Haru sipped at his milk. "Not that I know of. I know most places have a harvest festival of some kind, but if there's a specific one, I don't know it. Mom's been complaining about not being able to travel for Chuseok this year." He caught her confused glance, and elaborated. "Mom's family is from Korea. Dad's Japanese-American."
"Huh. Okay." Taylor traced a few more lines with care. "It's just… I kinda had an idea for something. You ever make popcorn strings for Christmas?"
"In kindergarten."
Taylor flushed a bit. "Uh, yeah. It's silly, I know. But I thought about doing something similar for the shrine. Only not for Christmas. And… not with popcorn. I guess it's not that similar, when I think about it." A silly tradition, yes, but a missed one. Annette Hebert had corralled her daughter into making the strings every year, one at the start of each week in December. Taylor didn't want to continue the habit without her, but an idea had taken root lately, and Taylor thought her mother would approve of it.
Taylor finished the charm and blew on it gently to help dry it. Haru offered her a few dollars to pay for it. She told him to keep his money, but maybe bring something for the shrine, if he got what he wanted.
After school, Taylor rode home with Sunny, then told the wolf her idea as she brushed out her long fur. Sunshine tilted her head back and smiled at her in response.
* * *
When Haru got home, he ran upstairs to his room first thing, and pulled the makeshift talisman from its nest of kleenex in his schoolbag. It was the second thing Taylor had given him, and he set it carefully into the frame of the first-- the oil painting she'd handed off to him, in thanks for his and the other boys' actions. Since he'd been the de-facto delivery boy, he'd gotten first pick of the three paintings, and while they were all roughly similar, he'd liked this one the best. It was a simple thing, an image of a lilypad on water. It brought a much-needed spot of color to his room, and it brought Haru a smile to pick out details he hadn't noticed on first inspection: a small bee nestled in the lilypad flower, a few minnows hiding in the shadow of the plant, a frog swimming near the edge of the frame. He ended up doodling that frog into the margins of his math homework, the image tickling at him for days.
When he'd brought it home, he'd lied to his parents and said he'd picked it up on a whim from Lord's Market, rather than go through all the knowing looks and smiles that would have followed if he'd admitted he'd gotten the gift from a girl. To be fair, he had gotten the frame from the market, so it wasn't a total dishonesty.
Haru fell asleep still looking at the Success talisman sitting in the corner of the frame. The next morning, he shoved a towel and his swim trunks into his already-packed bag, and signed his name onto the swim team tryouts notice, just before the deadline.
There were jeers and rolled eyes when he showed up, as he'd known there would be. Haru wasn't an athlete, anyone could tell you that just by looking at him. He ignored them, focusing instead on that frog, and the Success charm it swam towards.
Haru didn't take first place. He didn't even take third. He changed in the corner of the locker room, head bowed and silent. The coach stopped him on the way out, giving the boy a critical eye.
"You're not shaking, Haru."
"...huh?"
The coach tapped at his shoulder. "Most guys shake like leaves. Swimming's a tough workout. You caught your breath pretty quick too, I saw."
"So?" He didn't need this. Didn't need to be singled out any more.
The coach ignored his mulish glare. "This was the speed trials, you know."
"Yeah, and I sucked at it. I know."
Coach snorted. "Distance trials are tomorrow. I want to see you there. Don't be late."
He wasn't. Haru didn't take first place, but he did make the team. When he told his parents, his mom made his favorite gochujeon, with extra peppers. Haru wrapped up the leftovers and took them to the shrine, still feeling like he was walking on air the whole way.
He found a measuring stick planted upright, about halfway down the cobblestone path. On it was hanging a wooden placard, which he eventually identified as an ema, though an unusually large one. The wish was written in English, in familiar black ink:
I want to decorate the shrine with beads. If you have something you are grateful for, consider leaving some beads at the shrine, and I will string them together, so we can all be reminded of how many blessings we have known. I have much to be thankful for, and I hope that everyone else does too. 15
It really was a long week.
Armsmaster started it as he did every week, at exactly 12:01 AM, still in his lab, absorbed with his various tinkertech endeavors. Dragon had her avatar displayed on a nearby screen, the Canadian tinker as unconcerned with regular sleep schedules as her friend, and in between bouts of using a host of micro-sized tools to create, tweak, and expand fields of nanocircuitry, they carried on a quiet conversation.
In an hour, Armsmaster would bid Dragon good-night, then retire to the cot folded into a wall panel and sleep for three hours. Then the schedule dictated a workout, followed by shower, breakfast while reviewing his email or a recent tinker-published article (it was always the latter, if he could get it). Then the rest of the day would proceed, interspersed by three to five twenty-minute naps. Polyphasic sleep cycles were a perfectly acceptable means of maintaining health, without losing nearly as much time to idleness. It was also far more adaptable in case of crisis; sometimes Dauntless would return to the Rig after a hard night at his civilian job with the city's fire departments, because not every fire in Brockton was set by Lung, and the younger hero would yawn the rest of the day. A little bit of schadenfreude was also perfectly acceptable.
It wasn't an easy schedule that Armsmaster had given himself, certainly. But it was something he was content with.
It was quite unfortunately disrupted one morning, when he had to look over the photographs collected from the shrine instead of catching up on company emails or new research. Armsmaster strode through the Protectorate cafeteria, idly tapping at the tablet he'd downloaded the cameras' memory onto. He passed by Triumph and Battery sitting at one of the tables; Triumph waved. He collected a selection of easily-transportable foodstuffs to take back to his lab, then resumed flipping through the saved photographs, a frown starting on his face. The cameras weren't supposed to be quite this sensitive, he'd have to check them later to rule out the possibility of a surveillance-immune parahuman. The photos were uniformly innocuous: old lady, several old ladies, falling leaf, tree branch, bird, more old ladies, teenager, another bird, a woman accompanied by children, more leaves-- DOG.
Armsmaster stopped, right in the middle of the cafeteria, and hissed at his discovery. It was that canine, the same one, he was sure of it. It matched the feed from his helmet display-- all white, no signs of albinism, physical structure of the head ruling out most domestic species. The wolf was staring into one of the cameras, eyes nearly crossed to focus on the close lens. The photo after that--every photo after that-- was smeared to illegibility by a prominent nose print.
"Dog," he hissed again, fingers tightening on the tablet. He heard a chair squeak against the linoleum, just before Triumph moved closer to peer over the tinker's shoulder.
"Is that the same one? Looks cute."
"It is not cute. It is most likely a master projection and it is very dangerous."
"Sir, I know you're upset about what happened, but I think it's a bit of a leap to assume it's a parahuman effect."
Armsmaster turned his head to glower at Triumph. "That camera is at the top of a telephone pole." And now also compromised. He'd have to grab Chessman and go remove the devices.
Triumph paused. "...oh."
"Indeed. Investigation is now ongoing." The tinker stalked away. Triumph raked a hand through his hair, then sat back down opposite Battery. The heroine chewed on a piece of toast, watching Armsmaster leave.
"I know a probable new Master in town is a big deal, but I'm kind of having trouble moving past the fact that Armsmaster has a canine nemesis."
Triumph's lips twitched. "Maybe Armsmaster's the nemesis. We'll turn around one day and he'll be ruling Latveria."
* * *
Sunshine had decided to go shopping, and thus Taylor was inevitably pressed into service as courier. Lord's Market was an interesting change of pace, at least, and Taylor was happy enough to ride down the street, Sunny trotting alongside her. They browsed, picking up a few needs and looking at wants. Some more fine paper for calligraphy, a small knife to carefully sharpen her charcoals with, some comfy-looking mats that Sunny licked, thereby claiming as her own. Lots of birdseed, but no feeders-- Taylor gave the canine a Look, but the resulting Puppy Stare was far too powerful. Another red skirt, also claimed by Rite of Lick, and while Taylor relented she warned the wolf to stop pushing her luck. Sunny lowered her ears, chastised-- and then immediately perked back up and barked, running over to a food vendor. Taylor sighed.
Sunny snuffled excitedly at the ice cream cart, and dodged the owners attempts at shooing her away until Taylor caught up. The girl was honestly a little surprised to find the vendor here. They usually vanished as autumn settled in, and Brockton's brief summer faded, but the year had been unseasonably warm and bright so far. Flowers were still blooming in the roadside pots, and Old Mrs. Henrick was still plodding happily through her garden every morning. Maybe it wasn't so unreasonable for cold-treat carts to still be around. Taylor checked her wallet, hummed, then nodded.
"Yeah, okay. Two vanilla cones, please? Sunny, find us a place to sit maybe?" The wolf snapped to attention, barked once, then dashed off to claim a bench. Taylor ignored the vendor's expression and paid for the cones, then carefully wheeled her purchase-laden bike after the canine.
She reached the bench and, with some finagling, propped the bike against the back of the seat and sat down. Sunny vacated the rest of the bench and sat down beside her. She was about to hand one of the cones over--or lower it within tongue range, at least--when a noise started up close by. Sunny's ears perked, and she turned her head. A woman was pushing a stroller down the sidewalk, and the baby had started to cry. The mother shushed and cooed at the infant, to no avail-- the poor woman looked harried, like she was about to cry. Taylor bit on her lip, then called out.
"Hey-- come sit down!"
The woman looked up, startled, then after a moment of hesitation, she wheeled the stroller over and sank onto the bench. She was shorter than Taylor, with unremarkable brown hair, but her nails were well-kept and the stroller looked new. "Ah-- thank you. Sorry, it's been a long day, and-- and she's being so fussy, I don't--"
"Hey, no worries... wow, she's tiny. How old is she?"
"Just a couple months. Her name's Aster." The woman smiled, and it lifted some of the strain from her features. "Like the flower." She seemed about to say more, but a sudden giggle drew both their attentions. Sunny was crouched in front of the stroller, and every few moments she'd pop her head up to look at the baby, then crouch down again, out of sight. Aster, for her part, was fascinated. Sunny popped up again, and the baby blew a spitbubble at her. Sunny chuffed.
"Is... your dog playing peek-a-boo?"
Taylor considered the question. "She is a very smart dog."
"I... guess so." The woman pushed back a lock of hair, and watched Aster stare at Sunny. Taylor watched as well, for a moment, then eyed the woman, and the stress lines around her brow and mouth. She held out the second cone, which was starting to drip a little. "Wh-- goodness, aren't you waiting for someone?"
Taylor shook her head. "Nah, it's just me and Sunny. Go ahead."
The young mother hesitated, then took the icecream with a sigh and a slight smile. "Well, thank you. I'm Kayden."
Taylor and Kayden exchanged numbers, after a pleasant time sitting in the sunlight and chatting. Aster had a bottle and then a nap, with Sunny resting her head on the stroller's rim and watching the baby with clear adoration. The wolf's attitude enamored her to Kayden, who even Taylor could see was completely devoted to her newborn. Then as soon as the baby was asleep, Sunny turned her big pleading eyes on Taylor, who dutifully surrendered the second half of the icecream cone. Kayden had laughed until she had to wipe away a tear.
* * *
A few days later, Sunny started making meaningful looks at the corner of the garage where Taylor stashed her paint cans. Taylor shook her head. Sunny whined. Taylor put her foot down, and cited homework. Sunny wuffed, then laid down on Taylor's bed and put her muzzle on her paws. Taylor savored her victory, and pulled out her World Studies assignment.
Twenty minutes later, Taylor was loading the half-empty cans onto her bike. Homework sucked.
Thirty minutes after that, Taylor rode down a street, Sunny dashing ahead and then circling back, while Taylor looked for bare patches of buildings to vandalize. She was beginning to think she'd made a mistake-- not so much the vandalism, because that ship had sailed when she ran from the Protectorate, so she may as well just keep going-- but in choices of neighborhoods to visit. This area of Brockton was pretty clearly upper-class, a suburb protected from all the miscreants and general humanity that couldn't afford to live in gated communities. Taylor was accepting the fact she'd have to move on and look elsewhere when Sunny started barking, and the girl pedaled a bit harder to catch up.
Sunny had not found a good place to start painting. She'd found a box, a sturdy cardboard thing with high sides, and a sound coming from inside that gripped at Taylor's heartstrings and plucked at them insistently. On the side of the box, scrawled in marker, were the words 'Free Kittens.'
"Oh man..." Taylor parked her bike, and peered down into the box. Inside were three-- no, four-- kittens, all different colors and clambering over each other in a mix of excitement and desperation. The fluffballs looked old enough to be weaned, probably, but they were so tiny! With big eyes and poofy little tails and little jellybean toes. They squeaked and cried, pawing at the sides of the box. Sunny whined and looked up at Taylor.
"Yeah, we're not leaving them here. I hope they haven't been out here long... there's a supermarket not far, let's grab them something to eat and then figure out what to do with them." Sunny's tail wagged. Taylor balanced the box on the rear rack of her bike, and started walking. "Jeeze, Sunny... I don't think we can take them home with us, I'm pretty sure Dad is allergic." Whiiiine. "Look, we'll think of something, okay? One step at a time."
They reached the supermarket--which didn't have bikes racks, Taylor was annoyed to notice-- and a clerk pushing chains of shopping carts stopped to investigate the mewls coming from Taylor's cargo. It was good fortune for both of them that the clerk liked cats. She took some of Taylor's money, went inside, then came back out with some pouches of wet cat food and a three-pack of dishrags, which they worked together to open and array inside the box for the kittens. The clerk's shift ended in 10 minutes-- and she had room for a pet in her life.
Just after 6 pm, they parted ways-- the clerk with one of the kittens and a bright smile on her face, and Taylor with three more refugees, and a plan.
Sunny led the way back to the gated district. It was a high-class neighborhood, all big houses and little car traffic, and fenced yards-- the perfect sort of place for people with pets, and the means to care for them. Taylor started knocking on doors.
An hour later, the second and third kitten had both found homes, and the fourth and last was sitting huddled in the corner of the box, looking even smaller and alone without its siblings. Taylor eyed the darkening sky, but continued walking her bike along the sidewalk. Sunny walked in front, and the canine turned at the mailbox of the last house on the row. Taylor gave it a cursory glance as she followed on her way to the door-- the mailbox had fancy lettering that spelled out 'Dallon.'
Taylor knocked, waited, then knocked again. The door of the house opened and Taylor managed to resist the urge to take a step back. The woman who answered the door was blonde, with stern but handsome features and a three-piece suit. She narrowed her eyes at Taylor and the scuffed box in her hands. "Yes?"
"Uh, hi. Sorry to bother you, but-- I found these kittens, and they need homes. Do you think you could care for a pet?" She held the box out a bit more, then added, "There's just the one left."
"Look, I'm really not..." The woman trailed off, her eyes on the box. The last kitten, curled very small in the corner of the box, looked up. It gave a small, pleading cry. The woman-- presumably, Mrs. Dallon-- stared, transfixed.
"I..." She started, then swallowed. Her hands reached for the box, and she lifted out the kitten with shaking fingers. The kitten mewed, then licked at her polished nails. "...sure. I'll take it."
Taylor beamed. "Thank you! Please take good care of it." Mrs Dallon nodded, and almost automatically cupped the vulnerable creature a little more securely. Taylor waved, then wheeled her bike back out of the Dallon's lawn, and started off down the street. Sunny ran alongside her, tongue lolling in a happy grin.
"I hope they're happy, Sunny. Wanna still go find someplace to paint?" Bark!
Chapter 16
Danny Hebert was a man who was used to hardship. It had been a companion growing up, it had been a more distant frenemy during the years of his marriage, only to come around again and crash on his couch in the years after. It was a colleague now, adapting smoothly from struggling against the rising tide of poverty and obsolescence in the Union to the Sisyphean push against crime and parahuman villainy. Danny was used to hardship, and to making the most of his abilities in the face of it.
So why, he wondered, staring into his refrigerator at 6:00 AM, was such a simple thing as talking to his daughter so unconquerably hard?
On the wire shelf next to the milk was a pair of boxes— fine-set wicker ones, of all things. They were attractive boxes, he'd give them that, painted and lacquered red with a few white flowers for contrast. Danny took a moment to listen for sounds of Taylor rising with the sun, and then took a peek inside the boxes.
It was more boxes. Well, okay, it wasn't a nesting doll situation, but it looked like the stackable wicker boxes were more to hold and decorate a pair of plastic tupperware containers. These were divided up into compartments, separating an array of food that had Danny scratching his head in no time. There was rice, sprinkled with some sort of herb, and a section filled with vegetables. There was a neatly-arranged fruit salad. There were—were those octopi?!
No, he concluded, after a moment. They were hot dogs, cut to have little tentacles, and with small holes poked in the ends for a face. The other box had a cup of yogurt, a slightly-flattened bread roll, and a bunch of little rolled-up egg things. Danny packed the lunches back up, and shut the fridge. Okay. So the selection and presentation was a little odd, but— cooking! She liked cooking. That was a thing they could talk about, a nice safe topic. With a satisfied nod, Danny started on brewing a pot of coffee, and set a kettle of water on the stove to heat up for tea.
Taylor came down a bit later, with her backpack slung over one shoulder, and wearing trim white overalls over a red shirt. She'd been wearing those colors a lot lately... maybe they could repaint her room sometime, redecorate to her taste? Yes, that was another good plan. She dropped her bag near the table and moved for the cereal, and Danny saw her smile when she spotted the steaming kettle. Progress. Okay Danny, deep breath, time to make this work.
"Good morning, Taylor," he started. "I've got the kettle on. So, uh, how's..."
How are your studies? Is school going any better for you? Do you have a favorite class? Do you need any help with homework? Did you need anything from the store to make your lunches? What's with the boxes? Is there a reason you want to eat marine animals? Are hot dogs more delicious that way? Where'd you get the idea for that? Maybe you could show me how to pack lunches sometime? We could do it together, would you like that?
"...how'd you sleep?" Damn it.
"Fine." She poured herself a bowl of cereal, then switched to getting a cup of tea ready. Danny silently poured himself a cup of coffee, and steeled himself for a second attempt.
"Any plans for today?" There, yes, good!
"Just the usual, I guess." Taylor shrugged, and didn't elaborate further. Danny felt defeat settle over his shoulders and give him a mocking pat on the back. Soon enough, Taylor was out the door and on her bike headed to Winslow, and Danny was left alone in the house, to face the rest of the day. He finished his coffee, then walked around and shut the blinds on the windows before dragging out his work bag and rifling through it a bit. He pulled out a pair of well-articulated wind-up toy dolls, then set them on the kitchen floor. A quick mental push, and the two dolls grew to life size while Danny finished his toast. He put the dish in the sink and cracked his knuckles, once.
"All right. Vacuum's in the closet, duster is under the sink. Let's get to work."
An hour later the house was clean, the dolls were returned to inanimacy and packed away, and Danny was out of things to do. This was why he'd rather be at work, when possible. There was always something he could turn his attention to, something he could accomplish. Not an option today, Emily had warned him if he even tried to clock in on his day off she'd have him thrown into M/S Confinement out of spite. He had no doubt she'd do it, too. Director Piggot had a never-ending well of spite.
Danny sighed, and headed out the front door, instead. Maybe he could check the mail again. Or… weed the sidewalk. Something. It was that or surrender to the fact he'd be spending the rest of the day reading rule books, or watching cat videos, or something as similarly brain-draining.
He pulled open the mailbox—empty, what a surprise—then turned and started towards the back yard, instead. Maybe he could check on that tree Taylor planted, make sure it was doing okay. The sapling was certainly growing quickly enough, Danny rather doubted there was anything it needed from him. Of course it wouldn't. Before he got there, he caught sight of Mrs. Henrick weeding her flower beds, and Mr. Henrick on the front porch, rocking slightly in the loveseat swing. Danny abandoned the tree and went to go lean on the white picket fence, instead.
"Morning George, Martha."
"Good morning, Danny! Nice to see you, are you taking the day off from work?" Mrs. Henrick smiled up at him, her face a portrait of wrinkles. Mr. Henrick simply watched from the porch. Danny nodded, and made an affirmative noise in his throat.
"Sure am… hey, can I ask you two a question?"
"Of course, Danny, what do you need?"
"Christmas is coming up, y'know. I was wondering if you two had any ideas of what Taylor might want. I don't want to ask her and ruin the surprise, eheh…" Mr. Henrick raised a single brow, his face making it clear he saw the excuse for what it was. Shame seeped through Danny and joined the vast groundwater reserves of itself.
"Oh, well, let me think…" Mrs. Henrick grabbed for her cane and pulled herself up. "She does a lot of drawing and painting, of course, she's always looking for sales and bringing home buckets of the stuff." Danny nodded… wait, buckets? How much paint could she need?
"She helps me garden a bit sometimes, and she's usually got a project or two downtown to work on. She's asked me for help with cooking a fair few times, too! I think there's a boy she fancies," she added in a stage whisper. Danny's brain screeched to a halt.
"Oh, leave the poor girl alone on that, Martha. Wait for her to come around on her own before you try and foist your cherry cakes onto her." Mr. Henrick grumbled. "Danny, that goes for you too. If you're looking for gift ideas, I'd say take her craft shopping, or maybe get her some things for her dog."
"Uhuh," Danny replied, his thoughts far away. He mentally calculated how many shovels he might need to get the point across. Or maybe he could get a toy bulldozer, a mini-cement truck… "Thanks, you two. I'll be sure and do that, that's… helpful. Yes."
He made absent-minded small talk for another minute or two, before excusing himself and heading inside. Danny sat down on the couch to let things settle. He was overreacting, and he knew it. Taylor was a smart, down-to-earth girl, she wouldn't get into anything crazy. Not like he and Annette had, he reflected. And anyway, she was fifteen, she didn't need him poking his nose into her business. Just— deep breaths. Taylor hadn't said anything, but that was normal for girls her age. He was overreacting.
He found a pad of paper and a pencil, and jotted down a few notes on what the Henricks had told him. Craft stores, and cooking supplies… She'd been a creative girl since she was young. Maybe he could extend that offer to paint minis together again. Yes, good plan. He could even ask her today, after she got back from school. In fact…
Danny set the pad of paper aside, then headed into the kitchen. He checked the fridge and jotted a few items on the grocery list, taped to the front of the appliance, then rummaged into the cupboards a little. Maybe one of the old cookbooks had survived the Great Basement Migration. And if not, maybe Taylor could pick one out? Danny's hand found a red-checkered binder, then pulled away as though it burned. He'd save the handwritten recipes inside for another time. Better to find something new, something without memories already attached.
Danny went back to the couch, eyed the clock, then laid down. Time enough for a nap, get rid of a few hours and maybe some of the weight in his chest. Danny closed his eyes, and counted sheep, until he settled into that hazy half-asleep state, where thoughts flow together and blur. A couple of thoughts, half-memory, bumped together and stuck. Danny jolted himself awake, sat up, and blinked. The thought was still there. He scrambled off the couch and ran for his work bag.
* * *
In her office, Director Emily Piggot tap-tap-tapped away at her keyboard, sending emails and writing memos and just generally putting out fires. Or more helpfully, smothering them before they could start. In Brockton Bay, it was an unending battle. A ring pulled her attention away from the computer monitor, and Emily had half-reached for her desk phone before she realized it was her own cell that was ringing, not the inter-PRT phone. She pulled out the device, checked the caller ID, and frowned.
"Chessman. It's Monday, what seems to be the probl—"
"I don't have a dog!"
"Try the city pound."
"No! No you don't understand, I don't have a dog!"
"Okay, Chessman. Could you hold for a moment?" Director Piggot sighed, set down her cell, and reached for the desk phone after all. She had entirely too many reasons for having M/S Containment on speed-dialChapter 17
"Battery to Console, I have the target in sight. Settling in to observe, over."
"Roger that, Puppy. Keep a safe distance. Over."
"Don't call me Puppy over the radio, this is serious."
"You and I both know it isn't. Bet you ten bucks this is just Chessman's way of finding out who his kid's dating."
"A possible Master/Stranger situation is always serious, overprotective father syndrome or not."
"Bet you fifty bucks."
"He's gonna hear you. And then you're going to wake up with a bunch of Army Men setting tiny traps all over your side of the bed. And I'm going to laugh." Battery shook her head and peered through the binoculars again. She was parked in an unmarked car a good distance away from the restored shrine. The target, officially designated Brushstroke after Chessman had taken a look at Armsmaster's helmet cam and promptly buried his face in his hands, had emerged from Winslow High School and taken a more or less direct path here. No sign of Good Dog yet, but the fact that Brushstroke had come here was worrisome enough. Gang territory aside, this was where Dragon had pinpointed that odd weather phenomenon.
Battery watched the teenager tie her hair back in a scarf, then set about doing a number of mundane chores around the property. She raked leaves, and swept the path and the wooden steps of the buildings, and checked on a basket laced to a small wooden signpost near the front entrance. She seemed pleased with it, because she unhooked the basket and went over to the shrine to sit down. Some digging into her schoolbag later, and she had a spool of… fishing line? Fishing line. She started unwinding the line and using it to string together small bunches of something too small to identify from here.
Battery sighed. Not that she'd ever admit it to Assault, but this was a little ridiculous. She sipped at a now-cold cup of coffee, watched Brushstroke, and waited. When she caught sight of someone visiting the shrine, she focused her lenses on them, then carefully set the coffee cup in its holster.
"Console, is Velocity around?"
"Yes'm." Velocity's voice took over for Assault.
"Steal Assault's wallet for me before he can welch on that bet, would you? Oni Lee just showed up."
"On it."
"Wha-- HEY!"
"Thanks. Continuing observation, over." Battery carefully opened the car door, her charge already well-stored and ready. If she had to swoop in and intercept the ABB assassin, she wouldn't have a second try at it. It… didn't seem necessary, to her surprise. She watched Oni Lee making a few gestures as they conversed, then he sat down next to Brushstroke as she rummaged into her bag again.
"Puppy? What's going on?"
"Brushstroke and Oni Lee are… eating lunch." She double-checked the lenses, just in case. "Yeah, that's… happening. I can't tell what they're talking about, though. Brushstroke doesn't look very happy about it." She dearly wished she'd parked a bit closer, or that maybe Armsmaster had bugged the shrine better. As she watched, Oni Lee handed over a book to the teenager, who was looking rather distressed, even from here. Movement behind her made Battery refocus.
"Console, Good Dog sighted."
"As I thought." Armsmaster's voice interrupted. How many of them were listening in, anyway? "What's it doing?"
"It just walked out of the shrine and sat down. And-- yes. Console, Oni Lee is petting the dog. I repeat, Oni Lee is petting Good Dog."
"Damnit. It's more powerful than we thought."
"Boss, you keep saying shit like that you're going back in containment, you know." Battery tried to tune out Armsmaster admonishing Velocity, and tried harder not to imagine him shaking his fist to the sky. She was going to spend all of that bet money on booze, every last dollar.
* * *
"Sumimasen, Miko. It is the best I can think of."
"No, I appreciate it." Taylor took a bite of her red bean roll and looked down at the book she'd been handed. It was a primer on tea ceremony, and also a herald of bad news. Lung was coming back. Not now, but soon. Sunny headbumped her shoulder, and she gave the wolf a quick scratch.
"The Ōkami has chastised him for his disrespect once. I do not think he will repeat it, but maintaining traditional courtesy will help."
"Okay. It's… something. I can give it a try." She flipped open the book, and winced. Oh, that looked formal. "...Oni Lee, I need help. I can't read this and I need to practice it."
The assassin paused, as he tended to, and ate another rolled omelette in the interim. She'd added the sweet wine this time, and he'd complimented her efforts. It was not a situation she'd ever really imagined herself in, but, that was just how her life seemed to be rolling these days. "I will find aid for you."
"Thank you. Do… you want some non-fancy tea, while you're here? I think I need a cup."
"Thank you for the offer, but I must return to my work." He returned her spare chopsticks to her, then collapsed into dust. Taylor swore-- she'd just swept. Sunny chuffed at her as she grumbled and fetched the broom again.
"There's no way out of this, is there, Sunny?" The wolf gave a sigh and a sad whine. "Yeah, didn't think so… Sunny? I…" She didn't have to say it. Sunshine sat down near her and she wrapped the canine in a hug.
"You know what you're doing, right?" The wolf gave a single, solemn nod. Taylor took a breath and let it out slow. "Okay. Okay, I trust you, just-- it's hard, you know?" Sunny licked her cheek, and Taylor didn't feel quite as bad about the admission. She gave the wolf a pat, and sat back down to finish her snacks. Sunshine was more than willing to assist in this matter.
Later, as they headed home, Taylor reflected on what little she knew about tea ceremonies. It wasn't much-- just that they were very formal, supposedly long, and probably as complicated and precise as interpretive dance. This was going to suck. She shared her thoughts with Sunny, who gave a woof of agreement.
"...you know, Sunny, I don't think I have any tests for a while at school." The wolf made a questioning noise. Taylor felt a grin sneaking its way onto her face. "I'm just saying. This is going to be really stressful, right? Isn't there a saying about work hard, play hard?" The wolf's eyes widened. Her tail began a furious wag.
"Let's go paint shopping."
* * *
Souta felt his cell buzz against his butt while he was busy mucking about with his car's innards. It was a junker, a cheap piece of shit with mismatched doors, but it was his and he could make it get from Point A to Point B. He set down his tools and found a rag to wipe his hands on, before pulling the phone out and checking it. One eyebrow quirked up. A text from the Oni-- something that had gotten far more common than he'd anticipated. It was cool, though. The Oni usually had errands and other grunt work for him, which meant the teen could collect his pay and not worry about having to fight for it. He wouldn't have minded a bit more action, but the safer work made his mom happy, so Souta wasn't going to complain. Plus it meant more time to work on his car, and that was always a good thing.
The message was brief. 'Require service for miko. Tea @ 1530. Be present and translate'
Souta eyed the message, then shrugged and sent back a simple 'yes.' Probably not the weirdest thing he'd done for the ABB. After a moment, Souta pulled his phone back out, and tapped at the screen.
'Formal?'
'Street is fine'
'No, for miko'
There was a longer pause. The Oni sent back a single question mark. Souta tapped at his phone again.
'Miko wears street stuff. I know a guy who knows a guy'
Another pause, and then: 'Ok. Do well for bonus'
Awesome. One step closer to that new paint job. Souta closed the messages and dialed a number, instead. It picked up on the fourth ring, the lazy bastard.
"Hai, Souta. What's up?"
"Yuuta," he grunted. "Give the phone to your baachan for a sec."