understood, Miss Hebert, so long as you keep to the rules as well." Mr. Henrick must have seriously put the fear of God into that woman, though it was still a bit weird to be singled out like she was being. What had gotten under Blackwell's skin? Well, as long as it didn't interfere with Taylor, she was perfectly fine with letting the principal conspire or perspire or whatever she was doing. As soon as she was excused to leave, Taylor stood and saw herself out.
Lunch was… palatable. For cafeteria food, anyway. More palatable was watching Emma sidle up for an attempt at needling her, only to shrink away when Yuuta, Haru, and a few of their friends chose to almost crowd around Taylor. Answering their questions was well worth the show and companionship. A few rumors had circulated among older siblings and friends, and friends of those friends, and so forth, until the recent meetings Taylor had endured were a topic that simultaneously managed to be very known about, and yet hardly understood. Apparently, gang circles worked in much the same fashion as high school ones. That… Taylor wasn't sure if that was comforting, or terrible.
"A hot spring? In the Bay? You're kidding." Haru said, disbelief warring with wonderment.
"Nope. That… actually happened. Is happening." Taylor said, politely ignoring several of the students around her breaking out into hushed conversations that she couldn't understand. "So… yeah. I don't really have the room or funds for a resort or anything, so I guess I'm building a bath house? Not entirely sure how that's going to come about, but it'll probably be fun."
"An onsen and a shrine in Brockton Bay… goddamn." Yuuta laughed. "That'll be a popular part of town if you can happenstance your way into more stuff."
"Huh? Like what?"
"Pretty sure most of those buildings around there aren't houses, they're old shops that got abandoned and robbed an' sh-- stuff." Yuuta ran a hand through his hair. "People see the area's safe, move back in, start up businesses? You'll get a lot more traffic at the shrine, that's for sure."
"Hm…" Taylor started chewing on her lip. It was supposed to be a Normal Day, but… well, a little bit of Shrine Business was Normal. She reached down for her backpack, rummaged a bit, then pulled out a notebook and a pencil. She started scribbling a bulleted list, getting her thoughts on paper before they could flutter away.
"Eh-- Miko, what's that?"
"Wanna make a list," she said as she put down 'Onsen' at the first bullet point, "A list of stuff to do for the shrine, and… a few other ideas. C'mon, some of you guys know more about this stuff than I do, help me out here."
Haru spoke up first. "You should start selling your charms, maybe ema too." At Yuuta's questioning look, he explained, "Since you're talking businesses, I mean… I figured you could use the donations? To, uh… improve… cycle." He made a circular motion with his hand. One of the other kids behind him snorted and mussed up Haru's hair.
"Right!" Taylor said, as she added the suggestions. "I get it-- use donations for more improvements and such. Probably buying towels, too… what's an ema, before I move on?"
"It's a little wood board you write a wish on. Usually got little painted pictures on them-- all sorts of stuff. You buy a plaque, write the wish you want, then hang it up on something in the shrine." Yuuta explained. An excuse to paint? Sounded fine to Taylor. After that, suggestions started piling in from the Asian students at her and the nearby tables. Things their grandparents had told them about, or parents. Ideas for businesses that might move into the street-- some serious, others not. Even things they'd mostly just seen in cartoons… the less questionable parts, anyway. Taylor's list filled up well by the end of the lunch period.
When her last period rolled around on the clock, Taylor hurried out the doors of the school to her bike, where Sunny was patiently waiting. She squished the wolf's face in her hands in greeting (as one does), then loaded up her bike and wheeled it away from the racks and the curb, muttering a quick 'excuse me' to a student who was holding their phone up instead of looking where they were going. Then they were off, Taylor chattering about her Normal Day and her List to Sunny, who ran alongside and occasionally barked in approval. Instead of heading to the shrine right away, though, Taylor steered them both back home. She pedaled down the street, then pulled smoothly into her home's driveway and hopped off the bike.
Old Mrs. Henrick was outside, in a warm sweater and very fluffy-looking slippers, attempting to wrap cloths and tarps over her rose bushes to preserve them from the winter chill. Taylor called out a greeting, then skipped around the fence to go help the old woman finish her task.
"Well, hello there, dear! You're in high spirits today."
"Yup!" Taylor agreed. "Things are just… going good, y'know? Weird and difficult sometimes, but good."
"Can't speak for the weird, but difficult is good. Anything really worth doing is never easy."
"Heh-- I'm starting to think I agree." Not to say that help wasn't welcome. Old Mrs. Henrick directed Taylor to use the shoebox of little plastic stakes she had to fix the tarps to the ground, since Taylor had an easier time kneeling and standing up again.
"So what's going so good for you, Taylor?"
"Well… school's a lot better, I guess. I still get picked on, a little. But it's nothing like it was. Teachers are getting almost jumpy about bullying and I've… made some friends, I think?" She wasn't sure on exactly where the lines of Gang and Shrine politics were drawn, but Haru and Yuuta sat with her at lunch most days, and Souta always nodded to her if they passed in the halls. And the regard for her that those boys had seemed to be spreading to everyone else they talked to, turning what had been silent disregard into tolerance, and from there creeping towards acceptance.
"Oh, that's wonderful! George will be tickled pink to hear that."
"Hey, where is Mr. Henrick, anyway? I haven't seen him on the swing much lately."
"Ohohoho!" Old Mrs. Henrick laughed, the gesture making all the lines near her eyes crinkle together. Taylor wondered if she could convince the old woman to sit for a portrait, one of these days. "That old firebrand! Your school really got his hackles up, sweetie. He's been hounding the new superintendent and yelling at PTA meetings like he was thirty again!"
"Wh-- really? But… how long has he been retired?" Taylor asked, as she followed Old Mrs. Henrick into the house. The smell of fresh cookies was thick in the kitchen, and Taylor left the door open a few seconds longer so Sunny could return from her wanderings and scramble inside. Butterscotch, yessssss.
"Oh, getting close to twenty years now. George stepped down when he was sixty-seven, and that old man's eighty-three now." Old Mrs. Henrick poured a couple glasses and a bowl of milk, apparently perfectly fine with Sunny begging at her table. The cookies were still warm, right at that point between 'too hot' and 'not as gooey as it could be.' Perfection.
"That sounds like a lot of work… I hope he doesn't wear himself out. He's supposed to enjoy retirement, you know?"
Old Mrs. Henrick smiled again, and sat down at the kitchen table with Taylor. "That is what he enjoys, sweetie. What you're supposed to do isn't always what you should do, and my George has never been the type to rest on his laurels for long." The old woman's smile lines crinkled again, and Taylor couldn't help but grin in response. "It's good to see him with a fire in his engines again. Just the sight makes me feel more energetic, too!"
"Then, I'm glad. And school has been better, too. Probably not just for me, either." Taylor munched on a cookie, and spared a glance to watch Sunny lapping at her bowl of milk (she'd already devoured her share of the baked treats, of course). She turned a thought over in her head a few times, then looked back up at Old Mrs. Henrick. "Hey, can I… ask a question? Or maybe for advice?"
"Of course, sweetie, you're always welcome. What's on your mind?"
"Well, I-- okay inherited isn't the right word, but we'll go with it-- I inherited an old shrine recently, a Shinto one. I've been fixing it up and working at it all summer and now fall..." She gave her neighbor an edited version of her recent lifestyle. The retired couple had known about the cherry trees, but not how many there were, or for what purpose-- she'd promised to tell them more after they caught her moving bags of seeds and soil out of her garage, but had never quite gotten around to it.
"It sounds like you're having fun, dear."
"It-- yeah, I am. It is fun. Hard sometimes, really hard, but fun." Taylor chewed a bit on her lip, getting her thoughts in order. Sunny moved to sit closer by, pressed against her knee, and she rubbed the wolf's ears as she spoke. "And there's a bunch more I think I could do, but… well, it kinda occurred to me to wonder how I'll keep up with it after I graduate. Dad's been keeping a college fund, and I know it's what Mom would want…"
Old Mrs. Henrick nodded. "I understand, Taylor. It sounds like you're having doubts about what you want to do with your life, right?" Taylor nodded, glad for the old woman's wisdom. "And you're right, I'm pretty sure your Ma and your Pa both would love to see their little girl walk for her diploma… but a piece of paper isn't everything."
Something in Taylor's chest tightened, right around her lungs. It was an idea that had come to her late at night, right between sleeping and waking-- just a thought. Sunny working over the entire city somehow to get a hot spring was… well, that was definitely a Sunny thing to do, apparently. But the hot spring wasn't the only thing she'd gotten.
Taylor owned the shrine now, or the land it sat on. She owned a couple of derelict shops. She owned the hot spring-- and while there was only one spring now, somehow she was sure that if she asked, Sunny would be happy to dig holes until she found another one. The shrine was suddenly more than just a space, more than just a hobby:
It was an investment. It was an opportunity.
Taylor had no illusions that it wasn't going to be hard. But if she could help revitalize the area, get businesses going again-- and rent out the shops she now owned?
Taylor wouldn't necessarily have to quit. She wouldn't have to leave the shrine and go on to a career-- the shrine could be her career. Sunny (and Lung) hadn't given her a hot spring-- she'd given her options.
Taylor took a breath, and said, "I… I think I want to keep at the shrine. Keep working at it, I mean. Instead of… I dunno. Being a teacher, or an editor."
"Well, then you do that, Taylor. Just do be careful, though. I hear the ABB is thick on the ground around those parts."
It was Taylor's turn to smile. "Oh, kinda. I've seen some around. They don't really want to bother the shrine, though." Another thought nudged its way to her awareness, and made Taylor smile wider. "Though, I've met even more cool old people, since I've been working there."
"Oh really?"
"Really." Taylor's grin was in full force, and Sunny wagged her tail. "Let me tell you about Baachan."
* * *
Taylor didn't get to the shrine until the next day, having whiled the afternoon talking with Old Mrs. Henrick and regaling the old matron with stories of her Asian counterparts until she'd had to wipe tears from her eyes. Then Old Mr. Henrick had come home, and wanted to be let in on what was so funny.
Old Mrs. Henrick had been right, by the way-- the old man had puffed up with pride at Taylor's report about the changing atmosphere of her school. There'd even been time to ask the old man if he could help her with some woodworking. Haru's explanation of ema plaques had sparked a few ideas of where to put them, and between her sketching and Old Mr. Henrick's experience, they designed a rough blueprint for what the old pair called a 'squirrel run.' It was too small to be a cat run, you see. Taylor didn't, but the framework, some cords, and a whole bunch of planter hooks made their way onto her List.
When he asked about the box he'd built, and if she enjoyed it, Taylor had nodded and explained about how she and Sunny were collecting beads. Old Mrs. Henrick thought it a lovely idea and had shuffled off to go find her jewelry box. She'd come back with a handful of loose beads, taken from old bracelets and necklaces, and even a few that looked like some of Mr. Henrick's work. None of them matched, but somehow that made them look even better, cupped in Taylor's hands. Sunny gave both of the retired pair a nuzzle and slobbery kisses.
Taylor kept the beads wrapped in a handkerchief until she and Sunny got to the shrine, and the wolf led the way into the shrine's interior. She pushed the top of the wooden box off with her nose, then pawed at one of the small cubbies until Taylor gently poured the beads inside. The wolf gave a happy sigh and leaned hard against Taylor's leg until she petted her, then after a moment carefully set the box lid back in its place. Taylor eyed the character above the newly-occupied space, and wracked her brain a bit for what she'd put in her notebooks until she recalled the translation:
Ondori, the Rooster.28
Life in the Dallon household had gotten… a bit odd, lately.
Really, life in Brockton Bay was always unusual, what with the sheer numbers of parahumans creeping around the city. Or at least that was the excuse last month, before the PRT had apparently decided to take off (or maybe put on) the kid's gloves and declare Shenanigans against the E88. What next month was going to be like was anyone's guess, and that felt like it was going double for Victoria.
Mom getting a kitten had been a bit of the bolt from the blue, literally just accepting the puffball from a door-to-door kitten peddler, from the sound of it. After the initial burst of 'what have you done' and 'how does kitten work?' panic, arrangements were made for a cardboard box and a trip to the vet, and life settled back to normal for all of 10 minutes. Then the subject of what to name it came up, and while Victoria won the debate pretty handily, Mom sadly harpooned her idea to get a second kitten to name Sulu, but it had been a longshot anyway.
Thus, Chekov Dallon was born.
His reign began pretty much immediately, and nowhere the kitten's little jellybean toes touched was left unaffected. Sometimes literally, like when he knocked over the jar of flour on the kitchen counter and proceeded to track tiny paws all over the house, but mostly it was more intangible things. Intangible things were something Victoria liked to keep track of. They were always the most useful to know.
For example, she could watch Dad today to get a feel for how he'd be tomorrow. If he didn't look up when she walked by his chair, or couldn't return her smile, then tomorrow was probably going to be a bad day. Those days, it was unlikely Dad would manage to get out of bed, or if he did it was only to move to the couch and watch TV. But if he could smile with her, and talk for a bit (how was your day? any plans tomorrow? did you see the new episode last night?) then tomorrow would probably be okay, and she could probably goad Dad into patrolling with Uncle Neil.
She could watch to see when Mom got up in the morning. Carol Dallon was never out the door late, but if she was in the kitchen with some toast and coffee early, then it was a good bet she hadn't slept well. Victoria would be a chatterbox those days, filling any silences between her mom and her sister, keeping the day moving.
She could watch Ames, though her sister was a little harder to draw out. Amy was just kind of an introvert by nature, and Victoria was so far on the extrovert side of the scale that she sometimes overestimated Amy's tolerance for sociability. Still, she could watch, and when Ames was getting too wistful Victoria could draw her into a debate over music, or academics, or cape politics, until she'd come back down to earth. Or if Ames was getting too surly, she could tease and prod and just be Hurricane Victoria until Amy laughed, and lightened up again.
And she could watch her classmates, her friends outside of her cape life. She could watch and make sure she spent enough time with Jessica, who was too quiet and tended to drift to the edges of Victoria's coterie, and make sure that she didn't spend time with Mike, because Susan was trying to get him to ask her out, and anywhere that Victoria went people turned to her instead, like flowers towards the sun.
Smile, and the world smiles with you.
But Chekov had a gravitational pull of his own, and it seemed like in no time, even Victoria was getting caught in it.
* * *
She'd come downstairs and found Dad in the kitchen, not Mom, and saw the man set a small saucer with a portion of canned food in it onto the floor. After a few moments too many of hesitation, he poured himself a bowl of cereal while Chekov ate.
"Huh. Morning! What're you doing up so early?"
Mark Dallon made a face, and said, "Cat got me up, wanting to be fed. Carol's already off to work, so he put his nose right into my ear and just squeaked until I surrendered."
"Hey, better than the alternative." Victoria grinned, and fetched a bowl and the milk for herself. "Two days ago he climbed up the side of my bed and patted my face until a claw got hooked in my lip. Now I know how fish feel. Speaking of, we should totally get an aquarium, it'll be hilarious."
Her dad made an amused sound, not quite a laugh, but better than a sigh.
* * *
She'd gone upstairs and found Ames on her computer, or more accurately, to the side of her computer. Watching The Princess Bride for the hundredth time had quickly taken second place to crouching near her chair, phone held up to snap pictures of Chekov as the kitten declared war upon the Rodents Of Unusual Size.
"That's the way, soldier. Take no prisoners! Ten-hut!" She set her face into an overly-serious scowl, and saluted. Ames matched her ridiculous frown, and returned the salute. Chekov got startled by his shadow, puffed up, and accidentally walked backwards off the desk.
"Gawd. I can't tell which of us is the bigger dork right now."
"It's definitely you, Ames."
* * *
She'd gotten both her and Amy home late from Arcadia, having stopped for a quick pickup game of basketball--Victoria didn't get to play much since she'd Triggered, as flight was an obvious advantage, and Amy said she didn't mind waiting--and they'd kicked off their shoes in the hallway and gone into the kitchen to find Mom trying to look into the space behind the fridge.
"Oh-- girls, help me look for Chekov. I keep hearing him meow, but I can't find him anywhere." Sure enough, a muffled 'mew' sounded from somewhere in the kitchen, but the kitten was nowhere in sight. Carol Dallon's voice was calm enough, but a tense frown had taken over her expression. Victoria floated up closer to the ceiling, and started to look around the cupboards. Cats climbed things, didn't they? Things more dangerous than bedspreads and curtains, anyway.
An increasingly worried search finally ended when Amy pulled open one of the drawers and found the stray kitten curled up on one of the oven mitts. "What are you doing in there, you silly thing?" Carol Dallon sighed. "I swear, it's like he--"
"Nonononono wait!" Amy interrupted before Mom could pick Chekov up and rescue him from his latest hiding place. Their mother's expression darkened a tad, but slowly shifted to a more benign bemusement when Amy pulled out her phone, thumbed to the camera, and took a picture. "Okay, now you can move him."
"What do you need the picture for?" Mom asked, as she scooped Chekov up and set him on her shoulder. It had quickly been claimed as the kitten's favorite perch, at least partly because of his tendency to purr and sleepily nurse on the Dallon matriarch's earlobe. Seriously, how can cats manage to be so weird and remain cute?
"I don't need it for anything, it's just fun." Ames flipped through her phone's photos, and Victoria watched her mom move slightly closer to look over the girl's shoulder.
* * *
Director Emily Piggot watched her herd of cats shuffle in and take their seats, the ones with the more sane exploits over the past few months sharing a sort of mixed expression of tension, the one where things are so unbelievable that you want to laugh, but really really shouldn't. There was a pretty clear divide, one side of the table of heroes having remained relatively free of the M/S quarantine measures, and the other side looking rather hungover. Even Chessman, though Emily was reasonably certain he'd remained sober-- he just looked wrung-out from stress. She couldn't really blame him for it.
And as much as she wanted to, she couldn't entirely blame the other three on that side of the table, since their meeting with Brushstroke had the entire Thinker department effectively running in circles. Battery at least earned a slight twinge of pity. Despite her relationship with Assault, the heroine wasn't a frequent drinker, and if Dragon's claims about the BAC she'd registered from Armsmaster were any indication, she was probably still feeling wrecked.
It wasn't enough pity to keep Piggot from turning the lights up bright before the meeting started, but it was there.
"So. Now that everyone has rejoined us… what have we learned?" Piggot steepled her fingers together and looked expectantly at the Party of Shame.
"Several things, actually." Dragon's avatar piped up. The Canadian Tinker's display was on the opposite end of the table from Director Piggot, on a monitor bolted to the conference table. "We've managed to get a cohesive theory on Brushstroke and Good Dog's Master ability, and they've been assigned a provisional rating of 3+. From the different encounters with the pair and surveillance of the shrine, Protectorate Thinkers have concluded that they most likely exhibit a Master/Stranger effect in a similar vein to August Prince. Only, instead of preventing hostile action against themselves, we're thinking it's an area-of-effect relaxation and inclination towards nonviolence."
"Useful comparison, if uncomfortable." Triumph muttered, from the sane side of the table.
"More reassuring is that it seems to be localized only-- that is, there aren't lingering effects once you've stepped out of their radius. PRT M/S teams did some focus testing on areas of The Sidewalk, and test members showed no impediment to expressions of anger or the occasional sucker-punch. PRT members had consistent blood panel evaluations pre- and post- test, while the heroes who met at the shrine had a marked decrease in cortisol levels, which have since returned to more normal levels."
"That, at least, is reassuring." Piggot agreed. "All things said and done, a nonviolence aura is a hell of a lot better than most Master powers. What else?"
Armsmaster stood up this time, picking up a folder full of papers as he did so. "I'm not sure if I can call it good news or bad news. Observation indicates that Good Dog is acting wholly independently of Brushstroke-- facial analysis of Brushstroke indicated genuine surprise and lack of foreknowledge of Good Dog's actions in regards to the… geothermal anomaly."
"You can say 'hot spring,' Armsy. It's okay." Assault grinned. Battery gave him a weak tap on the side of the head-- definitely still wrecked. Nearby, Chessman took a harsh breath and held it. Armsmaster tilted his head once in what was probably a conciliatory nod.
"However, I was able to scan Good Dog three times during the encounter at the shrine, and the results are promising." The Tinker opened the folder and passed it over to Director Piggot, who had to stop and thumb the edges of the pages.
"You scanned it three times, you said?"
"Yes."
"There are four pages here."
"I know."
Piggot stared at Armsmaster for a second, who had yet to sit down, then turned her attention to the printed images. The first looked like a fairly normal MRI scan of a large canine, but the rest…
"This is… the outline of a dog. Where's the rest of it?" When the Tinker didn't answer she flipped to the next one. "And this is a drawing of a dog!"
"That is correct."
"It appears to be done in crayon, Armsmaster."
"That was my conclusion as well."
Director Piggot skipped staring at Armsmaster and turned to stare at Dragon instead. The digital avatar nodded. "I watched them print out. He reprinted six times, and the results didn't change."
"...this city, I swear to God…" Piggot muttered. She flipped to the last page, squinted, then tossed the folder onto the table with a huff. "And that looks like a wall scroll. Are you going anywhere with this, Armsmaster?"
"Yes. It is my conclusion that Good Dog is, indeed, a projection. There is no such creature." Armsmaster reached for the folder, took it, then set the crayon drawing on top. A few on the sane side of the table leaned in to get a better look-- the drawing depicted a large canine, mostly white, but with red streaks around its body. The lines were a little crude, suggesting a younger or less experienced artist. "Chessman identified this image as one belonging to Taylor Hebert, age 10."
The minon master nodded, his voice tight-- but if she looked, Piggot thought she could see a bit of relief, as well. Good Dog being a projection meant there wasn't a predator latched onto his daughter, after all. Excepting the ABB, anyway. "She's had it pinned to her wall for years now… it implies she animated a drawing, like I do for models. There's similarities among powers in cape families, it seems reasonable."
"Well," Piggot said, "I guess you'll have something in common you can talk about, then." Chessman shot her a look of pure betrayal, but she would not be moved. He was usually one of the good ones, but as far as Emily was concerned, Chessman had lost his Sane Table privileges until this situation was resolved.
"Wait wait wait." Assault held up his hands, forestalling any further discussion. "So let me get this straight… Brushstroke really believes she's not a parahuman?"
"Facial and vocal analysis supports that claim, yes." Armsmaster nodded. "She may have disassociated Good Dog out of a subconscious need for companionship. Highly unusual, but there have been a few similar cases of parahumans not having full, conscious control of their powers."
"So… a crazy-diverse Master/Shaker: Yes triggered either two or, what, seven years ago? And she didn't notice?" Assault slung one arm over Chessman's shoulder. "Chessman, I take back all those terrible things I said behind your back. She is truly your daughter."
Assault and his newly-broken nose lost Sane Table privileges for the rest of the year.
Later, after the meeting was getting cleaned up and Armsmaster had left, grumbling about having to fill out disciplinary reports again, Dauntless raised his hand and asked, "So, uh… whatever happened to Lung?"
* * *
The streets near the old Dockworker's Union were filled with a throng of red-and-green, the ABB assembled in numbers rarely ever witnessed. Members from all stations were there, from the toughs and the pushers, to the sympathizers, to even the whores. Oil drums had been stuffed with junk and lit, bathing the docks in flickering, anxious light. The firelight gleamed off of Lung's mask and the scattered scales that twitched and crept around his shoulders.
In this false twilight, he looked huge, untouchable. The only Warlord of Brockton Bay that still stood. He roared, and the ABB yelled, pumped their fists in the air.
"The Empire has been broken! Crushed and driven off like whimpering dogs. The Merchants cringe and scrabble at filth, and the Protectorate watch from their towers with fear in their hearts!" Lung bellowed. "And they should be afraid! Their hold here is weak, and ours is strong! And we grow ever stronger!
"This is a new day!
"This is the start of a new reign of the ABB! The bigots, the drugmongers-- they will know who this city belongs to, and it is not them!
"I am Lung!" He roared, pacing before the crowd in a suspiciously uneven line. "I am the dragon!"
Lung swept one arm wide, to encompass the full breadth of the crowd.
"And you are now UNION."
29
Taylor and Old Mr. Henrick got her latest project assembled as quickly as Taylor could supply the parts, which amounted to as quickly as she could bring herself to Brockton Central Bank to check out the new account the PRT had given her. True to their word, there was just shy of three-hundred fifty thousand there, with her and Sunny's name on it. Cape names. That was going to take some getting used to.
She supposed she probably should have been more worried about that, really. Capes tended to get into all sorts of trouble, if the Wards pamphlet the Protectorate had left her was any indication. Roughly a six month average for an independent hero or vigilante to get picked up by a gang… though, it seemed like there were a few caveats implied there. Mainly that most teenage parahumans seemed to make a lot of really, really silly decisions, like sneaking out at night to go punch armed criminals. Taylor found that inviting them for tea seemed much more effective and pleasant for everyone involved, so that took care of that. So she wasn't putting herself in harm's way, and she wasn't really making any enemies-- oh, except maybe E88. The thought of any of their remaining capes seeking revenge on Sunny was a sobering thought.
Apparently catching sight of her expression, Sunny leaned closer to Taylor and ducked her furry head under Taylor's hand. Taylor smiled on reflex and rubbed one of the wolf's ears. "Sorry-- just thinking. Aren't you worried the Empire might be… a bit angry at you?"
To her credit, Sunny tilted her head for a few moments to think about it, before sneezing. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised… though I don't know if you're thinking they won't do anything, or if you're just not worried about it if they do." Sunny's tongue lolled in a grin. "Yeah, I figured it was probably the latter."
The prospect of cape retaliation should have worried Taylor more, but… well, it mostly just didn't. The ABB didn't seem to have any ill-intent towards her, the Merchants were on the other side of the city practically, and Sunny had held her own against the Empire-- and Taylor had checked to make sure the E88 didn't have any speedy capes. She'd cautioned the wolf once already, in no uncertain terms, that she'd prefer Sunny run than get into a real fight. The canine had the audacity to roll her eyes at Taylor, but had nodded. And as for herself?
Taylor had Sunny. The wolf hardly ever left her sight, unless she was already somewhere safe, like home or school or the shrine. It was a big change from her usual comings-and-goings, from earlier in the year. And even when Taylor couldn't see Sunny, she had a feeling that the wolf was still keeping an eye on her, or an ear to the ground. She'd stuck to Taylor like a big, furry burr ever since autumn had started-- ever since Lung had hit her.
Sunny didn't exactly speak, but she had ways of making herself understood, and the change had been obvious enough to Taylor: Sunny wasn't going to let there be a second time. For Taylor, that assurance was enough.
So, awkward or not, Taylor had gone to the bank in her red skirt and painter's mask, and withdrawn a tidy sum to get things started. On Oni Lee's less-than-subtle recommendation, she was getting a phone line installed, but after seeing how much the PRT had given her and Sunny, she might just upgrade to an internet connection as well. There were probably packages for that-- she'd ask the serviceman when he showed up later. A computer logically followed, as well as a space heater or two, so Taylor picked up the week's ads and added them to her day's itinerary. Other than that, it was money to get some thin wood boards and supplies, and a sum of about $350 stuffed into an envelope for Taylor to stare at uncomfortably whenever it crossed her field of view.
It was thankfully not in view, safe in Taylor's backpack as she wheeled her bike down the pawprint sidewalk towards the shrine, the worked wooden boards strapped to the side of the vehicle like a parody of a jousting lance. The urge to simply leave the envelope on Dad's desk with a note had been tremendous.
Dad--
Sorry my dog used your credit card, here is the money I owe you. Love, Taylor.
P.S: You should probably turn off one-click ordering.
P.P.S: Also, sorry about having to keep erasing your browser history.
P.P.P.S: Also also, thanks for the meatloaf.
Right. The meatloaf.
Finding home-made offerings on the steps of the haiden was nothing unusual. The Baachans had of course determined almost immediately that the way to Sunny's heart was through her stomach, but other members of the community would bring by edible offerings more often than monetary ones. If she were being honest, Taylor kind of preferred it that way. Money and small items just seemed more formal somehow, and for something that started out as a summer project and then a hobby, there was an implied sense of obligation in there somewhere that Taylor wasn't quite sure what to do about. That, and… well, a lot of people in Brockton Bay didn't have a whole lot of extra money to throw around.
So, finding a glass loaf dish on the steps wasn't really out of the ordinary. Taylor had even put a basket next to the steps, for the tupperware containers and assorted dishes to be reclaimed after they'd been emptied and washed. But when Sunny had gone over to examine the day's loot, a few weeks ago, she'd sat down in front of the steps and waited until Taylor had come over to investigate her hesitancy. The wolf had sniffed at the meal, cocked her head, and started a slow, careful wag of her tail.
It was far from a gourmet dish. Meatloaf is a pretty common fare, but this one had been a tweaked recipe. Diced green peppers were baked in with the meat, and a stick of pepperjack cheese had been added, the mixture wrapped around the addition to form a molten core. It added a lot of extra moisture and oil, and you had to be careful to balance it with oatmeal to give the meatloaf even half a chance of not crumbling apart the second you cut into it. Mom had been well-practiced at finding this exact balance. Dad had always forgotten, and it had been a common point to tease him on, years ago.
Taylor had taken the dish into the office, warmed it in the microwave, and watched it fall apart around a testing fork.
They'd shared it, her and Sunny, though the dynamic had been turned upon its head. Usually, Sunny took the shrine's offerings, and shared some with Taylor if she was hungry (which she wasn't… entirely sure if was allowed? But food was meant to be eaten, so…). This time, Sunny had waited to receive a portion, and refused to touch the rest of the dish. This offering had not been for the shrine, but for Taylor.
It was… good. There's a difference in food that's prepared for someone, as opposed to food from a cafeteria, or a restaurant: one is merely nutrition. There'd been a few other things left for Taylor, over time, though nothing as obvious as Mom's own recipe. Sunny always picked them out.
She should have said something by now, she really should have, but… well, it represented a bit of a dilemma, once Taylor got some time to really sit and think about it.
Dad knew about the shrine. That much was clear, and he had to know enough about the shrine and her own habits to know that leaving the meatloaf would actually pan out. So not only did he know, but it was quite likely that he knew that she knew that he knew. So they both knew that the other knew, but neither of them had said anything. Taylor had briefly wondered if he was keeping quiet because she hadn't apologized about the credit card thing yet, but that wasn't quite in character for Danny Hebert. For all that he had a rather explosive temper, he wasn't the type to hold a grudge rather than work things out immediately. She remembered hearing Kurt and Lacy joke a few times about Danny Hebert's strong right hook, but that sounded far-fetched.
So if he wasn't waiting for an apology, that left two options: that he didn't want to be the first to say anything, probably out of some desire to let her have her 'space,' or that he couldn't say anything. Dad worked for the PRT-- in hiring, sure, but still. He worked for heroic law enforcement, and Taylor regularly hosted Oni Lee for tea. Acknowledging what she was doing might actually get him in real trouble.
Hm. Of course, now that she was registered as a rogue and had a designated neutral territory… that might change things. She'd have to find someone who knew more to talk this over with. In the meantime, Taylor mused, maybe there was something she could leave him in unofficial reciprocation? A new model, maybe. She'd have to give it some thought.
Sunny let her lose herself in thought until they reached the shrine, then barked to get her attention. About time, too; city buses had bike racks, so that shortened the trip a bit, but it was still a long walk with a heavy load. Sunny ran ahead to check on her hot spring's source, while Taylor wheeled her bike in and set the kickstand, then unloaded the day's work from it. Old Mr. Henrick had really done a nice job. They'd put together a series of narrow boards with a deep groove, and sanded all the edges smooth before coating everything with a homemade wash: taking the idea from what she'd learned about painting Dad's models, they'd mixed together some leftover red paint and a can of wood stain, creating a deep cherry hue that was going to look lovely against the old oak tree.
From what she'd read, there was a type of oak tree in Japan that was associated with Shinto shrines, but it was an evergreen tree, unlike the types in the Americas. Still, it made her wonder if the tree was what had prompted the shrine to be built here, rather than anywhere else in the city. It was an old tree, very large and thick, and far enough from the power lines that it had escaped yearly pruning. A large white rope was circled around the trunk and knotted, and one of the tasks Sunny had set her to near the start of summer was replacing the paper shide tags that adorned it. Right now, the tags looked intact still, so Taylor carefully set a stepladder against the trunk, then grabbed one of the boards and a few thin rope cords. Putting nails in the old tree was completely out of the question, so instead ropes were threaded through the thin boards and around branches, and as Taylor worked, a loose framework of lightly swaying boards took shape around the tree, hanging from the lower reaches and just within arm's reach from the ground.
Sunny returned as she was setting the last boards in place, and Taylor grinned over her shoulder at the wolf. "So, how's it look?"
Sunny barked, and wagged her tail in approval. The boards had all been lined with planter hooks along the undersides, for ema to be hung upon them once she had some ready. Nobody had said the plaques had to be hung on a bulletin board, after all. Taylor packed up the stepladder, then retrieved her new signpost from the office, and worked to hammer the post into the ground a few meters away. Soon she'd put together a box of painted ema plaques and a donations tin for them, but for now she'd gotten some scrap wood from the Winslow shop class and passed it around at lunch, to get the translations right. Under a careful, simple line sketch of the oak, the words 'Wishing Tree' were written, in English, Japanese, Korean, and one type of Chinese… though Taylor couldn't remember if it was simple or complex.
Taylor paused to pet Sunny and eye the completed work. It really was a lovely tree, even with its leaves already falling and carpeting the ground in red and gold. "I'm gonna paint that for my final project in class, you know." She told the wolf, who looked up at her. "We're doing still-life next month. I'm going to wait for the leaves to finish up, so I can see the branches better. Then I'm going to divide the crown in four, and paint the leaves from every season. I hope it's got a lot of wishes by then." Sunny smiled, and thumped her tail on the ground in approval.
"It's a little bare now, but… oh! I know!" Taylor turned and marched back towards the haiden, Sunny close on her heels, curious. She located the strings of beads donated from the shrine's visitors--not the ones in Sunny's box, of course. She'd originally hung them in short cords near the steps, but now there was a much better place for them. Taylor unhooked the strings and carried them back to the Wishing Tree, and carefully hung a few short clusters near the ends of a couple of the long boards. Then she stepped back, to observe.
A breeze passed by, sending the hanging boards into gentle rocking motions, and making the clusters of beads click and clack together, producing a cheerful sound. Sunny sat down next to Taylor again, and the girl knelt down to pull the wolf into a hug. She wondered what the tree would look like by next summer, laden with hopes, a full year since Taylor and Sunny had come to the shrine.
"Yeah," Taylor said, and rubbed at Sunny's ears. "It's perfect."