Wingblade rocks back in surprise at Kenneth's first question. Didn't I die? she thinks as the boy mentions a funeral. Why would he think that? I didn't-- But suddenly what Bran first said to her after she woke up strikes her. "How could You be defeated by so small a thing as death." Why would Bran have said that?
Her thoughts are interrupted by Kenneth babbling a bit about her name. She blinks out of her reverie, completely hidden by the expensive shades on her face. "Xiu Ling. Right the first time. But really, call me Shayera." She glances down and watches him wipe the cheese off his fingers.
"Yes, I said something about tutoring. I'm behind in my classes, and I'm not keen on falling behind a year, so I'll need to catch up."
She turns back to the track events and picks out Bronwyn headed her way. She waves with one hand and pulls down the shades with her other, revealing her exquisite makeup -- tasteful yet expertly applied to make her features pop. Whew. I was worried she wouldn't recognize me.
While Bronwyn makes her way over, she turns back to Kenneth. "So is that something you could do?"
Who's that guy she's talking to?
It wasn't surprising that Shayera would've picked a place high on the bleachers for her perch, but it did mean swinging by to say hello lost a certain amount of casualness.
Okay, mouth? This is the brain. Remember, you've gotta run things past me BEFORE you say them. When you improvise, we end up calling her snazzy. Out loud.
As Bronwyn finished her climb, she went up to give Shayera a hug hello, but stopped at the last moment to wave awkwardly instead.
Hey, hey, hey! No hugging! I just got through telling the mouth - No Improv! We're all gross and sweaty and not wearing pants and she's clearly dolled up for... My track meet?
She must be leaving soon to go somewhere else, like maybe Whippoorwill's being knighted or damed or whatever and she's about to catch a plane to Buckingham palace?
God, I'm really glad we don't have a telepath.
Man, how long have I been standing here trying not to say snazzy again?
snazzy snazzy snazzy
Oookay, mouth, you get a shot, can't go much worse than this.
"I love those boots! Look at you, all dressed up for little old me?
Who's your friend?" Oh wait, I know nacho guy. That's ...Kenny something-something? One of the other guys on the valedictory track.
Kenneth let a small stutter out. "I... umm yeah, is it just the stuff from since you left or did you need to catch up on anything? Never mind we can work that out later, I've got all my notes anyways." Ugh, I'm going to have to write up notes. But this is too good an opportunity to investigate.
"I'm sure you didn't come here expecting to find me. Do you know one of the..." His train of thought was cut off by the adorkable approach of Bronwyn.
Did she just wave? For someone so physically graceful she... She's not tired. Thinking back he realized, she hadn't been. She'd spaced out, but she hadn't really been tired. She'd barely been breathing heavily after the hurdles despite placing, and she'd only been knocked out due to technique on the high jump. It's not conclusive, but I'll have to pay closer attention.
At that thought, Kenneth realized he'd spaced out. And not just spaced out, but spaced out staring at a girl. The blood rushing to his cheeks required no pretense on his part. "I'm Kenneth, I don't really know Shayera, she just asked me to..." He allowed his voice to trail off as though unsure how to tactfully finish that sentence.
Kenneth let a small stutter out. "I... umm yeah, is it just the stuff from since you left or did you need to catch up on anything? Never mind we can work that out later, I've got all my notes anyways." Ugh, I'm going to have to write up notes. But this is too good an opportunity to investigate.
"I'm sure you didn't come here expecting to find me. Do you know one of the..."
"Actually, I did. Ms. Chen, the guidance counselor? She said you always attended these events. Said I could get a head start on catching up," Shayera says while Bronwyn approaches.
"I'm Kenneth, I don't really know Shayera, she just asked me to..." He allowed his voice to trail off as though unsure how to tactfully finish that sentence.
"I'm asking him to help tutor me so I can catch up. If I don't, next year I'll have to be enrolled at the Halcyon Preparatory Academy," she explains, not looking happy about the idea despite the private school's stellar reputation.
She becomes somewhat abashed at the attention drawn to her clothes. "Yeah, this. It's a bit much, I know. Especially for a track meet. But you deserve it, right?" she says with a smile. "Dad's hired this fashion consultant to help me, I dunno, look my best or something. Tiffany Yincy. She's like the assistant editor to Halcyon Haute, some high-fashion magazine." She leans back and crosses her legs, returning her sunglasses to her face and letting the light breeze of the upper bleachers toss her hair in a fashionable way. "It's kind of cool, though, don't you think?"
"Kenneth! Right!" Well I was halfway there. Rounding up.
"You'd better do a good job with the tutoring; we just got her back, and I'm not about to let the Academy steal her away."
She was pretty sure she'd stuck the smile on that one.
She didn't have to worry about keeping any notes of steely determination hidden away while Shayera started explaining her outfit though. There was a lot there to unpack: Shayera knew the name of a high-fashion magazine; she definitely liked being all dressed up, even though she thought that was embarrassing; her 'father' was behind it-
That last one kinda took the fun out of it.
To help with the knot in her stomach, she took a big bite of her PB&J (her next event was still close enough that carbs were the name of the game), but before she could swallow...
She leans back and crosses her legs, returning her sunglasses to her face and letting the light breeze of the upper bleachers toss her hair in a fashionable way. "It's kind of cool, though, don't you think?"
Bronwyn nodded, made a noise like she was going to talk, then, cheeks flushing with embarrassment, remembered how full her mouth was, took a quick swig of her Gatorade to help her gulp it all down, and then finally said, "Yeah, yeah, you're pretty **cough** sorry, track-hack you're pretty cool. But you play dirty." She gave a cheeky grin, "Anyways, if I choke to death up here, Coach'll never let me hear the end of it, and I should prooobably watch my teammates in their events too." She turned, and had started to jog down the bleachers, when a thought struck her, "I've just got shot put and a 200 left today no javelin til tomorrow. You got a favorite?"
Shayera shakes her head. "Not really. Yours is javelin, right? I'll just have to come by tomorrow for that to see how you do."
She turns her head a little to look at Kenneth with a smile. "If I can spare the time, of course. I probably won't have much free."
She pulls her shades down her nose and looks over them at Kenneth. "Wait, I'm sorry. I'm being terrible. Did you agree to help me with my classes? You seemed like you said yes, but I don't want to put any pressure on you or anything."
Kenneth bobbed his head, "Oh yeah, certainly, I mean you're not pressuring me. That's why I signed up to do tutoring."
Looking back towards Bronwyn, he gives a broad grin. "And I think we can probably make it out to watch the javelin tomorrow. We'll call it basic Geometry review. Or maybe practical statistics. That's actually why I come to a lot of these events. I know it's kind of nerdy, but you really get to see some of the predictive equations in action."
Turning back to Shayera, he comments "You know, your friend's improved a lot this season. It's kind of hard to notice because it's been across multiple events. If she keeps placing like she has, she could win the meet without taking any of the individual events."
Looking back and forth between the two, Kenneth seems to catch himself. "Sorry, I'm rambling again, nervous habit. Good luck, Bronwyn, keep up the good work!"
Hmmm, hopefully that should throw her off. Now she knows she's under some scrutiny she might change her strategy.
She smiles, "Well." she knuckles the side of her neck, "I guess we'll see how it all shakes out. I do like my odds with the javelin though." She says the last part carefully, with the tone of someone very carefully and politely avoiding the word "duh."
The record she'd set last year as a freshman, remained unbroken in high school competition, even as a solo event. Even if she didn't do any better this time, it would be frankly surprising if there was another heptathlete in the state who'd get within 10 meters of her best throw anyways.
Or what used to be my best throw... I don't even know what it'd be anymore even if I lost my powers.
"But yeah, thanks. Like the man said, it ain't over til it's over."
Despite her words, heading down the bleachers she just felt stupid.
What am I even doing? Do I think I'm being cute, running my own version of the meet? I can't be that subtle if Kenneth spotted that after two of my worst events. Ugh! I barely cleared 500 in those! How much am I supposed to hold back!
And what was that "You got a favorite?" Like I could just win it for her, and what? The monster pretending to be her father would disappear somehow?! She knows I could win any of these I want, winning one she chose wouldn't prove anything anyways! Competing like this... it's just a waste of my time. Her time too.
She descended to meet back up with the rest of her team, staring morosely at whoever was supposed to be competing for a while, before getting into her bag to grab her phone, but after a second's thought, fished out Gae-Dearg instead.
For a little bit she just fiddled with the tiny spear, moving the spear around from finger to finger almost like she was praying the rosary.
Shouldn't I just focus on what I can do as Bran?
**sigh** Well, not right now anyways.
She tucked her charm away in its hidden pocket again and got out her phone after all.
"Oh good, you got like a million texts a while ago." Bronwyn looked up to see Eliza, a teammate, but not really a friend, looking at her with a sort of hungry curiosity in her eyes, "I checked to see who it was in case it was an emergency, but it was just that Skuld girl." Ronnie gave a bit of a twitch nearby, but didn't do anything more than look at Bronwyn questioningly.
Eliza continued, "Is this about whatever Marco did that she slapped him for?
You knew about that, right?"
Bronwyn really wasn't in the mood. She didn't want to turn the other cheek, she didn't want to hoist Eliza by her own petard, she didn't even want to scream at her to go away, though that at least sounded easier than the other two. But thankfully Ronnie took that moment not to wait for Bronwyn to ask for any kind of help. "'Liza, you know she knows what really happened there. It's Mar-Co. Do you really think he'd've done anything like the gossip you're hoping for? Just butt out of it."
"I was just trying to-" "Yeah, yeah, I know. C'mon, let's leave Bron's texts to her, and go toss the medicine ball. Not like we both couldn't use a little extra work there."
Bronwyn gave a warm smile, maybe 60-70% of normal, but then focused in to find out what in Surtur's fiery realm Skuld was up to now.
Skuld: Unfortunately, I have disasterous news.
I am required by oath to complete this rather
gigantic stack of paper in front of me, and
so I will
Skuld: be unable to see you in all your
glory.
Remember that you represent not just yourself,
but your god, and that you must always strive
to be
Skuld: true to yourself. Do this and you will
never be defeated, even though a thousand foes
be arrayed against
Skuld:you.
Skuld: Post Script. I am sure that you will be
radiant today as you compete in games for the
honor of this longhouse. I look forward to t
Skuld: he
'pix'...is that the correct word?
She giggled. It wasn't dignified, but there really wasn't another word for it. I've got a prettier pocket Polonius!
A welcome smile stretched across her face as she gave the series of texts another read.
She's right. Man, she's right about... everything. Well no, she's wrong about most of it, but she's right about everything if you squint.
I do represent myself and Bran, but I can't be Bran without me.
The javelin, running, track, they all matter for My future. They matter for who I am, and how I face the darkness that's out there.
Okay, if I'm gonna be true to myself, I have to stick to my plan for this meet, do what I can for now, and figure out how to power down for the next one to win it clean.
Papá, Mary-Beth, Shayera, even Skuld if she could, they just want to be here for me. How could I not give 'em something worth watching?
She put her phone out for a selfie, angled discretely above the waist, and sent it over to Skuld
Bronwyn: in case nothing official makes the papers :p
Bronwyn: thanks so much 4 what u wrote. today isn't everything I hoped, and it really helped to hear it
Bronwyn: read it. whatever.
Bronwyn: still need to talk about the whole duel thing >:(
Bronwyn: there are some serious issues with your plan (understatement)
Bronwyn: But thanks for your words today <_<
Shayera leans forward, attentive, looking Kenneth directly in the eyes. Her brow is furrowed just slightly, her expression serious. Whatever persona of a fashion-obsessed teenage debutante she had managed to cultivate in the last ten minutes evaporates in that expression. "Predictive equations? Can you show me?"
Shayera listens intently, nodding along, absorbing the lesson and the concepts. She does interrupt Kenneth briefly at one point when she glances down at the field and catches sight of Bronwyn on her phone going through some texts.
"Hold that thought; I just got to do this real quick," she says as she reaches into a small purse that had been slung over one shoulder. She pulls out a sleek phone and turns it on.
"Hey, Ab. Need to send a quick text," she tells it while she aims its camera at Bronwyn. On the display screen, Bronwyn's face pops up along with links to every form of social media which she has an account. She taps the screen and the text prompt appears. She quickly types a message.
Bronwyn receives a new message from 李秀英.
李秀英: Hey, it's Shayera. New phone. Ignore the Chinese. Dad's trying to get me to use my real name. TTL
Shayera starts to put the phone away, but pauses. She brings it up to Kenneth's face and uses the same trick to call up his cell number.
She taps a quick text to him, then stashes her phone. Kenneth's phone buzzes a few seconds later, with a text that reads, 李秀英: Shayera.
"Now you've got my number," she says with a smile. "Since you're going to be my tutor. So, you were saying..?"
Real name, she didn't like the sound of that.
We didn't really talk about her dad.
I mean, the guy who pretends- I know what I meant.
It's easier just to think of him as an abuser, but I can't just forget what he really is.
She didn't want to hear it- No, she couldn't hear it from me as Bran. For when she gets it, really gets it though, I need to make sure she knows that his lies don't mean she's alone.
But right in the middle of a meet really wasn't the best place for anything like that.
The 200 would be pretty easy, Just stay about a second behind the lead runners, don't focus too much on any one sprinter but shot put proved a little more telling.
Bronwyn was, after all pretty strong, there wouldn't be anyone else there to pace herself against, and she didn't have the same flair for precision she'd earned with her javelin. But she couldn't display the same dominance without it looking pretty suspicious.
Body type was destiny in the top levels of track and field. And Bronwyn wasn't exactly petite, but there was a reason that the best shot putters usually weighed half again as much as her. Arm strength counted for both throwing events, but javelin had more of a run up, she could compensate with the strength of her legs, pull more power from her flexibility as she turned her body into a human catapult.
With shot put, once you factored in her strength, it was really gonna come down to mass.
"13.9 meters!"
¡Puñeta!
Like other athletes at her level, Bronwyn was intimately familiar with her PBs (Personal Bests). At her age it would have been strange not to break a few, if not most of them in this meet - Marco had cracked three today.
But not by over 10%! Not in an event Coach barely has me practice!
It wasn't the winning throw, some single-event-behemoth filling an open shot on the Franklin High Team who had 6 inches and 90 pounds on Bronwyn got that, but it was certainly enough to get looks she really didn't want...
Kenneth's initial stuttering was less feigned than before. Does she think this is some kind of prophecy power? But as it becomes clear that her interest is genuine, his own "Hyuck shucks" personality begins to fade, his own interest in the topic drawing out the intense focus of Apex. As the discussion of regression and probabilities progressed, he illustrated his points with statistics and records over several of his classmates, quoting the numbers without any need for reference. He had pulled out a blank notebook and was making scatterplots when he was interrupted.
As Shayera pulls her trick with the phones, Kenneth goggled at his devices. I can't forget who she is... well might be. Stay on track.
"Wow, that is so cool how did you do that? Oh, that reminds me, we should figure out where you want to study. We can always set up at the library, but if you're more comfortable at home we can do that instead?" Kenneth kept his eyes on his phone, trying to project as innocuous an image as possible.
Shayera waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Oh, this is just next gen. Well, maybe next, next, next gen." She smiles as she puts away her phone, for good this time. "My father's in tech. Gets all the cool toys. Of course, when he saw how Americanized I was, he hauled me off to the motherland for a month 'to discover who I really am.'"
She looks at him out of the corner of her eye when he asks about where to meet to study. "The library's good. That's fine. My new place is... a little much."
She suddenly stands and cheers at Bronwyn's shot put score. "That's great!" she shouts.
Keep it cool, don't push too hard, you've still got time. She's not going to catch up on 5 weeks of class in a day... then again with as quickly as she seemed to be picking up the stats...
As Shayera cheers, Kenneth's eyes narrow while he does some quick calculations. "Yeah..." Then he catches himself again, and perks up, "Yeah! That's an amazing put!"
Quickly looking back to his phone, he taps out a quick sequence and looks back to Shayera. "There, I've reserved one of the study rooms for the rest of the week." Holding up his phone he shakes it slightly at her. "I get what you're saying about your place if your dad is into that level of tech. My mom won't stop tinkering with stuff. You really haven't had toast until you've had it come flying at you at 32 kilometers an hour." Looking back towards the field, Kenneth starts to put his binder back into his bag.
"You should go celebrate with Bronwyn. Even if she doesn't win, that's a heck of an improvement over her previous best. You can send me your class info and I'll put something together. We can meet up at the...umm... meet tomorrow then start working after that."
Kenneth gives Shayera a shy grin. "Be prepared to work hard though. You should know I don't settle for anything less than the best and I'll hold you to that too."
Now I just have to find a chance to talk with Bronwyn. I may have a new name to add to "Feed Greyhound Sent".
Shayera nods, again all business. "Not a problem. I'll see you tomorrow."
She stands and moves deftly down the bleachers, hardly looking down to make sure she steps correctly. She tosses her hair and puts her sunglasses back on, standing regally on the sidelines of the field as the various teams move into their respective clusters at the close of the afternoon.
The prayers, cheers and sporadic claps mark the end of the day's events. Shayera waits calmly for Bronwyn despite the sidelong glances her completely out-of-place fashion draws.
Before the Halcyon track star can pull herself away from her team, though, Wingblade hears a high-pitched signal that normal human ears cannot detect. She digs into her small purse and pulls out an earbud which she casually sticks into her right ear. "Okay. Be right there," she says to no one in particular, then starts striding away from the field.
As she walks she pulls the cell phone out and brings it up to her left ear. "Abacus, I'm going to find my own way home. No need to wait for me," she says as her pace picks up. By the time she reaches the high-performance sports car, her shades and scarf are in her purse which she tosses into the cracked window. She then sprints away toward the vacant and empty gymnasium where she pulls off the jade pendant, dispelling the glamour and revealing her wings. She jumps into the air and angles away from anyone who might see, then ascends high into the sky.
==================
"Just what the hell are you wearing?" Whippoorwill demands when they meet up on top of the W-HLCY building.
"It's fashion," Wingblade defends, though her cheeks redden despite herself.
The Defender shakes her head disapprovingly. She unbuckles a pack and tosses it to her protege. "Flying with a skirt. Hardly dignified, flashing your panties to everyone."
Wingblade sticks out her tongue. "It's a thong."
Whippoorwill blinks. "That doesn't make it better. Now, get dressed. I need you in on this."
Wingblade pulls on her action outfit of a tank top and cargo pants while Whippoorwill explains what she needs to do.
=============================
Her plan sucked.
Wingblade is stuck, literally, to a wall while the supervillain Chicle paces back and forth in front of her. A mass of adhesive resin has coated her wings and bound her to the wall of the dockside warehouse. Another patch of the substance covers her mouth so all she can do is glare at her foe.
"¿Dónde está tu jefe, Whippoorwill?" Chicle asks, leaning in.
Wingblade mumbles behind the goo covering her mouth. The villainess steps forward and with a sharp yank pulls off the resinous substance off her mouth.
"Blecch. That's so nasty. Where does that stuff come from?"
Chicle narrows her eyes. "Te hice una pregunta. ¿Donde esta ella?"
Wingblade's eyes widen. "''Pregunta?' Are you saying I'm pregnant? Oh, hell no."
Contempt drips from Chicle's features. "Idiot child. I asked you, where is Whippoorwill? She would not send you here alone."
Wingblade winces. "Well excuse me. Just because I speak American here in America, you don't have to bite my head off. And yeah, she sent me here alone. It turns out, your goo really sucks to get out of feathers."
Chicle gives her a devious smile. "The great Whippoorwill is afraid of getting her wings dirty? You know, I almost beat her last time."
Wingblade's eyes go wide. "Wow. Almost. That's like, sooo impressive."
The villain hisses and smacks her captive viciously across her face. "¡Estúpida! ¡Serás peor que ella!"
Wingblade shakes her head clear from the strike. "Okay, you lost me again. English." she says in deliberate slowness.
Chicle snarls. She gestures with her hands and more of the sticky resin appears from nowhere, cradled in her hands. She moves menacingly toward Wingblade's face.
"Wait!" the protege says desperately, causing the villain to pause. "Could you get my legs? They're due for a bikini wax and I haven't had time to schedule one."
Chicle swears colorfully in Spanish as she stuffs the resin back over Wingblade's mouth.
With her captive silenced again, Chicle strides back over to the laptop set up in the middle of the warehouse and starts typing. After nearly an hour, a cell phone buzzes in her pocket and she answers it.
"¿Hola? Sí, el envío está finalizado. La carga estará lista para ser retirada en el muelle sesenta y siete. Busque el contenedor con la franja naranja. Me he ocupado del zumbido del pájaro."
Wingblade waits until the villainess hangs up the cell phone, then smiles beneath the wad of goo. Her wings snap wide and then close with a ripping sound, slicing clean through the sticky resin. Her wings then slash at the gumlike substance around her hands and arms, freeing them. Ouch. That felt like an inch of skin, she can't help but think as a spray of blood flies out from her left arm.
Chicle turns and flings a wad of goo towards Wingblade which she ducks as she races toward her. The glinting edges of metallic feathers cause the villain to duck and scramble out of the way.
It was a feint, however. Wingblade spins quickly and grabs the laptop, hitting the touchpad to keep the screen from going into a lock. She'd caught a glimpse of Chicle entering the password, but it would only be a guess. Far better to grab the computer with everything unlocked.
"¡Devuélvelo!"
"Mmmmph!" was all that Wingblade could respond with, since removing her gag was low priority, all things considered. She spins and spreads her wings defensively as a torrent of adhesive glue is sprayed at her. Chicle has considerable power in her ability to generate copious amounts of adhesive goo, but she's a one-trick pony.
With the laptop in one hand, Wingblade reaches out and snatches up the confiscated earbud off the table. She jams it in her ear, realizing that it was coated with the adhesive and therefore would have to wear it for the foreseeable future or suffer a very painful extraction.
But the bud provided the signal, she had to believe that. Wingblade tries to take flight, but her wings are too gummed up. Globs of paste coat her legs and anchor her to the ground. Wingblade tries to protect the laptop as Chicle walks around her wings and faces her directly.
"Veamos cómo te regeneras cuando tu boca y tu nariz están cerradas herméticamente"
That doesn't sound good, Wingblade thinks, actually able to understand Spanish all this time.
Then a skylight crashes and Whippoorwill appears while Chicle is distracted in her rage. It is over in seconds.
===========================
"Wharf sixty-seven. Cargo container with the orange stripe," Wingblade says once the adhesive is ripped from her mouth.
Whippoorwill nods. "Good job. But I don't have any time to clean you off and also stop them from taking the cargo."
Wingblade shrugs. "That's okay. I can't imagine getting this stuff in your feathers. Blecch. I'll be fine. Go."
Whippoorwill nods once, then takes off.
===========================
By the time Wingblade had cleaned off enough of the goo that she was again capable of flight, Whippoorwill had returned. "Scratch 150 assault rifles, 100 semi-automatics, and 300 automatics from the streets," she reports proudly. "You did good. I missed you."
Wingblade smiles, despite still feeling gross. "Thanks.
But next time, can you go in first?"
The note was very high, warbling at the limit of her hearing. She probably would've thought it was her imagination, except that Shayera went for her comm.
In the midst of the cheerful throng of her team, a slow smile spread across Bronwyn's face as Wingblade left. A small part of her had been afraid that Whippoorwill would keep Shayera at arm's length. Finding out that she hadn't given her protege the access codes to her home had left Bronwyn with lowered expectations where Whippoorwill's trust was concerned.
Go get 'em
***
She'd been much more successful at hiding her light under a bushel in the 200 meter, finishing almost a full two seconds behind Ronnie. It left Ronnie essentially within the margin of error against Callie Hendricks (the Altamont Lion who'd beaten her at hurdles), Bronwyn was in 4th, but no one really thought that was how it would finish. Ronnie and Callie had pretty typical distribution in their points. Scoring in the Heptathlon was evenly spread in theory, but in practice, a good runner did better than a good jumper, and they all did better than throwers.
Ronnie and Callie trained that way, and with their best events behind them, they were on a strong course to wind up somewhere in the mid 4000s, the kind of score that only about 40 or 50 other highschool girls would hit this year.
But Bronwyn's javelin throw was likely to earn her a thousand points by itself.
No one's lead really felt safe when they knew that was still coming.
***
Her parents had learned last year what it meant to take the whole team of hungry teenage runners out to dinner after they'd spent all day at a meet, so they saved that for particularly special occasions now. Since no one was silly enough to really make a night of it after day one of a heptathlon/decathlon, the team pretty much fragmented til the following morning, and Papá'd had to catch a redeye out, so she went through her evening-morning ritual solo until her ride showed up.
She had to smile as the stands started to fill while the first warmup wrapped up. Day two usually brought a few more of her friends to the stands, and it looked like today was no exception, even if Shayera hadn't made her entrance yet, and Skuld still seemed to be buried under oathsworn trig.
***
The long jump went about as expected. Bronwyn kept her head down and avoided any accidental heroics; Callie and Ronnie gave their leads the last boost that the schedule would allow.
She'd been really focused in on her warmup, honing in on the peculiar rhythm of a proper long jump, and then after that, before she could go wander for a bit, she had to spend another 10 minutes just lightly jogging around. Then the stretching. Then checking and rechecking her javelin, and the (relatively) heavy spikes she was going to use.
Then admitting she was maybe stalling, a little, and finally looking up at the bleachers to see who all had made it.
Oh.
"Hold up!" Wingblade shouts, struggling to fly straight with an extra thirty pounds of goop covering her clothes and wings. They had turned the laptop over to forensics to hopefully identify other links in the chain of weapons smuggling, and were now flying back to Shayera's new loft.
"I'm sorry. It's just so hard to fly slow, you know?" Whippoorwill says as she finishes a large loop to fly alongside her protege.
Wingblade scowls at her mentor's dry sense of humor. "You're loving this," she says, catching the slight twinkle in Whippoorwill's eye. "This stuff had better come off."
"It will, and a lot easier than it did for me. A strong solvent will dissolve the resin, and it shouldn't harm the metal like it would feathers. When I encountered Chicle previously, it took me days to go feather by feather, and I was still finding bits for months afterward." Shayera knew Whippoorwill's feathered wings, while superhumanly strong and quite durable, still required a lot of upkeep. While she envied them sometimes, since they were living things with warmth and blood flowing through them, at times like these she was glad for the durability of her own metallic wings.
========================
"Let's put this new chem lab of your to its first use," Whippoorwill says when they arrive at Wingblade's penthouse. The two heroes move into the hidden area once the hardwood floor slides apart.
"Abacus, join us?" Wingblade says. Several screens come to life within the lab.
Whippoorwill slices off a chunk of resin from one wing and drops it in the chemical analyzer which begins spinning, sending the sample through a centrifuge and a barrage of other tests.
"You've never tested out her resin before?" Wingblade asks, stunned.
"Oh, I have," her mentor calmly replies. "But it's been nearly a year. It's always good to periodically repeat a test, even in metahumans. It could indicate if her power is increasing, or in flux somehow. Never assume someone is going to be the same. Powers evolve. Change."
Wingblade nods, then starts going through the lists of solvents that Abacus has brought up. "That one looks like it'll work quick. What do you think?"
Whippoorwill looks over her shoulder. "It'll hurt your skin. Why not this one?"
The two go over the choices, then decide on one that could give a normal person a nasty chemical burn, but something Shayera could likely withstand for the time it'll take to loosen the resin. Abacus converts the exposure shower to douse her with the solvent. She strips out of her ruined clothes, throws a protective bag over her head and steps inside.
It's unpleasant, but it's over fast as the cleansing water pours over her once the goo had sloughed off her wings and skin. A much gentler solvent mixed with oils is used to clean the stuff out of Shayera's hair.
By the time they were done and Shayera had retreated to her cavernous closet for some new clothes, Édouard her appointed gourmet chef had arrived and started cooking.
Whippoorwill looked uncomfortable, but accepted Shayera's wide-eyed invitation to eat with her. The fact that it was steak au poivre with haricot verts upon a bed of risotto drizzled in truffle-oil aioli had nothing to do with it.
After eating in silence for a time, Whippoorwill wipes her mouth and looks seriously at her protege. "Shayera, you know, as nice as this is, it's excessive."
The younger hero looks at her, defense growing in her eyes. "What do you mean? You've got a penthouse apartment, too."
She nods. "Yes, because I fly, and living up high gives me a head start. But I don't have fashion consultants, and gourmet chefs, and all this... extra."
Wingblade shrugs. "But I'm not buying this stuff. Dad is."
"I know. It's hardly common for wealthy fathers to spoil their daughters. And they're often not good for anything but spending money because of it."
Shayera scowls, heated. "And you think that's going to happen to me, is that it?"
"No!" Whippoorwill says, retreating quickly. "Not at all. You care too much for other people. You're turning into a true hero. What I'm worried about is you getting distracted. Or feeling like all this is something you're entitled to."
Shayera looks down at her plate, frowning. "You mean I don't deserve this?"
Gently, the mentor reaches out and takes her hand. "I'm saying keep your perspective, in all things. When's the last time you repeated your list?"
She looks up to Whip. "I guess it's been months, huh?" She then begins reciting the names of everyone she'd killed as Project Wingblade, then the much smaller names of people she'd been unable to save or harmed unnecessarily.
=============================
The next day, Shayera appears at the track meet in a light and airy sundress, designer strappy sandals and a wide-brimmed hat. She had been accosted again that morning by Tiffany and was steeped in high-fashion couture before being released into the public eye.
She takes a seat high in the bleachers, figuring Kenneth would find her easily enough given how much she stood out, and watches the pre-meet warm-ups of the athletes.
As he got into the car, Kenneth pulled out his phone and looked at it in disgust. Who knows what kind of digital herpes that little trick just gave my phone. I really should get a new SIM card, but it's too expensive, and it would tip my hand. Pulling up the only contact in his phone, he glanced at the number one more time to make sure he remembered it correctly, then went through the process of a factory reset.
***
Arriving home, Kenneth poked his head into his mother's workshop in the garage. "Hey mom, I'm back. I just wanted to let you know, I'll be home late the next couple of days."
His mother slid out from under the car she was working on. "Ohhh? Are you hanging out with friends or is there a new special someone in your life?"
Kenneth sighed shaking his head. "Nothing like that, there's a girl who was out of the country for a while, so I'm tutoring her to get her back up to speed. In fact, I need to go do some prep work on that now." Without waiting for a response he pulled back and began running up the stairs.
Checking his phone, he grimaced as he realized he hadn't gotten her course information yet. Turning on his computer, he navigated to the site for the school's registrar system. Entering credentials he'd seen on a post-it not recently, he was able to search for and pull up Shayera's course-load. Be honest, this is just an excuse, you were going to do this anyways. Self-consciously, he mentally recorded the address on file. Hmmm, the information on her guardians is restricted. I'll probably need the account of someone who doesn't use post-its for secure information to find that out.
Rebooting his computer to the command prompt, Kenneth created a new file. What to call this... no the name's too short... maybe if I include her... perfect. "Billowing Warhol Wiped"
Pulling out an empty notebook, he began writing out notes for the first class on Shayera's schedule with his right hand while his left typed theories and potential explanations for the return of his new student.
***
Parking along one of the streets near the school, Kenneth grimaced at the building. It was too risky for him to come by for his normal morning routine with the track meet going on. Scanning the crowd, he nodded as he picked out the scout from yesterday. His eyebrows rose in surprise when he picked out Shayera at the top of the stands. She's prompt, good for her. Climbing the bleachers, he swung his overfull backpack around and dropped it next to her.
"So, I never got that course list from you. Fortunately, I'm a bit of a packrat." Pulling back the zipper, he revealed the bag to be full of notebooks (mostly empty but she didn't need to know that). Chuckling slightly he continued, "The books are out in my car."
Hopping down next to Shayera, he zipped the bag back up. "But first, we're in for a show. Bronwyn wasn't kidding when she said her odds were good with the javelin. If she's improved with that as much as she has with shot put, it'll be impressive."
Shayera gives Kenneth a smile when he arrives and drops the heavy backpack next to her. She winces briefly when he mentions not having her course schedule. "Sorry, I got... stuck... last night doing something important." She recites her courses and where she left things off with each one, borrowing a sheet of paper and a pen to write them down if Kenneth needs it.
She turns her attention back to the track meet. "That's good. I hope she does well. I've missed a lot of this; I'm glad I could be here."
During the space between events, she looks at him out of the corner of her eye. "So, books, huh? You lose one too many tablets, or are you just technologically averse?"
Kenneth chuckles at the quip. "I'm not technologically averse, but, well, contemporary psychology and pedagogy might be. Did you know studies show that people learn better from books than from screens? And that goes double for writing versus typing. Hence these bad boys." At that he taps the bag of notebooks.
"Besides, I'm sure my tablet is nothing compared to whatever you've got socked away. That phone you have is impressive and I didn't see anything like it when I looked online. Does your dad's tech job come with a mask and hotline to the mayor's office?" At his joke, he gently bumps her with his elbow and attempts a Groucho Marx impression with his eyebrows.
Shayera's sundress was very pretty, and the hat was adorable, but they weren't what had stopped Bronwyn in her tracks.
Her wings were there, Right there! They were muted, maybe a bit fuzzy looking, sure, but only hidden, not gone, not even folded away. She must love that. Okay, that's one thing he's done. Probably not enough for a full penance, but... man, she must love that. I can be glad of that at least.
Okay - focus! Focus on the pointy objects you're about to throw very fast.
Has Mary-Beth already-? Good.
Trying to ensure there would be no repeat of that business with the shot put, she had set her friend to very carefully mark where her old record was along the side of the field with a precisely placed tiny flag.
Most of her opponents had already thrown, clustering primarily around the 30 meter mark (though the Franklin High Behemoth had barely cracked 40).
She tightened her grip, hoisted the javelin up above her shoulder, and began her approach, running forward in a sort of sideways gallop, javelin fixed in position til with one last long step, her entire body acted in unison to turn all that momentum into flight.
This year the judges were ready, and didn't have to reposition too much to record her marks.
She'd been preparing too; she'd had a lot of time to try to figure out how she was going to do this.
**sswwwwTHHP**
...
Pushing her own PBs was one thing, but this record wasn't just for her. A record that no one could break was a terrible thing
**sswwwwTHHP**
The idea that she hadn't improved at all since last year though? That was a bit much. And she really had! All the practices she had made this year, she hadn't really been working on adding any meters to her distance. It was all too easy to envision a moment when a single inch in the wrong direction might make all the difference as Bran.
**sswwwwTHHP**
They rounded down the fractions when the distance was recorded, but she knew, deep in her bones, that she'd hit her mark.
Shayera shakes her head at Kenneth, not having heard the psychological studies about learning from books rather than screens. She wondered silently if there wasn't some sort of confirmation bias there, considering that the researchers conducting the studies most likely learned from book themselves.
At Kenneth's joke about her dad being a secret hero, she laughs. "No, not in the least. Actually--" my friends don't trust him at all. She looks away, frowning to herself. Her eyes fall upon Bronwyn in the field, getting ready for her javelin throw. She swallows uneasily.
Realizing that she left Kenneth hanging, she turns back to him, forcing a smile. "Actually he spends so much time jetting back and forth to China that, well, that'd just be ridiculous. Heh."
Her smile turns more genuine. "I could ask him for you," she says.
She banishes her uncomfortable thoughts by focusing on the track events, especially now that it was Bronwyn's turn to compete. She watches intently, cheering after each throw. When her final throw sets a new record, she jumps to her feet and cheers as loud as she can, throwing her hat into the air.
At the end of the meet, she turns to Kenneth. "I'm just going to say congratulations to Bron, then I'll meet you at the library, okay?"
She moves down to the side of the field to wait amongst the other well-wishers. "Hey!" she says excitedly when Bronwyn finally makes her way to her. She gives her a hug, not caring about the sweat. "Great job! I'm proud of you!" she manages to get out before Bronwyn is swept away by other teammates, family members or friends.
She figured there would be celebrations for the rest of the day, but Shayera needed to get to work catching up on her missed school work. Library time for me, she thinks as she retreats from the sports field and heads toward the main campus.
Kenneth felt his stomach drop as he watched the play of emotions on Shayera's face. Well her tech definitely isn't coming from anyone in the heroic community...
He responded to her inquiry with a non-commital "Uh Yeah, maybe" and turned his attention to the field, unsure how to handle the awkward tension that had arisen. As the meet progressed, he relaxed some, until the javelin.
Doubt began to cloud his thoughts, as Bronwyn's first two throws fell short of her previous success. As the final throw landed, a flash of pink caught his eye. Very clever. And impressive, three throws all within about a foot of each other and the last beats her old record by the barest margin. There's something going on there. Kenneth nodded to Shayera as she made her way down the bleachers. Watching her approach the victorious athlete, a connection scratched at the back of his mind. Has someone been modifying students at Halcyon High?
A quick stop at the library gave Kenneth a chance to drop of his notebooks, leaving some of the full ones out to cover any cursory examination. He then returned to his car to grab some books. Without Shayera around, his facade had fallen and a troubled mien matched his troubled mind. However, his concerns were not what he expected. My investigations are progressing well, and there's clearly something behind Shayera's disappearance... so why do I feel like such a s#$@ for what I said to her today?
Grabbing the books he needed, he hurried back to the study room hoping to beat Shayera. It would allow him a small amount of theater, but that was only appropriate. He arrived just in time to set himself up, leaning back in his chair with his feet kicked up on the desk. As she opens the door, he slides a ratty, well-read book across the table. "I figured we would start with something fun. Now is the Winter of our discontent made glorious Summer by this sun of York" As he finished the quote, Shakespeare's Richard III slid to a stop at the edge of the table.
The 800, always the final event in the heptathlon was a good one for Bronwyn to finish on. She always tried to focus more on pushing herself to do her best, not to be the best. But it would've been a lie to say she didn't like to win too.
In the 800 she could actually plan. No one was just going to run the whole length in a flat out sprint, so pacing mattered, positioning mattered, and if you were keeping a close eye on the combined scores, you always knew who you had to beat.
No more than a second behind Callie, at least as fast as Ronnie.
It shouldn't be a problem. Ronnie was faster as a sprinter, well she used to be, but Bronwyn had always had the edge once endurance became a real factor. Just sticking to her old pace should be fine.
And for the first couple legs, that worked, but then it came time to pour on the speed, to leave it all out on the field, and that Callie girl was fast, really fast. Ronnie was trying her hardest to keep up,but she was starting to flag. I can't lose my first heptathlon of the year! Everyone's watching, just a little faster...
Her long legs flashed as she started to make up ground, spikes churning up the track as she drew closer and closer.
Fifteen meters
Ten meters
Five meters
They were neck and neck, with maybe two seconds to go when she realized how fast she'd gone to catch up.
Her last few steps slowed as she let the other girl take the lead, trying to put on a face of exhaustion, maybe even a little pain.
She flopped down onto the grass, forcing herself to gulp for air, her lungs heaving like a bellows, while she waited for the official marks.
That was stupid
She could see Mary-Beth low-key glaring at her for her performance, but she shrugged helplessly while Coach started in with a mix of happiness at her finish, annoyance at her clearly uneven pacing, and a little trepidation while she made sure Bronwyn hadn't blown anything out.
But aside from that, her teammates were happy, in the stands her friends were happy, but as she looked above the crowd for Shayera's wings, her eyes locked with Kenneth's, an inscrutable expression on his face.
Crap.
Shayera meets Kenneth's eyes with something close to a smirk as she puts her hand on the book he slid over towards her. "And all the clouds that lord over our house... something... deep as the ocean below? Beneath? Crap. I messed that line up." Her satisfied smile falters.
"But yeah, Richard III. Hamlet was kicking my ass last semester, and I don't like that feeling. So I sort of binged on Shakespeare to push past the blocks."
She sits down in the chair opposite of Kenneth. Her mouth twists, feeling a little self-conscious. "Sorry. I'm sure I really do need your help to catch up. Seriously. What else you got?"
Shayera keeps focused on the subjects Kenneth introduces, but a part of her can't shake her mind from steering back to Bronwyn. Her friend came so close to winning, then faltered in the last few seconds of the 800 race. While there was always mixed emotions to be expected from coming so close to winning -- to say nothing about Bronwyn's own special abilities from being linked to Bran the Blessed -- something still seemed off. And suddenly she realized what it was. She could still pick up the smell of Bronwyn's sweat on her clothes from when they'd hugged. Though the usual scents of exertion dominated, there was another scent, just barely there, but unmistakable. Bronwyn had been afraid.
Skuld sat in the rather deserted school library, glasses on her face. She didn't need them, but her reasearch online had shown that they were required to complement her outfit. The stack of papers had shifted from a large amount on her left, to about equal stacks between her left and her right. Watching her work, it was clear that she hadn't slept yet, although one of the advantages of being a goddess is that she never had to shower; her body naturally kept her sweat-free, and any clothing she wore naturally tended to be as durable as she was.
The only noise made by Skuld was the sound of her writing utensil making marks on paper.
When Kenneth came in, she glanced up, her eyes focused on him, then she immediately looked back down at her paperwork.
Okay, forget anything at the meet, that shower was my real personal best.
Despite throwing the 800 at the last moment, her combined score had still been enough to clinch a win for the Halcyon Hornets in the Heptathlon, even though she'd (barely) kept from winning any single event except the javelin. But even though she was sure she could have done at least this well without her powers, it still felt... hollow. So she'd begged off the celebrations, telling everyone that she was just too wiped.
But she had other things to do before she could sleep tonight; little flags hadn't been Mary-Beth's only project.
***
"Okay, I've finished polishing up the bluestone, I've carved out a socket from hazel, and put the whole thing in a setting of yew." Bronwyn's eyes were bright, but there was a hint of shadows beneath them.
"Great, I wasn't expecting the new one to be ready already, but I'll give it another shot."
"So third time's gonna be the charm, right? If not, and you're sure that bluestone's gonna be the right focus, I've gotta get more, and it takes weeks to get them all polished up and ready."
Mary-Beth shrugged, a hint of annoyance on her face. "Bron, you know there's not like a money back guarantee with anything like this."
"I know, I just... I keep freezing up around her. Not a lot, but believe me," she gave a weary smile, "you can't hide anything from that nose. I need her to understand that I trust her, that's it's... I just don't want her to think I'm afraid of her."
Mary-Beth squeezed Bronwyn's hand gently, "Okay. We'll try again, but this time... transform to Bran first."
Bronwyn nodded, and soon the towering myth sat incongruously (and a bit perilously) on Mary-Beth's bed.
"Still your mind; quiet your thoughts; hold onto the charm and focus.
Remember when you first saw her... Remember how you felt...
Remember Scythe..."
After the session, Shayera grabs up the stack of books and holds them to her chest as she starts to leave. However, the presence of the goddess in glasses couldn't go unremarked. She veers over to her and sticks her face in Thor Girl's peripheral vision. "Hey," she says, whispering quietly. "Look, I remember you from the Haxxor fight. I just wanted to say, thanks for what you did in saving Whippoorwill. I guess you're also going to school here? That's cool. I'll see you around?"
She tilts the books' weight until they're being held in one arm, and she sticks out her other for a handshake.
"You really do not even know how much of your old life you're missing now, do you?" Skuld asked, unsure of which answer she'd prefer to hear, but doing her best to keep her mood as flat as possible.
Wingblade's head tilts to the side at the question. She uses her extended hand to catch a stray book trying to slide away from her. "I guess I don't. But I remember you. You were there during the missile. And you were there when I woke up. If there was... something else in between, I don't remember it."
She takes a few steps back, feeling deeply uncomfortable. "I should go, I guess."
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"Can I ask you a question before you do? Do you believe that you have a soul?" Skuld is smiling politely, but her body language is completely neutral. It's clear she is very serious about this question.
Shayera rocks back on her heels, completely stunned by the question. She quickly glances around her, uncertain, then looks back on the impossibly beautiful goddess. "I, uh..." she stammers. Is this a religious thing? she wonders, but something about Skuld's mannerisms tells her she's not proselytizing.
She bites her lip as she shrugs her shoulders. "I dunno. What does having a soul feel like? I suppose I'll find out if I die--"
Didn't you die?
How could You be defeated by so small a thing as death?
An icy river of fear runs through Shayera. "I-- I really should go."
She turns and leaves the library, trying desperately not to break out into a sprint. When she enters the empty hallway, she turns into one of the girls' bathrooms and goes into a stall. She pulls out her fancy phone. "Abacus? Could you look up 'Wingblade funeral'?"
Sleep probably would have been a better idea.
She was able to put off dealing with fatigue for a long time, but not indefinitely. And even if the physical exertion of a heptathlon didn't really register any more, the mental energy she'd been pouring into those events, into the prep work that all of Mary-Beth's 'neat ideas' seemed to require, even just the part where she'd, he'd sat there remembering, it all added up.
But it's not like you would've actually been sleeping.
And she'd done some good! That liquor store robbery probably wasn't the key to anyone's evil schemes, but she'd (well, he'd) stopped the bad guys, hadn't broken the whole place doing so, and best of all, No one had been hurt.
When Bronwyn couldn't sleep, the best thing for her to do was go for a run, which was when a lot of Bran's hours got put in. As long as she made sure to make lots of turns, she could even go at a pretty good clip, people had no reason to assume she'd just keep sprinting once she'd gotten out of their sight.
She still wasn't getting sleepy tonight though.
Maybe it's the charm?
She'd threaded a thin piece of leather into it to make it a necklace, and had worn it out tonight along with her more crucial jewelry. Worst comes to worst it's still pretty. A little new-agey, but I did good work.
She looked at its faintly flickering aura, visible only to her eyes, And I guess Mary-Beth did too.
The flickering was why she was wearing it. Despite Mary-Beth's excitement that it had worked at all, she thought it would be better if it had time to steep. Sounds more like tea than magic to me, but whatever. Plus if it's going to suddenly catch fire, I'd rather be wearing it then have my whole room burn down.
Man. Still not sleepy.
She found herself running circuitously towards one of the odd finds she'd made in her late night runs, a tiny hole-in-the-wall 24-hour florist.
I guess I could visit. If I'm up anyways.
The little bell above the door announced her entrance, and the older man behind the counter looked up with a broad smile, "Bronwyn! Another bouquet?"
"Hi Gio, yeah, a small one. It's still okay if I-"
"Come behind the counter? Sure, sure I remember. But I don't think you need to; I set aside some flowers for you, in case you came by."
The flowers he brought forth definitely weren't the prettiest ones in the shop.
But they smelled fantastic.
They chatted a bit more while he bundled them up, extra tight, as requested.
"A good thing you come for these orphans, otherwise?" He shrugged, "Ashes to ashes, mulch to mulch."
She was in the bathroom for a very long time. Mesmerized by what Abacus's search called up, she scrolled through article after article, think piece after think piece, watched hotly-contested debates about the merits of teenaged superheroes, and saw one jerky video from a hand-held device of the actual funeral for the deceased hero, Wingblade.
Clearly a small, private affair, she was still able to pick out several of the major heroes of Halcyon City in attendance. She was pretty sure she saw Vick, Thor Girl and Bronwyn there. The cameraman managed to get Whippoorwill into frame several times, including once where he zoomed into a close-up. She was holding it together, but just barely.
The audio was crap, though Abacus was able to help with that, so Shayera could hear the short, simple eulogies given in her honor. Neither Whippoorwill nor Bronwyn spoke.
It required the school shutting off all the lights to get her to come out of the stall. She wandered in a bewildered state, getting a night custodian to let her out of the building. It had gotten dark.
She walked. She actually walked. Part of the reason, of course, was that her sundress was terribly impractical for flying. But flying always made her feel better, and she didn't necessarily want to be comforted. She needed to think. They didn't think I was just hurt. They thought I was dead. They buried me. What did they bury? Who am I, really?"
She mulled over those thoughts repeatedly, like one of those old records stuck and running over the same piece of song over and over again. She couldn't decide what bothered her more: apparently dying, or the fact that Whippoorwill and Bronwyn did not actually tell her what had happened. Then again, neither had her father.
I didn't see Dad in the video. Doesn't mean that he wasn't there, though. But why would he be? He was actually making me better, not mourning over... what? What was in the casket they put in the ground?
Her thoughts are interrupted by some footsteps of someone trying to be quiet. She suddenly pays more attention to her surroundings and realizes she's in a relatively isolated part of Northside. Several run-down storefronts and uneven pavement with weeds growing in the cracks are on either side of her. Old neon signs shed a paltry, flickering light on the street. How can Halcyon have such amazing districts and still have dives like this? she thinks as she turns around and spots the figure lurking in the shadows. "I can see you. Go someplace else," she says.
"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to sneak up on you. It's not safe here," the man she detected says, stepping into the bluish light of a beer ad. "How about I take you someplace where you'll be nice and safe?"
Wingblade arches an eyebrow and plants her hands on her hips. "Dude. You're in Halcyon City. You know, the City of Heroes? How do you know there's not a hero lurking just around the corner, waiting to rip your spine out, if you try something?"
The man shakes his head. "Here in Switchbank? Not likely. Most heroes don't even know this area exists. But that's all right for you, hun. I'll be your hero tonight."
Wingblade looks around at her surroundings. "I guess you're right. I didn't know this area. But I do now." A slight grin grows on her face.
==========================
That was cathartic, Shayera thought as she left the little stretch of arrested development apparently called Switchbank. She had Abacus call an ambulance for Horace Dimple, now that he was suffering from a dislocated shoulder and a broken wrist.
She had to use the super smart phone to tell her where she had wandered. A few of the features of the nearby neighborhoods showed up on the screen while she mapped out her way home, and something stood out. Halcyon North Memorial Gardens. That's where I'm buried. Supposedly.
Morbid curiosity got to her, so she went in that direction. Several twists and turns later, she found the gates of the large cemetery. That's when she caught it. Shampoo. Bronwyn's shampoo.
The ice from before, when Skuld had been asking her about her soul, refroze her stomach as she slips into the graveyard. She follows the faint, wispy trail of perfume, nearly overpowered by a pungent bouquet of flowers that she couldn't place. She pulls off her strappy sandals deftly and pads silent as a shadow as the scents grew stronger. And then she could hear something.
"--that's why I'm not gonna come visit anymore. She's really you. At least, in all the important ways. So I'm not gonna say how much I miss you, or how much I wish you were here with me." She swallowed heavily and wiped her arm across her eyes, "He gave you back. I'm gonna see you soon."
Shay-- Wingbl-- Whatever she was, reaches out and grabs a stone column for support as her legs nearly give out. Her breath catches and she can't seem to breathe.
She stumbles backward and all grace and training falls away. Her foot catches on a low gravestone and she falls down on her seat, causing her air to burst from her lungs. Suddenly reminded of their function, they start working overtime and her breath comes out in short, ragged gasps.
"I'm-- I'm-- I'm dead," she wheezes out desperately.
The crash as Shayera slipped wasn't actually all that loud, but it tore the silence of the cemetery to pieces nonetheless. Bronwyn's eyes widened as she saw her friend, the piece of her that still didn't expect to ever see Shayera again setting her heart pounding.
"I'm-- I'm-- I'm dead"
The space between them might as well not have existed, one heartbeat Bronwyn was standing, still shocked by Shayera's appearance, the next she was on the ground with her friend, holding her tight, murmuring assurances.
"No.
No, you're alive. You're here. You're right here with me."
Shayera's head was pressed against Bronwyn's chest, so she took one of Shayera's hands and held it to her own.
"See? Feel that. Both hearts beating. I'm alive. You're alive. You're here, we're here, we're both alive."
She held Shayera tightly, keeping her close to her heart, stroking her hair til she came to herself.
"We're both here.
You made it.
You're alive."
...
"I guess we really need to talk though."
The power of touch is an amazing thing. The first comfort a newborn feels once it's thrust into a bright, terrifying, wide-open world, is touch. Humans are hardwired for it. Her head cradled against Bronwyn's chest so she could hear the blood being pumped through her heart, Shayera's rising panic softens. She finds herself whimpering softly, not quite crying but voicing her desperate need for comfort. Bronwyn's words soothed and quelled her fear, bringing her back from the depths of despair. She clings to her tightly for a time until slowly she comes back to herself.
"Bron, what do I-- I mean, I died. You thought I died. You still think I died." Shayera wipes her face with her hands. A trembling hand points to the gravestone that Bronwyn had been talking to. "Wh-- what's in that? Is-- Is there a soul in there?"
"No." She squeezes Shayera again, "Your soul is right here with me. You're here. There's nothing in that coffin but memories. You are alive, you, really you, and I'm right here with you."
Her eyes are very solemn as she continues, "But yeah, I'm pretty sure you were dead."
She was quiet for a little bit, she'd tried to figure out how to talk about this, but it was just... so big.
"It's part of why everyone's- why I'm still a little freaked out sometimes. The other part... I guess I need to explain your sister too; it's all kind of one big tangle."
"There's something I realized you wouldn't remember, something I didn't learn until your gap. When you hit the train... I felt it. I could tell right away that you'd been hurt, how badly you'd been hurt. It's a link I can forge to keep people important to me safe. Or to watch over them at least. And when that missile hit you, it felt like my heart was torn out by the roots.
"I've pieced together parts of the next couple days, but honestly Shayera? I barely remember anything before your funeral. It's all just a fog.
"We had no reason to think you might only be hurt, no fragment to pin our hopes on, no word from anyone who held you. You were just gone. That was what we had to live with."
Not letting go of Shayera for an instant, Bronwyn squirmed slightly to find a more comfortable position, settling in for the talk.
"And then they sent Scythe to kill Whippoorwill. She almost did it, Shayera. It was terrifying, I was terrified, but a part of me was... joyful, because I knew that she was at least another weapon in your mold, but I thought she was you.
"That part might sound crazy, I know, but... Shayera, for you to have lived the life you have, and be the person you are? You are already a miracle. Why not a second?
"And I knew that if you were alive, they could never keep you in darkness. I knew that you would find the sky, find freedom. That you were strong enough to break free if you were given the chance.
"We just had to give you that chance."
"But Scythe... I know that you were dangerous when they used you. I know you attacked Whippoorwill when you first met. After meeting her, that finally made sense to me. The way they tortured her is obvious in her every word and movement. Even in the moments she's been freed from their direction... all she understands is violence. Mercy just seems to enrage her more.
"And she's so much like you! Not in what matters, but her body, her eyes, her voice, what's left of her face... When I see you, I know that sometimes I freeze up. Part of that is I still can't believe I get to see you again, but part of it is because someone who looked like you, sounded like you, and knew what you knew, knew who I really am, was hunting us.
"I have nightmares about her doing it, or where you're her.
"I hate it.
"I hate that she's done that, that there's a small part of me that's afraid of your voice.
"I hate that she has some of your memories, and I hate that she can see them, and doesn't understand them at all. I hate what they've done to her to make her so blind.
"I... ugh." Bronwyn closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths. Her lips barely move, but there's still the barest suggestion of a smile as she adds, "That's one more thing you two have in common. She really ties me up in knots."
Shayera holds on tight, desperately clinging to the Bronwyn's affirmation of life. It makes her feel anchored, connected, alive. She had almost convinced herself she was some sort of shade or phantom, and needed Bronwyn to remind her of her own vitality.
She still embraces her while Bronwyn switches topics to her doppelganger (sister?) and how she had been terrorizing her in Shayera's absence. So much else had been going on since waking up that she sort of took the news of another weapon from the same project that created her in relative stride. This confession of Bronwyn's had now made her fully aware of this double's menace, and that she's been busy.
A small tingling starts in her fingertips, the beginnings of combat readiness she gets when she's briefed about a mission coming up. The first anticipation of the surge of adrenaline that surely will be coming soon.
Shayera looks Bron in the eyes, deadly serious. "Well, when I finally see her, you won't have to be afraid of her any more. I already owe her for knocking down my tower. But that's just a place. She hurt you. And she'll pay for that."
Bronwyn smiles at first, but her expression turns pained. "Don't- Her worst crimes aren't her own. It's like I tried to catch a sword by the blade. The sword is dangerous. But someone else had to forge it, sharpen it, wield it. We might have to stop her, but... I don't want you to hate her."
Shayera tilts her head, studying Bronwyn's expression. "You want to save her." It's not a question.
She considers that, recalling the days when she knew nothing but the hunt. Living for the times when her world would turn red and she could cut loose, the times when the stench of fear was the sweetest aroma. The time when she was unstoppable, invincible, (unkillable). Whippoorwill had humbled her so thoroughly that she was fascinated by her. Like a dog acknowledging the new alpha. What would have happened if I'd have almost beaten her? She shudders at the thought.
"I-- I don't know. Maybe. I guess I'm all the proof you need that it's possible. But even if you get the chance, you'll be playing with... you'll be..." hurt.
She blinks her eyes clear, forces a smile and gives Bronwyn a hug. "Hey, but that's later, right? And we're alive, and here, and all that stuff you said earlier?" She finally lets go and stands up. She puts her sandals back on her feet and helps Bronwyn up.
"I, um, could I borrow some pants and a top to fly home? Tiffany doesn't really take flying into consideration when outfitting me in 'today's hottest looks.'"
"Like I said, where there's one miracle, why not a second?, and you know," Bronwyn gives her biceps a flex, with a cheeky grin, though they're mostly hidden by her hoodie, "I am a superhero after all." Her smile loses its humor, but none of its warmth, "Facing down danger to save people is kind of the whole point."
She gratefully takes the hand up, brushing at her leggings to dislodge some of the grass, and gives the shorter girl an amused look. "I wasn't gonna say, but I was kinda wondering how that whole thing... worked." She gestured vaguely at Shayera's legs. "Don't worry, we'll find something that fits."
Out of deference to Shayera's sandals, Bronwyn sets a pretty leisurely pace back to her house. After a while though, her face got very serious, "Shayera? Umm... I've got a question, that I think I need you to answer, honestly. And it doesn't matter- well it matters, but either answer's totally fine, and..." Bronwyn seems to run out of steam a bit, stopping on the sidewalk to look Shayera straight in the face.
"Are you gonna steal my Halcyon Athletics shirt for good?"
Her face breaks into a wide grin, eyes sparkling with mischief as she fails to keep a straight face at Shayera's reaction.
"Like I said, it's okay, we can work out a visitation schedule..."
Shayera's eyes go wide as saucers until Bronwyn's jest becomes apparent. She laughs a bit, then she grabs the back of her neck as her cheeks turn a deep red. "Heh, heh, yeah. About that. Umm, I kind of sliced open the back accidentally? Totally on accident. I thought it could go all the way over my wings, and it did, but it kind of got caught as I was pulling it off. I was going to try to fix it, but then it turns out I'm actually loaded. So I was hoping to buy you a new one before you missed it. Heck, I could probably buy you the whole athletics department, and then you could have a shirt that says 'Halcyon Athletics, property of Bronwyn.'" She smiles through her embarrassment.
"I really owe you, borrowing so many clothes. I should take you shopping -- sky's the limit. Whatever you want. It's all on me."
Bronwyn tried and failed to quash her grin as Shayera went on and on about the shirt. "Shayera, it's fine. You should keep the shirt, if you haven't thrown it out. And you know - if you want wing holes, I can even patch around 'em so they won't just keep tearing wider. Everyone needs a nice loungey t-shirt, and that one's already worn-soft."
She looked off innocently and held up a hand to cover her mouth as she faked a **cough** "Not saying no to the shopping trip for slicing open my shirt though." **cough**
Shayera jumps on the opportunity to go shopping. "Yes, we're doing it. How does Friday sound? Weeknights are going to be tight, since I'm meeting Kenneth every day after school, then homework, then training and patrol with Whippoorwill, then bed. Plus you've got practice yourself, right?"
Shayera opts for a pair of basic exercise shorts and the most expendable t-shirt Bronwyn owns to borrow, then gets ready to fly. Right before she goes, a thought hits her and she spins around. "Hey, maybe you'd like to invite Skuld to go shopping with us? I'm not sure what she thinks of me, but maybe a little rampant consumerism would be a nice bonding moment for us? And I can't wait to show off my new place. It's insane. We'll be the best crime-fighting trio the city's ever seen with all the resources we've got. I think Whip's even a little jealous," she says with a delighted grin.
==========================
"I'll keep Friday clear barring mole-men invading or something - it's a date!"
But when Shayera brings up inviting Skuld along, her smile gets a little frozen. "...Sure that sounds great, but umm..." Bronwyn reddened as she tried to figure out how on earth to explain what was going on with Skuld.
Is there a non braggy way to say that an actual goddess has a crush on you, and you hope that it won't be awkward?
"We should definitely get in some team bonding, but... I think she's kinda into me, that way.
"Well, no, she definitely is. She umm... challenged Marco to a duel? Over me? But when we went to break into Reaver together, it wasn't weird or anything, so maybe it won't be that awkward?
"Oh, and her, uh, crush was all before she found out I work with Bran - she called me his High Priestess, which is a little weird - soooo she doesn't know Bran the Blessed is really me. Are you okay keeping that on the DL?"
"I know that all sounds a bit crazy, but hey, at least the duel never actually happened!"
Shayera gapes at Bronwyn when she reveals the strange triangle between her, Skuld and Marco. She searches her memory, trying to come up with any cues that might have given her the slightest hint. Damn memory gaps. This is huge, and I had no idea.
She nods and gives her friend a warm smile. "Yeah, no duels, that sure is a good thing. And don't worry; I'll keep quiet about you and Skuld. Sure." Shayera very deliberately turns back around and gives Bronwyn another hug.
When they separate, she looks at her seriously. "I'm so honored that you shared with me that you're bi. And if you ever decide to announce it, I'll be there to support you. Whatever you need. Just ask."
Bronwyn's mouth just dropped open, "I'm wha-, umm, that's- I didn't say I liked her back!"
Shayera couldn't be more bewildered if Bronwyn had blasted her with Professor Psyclops' Confuse-O beam. She blinks several times as her brain chases its medulla oblongata around like a dog trying to catch its tail. She finally starts speaking slow and deliberately. "Umm. Then what's the point of the duel? I mean, if you're not... bi... and you don't see Skuld that way, then why is she challenging Marco? He's not being a stupid male, is he?"
"Right?! She didn't even, like, ask me out exactly. She just called me beautiful, and then next thing I know, Marco's acting all weird 'cause she went up to him to ask how she should "win my hand from him?" She frowned, "But yeah, the point of the duel? I dunno, maybe she figured she's just actually pretty enough I'd make an exception or something? And she is, really pretty I mean, but still! Okay, saying things like that is why Mary-Beth said I might be sending mixed signals, but you know what I mean.
She's literally sparkly and shiny with magic! I'm supposed to never stare?!"
Bronwyn visibly forced herself to calm down before continuing, "I'm not a fan of the whole pistols at dawn way of resolving things anyways, but I gotta say, asking my boyfriend whether or not you can date me? Aside from the conflict of interest problems with asking him, not, a huge fan of how that sidelines me.
"I mean, not that I would've said yes, but you know: flowers, an upcoming dance, actually asking me? All much more romantic than challenging someone else to a duel. So take notes," she smirked, "Mary-Beth hates it when people ask her for advice about dating me, so that makes you an important go-to."
Her expression turns more serious as she looks off into the middle distance, "I'm just glad it didn't go anywhere bad; there was some bad timing with the whole thing. Marco and I couldn't talk right away, and then he's thinking I led her on somehow, and freaking out because he knew I was spending time with her, and it didn't help that I kinda lied to him about what we were doing... It was a real mess. Just glad it didn't get worse."