection Butcher had to her powers, but then what? Odds were, it’d just go to some other poor sap.
Then there was the PRT to consider. The heroes tolerated me because I was a hero, and too strong to pressgang. What would they do if they thought I’d soon go insane? I didn’t know, but I didn’t want to find out.
“You’re right,” I agreed reluctantly. “I’ll be careful when I face the Teeth. Who’s next?”
“The Ambassadors," Lisa said. They were another group I’d heard of before. “They’re the exact opposite of the Teeth. Butcher is chaotic. Accord is methodical. The Teeth are nomadic madmen. The Ambassadors take immense pride in professionalism and have made their home in Boston’s downtown.”
“So why come here? They’re sedentary, right? They can’t possibly think this would be worthwhile.”
“They want real estate and money. They probably wouldn’t mind cultivating a working relationship with you, especially when it comes to your berries.”
“I… They know about the berries?”
“How can they not? Accord is a thinker, and a damn good one. He used to be a part of Watchdog before he defected. He’s also annoyingly good at misleading thinker investigators so don’t expect too much from me.”
“Alright, that’s fine. Not ideal, but it doesn’t sound like they’re going to be too troublesome.”
“Exactly. They’re one of the most professional so if you don’t mind a powerful thinker villain in your city, you might want to let them take over territory. They’ll at least manage it well enough.”
“Got it.”
“Number three: The Elite. They’re the biggest crime syndicate in the country, but it’d be more appropriate to say they’re a confederation of loosely affiliated cells than a singular syndicate. There are nine major cells, led by the nine members who make up their leadership council: Agnes Court, Bastard Son, Blueblood, The Gentleman, Monpareil, Patrician, Regis Rex, Uppercrust, and Uppermost.
“Their modus operandi also varies greatly from cell to cell. Some, like Bastard Son, are considered little better than the Slaughterhouse Nine. Others, like Agnes Court, like to work with corporate capes, propping up both heroes and villains for influence in their cities.”
“And which cell is coming to Brockton?” I asked her. She reminded me a little of Candace. The icy gym leader also liked presenting a lot of information, something about setting the background. “Do we know what the local cell leader is like?”
“We do,” she nodded. She flipped to the next slide, revealing an elderly gentleman in an immaculate suit. He leaned heavily on a cane that was clearly tinkertech of some sort. “This is Uppercrust. He is one of the original founders of the Elite and runs the New York cell. Luckily for us, he’s also the most professional member of their leadership council.”
“Ah, yeah, I vaguely remember him. He’s the same guy who makes force fields for coastal cities, right?”
“Right. He made the big ol’ soap bubble around the Rig.”
“And? What can we expect from him here?”
“He almost certainly wants to invest in real estate. He’ll even go about it in a legitimate way so you won’t have an excuse to break down the walls.”
“Sounds tricky.”
“Yup. I have another theory though: I think he’s sick.”
I gestured to the picture. The old man was visibly leaning on a web of force fields projected by his walking stick. “I mean, he’s using a tinkertech cane.”
“True, but I mean something more serious than a walking impairment. He has brain damage of some sort. He might be taking this chance to expand his business empire while also approaching you for healing.”
“Brain damage? How do you figure that? You think a stroke is why he’s partially paralyzed?”
“Yup. He contributes a fair bit to endbringer defense, Leviathan specifically, so Amy would have healed him if she could. And since Amy’s pretending she can’t touch brains,” she said. She snorted at the warning glare I gave her. “Oh, come off it. Of course I know. I’m not going to do anything with this information, but I know.”
“Fair enough. Amy must have told him she couldn’t heal him at some point. And here I am, a healer who can touch brains.”
“Yup. It’s leverage. You can probably get the Elite to behave pretty easily.”
“Got it. I’d heal him for free if he asked though.”
“I’d say you’re naive, but…”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Well, it might work in your favor. Uppercrust is the kind of old-school person who recognizes debts so go ahead if that’s what you want. Now, we get to the Travelers.”
“I saw them. They’re coming for healing, right? One of their members is a monstrous cape.”
“Probably. They’re nomadic. They don’t care much for the rules. Uppercrust would ask politely. Trickster, their leader, would probably just take Amy hostage to make it happen.”
“Then I break every bone in their bodies. It’s fine so long as I heal them later, right?” I spat. Kindness wasn’t weakness.
She rolled her eyes but didn’t comment. “Lastly, the group I didn’t think would show up: The Adepts.”
“I have no idea who they are.”
“That’s because they’re a New York group, like the Elite. Except, until recently, they had no reason to leave New York at all.”
“Are they strong? They’re in Legend’s city, right? So that must mean they’re either really strong or really important to have lasted this long.”
“Competent. I wouldn’t say they’re strong, just… weird. They’re led by this guy, Epoch, who thinks powers are magic. Their whole mission is to explore their powers and ‘advance their understanding of magic,’ whatever that means.”
“I don’t get it. That sounds… fine?” I asked, puzzled. “How are they a gang exactly?”
“They welcome all capes and recently flipped a Ward. A Ward abandoned the PRT to join them so the heroes aren’t exactly happy about this. Epoch would normally lie low and wait out the heat, but…”
“But since Brockton is free real estate right now, they’re thinking about migrating.”
“Exactly. The real concern here is that I don’t know how New York is going to react to this.”
“So, five new teams? The Teeth. Ambassadors. Elite. Travelers. Adepts. That’s… It sounds to me like the Teeth are the main problem.”
“Something like that. There are one or two teams I think might also care, but I’m not sure about that. I’ll keep you posted,” she promised. She closed her laptop and stood.
“Thanks, Lisa. Really, you make life a lot easier.”
“And you make life a lot more complicated. Try not to let things get too out of hand, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Author’s Note
The kirlia and lampent are legacies from the days when this was a quest. After rolling a nat20, I allowed chat to pick a permanent form they could have from the day’s type. They picked a ralts and a litwick, which evolved with Blake’s growing mastery.
I’m not sure how I’ll incorporate these two, or future permanent forms, going forward. I didn’t want to pretend they never happened though, so I kept them in. If you have any ideas, feel free to let me know.
Animal Fact: Parrots in Southeastern Peru will voluntarily eat dirt. At the Colorado clay lick, a cliff above the Tambopata River, hundreds of parrots from up to eighteen species gather each day to flake off bits of clay. There are two potential reasons for why they do this:
First, clay acts as a natural detoxifying agent. In times when safer plants are in short supply, this behavior may allow them to eat more toxic plants. Lab results found that clay binds to certain toxins, preventing them from entering a parrot’s bloodstream.
The second hypothesis is that parrots consume clay to take in sodium. In humid environments, the mineral gets washed away more quickly unless in hardened clay deposits. For example, clay contains up to forty times more sodium than is found in a normal plant diet. As for why they need it, sodium ions are vital for nervous function.