Shifting his hair back to its 'regular' setting, Marcus thought back to his meeting with the empire capes.
As Vergil, he intended to craft himself into one massive stick for the criminal element of the city. He would instill into them the fear that they instilled in the masses. The same fear that made people despair at the sheer thought of going out into the streets late at night, or of suddenly finding themselves caught in the middle of a gang fight when they just wanted to get their groceries. He needed to establish a reputation for himself.
Even if that meant turning a conflict that he could have quickly resolved into a full 'fight'.
His letting go of the cloaked girl was part of his reputation-building plan.
First of all, he needed a witness. Someone who could attest to both his ability, and his willingness, to truly clean up the filth of the city. A primer, to work alongside the corpses in sowing the seeds of terror into the empire, and into the criminals at large.
Second, he needed someone to act as a warning for the younger gang members. Marcus' goal was to clean up the bay, but that didn't mean he wanted to do it entirely through bloodshed. If he could convince others to clean up their act and live a 'better' life, that would be a great option, especially when it came to the younger people who found themselves born, suckered, or forced into that life.
Perhaps that girl's words would be enough to cause others like her to turn their lives around. Not a likely occurrence, but not altogether impossible either.
Third… The thought of just killing her was an unpleasant one. She was still just a teenager, after all.
He knew that there was a non-zero chance that he might have to kill someone that was less than adult, to say the least, be it in appearance, demeanor, or outright age. Hell, the big bad of the scenario was, despite its many powers and great destructive might, a developmentally stunted individual, mentally speaking.
That is if he recalled the fanfics he'd read in his previous life correctly.
Or, at least, something close enough to it that it made little difference. A depressed, emotionally stunted kid or teenager, whose girlfriend/guiding figure died and left him behind to somehow accomplish a plan he had only the vaguest, most superficial understanding of.
'Damn. Even multidimensionally genocidal space worms have trauma in this universe.'
Still, despite all of that, it was something that he would inevitably have to deal with, so he needed to sort himself out and get ready by then.
As he climbed onto his King-sized mattress, Marcus' thoughts drifted in a different, less unpleasant direction.
'I can't wait to get my money-making ideas in progress. Can't see myself moving out of this place soon enough.'
-CHAPTER, END!-
Emily Piggot, Director of the ENE PRT, was a rather notable woman, for various reasons. Her distinguished career as a field operative that suffered a tragic end at the hands of Nilbog was one of them, as was her peculiar appearance, her obese body usually clad in a navy blue jacket and skirt, bleached blonde hair in a bob-style haircut that was more utility than aesthetic, a long, aquiline nose, steel-gray eyes that were known to shoot glares powerful enough to strip the paint off a wall, as well as a hard, uncompromising, no-nonsense demeanor.
This 'formidable woman' had called an All-Hands-On-Deck Emergency Meeting for all Protectorate Capes.
As he hurried through the corridors of the Headquarters and toward Meeting Room 5, Rory Christner, better known in his current state of dress of a golden lion-themed helm, with matching shoulder pads, belt, and skintight suit as the hero Triumph, couldn't help but fidget in nervousness.
As far as he knew, this was the first time, barring Endbringer alerts, that one of those had been sent out at the Bay since Lung first established himself in the city in a fight with both the E88 and the Protectorate that had resulted in hundreds dead, as well as hundreds of millions of dollars in property damage.
Things had been different back then too, as he had still been a Ward, and did not truly feel the full weight of responsibility posed by the mantle of a hero upon the shoulders of those who chose to put on a costume and go out to fight the good fight.
Now?
Knowing that whatever caused an emergency meeting was something that he might have to eventually face directly as a full-fledged hero had his fingers clenched in a white-knuckled grip, a mix of trepidation and anticipation filling him.
Stopping in front of the door to meeting room 5, Rory took a deep, steadying breath before walking in. The fact that he'd been the last Protectorate member to join the meeting was not a surprise, as today it'd been his turn to take one of the patrol routes furthest from headquarters, and he'd been entangled in a fight with Mush after having busted a squad of merchants moving some 'product' when the alert rang out in the first place.
What was a surprise was the fact that other than the ENE Protectorate heroes and Director Piggot, Deputy Director Rennick, the entirety of the Wards, and even the full roster of New Wave were present, all of them seated throughout a long, oblong table that Director Piggot sat at the head of.
Ignoring the multiple pairs of eyes on him, Rory gave the director a deferential nod, before doing the same for Armsmaster, then making his way to the open seat beside Velocity, offering the other capes on the way small nods of greeting as well.
After he sat down, Carol Dallon, an attractive, short-haired, brown-eyed, 30-something-year-old blonde, most commonly recognized by her identity as Brandish, a member of the open cape team in the Bay - her career as a lawyer came as a close second in terms of reasons for people to know her - spoke up.
"Now that all of the children are missing school, the adults missing work, and the heroes removed from the streets and allowing the criminals free reign over the city," She waspishly directed toward Director Piggot, "Will you finally inform us of whatever emergency you have called us here over? Honestly, the fact that you were willing to sit there and waste our time instead of informing those present-"
"Armsmaster."
That one word from Piggot prompted the leader of the Brockton Bay Protectorate team to press a button on one of his gauntlets, causing an image of two individuals, a buzz-cut blonde woman with a rather notable scar across her neck, and a brown-haired, brown-eyed man with a rather non-descript face, the type to blend in with a crowd, to be projected up from the center of the table, allowing all those present easy sight of it.
"Justin Mark Dutch and Melody Jurist. These names likely would mean nothing to all of us present were it not for a certain common factor these two shared.
"They were the Empire capes known as Cricket and Crusader."
Those words fell on the room with all the potency of a live grenade, causing it to fall eerily quiet for a moment before exploding into a cacophony of noise, surprised, shocked, and trepidatious exclamations flying toward the Director from all directions.
Brandish had stood up in her seat, hands slammed on the table and neck veins straining as she tried to shout something at Piggot, yet her voice could not be even remotely made out among the noise.
BANG!
Everybody flinched at the extremely and uncomfortably loud sound of the Director's palm slamming on the surface of the table, before the woman, her face showing none of the pain she certainly must've been feeling on her hand, spoke.
"This is a meeting of heroes, not kindergarteners. Behave as such or I will eject you from this room. Do not push me on this."
Brandish seemed about to say something else when the Director's gaze turned toward her. Two gazes silently met, the Director's with its common uncompromising hardness, and Brandish's with noticeable aggression, until Sarah Pelham, more commonly known as Lady Photon, the leader of New Wave and older sister of Brandish - though her also attractive appearance was far too similar to that of Carol's other than her longer hair for the difference to be told - placed a hand on the younger woman's shoulder, drawing a snort from her before she sat back down.
Meeting the Director's gaze with none of the animosity from her younger sister, but rather a grave sense of curiosity, Lady Photon spoke.
"You said they were empire capes."
"I did," The Director said with a nod before giving Armsmaster a nod, prompting him to change the 'slide' into one of those same two bodies, utterly still and with unnaturally pale skin, this time with the metal trays of a morgue serving as the background for them, "Their bodies were found at the intersection of XXXXX and XXXXX at 4 AM, not too far from the bodies of multiple individuals with clothing, tattoos, drug-related paraphernalia and marks consistent with heroin abuse that all point towards Merchant association."
"Two dead capes and a bunch of dead normals," Assault, the red-suited and masked partner of Battery spoke up, his usual level of levity and mirth completely absent from his tone, "Skidmark may spend more time on something than sober but he's managed to keep the Merchants afloat for a good few years so far despite their lack of power in relation to every other faction in the Bay, so he wouldn't go out of his way to unnecessarily engage in a gang war with the E88, and the E88 look down on the Merchants far too much to bother with them as long as they stay out of their territory."
He paused for a moment, before thinking aloud.
"Third-party?" He then turned toward the Director, "Do we know how they died? Both the Merchants and the Empire capes?"
Multiple people in the room stared at the red-suited cape in shock at his investigative behavior so utterly at odds with his usual way of taking nothing seriously and making fun of everything.
Not being one of those people, the Director pressed a button on a remote of her own, showing the full images of the corpses - or what remained of them, anyway.
Gravity and queasiness alike filled the room at the sight of multiple 'bodies' identified as merchants missing whole chunks, the remainder of them having been put together like a human puzzle missing some pieces.
Crusader's corpse seemed to be mostly intact, the only blemishes on it being a series of extremely fine stitches across the throat that could've easily gone unnoticed were it not for the fact that the photographs had been framed so as to highlight them, and a divot on the center of his chest, with a slight leftward inclination to it.
Cricket's corpse was a somewhat different case, as rather than having a fine line of stitching across the neck, she had two around the entire width of both legs right below knee level, while her chest sported the very same type of divot as that of Crusader's.
The image at the center of the table remained, though a smaller scale version of it popped up in front of each and every seat, Wards and underaged members of New Wave included, before forensic reports appeared beside them.
"Extensive cutting damage for the Merchants, a clean slash through the throat for Crusader, and blood loss as a consequence of forcible double amputation for Cricket," Dauntless read the reports, before speaking up to the group at large, "Oni Lee?"
"Unlikely," Was Battery's response, "Oni Lee's sword is pretty high quality, but not enough to cut through bone as cleanly as the reports indicate."
"The lack of explosive-based damage or ash residue at the scene also greatly reduces the likelihood of the third party being Oni Lee," Armsmaster interjected, "Cricket's abilities also made her a rather difficult match-up for Oni Lee, suicide clones included, so it's unlikely that he'd manage to singlehandedly take down a gang of merchants, then Cricket and Crusader, especially without resorting to using his preferred combat tactics."
"I had a run-in with Oni Lee earlier today," Dauntless spoke up, "Didn't seem injured or debilitated in any way, shape, or form."
"I can't really tell regarding the Merchant gangsters," Amelia Dallon - Panacea - spoke up, drawing surprised eyes from all around, as well as a nasty look from Brandish, which she ignored with what seemed like the ease of experience, "But Oni Lee can't be the cause for the empire capes' wounds."
"What do you mean, Ames?" Victoria Dallon - Glory Girl while suited up - asked her sister, only for the freckled, brown-haired medic to swipe a finger across the hologram of the forensic report in front of her, changing it to a different page.
"Forensic reports are multiple-page affairs," She lightly chided the blond heroine, before pointing her finger at a specific section of it, "The angles on the cuts are all wrong. Oni Lee is only slightly taller than Cricket and he's a good deal shorter than Crusader, but the reports say that the killer cuts came at the capes from an elevated angle.
"It could be understandable with Cricket since the target was the legs, though the angle still would've been a bit too steep to have come from Oni Lee, but it's impossible for someone to have slashed Crusader's neck from that angle unless they were either in the air or taller than him."
"Maybe Oni Lee attacked from the air?" Rory interjected, at which point Neil Pelham, husband of Sarah and member of New Wave under the identity of Manpower, rebutted.
"You need either a disgustingly sharp blade or a load of power to get through multiple layers of muscle in one go, much less bone, and even then, having one without the other wouldn't guarantee such a clean cut without some parahuman effect at work.
"Unless he recently upgraded to some sort of Tinkertech sword, Oni Lee wouldn't be able to pull off this sort of damage, especially without his feet on the ground to generate power to cut with."
That caused another somber silence to fall upon the meeting room before Vista spoke up, her tone strong and gaze focused despite - or maybe even because of - the subject matter.
"So there's some new cape that killed a bunch of merchants and two nazi capes at the same time or one after the other. What else do we know?"
"Well," Dean Stansfield, better known as Gallant, member of the ENE Wards, spoke up, "The report says that based on the angle of the cut on Crusader's neck, a grounded attacker would have to be around 4 to 8 inches taller than him."
"I believe all of you are getting ahead of yourselves," Miss Militia interjected, getting everyone's attention, "All of your speculations so far have taken it for granted that the perpetrator had a generally anthropomorphic body and that the damage was dealt with a bladed weapon. You've all forgotten to consider the possibility that the damage was dealt through the use of parahuman abilities. Changer, Breaker, Shaker, Striker, Mover, all of this could even be the consequence of a Tinker's device. We've not been given enough information to make deductions with any level of certainty."
Her gaze moved toward the Director before she finished her thoughts.
"Plus, I am sure the Director would not have called an emergency meeting just so we could sit around and speculate."
All gazes in the room turned toward Piggot at that.
The bottle-blonde said nothing, pressing instead another button on her remote, causing the holographic images in front of everybody to resolve into the brick wall of some grimy side street alley.
Heavy breathing could be heard coming from whoever was recording, before the image shook as the recording device was moved around the corner, revealing the sight of a noticeably dark-skinned individual in a blue jacket completely pierced through by the spears of spectral, knightly figures many of the present capes were unfortunately well-acquainted with.
Stunned silence ensued when the figure openly regenerated from its extremely gruesome wounds, which turned into a somber silence as the fight progressed more and more.
"GLCHRKT!"
Everybody jumped at the extremely sudden, yet rather understated, death of Crusader, and more than a few had to fight back retching at the sight of both of Cricket's lower legs simply splitting from one moment to the next during her run.
The last of the footage showed a flying dumpster with the green-cloaked Rune flying away at high speed, only for a blue blur to chase after it a couple of seconds later.
The holographically projected video ended-
"UEGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Before Gallant turned away from the table and puked out his entire breakfast, the floor of the meeting room saved from visibly hosting a pool of half-digested food and gastric juices purely due to Vista's swiftness in warping space so that the trashcan in the corner was suddenly right under him.
Glory Girl zipped right over the table over to him so that she could rub his back, while Lady Photon whirled on the Director, her eyes narrowed and tone clipped in a rare display of anger.
"Why would you show this to children?"
"Because they need to know what they may find themselves dealing with," The Director said before looking around the whole room, meeting the gaze of every single cape present, "Cape, Non-Cape, this newest menace seems to not make distinctions of that type before choosing to ruthlessly cut people down.
"We do not know what the full extent of his abilities is, or even how the ones we've seen so far work. We don't know what his intentions are. He could be some sort of short-sighted vigilante intent on doing 'justice' without caring about the inevitable escalation that will cause from the side of the criminals and the consequences of such, just as easily as he could be just another bloodthirsty, scrupleless gangster, intent on 'cleaning up the competition' before making a bid for the Bay.
"The only things we know with certainty are that he does not go about conflict the same way the lot of you are used to operating. He plays for keeps."
She paused after that, both of her hands palms-down on the table, before she continued.
"This emergency meeting was called in order to both keep you all informed about the likelihood of extremely increased criminal action in the coming days, the almost-certainty of a gang war…
"And that you should not carelessly try to engage with this cape. Lung and Hookwolf may be bloodthirsty maniacs, but if the enemy capes choose beat a retreat, they let them go. As we saw with Rune, this new cape does not. Meeting adjourned."
The woman then proceeded to nonchalantly get up and leave the meeting room after having dropped such a massive bomb on them, her tight grip on the manila folder in her grasp and the louder clacking of her low-heeled shoes on the floor betraying her anger at the whole situation.
The rest of the people in the room started clearing out after her, some variation of fear, trepidation, shock, frustration, anger, or a mixture of all of them brewing within them, something that only worsened Gallant's nausea.
Sophia Hess, however, unlike the rest, did not feel fear, anger, outrage, or anything of the sort.
She felt only relief at the fact that she never appeared in the footage, it having started after the blue-coat guy pushed her out of the way of Crusader's ambush, and admiration towards said guy.
She admired his decisiveness, the fact that he was willing to completely ignore what was 'cape protocol' to do what he wanted to instead, the strength and skill that he displayed while effortlessly dominating the empire capes.
But what she admired most of all was the fact that in a single night of action, he'd already left the heroes of the Bay fearful of him. That, more than anything else, was a reflection of his strength. His power. That the same heroes who were willing to go toe-to-toe with someone like Lung, or participate in Endbringer attacks, stared at his image with caution, and fear.
She envied that strength.
She wanted that strength.
She wanted to be around that strength.
In the background, Gallant couldn't help but erupt into renewed retching at the twisted sense of admiration and desire emanating from one of his teammates.
Spoiler: just good vibes
"When you walk away, you don't hear me say~"
Marcus sang as he fried up a ham, cheese, and bacon - with Parsley on top - omelet on his hot plate.
"Pleeeeeeeeeease, oh baby, don't go! Simple and clean is the way that you're making me feeeeeeeeeeel toniiiiight, it's hard to let it go~"
The once-again-a-teen plated and set aside the steaming-hot omelet before, in the same thin layer of olive oil he'd fried the omelet in - which he'd 'primed' with a few cloves of garlic for extra flavor and aroma - setting down a tortilla, keeping it on the pan long enough to reach a golden toasted hue as well as a soft texture from the sucked-up oil, before getting it off the fire.
After patting out the slight bit of excess oil on the tortilla with a paper towel, he placed the omelet within it and folded it all up into a breakfast omelet tortilla wrap.
He took one bite of the meal and all but moaned as the flavors danced on his tongue in a way he'd never known was possible before the onset of his enhanced senses.
Alas, as is one of the almost incontrovertible laws of the world, the time to enjoy food is much shorter than the time required to prepare it, so, a scant minute and a half after having his breakfast meal plated and ready to eat, Marcus had already consumed it in its entirety.
Shunting the used crockery into his pocket dimension so he could wash them somewhere where the taps didn't look like they were spewing tar, Marcus decided to put his money-making strategy to work.
Slipping on a t-shirt one size too small and a pair of shorts, and giving his side part a bit of a 'wave' in order to emulate the 'surfer dude' aesthetic, he headed out into the streets of Brockton at 7:30 in the morning, completely ignoring the chill of mid-spring on the East Coast as he trooped all the way to the same rich neighborhood he'd previously visited.
Once there, he waited until the time his ears could pick up stirring in the house he'd seen the (likely) recently divorced woman flirting with the landscaper, before walking up to the door and ringing the bell.
"Coming."
He picked up some sounds of rustling cloth mixed with annoyed grumbles about "inconsiderate people"' and "Appropriate times to knock on other people's doors", before the door opened, revealing the same generally attractive 30-something-year-old he'd seen previously, though her expression was much less inviting, and much more annoyed, when she opened the door.
Annoyance rapidly turned into interest when her gaze fell on him, his pretty looks and 'notice me' aura seemingly striking such a powerful one-two punch that she didn't manage to suppress a lick of her lips.
Choosing to strike while the iron was hot and cheat relentlessly, Marcus tapped into his Siren's Song perk by giving his voice the slightest bit of a vibrating, rumbling, bassy tone to it, as well as his Eromancy, exploiting the 'ability to inflict pleasure transcending logical constraints' to ensure that his already velvety-smooth voice gave the woman tiny pulses of pleasure - not even enough to cause goose flesh - as he spoke.
"Good morning ma'am."
"Good morning indeed," She mumbled out thoughtlessly before she seemed to notice how 'uncouth' her behavior was, taking a moment to collect herself, her eyes lingering on the way that his undersized shirt stuck to his pecs a bit too long for polite company, before she gathered herself, an affable smile on her face where before there was irritation, "Can I help you?"
"Actually, Ma'am," Experience met supreme amounts of bodily control as his lips quirked into one of those tiny, barely there smiles that straddled the border between 'innocent as freshly fallen snow' and 'I know something you don't', "That is the question I came to ask you."
She licked her lips in what seemed like an unconscious movement, her head tilting slightly as she responded.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, Ma'am, I couldn't help but notice that you have a nice, big house," Those words seemed to have tickled the woman pink, her own lips quirking into a smile, while Marcus proceeded, "Thing about big houses, though is that they need big amounts of work to keep as nice, shiny, and pretty as yours. There's always some grass to be trimmed, a pool to be cleaned, gutters to be cleared, objects to be moved…
"While I'm sure that you are more than wealthy enough to easily afford to pay the big companies that do these types of jobs, you also strike me as someone money-smart enough to not just spend money uselessly.
"So I had a thought. Certainly, I don't have the same type of skill, equipment, and experience as the landscapers to create and maintain such a perfectly manicured lawn, but for things such as washing cars, cleaning gutters, moving objects and from and to high places, and netting the pool, I believe I have the necessary level of competence.
"I was hopeful, ma'am, that someone as money-smart and kind-hearted as yourself would give a young student a chance to prove himself."
Two whole lifetimes and that was probably the most 'blatant' attempt at a sale that Marcus had ever made.
The naked flattery for the woman about things he couldn't have as much as an inkling of a clue about such as her financial habits or morals, the self-deprecation and 'humility' aimed toward himself, a constant shifting of the frame surrounding his services between 'sound financial choice' and 'kindly aid for a humble, struggling youth', all of this paired with a series of targetted attacks on the 'thirst' she'd shown before…
It was akin to an old, rich man getting into a 'relationship' with a woman 50/60 years their junior. Everybody involved knew what the game was, that the factors truly dictating the 'relationship' were the intersecting interests of both sides, the sugar daddy wanting access to a young, beautiful, fertile young woman, be it for sex, status, ego-fulfillment, or just company in his old age, and said young woman wanting to live a luxurious, extravagant lifestyle, with a high likelihood of inheriting a fortune upon the death of their 'partner'.
This lady wasn't anywhere near naive enough to blindly buy the shit some random pretty boy coming out of nowhere was selling, but rather, she looked at the bullshit, appraised it with the experience of one who is used to doing so-
"I see. Well, I did feel as if the upkeep bills were a bit too high for the usually rendered services, and far be it from me to refuse to help a struggling student when I have the ability to do so."
-and decided that it was exactly what she was currently in the market for.
"Thank you for giving me a chance, ma'am," Marcus responded, having dropped the use of his musical and erotic perks after having gotten himself an in with the customer, "You won't regret it, I promise."
"I have a feeling I won't," She responded with a bite of her lower lip.
"Which form of address can I use for you, Ma'am?"
"My full name is Marie Johnson-Simmons-Fitzgerald-Kirkpatrick, neé Caldwell," She said with a smile that reminded Marcus somewhat of a great white shark right after a feeding frenzy, or a big cat after a large meal "But that's a bit of a mouthful, so you can just call me Marie."
"Alright, Ms. Marie," The teen didn't miss the way the woman's smile widened at the form of address, "I'm Marcus. Marcus Phoenix."
"Marcus," His name slipped through her lips in a husky tone that could not have been accidental in any way, before she softly placed her hands on one of his constrained arms, her smile widening and grip tightening when she felt no rejection from his side, before she pulled him into her home, "That's a rather fine name for a strapping young man such as yourself."
The teen didn't miss the way one of the armed security guards standing before the homes a bit higher up the hill offered him a discreet thumbs up, which he responded to with a short nod.
Unlike what Marcus had expected, he had not been forced to fend off the advances of a sexually frustrated and aroused recent divorcee as soon as he'd set foot inside her - admittedly - lavish house.
Be it because she was trying to keep from spooking him, trying to get the best of both worlds, or was simply intent on probing at him for a while before making a 'choice', Marie, her hands still massaging his muscular arm, directed Marcus out through a door into an expansive backyard with an exquisitely trimmed lawn, unnaturally symmetric patches of roses that could only have been crafted through the use of garden shears, clippers, and other such devices, and a large in-ground pool.
A tree stood a good few feet away, nowhere near above and not necessarily near the pool, yet a good amount of its leaves were floating in the body of water, with some having sunk down to the bottom.
"The landscapers that came by yesterday," Marie spoke up once more, "Cut the lawn and trimmed the tree some, just to make sure that I wouldn't ever have to deal with a branch just randomly falling on me sometime. With the wind being as it is in a coastal city like Brockton, things ended up falling into the pool that I hadn't had the time to call someone about.
"You could consider this to be your practical. Impress me, and I might just have to keep you around."
"Understood, Miss Marie."
"The pool net is-"
Marcus didn't give her the time to finish her sentence, not hesitating at all to whip off his shirt and shuck off his shoes before diving into the pool, his hands reaching out for two clumps of floating leaves.
He broke the surface in a movie-worthy scene, back slightly arched as he did, causing a trail of water to follow after his hair, which, weighed down by the liquid, fell over his ears, cheeks, and all the way down to his neck in a matted, wavy mass.
Taking a moment to offer the woman an utterly Hollywood-worthy smile, Marcus climbed out of the pool, keenly feeling the way the woman's gaze jumped from droplet to droplet of water trailing down different lines of his body, an occasional discreet flex helping to make him pop all the better.
He deposited both handfuls of wet leaves - much, much less than what he could've gotten with a net, or even by just making a real effort due to the size of his hands - next to a trashcan, before sauntering right past Marie once again, making sure to give her a mightly fine look of his build as he did, before jumping into the water once more to repeat the process.
A pool-cleaning session that could have realistically lasted for around 30~45 minutes based on the detritus within the body of water was stretched out to a timespan of 2 hours, which Marie made use of to continuously probe at him.
She'd first made some covert inquiries into his thoughts regarding the gangs, prompting him to straightforwardly and directly decry them and their practices, and deny any connection to them, something that, paired with his lack of any gang or drug-related marks, scars, or tattoos, seemed to have convinced her, resulting in a slight, yet noticeable, drop in her vigilance toward him.
She'd then pulled things in the direction of his 'young student' comment, asking him about which university he was studying at, and what he was majoring at. He'd told her he wasn't quite in university just yet - which was true, as he was a high school student this go around - and that he was considering getting into Mechanical Engineering - his major back in ye olde worlde - but that recent changes in his life had him really thinking these sorts of choices through.
She'd inquired about his family, and he didn't hesitate to mention his lifetime of orphanhood, growing up in the system, and not fitting in due to his unwillingness to fall into the same bad patterns and habits most in his situation did, something that seemed to garner a good bit of sympathy from the woman, and strengthen the 'not a gang member' point.
He'd then flipped the script around and asked Marie about her - all the while shirtless cleaning the pool one cupped hand at a time - prompting her to talk about her 4 marriages, which then led to her 4 divorces. Apparently, in all four, her husbands had been caught cheating on her, leading to them not just losing, but losing big in the divorce.
'Heartbroken' after having been cheated on by her 4th husband, James Kirkpatrick, known-playboy Texas oil millionaire, she decided to take up her wealth and move all the way to Brockton.
At the end of 2 hours of a back-and-forth, the woman saw him off with a smile, a partial slip of her nightrobe revealing a good expanse of lightly tanned, likely-artificial bust, $500 dollars in his pocket, and an invitation to return in subsequent days for more work.
Whistling a jaunty tune, Marcus left the rich neighborhood and headed to this earth's Staples equivalent, only to leave sixty-ish dollars poorer, and 500 business cards richer.He temporarily shifted into his Vergil identity to buy a trench coat and mask, before ducking into an unobserved area and changing, his tee traded for a long-sleeved turtleneck shirt, shorts going in favor of baggy jeans, sneakers traded for heavy work boots, and previously exposed hands completely covered in a pair of gloves.
The mask and trenchcoat went on after all of this, before he chose to affect a hump and a limp, his proprioception and body control ensuring that these traits on him were pretty much indistinguishable from those of a more natural origin.
Under this ensemble, as well as a multitude of different gazes ranging from curious - children - to vaguely threatening - enforcers - Marcus made his way to what was ostensibly a boutique, yet really was a warehouse full of bolts of cloth of different materials and colors, as well as stuffed animals of different sizes and makes, owned by a rogue by the name of Parian.
'Parian… I feel like that name kind of rings a bell. Was she important?'
Marcus paused for a moment, seemingly unconcerned by the mounting nervousness in the body language of the figure that was just as obscured as he was, even if her disguise of a Victorian-era dress, golden curls, white gloves, and porcelain mask looked a great deal more professional than his.
"So, Ms. Parian," Marcus spoke with thickly Spanish-accented English, his years of studying Spanish as a second language from high school through college allowing him to sound like a person of culturally Latino upbringing, "I heard you're the person to talk to in the Bay when you want a suit made."
"Yes," She nodded, the ending of the silence between herself and the disguised Marcus seemingly enough to help shed a good deal of her nervousness, "When it comes to tailoring and sewing, I doubt there's anyone better than me in the whole region."
"Good, very good," Marcus nodded before speaking on in his Spanish-accented English, "As you may currently see, señorita, my costume is not an award-winner by any extent. I wish to change this circumstance and would appreciate it if you helped me in doing so."
"I don't work for free," The covered woman said.
"Naturalmente," Marcus said with a nod, "I have come expecting business, not favors."
Parian was the one to nod this time.
"It's good that you understand." A giant teddy bear walked up to her and handed her a notebook and pencil, before she addressed Marcus, "First of all, I need to know exactly what it is you want. General look, features, colors…"
Marcus nodded before speaking up about what he wanted. Parian was rapidly scribbling down notes at the beginning of the explanation, but her pace slowed down as Marcus' idea was more thoroughly explained, until she was eventually left staring at him with what he could only hazard to be incredulity, pencil hand completely still.
"I- Wha-... Are you sure this is what you want? Remember, once I sell something, it's gone for good. No returns."
"Sí, señorita," The disguised male nodded to the cape fashion designer (?), "I am perfectly aware of what I have requested."
She stared at him in silence for a bit more before shrugging.
"If you say so… Now, I need your measurements. Do you have them at hand, or-"
She was struck silent once more as the hunched and limping figure straightened up completely, trenchcoat set aside to reveal what was an obviously muscular, athletic physique, even if all other physical aspects were obscured.
A wiggle of the fingers from Parian had some threads moving around Marcus before wrapping around his arms, his chest, waist, and multiple other areas he didn't know really needed to be measured.
The girl noted down some numbers while mumbling to herself before speaking up.
"Between the amount and colors of cloth needed for the design you want for someone your size, and labor fees, your final bill is… $5500." The girl hesitated after having said the number, before elaborating, "I'll take a 25% deposit before I can start doing-"
THUMP
She trailed off into a shocked silence at the sight of a stack of money just appearing atop one of her crates. She stared at it for a while, before turning toward Marcus, her tone weak as she spoke.
"W-where did all of this money just come from?"
"Don't worry about it," He responded with a dismissive, nonchalant wave of the hand, "Just take the 2 grandes, and I'll play you the rest when I pick up the suit, sí?"
The girl nodded absentmindedly, and Marcus sketched a shallow, gentlemanly bow, before putting on the trenchcoat and suddenly reverting to his hunchbacked, limping identity.
Said identity teleported away as soon as it left sight, leaving Marcus to land in his room.
While taking off the whole ensemble he'd been wearing, he thought.
'Money-making plan is progressing favorably, and my super suit is in the works. Guess my problems are dealt with for now-'
BZZZZZZZZZZZT!
He blinked in surprise as his phone buzzed, before the surprise turned into trepidation as he remembered who the only person he'd ever given his phone number to was.
Flipping open the phone, he couldn't help but sight at the sight of a text from one Anna-Lee Watanabe, the words "I made it to Brockton too!" making him want to facepalm.
'I have a bad feeling about this…'