Masks: A New Generation of Heroes

Game Master Cwethan

A shadow passes over the light spilling in from the hole to the outside. A ruffle of feathers is heard and then a figure with an impressive wingspan lands with a crunch on the debris-strewn floor. Whippoorwill is outlined by the bright daylight from outside, her wings folding behind her and her signature whip coiled in one hand.

In a chiding tone, she says, "Does someone want to tell me why I had to stop a section of wall and two desks from landing on the pedestrians be--" Whippoorwill's instructional tirade ends abruptly the instant her eyes fall on Wingblade. Her eyes go wide as saucers in shock.

"Ah, Whippoorwill. Back from the dead, I see," the Man in the White Coat says smugly.

"Whip!" Wingblade shouts in joy and starts to rush toward her, heedless of the broken debris on the floor.

Whippoorwill drops into a defensive stance as the spitting image of her protegé races toward her. She holds up a fist and clenches it, and Wingblade skids to a halt in the middle of the room and adopts a defensive position as well, wings splayed out behind her in a deadly array. Wingblade looks around for a sign of a threat while her mentor stares at her, blinking hard.

After a couple seconds of assessing the metal-winged girl, Whippoorwill eyes the Man in the White Coat hard. "What have you done?"

The man smiles that oily smile again and raises a shoulder in a shrug. "Only helped young Wingblade recover after that business with the missile. You should be thanking me. It would have been such a tragedy otherwise."

Wingblade relaxes slightly when she doesn't see any obvious threats, though keeps her guarded pose up. She spares a glance over to him. "Dad, you'll let me keep training with her, right? You won't get over-protective? Please?"

Whippoorwill mouths the word "Dad?" to him while looking outraged beyond compare.

The man doesn't flinch from her venomous stare. "Well, dear, I believe that depends on Whippoorwill. She doesn't have to keep training you, you know. After all, if you insist on chasing after missiles she may not have the heart to keep it up."

Wingblade spins to face Whippoorwill, her face pleading. "Oh, please! You'll keep training me, right?!? I promise! No more near misses like that!"

Whippoorwill spares a glance at her, meeting her eyes. She flinches hard when she looks at her protegé's face. They maintain eye contact for a tortuous moment, then the mentor tears her eyes away to glare at the Man in the White Coat. She clenches her jaw, and speaks through her teeth. "I'm going to have a talk with 'Dad'. Why don't you go with Bran and Thor Girl?"

While Wingblade slowly nods to Whippoorwill, the Defender quickly looks over to the two young gods. She meets their eyes, and volumes are spoken without a single word said. She was going to try to get answers from this man, while they needed to figure out if this version of Wingblade could be at all trusted. And to find out what Wingblade really thought of "Dad."

Skuld was....stuck. Her brain just couldn't comprehend what was going on here. It was like watching an antelope give birth to a rhino. It just didn't make any sense.

Somewhere, she registered that there were words being spoken, but what those words were, and what they meant in relation to her, Skuld just couldn't comprehend.

I think it's fair to say that Skuld is taken out by mental trauma! There's just too much, too fast...

A shadow of fear crosses Bran's face at the idea of leaving Whippoorwill, leaving anyone alone in here. But she had a plan.
That was more than Bran could say.

But plan or no plan, though fear of what he might discover seemed to strangle him, Bran continued. How could he give up, with her freedom in sight? Marking Afraid to put on my Game Face towards the goal of restoring Wingblade to her true self.

He nods heavily, "We won't be far."

His first thought is to leave the building, but the dangers aside, the idea of watching Wingblade fly puts a pit in his stomach. Besides, there is still work to be done here.

Scythe was tough. Very tough. But the shackles Apex had put on her had been enough to suppress even mystical energies; there was no reason to think that she should be immune to their effects.

And so, rather than speak among the gloaming clouds, he set himself to shifting rubble, helm set aside next to Gae-Dearg, his words rumbling out between the groans and cracks of their battle's debris.

"We have spoken often of the example that Whippoorwill sets for you, Shayera, but your father has apparently been far from your thoughts.
I am curious, why have you not spoken of him to us in the past?"
Provoke (Hopeless, Game face: 2d6 + 2 - 2 + 1 ⇒ (3, 4) + 2 - 2 + 1 = 8 Using a provoke aggressively (condition if she doesn't go along), since I suspect this will involve poking up against some blank spots or false memories
"In fact, I am uncertain. What is his name?"

As Whippoorwill moves toward the Man in the White Coat and Wingblade moves toward Bran, the man holds up a finger. "Let me get you your clothes," he says, then walks into the room he had originally stepped out of. In a moment he returns with a duffel bag that he tosses to Wingblade.

Whippoorwill eyes it all distrustfully, but the bag revealed itself to contain simply clothes.

As the Defender moves close to the man, she pulls a quill off her costume and snaps it. Wingblade winces and rubs her ear, but no sound seemed to have been produced. A couple surviving cameras in the lab spark and smoke. The two adults' conversation is muffled and distorted.

As Wingblade shrugs out of the hospital gown and starts pulling on her signature outfit of cargo pants and a black tank, she listens to Bran's question.

She looks uncertain, and finally shrugs. "I dunno. I guess it never came up? And do I have to know his name? He's Dad." She frowns, searching her memory. "I mean, my time at the lab was pretty terrible. All the operations, experiments, surgeries, and stuff. But every so often Dad would take me places. You know, like a park. Or to go get ice cream." An easy smile grows on her face as she recalls what must have been happy memories. "There was this one time we even went to Walt's World together. Dad convinced me to do the Princess Makeover." She laughs, shaking her head. "Imagine, me! Getting all girlied up, with the hair and makeup, the frilly dress." Her cheeks color in embarrassment.

She looks up at Bran with a smile. "That had to have been six or seven years ago. Heh. Doesn't feel that long, though." She stands up after pulling on her boots. "So, you going to tell me why everyone's freaking out so much?"

She's so happy. Damn them, damn him for that.

Bran turns from his excavation to look Wingblade in the face, tears trickling down his cheeks.

"I will, but you will not thank me for it.
He is not your father; he is your captor.
That is why the acts of kindness you recall ring false against the horrors you endured.
That is why you do not know his name.

"When you flew forth against the missile, when you saved us, we were in battle against That Man's minions, seeking to uncover the horrors they had wrought.
And when the missile struck you...
Shayera, there was nought left behind but fragments of your wings.
That is what fills me with dread and uncertainty.
For it may be that they stole you while you lay grievously injured, vanishing into nothingness before we could find you and restore you. They have that capability, and we were weary with grief and defeat. If this is true, I failed you; I did not repay your sacrifice, and allowed monsters to reclaim you.
I pray it is so."

He moves a last piece of rubble from where Scythe fell, and gently, almost tenderly, slides her mask from where it lay, abandoned and cold, but to Wingblade's nose still carrying a twisted, but familiar scent.

"But they have cast new weapons in your image, filled with the same pain and rage Whippoorwill once freed you from.
And every falsehood that monster imprinted in your mind, every true memory that vanished into mist, fills me with fear and sorrow that you could be one as well."

Comfort/Support: 2d6 - 1 + 1 ⇒ (2, 3) - 1 + 1 = 5 Trying to stick the "They hear you". To that end, I'd like to spend a Team selfishly for an additional two including the shifting labels, cause while the jury may be out on whether this helps, this definitely feels like throwing Wingblade under the bus.

Wingblade's hands ball into fists which tremble as she glowers at Bran. "You're wrong about him. He was as much a prisoner of that place as me. You think he liked turning me into a weapon?"

Her blades twitch and quiver with emotion. She turns and paces toward the gap in the wall looking like she's about to take flight. But suddenly she spins back around and points a finger at Bran. "You don't know what it was like, Bran. The pain, the surgeries, the experiments. I couldn't have lived without those moments with him. I don't know how I could have survived. Don't lump him in with those monsters. Don't you dare."

Wingblade's angry glare is interrupted momentarily when she notices Whippoorwill and the Man in the White Coat staring at her, apparently having heard her tirade. Whippoorwill turns back to face the man who is smugly smiling, and she looks like she is fighting desperately to keep from violence.

When Bran shows her Scythe's mask, Wingblade looks at it without any signs of recognition. She shrugs at it. "I don't know what you said just now, but it sounds like you're worried I might go bad. Don't worry."

She forces a smile, trying to wave away her earlier anger. "Look, I'm all better from whatever that missile did to me, I've got new wings, we should go out and celebrate. I'm surprised Vick's not here. He's always had some good ideas about places to eat."

She glances over at Whippoorwill who is still in a heated discussion with her "father."

"Shayera, I would give anything for those memories to be true. They are a happiness that you richly deserve. But you are correct, I do not, could not understand what it was like. All that I know of your time in his captivity, I had from your lips.
Do you remember why your last name is Kinney? Do you understand what it means that you do not even know the name of your supposed father? These fabrications cannot hold - when you had this, Princess Makeover, where in this frilly dress were your wings?! The harness that hides them had not yet been constructed. This memory is. not. yours.

"There are people here who care for you deeply, but that man is not one of them."

And mortal sin or not, I will murder him if he tries to keep you.

Provoke: 2d6 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (4, 5) + 2 + 1 = 12 Trying to get her to really confront one of these false memories.

Marking Afraid

Wingblade looks betrayed and confused. Real worry crosses her face and she turns so that Bran's bulk blocks her from her father's sight. Her voice drops to just barely above a whisper. "Bronwyn? This isn't like you." Tears well up in her eyes and are starting to fall.

Then louder, demanding and full of fear, she says, "Let her go. How dare you. She wouldn't do this. She can't be okay with you talking like this!"

She walks backward away from Bran, nearing panic. "I-- I need to see her." She looks over to Whippoorwill and the Man in the White Coat, then around for a place with some privacy. Not seeing anything obvious, she swears under her breath.

Then an idea strikes her. "Monument Park. And it's gotta be her. You hear me?"

She wipes her face and eyes as she turns around to take flight. She pauses before she goes, and shouts over her shoulders, "I'm going to go clear my head and try out my new wings."

With that, she jumps out of the hole in the building.

Then everyone can hear her shout, "What the--? This isn't Halcyon City!"

Weary unto death from wounds emotional and physical, Bran turns his head heavily to Skuld.

Comfort/Support (Influence): 2d6 - 1 + 1 ⇒ (6, 1) - 1 + 1 = 7

Taking up his war panoply once more, Bran strides over to the Man in the White Coat.

"This tale does not end with her in your hands.
Whatever bargain you strike with Whippoorwill, whatever the cost to me, though it stain me in Shayera's eyes eternal, you will not keep her."

Exit Bran

With the snap of her silencer quill, all forms of surveillance were disabled and anyone trying to listen in on them would hear nothing. The reverse was not true, however, and Whippoorwill kept part of her focus on the conversation between Bran and this new Wingblade.

Seeing Shayera -- or something that looked exactly like her -- set her emotions in complete turmoil, but she had to stay frosty. So she compartmentalized, forcing them away to be sorted out and dealt with in time. She needed to be clear-headed when dealing with this monster. It wasn't easy, especially when Wingblade had called him "Dad."

"You had a spare." It wasn't a question.

The Man in the White Coat gave a slow, noncommittal shrug. "We had an asset that was not being used. And with the loss of the first one, I decided to deploy it."

"And her belief that you're her father?"

A self-pleased smile grew on his face. "Call it an insurance policy. You care for her, she cares for me. You can't do anything to me without hurting her. See?"

Whippoorwill gritted her teeth and wished fervently that she could be recording this. But the silencer quill prevented any recording devices more technologically advanced than a stenographer. It was the only way she figured he'd tell her anything close to the truth. "That's sociopathic," she bites out.

"Pragmatic. And far more benevolent than any sort of attempt at mental control. I've given her a childhood. Treasured memories. Do you truly wish to strip those away? Especially considering the sort of upbringing she truly had?"

Emotions began to bubble to the surface, and she forced herself to breath steadily. "She can still learn the truth about you. She'll see for herself eventually."

Suddenly, Wingblade's raised voice echoes through the ruined lab. "You don't know what it was like, Bran. The pain, the surgeries, the experiments. I couldn't have lived without those moments with him. I don't know how I could have survived. Don't lump him in with those monsters. Don't you dare."

She stared at Wingblade incredulously. Oh, my God. She looks back at the smugly-smiling man and desperately wished she could do violence. She trembled in barely-restrained rage.

"I leave her in your capable hands, Defender," the Man in the White Coat said. "Though I'd imagine she'd still like to have a visit or two with her 'father.' Shall we say, every other weekend?"

Something white-hot flashed in Whippoorwill's eyes. She spun with her last ounce of will to keep from committing a heinous crime in her fury and steps away. Bran the Blessed stood just a step away, similarly afflicted. He leveled a warning to the man which did not seem to phase him in the slightest. She puts a hand on his shoulder, nodding in agreement with his threat.

I need to think. I need to put this in perspective. I need to... fly.

As the two godlike beings depart, so does Whippoorwill. She circles around the Reaver Technologies building once, then climbs high above the tops of the skyscrapers. She picks out Shayera sitting precariously on a ledge of one of the highest structures in Rivercrest.

Summoning up her resolve, she flies over to meet the reincarnation of her protegé.

"Hey," Whippoorwill says as she alights on the same ledge. "Sorry about before. I'll take that hug now."

Wingblade jumps to her feet and gives her mentor a crushing hug. Whippoorwill looks down at the bladed wings and feels her heart speed up and danger sense kick in. If the man had been lying, if Shayera had been reprogrammed like Scythe, then there would be nothing she could do to stop the wings from simply slashing upwards.

Wingblade's senses pick it up. She pulls back, eyes wide and full of hurt. "What-- why are you--?" She can't seem to finish the question.

Whippoorwill forces herself to meet her eyes. It was difficult, but she saw nothing but the hurt and scared young girl that she had been teaching for the past few years. "Shayera. I'll keep training you. You want me to do that, right?"

A massive wave of relief passes over her. "Yes! I'm sorry I scared everyone with the missile. I didn't think there was any other way."

The vaguest hint of a smile begins to blossom on the mentor's face. "Well, maybe that will be your first lesson. Wait. No, we've got to have Matrix check you out. Put the new wings through the ringer, to see if there's any surprises that your dad has in store for us."

Wingblade looks over her shoulder and extends one wing out. "Okay. Oh, but I want to go back to Halcyon. I need to meet with someone. Find out if she's been getting along okay without me."

The smile grows bigger on Whippoorwill. "Sure. It's that way," she points. "Go on ahead; I'll catch up."

Wingblade chuckles. "No you won't."

She rolls her eyes. "I will if you let me."

* * *

Whippoorwill uses the tracker she planted on Bran's armor to find him after he left Reaver Technologies. She glides in and lands next to him.

"I don't believe we've formally met. I am Whippoorwill, mentor to Shayera. You are Bran the Blessed, ally of Wingblade. And we should talk."

Skuld did not say anything in response to Bran's comment to her, but she did leave shortly after him, only able to summon wind enough to break her fall. She then numbly walked back towards her lodging.

Bran was feeling defeated, and frankly, drained and was entirely ready to pass that burden off to Bronwyn's relatively rested shoulders.

He'd found a place out of sight of any cameras and was about to transform back for the journey home, when a sudden rushing of wind caught his ears.

Puta Madre, can this day just end?

He could barely look at her.

Long before her powers, Bronwyn had still idolized super heroes. And the Defenders? They were the modern-day Knights of the Round Table to her.

And Whippoorwill had been her favorite.

The year she'd suddenly been the tallest kid in her class and none of her clothes seemed to fit, the looks people gave her when she said she wanted to learn how to make armor for Renn Faires, all the people who'd tried to steer her off of the track, out of the weight room, away from the javelin, all of those were easier to push through with Whippoorwill sitting at the Big Table.

After she'd found out who Shayera was she'd carefully removed the evidence from all but one family photo album, but if you knew where to look, there was still a picture of a gawky tween Bronwyn with a homemade costume and wings that she'd barely finished in time for Halloween.

But she'd failed. Her deal with the devil was written all over her face.

He didn't want to see that.

He nodded, fatigue blunting his movements, "Our meeting has been sadly delayed.
What did you give him."

Whippoorwill blinks at the crushed spirit of this warrior of old. He was taller than her, but his slumped shoulders and deflated energy made him look small. She frowns and sets herself square in front of him.

She raises an eyebrow at his question. "I gave him nothing. He thinks he's outmaneuvered us. And he might, yet, if we're not smart."

She smacks his shoulder to get him to lift his head, so he'll look at her. Her eyes are red-rimmed from the emotion. "Bran. Look at me. Realize this: she's back. I really think we've got her back. Doesn't that give you hope?"

"Whippoorwill, I have supped on naught but hope this last week. But to hear Shayera speak of that monster with affection, even love in her voice? It is not to be borne.

"That is the wellspring of my melancholy. Not because I think Shayera gone, but because of her pain to come. That fiend cannot be allowed to have her, as a shield, as a daughter, or as a blade, but I know - I know! - what harm will come of loosening his hold."

He lets out a loose whistling breath, "Forgive me. I began this day hoping that I could blunt Scythe's blades enough to grant her the freedom to choose to be Shayera once more, and instead, she is... happy.

"Perhaps it is for the best, but it is not yet within me to rejoice. This race is not yet run."

Whippoorwill intently absorbs Bran's words, nodding. It was the same as she felt, albeit in less obtuse wording.

"I get that," she says, looking serious. Her eyes bore into the reborn warrior. "Bran. My own father was abusive. I wish I had the sort of love for him that I see in Shayera's eyes now. And maybe at one time I did, but he beat it out of me at an early age. But I still cried at his funeral.

"She'll learn about him. And it'll hurt. And you can't prevent it."

She draws in a tremulous breath, fighting to keep it together. She exhales slowly, maintaining eye contact. "So what you do," she finally says, commanding, "is put yourself in the position to lend her strength. Support. And you tell Ms. Pascal to do the same thing. She'll need you both.

"And the last thing you do is drive her to him by confronting her before she's ready."

She folds her arms and her feathered wings frame her, appearing almost regal. Commanding. Determined. "The Defenders have taken hits. We need your Team's support. I'll do what I can to get you all back in action. Are you in?"

Bran forces a weary smile across his broad face, "The Team and your deal with Him are separate. Power without purpose is seed gone to rot. I could not stand aside from aiding you and remain Bran the Blessed.
There is another who fought Scythe at our side whom you should seek as well, a boy who has taken the name Apex. I do not know what powers he may possess, but he has skill and courage, or he would never have reached their inner sanctum, much less stood against one with her abilities."

The smile fades from his face as he continues, "As for your other wisdom. I will stand with Shayera, and lend her my strength as you say. But I shall not lie to her. I shall not pretend that man has my trust or affection. It is not my place to forbid her to see him, but I will try to see to it that she does not do so alone. He has tinkered with her mind enough already; he does not need to be given further opportunity."

Whippoorwill shakes her head. "I didn't say lie. I just said don't push things yet. There's nothing to be gained by forcing a confrontation right now. However he put those memories in her, they seem strong. We can't just come at them directly."

She finally sighs, showing signs of weariness herself. "I know of the boy Apex. I'll see he gets an invite to your next gathering.

"It's a pleasure meeting you, Bran the Blessed. Stay vigilant. And be smart."

She spreads her wings and with several powerful beats is airborne and speeding off in the direction of Halcyon City.

Pulling up in front of his house, Kenneth sighs and rests his head on his steering wheel. The hand-me-down sedan is nothing special, but it had gotten him (and Flux) to Reaver Technologies and back. The ride back had been quiet, painfully quiet, and as much as Kenneth had wanted to say something when he dropped Finn off, nothing had come out. He'd watched his friend walk away and couldn't bring himself to speak.

Stepping out of his car, he takes a moment to double check the trunk, ensuring that his mask and extra outfit were still in the hidden compartment designed for the spare tire. His mother had retrofitted the wheels when it had been her car, and if he ever needed a spare tire his car would have much bigger issues to deal with. Working for superheroes had all kinds of strange side benefits.

Turning to the house, Kenneth walks down the side yard and scrambles his way up to the second story window he'd left open. It was a familiar route, on to the garden shed, shimmy across the moulding and a quick pull-up put him in his bedroom. Slipping into his bathrobe, he sits down at his computer and wakes it up.

Rebooting the system, a quick series of key strokes brings up a text prompt in place of the standard Windows GUI. Kenneth types in the words "Feed Greyhound Sent" and watches as a series of names, many of them struckthrough, populate. Tabbing over to "Thor Girl", he deletes the speculation that had followed it and replaces it with "Skuld Odsdottir". Looking at one of the struckthrough names, he thinks a second. Tabbing up to it, he adds the comment "Scythe?" after "Wingblade".

Another command returns him to the original prompt. Kenneth types in "Leeching Overreactions" and lets his finger hover over the Enter key. A minute later, he hears footsteps outside his door and quickly uses a hotkey to restore the familiar GUI. Turning around he sees his mother opening his door.

"Kenny, I didn't hear you come in." She whispers to him as she studies his face. "You're up late. Did the date not go well?"

"It wasn't a...*sigh*no, it didn't go well. I'm sorry, Mom, I don't really feel like talking about it now."

A moue of disappointment crosses her face. "I understand, sweetie. You should get some rest though, you don't want to sleep through your Saturday."

Despite himself, Kenneth smiles. "Yes, Mom. Goodnight, I'll see you in the morning." He shuts down his computer as she's closing the door. I know I can't keep doing this alone, Finn showed me that. But what now? Skuld won't appreciate me confronting her at school, but I don't know what other choice I have.

Laying in bed, he closes his eyes and immediately drifts off to sleep.

The plan, such as it was, had been to bus back the way she'd bused in. She might not have been able to catch the express heading back, but the timing wasn't as important then. Or just fly back with Skuld once it wouldn't matter if her hair was a lot windblown.

But Skuld seemed exhausted.
They both were.

And as she walked over to the bus stop a horrible thought struck her. Shayera never said when to meet her at the park! She's not on comms, she sure as heck doesn't have a cellphone!
What if she thinks I'm not coming?

Reaching into her purse, she snagged her phone. Ugh! The price on this Lyft is going to be insane! Well, I've explained weirder charges on the emergency card before, and as long as the A's keep coming, the questions won't.

She'd barely called for the ride when her phone blew up.

bzzz bzzzz bzzz bzzzz bzzz bzzzz bzzz bzzzz
bz

Okay, I might've been wrong about the questions.

Marco: phone died
Marco: no it didn't. I was being stupid.
Marco: sorry
Marco: **Picture of a very sorry looking puppy**

Marco: u free 2nite? we shd talk

She was already in the car heading home by the time she could bring herself to reply. She sent some happy noncomittals to her parents, but she spent a few long minutes staring at Marco's messages on the screen.

Should I call him? I can't... I can't deal with this right now. Also, who wants to have any kind of Talk while you're in the car with a stranger?

Bronwyn: Phone was off. Busy.
Bronwyn: I told you I was busy tonight earlier!
Bronwyn: Sorry, I'm not mad. We'll talk later tonight?

She turned her phone back off in case he called anyways. Which left her with nothing to do but fidget, or think through what she'd seen and heard as Bran, try to make sure nothing important slipped through the cracks.

Fidgeting wasn't so bad.

There were memories Bran had made today that she didn't mind leaving a little out of focus.

***

Fidgeting could really only take you so far.

They'd made it into Halcyon proper, but even at night, with Halcyon came traffic.

She could already be there.
Why didn't we just set a time?
Okay, I mean, I know why.

She could already be there.
She could already be leaving.

"Hey, umm, I'll just get out here. We're close enough."
"Lady you still got five miles to go, you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm meeting some friends a little closer, thanks, just pull over anywhere."

Just get there. Whippoorwill was right.

Just get there.

She'd been planning on changing into something that looked a little more like herself. Her disguise had been great for navigating Reaver; it had even been fine when she'd had to hide and fight. But to get to Monument Park when she wanted to?

Her headband kept her hair out of her face, but her cute blouse kept pulling out of her waistband, her casual slacks were restricting her stride, and her walkable flats just didn't work at all, so she just snatched them off her feet!

But it was fine, she could see the park coming up! For a moment she thought about slowing down, straightening up, maybe at least putting her shoes back on, but no, she was too close.
She wasn't going to wait any longer.

I just hope she's here.

Whippoorwill had caught up to her finally. She had tested out her new top speed for a bit which was thrilling, but then had to practically hover so that her mentor could catch up. Whip was insanely maneuverable but her top speed left something to be desired.

They talked while they flew back home. For her, no time had passed since she played chicken with a missile and lost. A blink, and she was better. But it wasn't a blink for everyone else.

Vick was gone. Injured and now semi-retired in Korea with his mom. He had taken it pretty hard. Did a lot of graffiti and then left.

Bioshock was gone. Also retired to keep his body from burning out, since his superheroics had put a dangerous strain on his systems.

"Kid" superhero teams were outlawed, because of her, mostly. Well, mostly because people were panicky and reactionary. That didn't make it sting any less.

And her clock tower was gone. Destroyed by an evil doppelganger of hers that had ambushed Whippoorwill there. By the time she learned that, she had thought she was numb from everything else she'd learned. But it opened up her emotions again and her heart broke all over again. It had been a cool place. Her home, where her friends actually liked to hang out. So many friends that weren't around anymore.

Whippoorwill promised she'd find her a new place soon, and assured her she could stay at her penthouse until something is located. They stopped there for a bit to let Wingblade shower to get all the sticky goop off her skin where the sensors had been. Whippoorwill had to go deal with the media storm about her own return to life, so she left her alone for a bit.

Wingblade raids the fridge and watches the press conference for a bit, then decides she'd given Bran enough time to get back to Halcyon City. She had no idea they weren't there when she demanded the meeting place, so she felt sheepish about making Bronwyn rush to get to Monument Park. But her fear crept back into her when she thought about all those things that Bran had said. They twisted in her belly like a knife. Whippoorwill had rather pointedly not talked about her conversation with Dad, and she hadn't asked her.

No, Whippoorwill was more concerned about getting her caught up with current events. She wanted to get Wingblade back into a routine, enrolled back into school, and reintegrated into her old life, pre-missile.

She still had to wait a while at Monument Park. That gave her plenty of time to build up an unhealthy anxiety over seeing her. Or what if Bran's taken her over completely? Can he do that? If he did, I'm going to shove that spear so far up his--

She catches a whiff of Bronwyn's new shampoo that she'd been using ever since the Tropical Passion fiasco. She couldn't help the feeling of relief she felt.

She hopped off the statue of the Forgotten One and lands hard on the pavement. She had a while to plan what she was going to say. But it all left her when she saw Bronwyn in a blouse and slacks coming into the park.

"Hey."

"Hi."

Her voice came out in a puff of breath. The hand carrying her shoes half-raised in a wave before falling limply to her side, and for a second that was all she could do but stare, her eyes brimming over with relief and joy at her friend's return.

One moment she couldn't move, but in the next she couldn't stand still. Her purse slipped from her shoulder unnoticed, to join her shoes in a forgotten heap as she rushed forward to envelop Shayera in a desperate embrace.

"I was so scared you wouldn't be here. Oh Shayera, I missed you so much!" And then the words were gone again, so she just clung to her friend.

Finally, Bronwyn loosened her rib creaking hug and stepped back, just far enough that she could see more than Shayera's wings and the top of her head.

"How, how are you? I know you just woke up, is there anything that still hurts? Or, umm, or..." she took a slow breath as she shook her head in wonderment.
"Hi." This time the word was stronger, still barely more than a whisper, but carrying with it some off the weight of all the words that had gone unspoken for months.

It's her and she's glad to see me. Wingblade tries to keep from tearing up during the embrace, but only partially succeeds. "I missed you too," she responds with a slight quiver to her voice. She quickly adds, "I mean, I would have, if, you know, it didn't feel like we just saw each other yesterday."

She shakes her head when Bronwyn starts fussing over her. "Nope, I don't hurt at all. Completely fine." She turns around. "New wings, too. Look how tight they can close up!"

They fold to a nicely compressed size, still somewhat bulky but lacking the sharp protrusions of her old wings that threatened any fabric she tries to pull over them. "Maybe I won't have to wear that stupid harness. My memory gets fuzzy every time I put it on."

She faces Bronwyn again and walks back with her to collect her purse and shoes. Wingblade is looking at her seriously when she stands back up straight. "Bronwyn, I want to say, I'm sorry. I tried to think what it would have been like for you after the missile. And I think... I think you don't deserve to have to go through something like that. You're a super awesome friend to me, and if everything was reversed, it... well, it would've been..."

She shudders hard. She turns her head away to look at the lights of Halcyon before she starts blubbering.

She forces out a laugh, to lighten the moment. "So what's with the clothes? You get a job somewhere or something?"

"The sky is yours. Get back up there."

She rolls her eyes with an easy smile, and deals with the more comfortable topic first, "Oh yeah sure, I got a job, in my copious spare time. Nah, deal hasn't changed with my parents. If I get straight A's, keep busy with extracurriculars (extracurriculars I can tell them about), and stay out of trouble, then they think that's job enough!

"The outfit was actually for the mission today. We didn't know what we'd find on the ground, so Skuld and I kinda infiltrated Reaver. At least until we got into their crazy black magic wing, then it was less infiltration, more 'tear the doors off their hinges,' and 'cast down the evil with our righteous might'." She looks down at her present state of disarray. "I swear, it was a really convincing disguise at the time. I even had an ID lanyard." She snags a kleenex from her purse to dab at her face a little, "Also, I don't think my mascara was running."

"It's where I belong"

She reached out a hand to touch the new wings, "Still sharp on the same edges though? They're really lovely. It'd be great if you could skip the harness." A frown so brief it might not have been real flickers across her face at a thought, but all she says is, "You'd probably still want to have it for gym days though."

"She'll be safe, Skuld, don't worry"

There was no more way to avoid it, except pretend Shayera'd never brought it up, pretend there wasn't anything there to talk about.
And she'd just told Whippoorwill that she wasn't going to lie.

"Shayera... about... after the missile. Of course it was hard, it was really hard. But you don't have to apologize for anything!
I get that these things can go bad. I know that the life is dangerous, and I know what it means to care about other people who share it with you. You did an amazing, selfless thing, and for every moment of pain it caused me, was a moment of grace and pride and wonder at the person you are."

Her eyes stayed dry as she spoke, growing heated, but not angry as she continued, before she broke off with a deep breath.

"The one thing I'll ask... God, I don't know how to put this... It's not your turn anymore. Sometimes someone has to dive on the grenade. That's the life. But it's my turn. Or Skuld's, or whoever's. Losing you again... it's not the kind of thing that gets easier with practice.

Gah, Sorry!" She looked up and away, flapping at her eyes to dry them before she remembered the kleenex, and that her makeup wasn't really in good shape anymore anyways.

"Okay. New plan. What do you want to do? This is the Shayera's back celebration, so it can be something stupid, or selfish, or just - fun!"

Wingblade's eyes don't get any drier while Bronwyn speaks. She smiles while trying to hold back the dam, sniffling on occasion.

"I know what you mean," she says to letting someone else take the turn to sacrifice themself. "But I can totally take on a grenade. I've promised no more missiles, but come on. I still heal, remember."

She pushes on away from that topic. "How about we work together to make sure that never comes up? You know, better teamwork or something?"

She gives Bronwyn a moment to dry her eyes and let her own eyes get rid of their excess moisture.

She rubs the back of her neck at the mention of a celebration. "Uh, I dunno. I don't feel like I've been gone that long. What would you like to do? What have you missed? You, uh, want to go flying?"

"Okay, the grenade was a bad example, but... yeah. No more missiles."

"But flying sounds... really great."

She gives a small smile, but then her brows knit together, and her eyes widen in horror.

"Oh crap! Crap, crapping crap. I don't-" She took a deep breath, "I stopped carrying dramamine around."

"Do you want to, I dunno, fly slower? Or is there like, a 24 hour drugstore near here or something?"

Skuld just...walked. She kept walking down the street she had started on, until it ended. Only dimly aware of it, her body turned on it's own, onto a different street, and just kept walking.

Skuld had always loved walking. She often did it with her father, when he would walk the city and visit the people there. Pretty much everyone except the visitors knew him by face, and he would often give them directions.

Skuld thought about the other times, when her father got so enraged that he would sunder buildings.

Fortunately his rages were rare, but when you were the storm, sometimes you had to storm. She snickered at her own joke, then just started laughing; laughing until she just started sobbing.

Skuld was many things: a warrior, a princess, a Valkyrie (briefly).

Right now she was a young girl, all alone in a city where her friends died and then came back to life, and were being used, and she was going to have to duel for the hand of the girl...

Bronwyn.

So much had happened that Skuld had completely forgotten. She pivoted on a dime and rocketed through the air, hovering in the air outside Reaper and looking at the mess she made. At the loss of control...

Shaking it off, Skuld flew into the room where the battle had taken place and began looking for Bronwyn. Of course, there was no sign. Skuld began to get frantic and started throwing tables when the man in the labcoat returned. "Ahh, miss "Thor Girl" is it? Is there something I can help you find?"

"I'm looking for my friend who came here with me. You didn't take her, did you?"

"No, I believe he left with Whipporwill."

Skuld started to say something, then stopped.

I need to reign in my emotions. She thought to herself.

Completely ignoring the man, Skuld closed her eyes and began to take breathes, each time thinking the same thing:

The tempest lives in me, but it is not all of me. I am Skuld Tordottir.

After a moment passed, Skuld opened her eyes again. For the first time in a while, they were calm.

"You should know, that should you attempt to copy me, it will not work. Our magic and science have seen to it. None of our royal family may be copied, and our blood is...explosive it tampered with."

"You should also know that you have stolen from the Valkyries, and they do not take such theft kindly. Shayera's soul was offered to Valhalla, and there it should be. If this is her truly returned, then know that you no longer have a voice in who she is nor her destiny. Her soul is bound for Valhalla, and she has just been granted a reprieve here.

I swear this on the blood of my blood and by my Royal name, Skuld Tordottir, eldest daughter of Thor Odson, God of the Storms, and eldest granddaughter of Odin, The Allfather."

Gone was the bluster and bravado. Gone was the titanic rage that rends worlds. When Skuld spoke this time, she spoke as calmly as one might discuss the price of milk at the store.

Having said her piece, Skuld turned and left, just as one might walk away from a stranger asking them to sign a petition.

@Thor Girl: heh. :-)

Wingblade winces. "I don't have my flying harness with me either." Without the series of straps that keeps a person more aerodynamically aligned, Bronwyn would be dangling uncomfortably from Wingblade's arms.

"Maybe a rain check on the flying. And you're not really dressed for it either."

Her hands fall to her sides as she looks around Monument Park. Something sad seems to catch up to her. "My um, my clock tower kind of fell down while I was away? I can stay with Whip, so it's not a problem, but maybe I could stay a night with you? You could tell me what I missed? Whippoorwill filled me in on the superhero stuff, but I'd like to know about school. Is everything still good between you and Marco? Your other friends? That kind of stuff?"

The Man in the White Coat doesn't flinch under the Asgardian's oaths. He'd been on a sleek cell phone and paused his conversation briefly to calmly listen to Skuld.

"It was a creation of science grown in a lab. What makes you so certain it had a soul to begin with? His question is so smooth, so oily confident, that perhaps he truly knows something that Skuld does not.

If Default's okay with this, he'll try to inflict Insecure on her -- unless Thor Girl Rejects What He Says About the World.

Bronwyn's face is a mask of consternation, but she shakes it off with an embarrassed smile, Dummy, she's not gonna turn into a pumpkin at midnight! "Yeah, you're right, plenty of other times to go flying. No need to force it tonight. "

The idea of sneaking Shayera into her house freaked her out a little. It wasn't like she would be breaking the rules, like if she'd tried to do the same thing with Marco! But, well, Shayera did have wings. If they just walked in the door and her mom was up and around, there was no way that wasn't going to be a discussion!
I mean, when she- before her funeral, I had to tell them both. And she's back, so I'll have to tell them that too. And that's fine, it doesn't out me as Bran. It just means I have a superhero friend. It's Halcyon, they probably already know a superhero even if they don't know it. ...Besides me I mean.

" Sure, let's go. I definitely wouldn't mind changing, I hadn't worn these pants in like a year, before I started really training for sprinting, and let me tell you they are Snug in the thigh! "

The walk from Monument Park back to her house wasn't long, and there was a lot to talk about. Shayera'd been gone for months after all, and even though Whippoorwill had filled her in on Vick and Eli, there was still Mary-Beth, Marco and Ronnie, and Kyle and his new boyfriend, what happened at that 80s dance (Bronwyn hadn't gone either, but there was still some good gossip). Way too much stuff to cover in a single walk. It was no wonder she didn't have time to talk about Skuld calling her Beautiful, and how weird that whole thing was.

She quietly slipped in the front door, even without having to explain her resurrected friend with the wings, bumping into her mom could easily mean an hour long debrief on a fictional internship's interview, even at this time of night, and that's if she doesn't notice I've been crying!

But luck was with her, and she made it up to her room without incident. A tremble swept through her though, as she moved over to the window to invite Shayera in. Don't be an idiot. Those were just dreams; they didn't mean anything.
She's not gonna hurt you.

"Come on up"

Wingblade hops up with a flap of her wings, grabbing a hold of the window sill. She starts to pull herself in with a fluid motion, but pauses. She's nervous? Just like Whip, her pulse started racing. She's afraid?

Wingblade swallows, frozen just upon the threshold. "Um, you know, I just remembered I think Whippoorwill was expecting me back. She wants Matrix to check out my new wings, make sure I'm fully healed, that sort of thing. She'll want an early start."

She gives Bronwyn a smile, trying to keep the hurt from her eyes. "I'll see you soon, all right? Get a good night's sleep."

"Hey. What's wrong?"

Bronwyn reaches out her hand to help pull Shayera in through the window, the brief tremble is gone.

She looks like she did when we first met. Both of us trying to hide Bran and Wingblade from Shayera and Bronwyn, both of us hurt that the other one didn't tell us what was really going on.

"Is it that I didn't want my mom to see you tonight?

I mean, if you've really gotta go, that's... that's fine of course, but...
I want you to stay."

I see how it is Bronwyn! =P

Yes, I will reject his view of the world, and if he keeps it up I will reject him from the world =P

Skuld, per the rules, you need to roll to reject the influence

Wingblade pauses before she turns and leaves. "No, it's not about your mom. It's just that--" you're afraid of me for some reason. Just like Whippoorwill.

"Nevermind," Wingblade finally says. She slides into the room silently and looks around at all the facets of Bronwyn's life. She stares at the photos with special interest. She holds up one of Bronwyn in a frilly dress. "What was this about?"

She starts asking Bronwyn about all the different pictures and the stories behind them until she reaches one of her and Whippoorwill at the clock tower. She stares at it for a long time quietly, her face inscrutable.

"Everything's going to be different now, isn't it?" she whispers.

Bronwyn's brow creases in consternation at Shayera's response, but she doesn't push.

She reddens a bit once Shayera starts going through the photos Thank god the albums are all downstairs "That was my quinceañera. It's sort of an early Sweet Sixteen. And the reason for one of the two pairs of heels I've worn in my life."

She didn't interrupt while Shayera looked at her own photo, but she gave her a side hug when she spoke.
"Yeah, a lot will. But everything changes. Some for the worst, but we've got a lot of chances to make most of it change for the better."

"I get that everything's piling on you all at once though. It's not like it's been easy since you were hurt, but at least I've had some time to process some of this. I got to grieve, talk things through, punch through a wall, have some sleepless nights," she grimaced, "give myself a haircut that took off more hair than I meant to, and make an emergency appointment at the salon to see what they could salvage. That kind of thing."

"It's your first day back; it's fine to feel overwhelmed. But you know we're here for you, no matter what, right?

"And you can have the picture back, if you want. I was kinda planning on maybe giving it back to Whippoorwill at some point anyways, but with Scythe and everything...
I hadn't gotten around to doing more than getting it re-framed."

Wingblade gives Bronwyn a lopsided grin. "I was going to ask about the hair. It looks good. And it's smart. Whippoorwill keeps saying that long hair is a liability, even though it looks badass. Like she should talk, since she's got a bigger mane than you and me put together -- before the haircut. But I guess that if you're as good as she is, you can showboat a little."

Wingblade plays idly with her own hair while thinking about being overwhelmed. Maybe she did feel that way. So many heroes had come and gone lately, and so much had happened lately.

"Keep the picture. Whip's pretty cool, when I think about it. Hard core. And not overly sentimental."

She then listens to the rest of the gossip that Bronwyn feels is most important for her to know. Her heads a little dizzy by the time it's all over.

Wingblade begins nodding. "I think you're right. Maybe I don't have a clock tower anymore. I'm sure Whip will find me something even cooler. It's just a place," she says. She wanted to sound more confident than she thought she did.

After a little more talking of high school rumors and innuendo, Wingblade stops her laughing. "Maybe with all that's happened, a fresh start is what I needed. Anyone else thinking of joining the Team?"

Bronwyn rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile when Shayera complimented her hair. "Well, yours looks snazzy as always, so no worries there."

"But about the Team - Umm, I guess it kinda depends. There were a couple of guys who broke into Reaver at the same time as us, which means they've got some moves. But one of 'em totally froze up when he saw Scythe. Which, I mean, I get it, but still, not a great audition. The other guy was srt of a , umm... Apex... got right in there though. Whippoorwill was gonna try to track him down, see if he was interested.

I don't know if the Team is the right place for her, but I do know she deserves a better place than what Reaver would give her."

No matter how much she scares me.

"Well, recruitment can be a tomorrow problem. Or maybe day-after-tomorrow, I know we've both got stuff up." She gave a quick smile, snagged a sleep shirts and after a moment's thought, a pair of loose shorts, and hopped into her walk-in to change.

As she emerged she offered, "Feel free to raid my closet, or I can go see if there's some of Gabby's PJs or something in her old room if you want, she's closer to your size."

Wingblade claims a long t-shirt that says "Property of Halcyon Athletic Department" for the night.

She lays down on one side of the bed and listens to Bronwyn talk about potential recruits with interest. She gets a strange look on her face when Scythe is brought up. She seems to have no knowledge of this doppelganger except for secondhand information.

They fought this... Scythe right before I woke up. But I didn't smell anything else there. Just... me.

When it came time to sleep, Wingblade takes a few pillows and a blanket with her to the floor, and no amount of pleading or cajoling can get her to change her mind.

The reason for her insistence becomes apparent in the middle of the night. Bronwyn is awoken by some movement on the floor. Though she's still asleep, Wingblade is twitching and moaning in the throes of a nightmare. She had removed the t-shirt at some point in the night, obviously to spare it from the jerks and spasms of her wings. The nightmare lasts an uncomfortable half-hour or so, and then she finally settles again into a more restful sleep.

By morning, Wingblade is back wearing the t-shirt and is grinning at the picture of the Pascal brothers and sisters when Bronwyn awakes.

"Your brothers and sisters are so cute!" Wingblade says when she sits up.

She makes a move toward her clothes and starts pulling on her pants. "Thanks for letting me stay here, but I should go. I was serious about being tested by Matrix."

Not wanting to test her luck with Bronwyn's mom encountering her, Wingblade slips back out the window and takes off.

Reject Influence n' stuff: 2d6 ⇒ (3, 3) = 6

Bronwyn didn't try too hard to convince Shayera to share the bed; with her wings it would have been more than a little cramped!

When she awoke to the sounds of Shayera's nightmare, her first instinct was, of course, to wake her up! But you're not supposed to, right? Unless it gets really bad?

She knew just how sharp Shayera's wings were, so before she went over to her friend, she retrieved a swath of chainmail from her armorer's chest, and hunkered down, ready to reach out to shake Shayera awake if her dreams got any worse, but after an uncomfortable half-hour, she drifted back into a deeper sleep.

And with a weary smile, Bronwyn hopped back into her bed to do the same.

***

She hadn't been lying when she'd told Shayera that they both had a busy day.

Explaining to her mom a tastefully edited version of what she'd really been up to yesterday wasn't that bad. Her story didn't really fully explain exactly why the Defenders had needed to keep it a secret that she was going to meet her miraculously rescued friend, but, well, superheroes did weird things some times.

That was just going to have to be good enough, for now.

Marco had more questions; she kind of deserved them. The "so what really happened" was easy, just more of the same story she'd told her mom. The "why couldn't you just tell me"... well she didn't really have an answer for that. And when he asked why she'd gone to see Shayera with Skuld? She really didn't have an answer. The best she could tell him was that it wasn't really her secret to tell.

"...fine. I get that this was special circumstances and all, but I don't think you should spend time with her anymore."

"With Shayera?!"

"What? No, with Skuld. Look I know this might sound crazy, but she, well..."

"Oh. You know that she's... You know about her crush? Well hey, that doesn't mean I shouldn't spend time with her! What the hell, Marco?!"

"Not 'cause she's gay - she challenged me to a duel!"

"What.
Like, a duel duel?"

"Yep. I mean best case, she's violent, worst case she's completely nuts!"

"Look, I'll talk to her, she shouldn't have done that, but I'm sure she wouldn't... hurt you."

"Bronwyn, I don't want you to sweep this under the rug and make it disappear, okay?!"

"Okay, jeez. You're not gonna do it, right? 'Cause I don't know what she means by duel, but you're right, it could be dangerous."

"No.
Why would I?"

***

Sunday
I wish avoiding embarrassment was a good enough reason to skip mass.

Some of her siblings were infrequent, Anna was arguably lapsed, but Bronwyn had always liked church. The beauty of the building, the weight of tradition in the ceremonies, the connection she felt to thousands of years of her forebears, it all made Sunday mass feel like another home to her.

But just like in her more temporal house, love and acceptance occasionally involved a bit of mortification.

"...Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who takes away the sins of the world. Blessed are those called to the supper of the Lamb," Father Rotoli finished.
Bronwyn and everyone around her recited, "Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed." The deacon began shepherding the congregation forward to take communion.

Bronwyn stayed seated.

"The body of Christ." "Amen."

She had tried to set an appointment for confession on Saturday, after all, this was going to be a doozy, but she hadn't been able to find a time to speak with the priest until after her and her parents' usual mass.

"The body of Christ." "Amen."

Which meant she really had to stay seated.

She knew that it was better to treat communion with reverence, and to not give in to shame and pride by tricking herself into believing that she was special, or that it was okay if she just went ahead and stood up. But if she was going to confession right afterwards, it could be just one more thing to bring up, right?

"The body of Christ." "Amen."

It was tempting, but she stayed seated.

"The body of Christ." "Amen."

She'd told her parents she wouldn't be partaking, the last thing she wanted was for them to give a startled stare in the middle of everyone, but that meant she could feel them wondering what she'd done the Whole. Drive. There, even though they kept to their long held promise on stuff like this and didn't actually ask.

"The body of Christ." "Amen."

At least Marco wasn't giving her any weird looks. Then again, he already knew some of why she'd need to confess.

I just hope he's already counting scheduling confession for after mass as part of my penance!

"The body of Christ." "Amen."

At least this isn't for something boneheaded like eating a snack right before church, or something embarrassing like... Oh man, I should've warned Marco that he's gonna get a lot of suspicious looks. Or I should've nailed something to the door telling everyone we're not having sex,that's a good way to avoid gossip,right?

"The body of Christ." "Amen."

Finally, the priest gave his benediction and dismissed the congregation. She hung around for a little longer to chat with some of her friends, but again, finally, she was able to make confession.

***

As was her custom, she walked around the screen and took a seat facing Father Rotoli. It wasn't as if he wouldn't recognize her anyways.

"Hello Bronywn."

She smiled, a bit nervously, and made the sign of the cross.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession, but I need to speak of older sins as well."

"Very well, Bronwyn, you said that some time would be required. Where should you begin?"

"I think I need to start with a piece of... Context.
I've shared with you moments of anger, and the doubts that often go along with them, but I haven't given you the full story.

"I'm... I'm a super hero. Wow, that feels really weird to say out loud."

To her surprise, the priest simply nodded, "I thought something of the kind might be the case. First, I assure you that your secret is sealed by Canon law. Second, I don't keep the best track of the new heroes, and it isn't important to me which mask you wear..." He trailed off then looked at her sharply, "You aren't Thor Girl are you?"

"No," Bronwyn didn't quite squeak.

"Good, setting yourself up as a false idol would be quite out of character for you."

Bronwyn squirmed slightly, and he looked at her patiently until she spoke.

"She is one of the things I wanted to tell to you about though, Father. What do you think she is? She says she's actually Thor's daughter, and that she's from Asgard, and... I don't think she's lying."

"I won't tell you I'm comfortable with this, Bronwyn. I'm heartened that she doesn't ask for worship, but if you continue down this path, I fear idolatry may lie at the end. I pray that I am mistaken.

He reshuffled in his seat, clearly considering the matter at a rest.

"Now, I am certain that you have had to bear false witness in order to preserve your identity, but I assume... Do you have enemies who would use your name to bring innocents to grief?"[/b]

Scythe's words echoed in her head, "Do you want your family to die too?!"

"Yes."

"Then I charge you to speak the truth as often as you can, but remember that the preservation of life is more important. Do not grow complacent in this sin. The lesser of two evils is not a good.

"Now, we have spoken on falsehood and false gods, but you still seen troubled. Is there something else?"

"Well, I hurt people. It's only to stop them from hurting someone else or me, but, I still don't feel comfortable with it. I'm worried It'll stop worrying me, you know? And there was one time... I had to be pulled off of a villain. Father, I 'm strong. Very strong. If I had kept going, he might've... I might've killed him."[/b]

He looked very stern as he asked, "Did you intend to take this man's life?"

"But this is not the first time we have spoken of this. Do you see any parallels to that affair with your friend Kyle?"

Bronwyn set her jaw stubbornly, "No."

"I don't know. What do you think would have happened to Kyle if I had left too?"

Though Father Rotoli's voice had stayed soft, there was still an obvious tension in the air. After a long moment, he spoke again.

"I think there is a pattern here that you may not wish to acknowledge, but we can leave it for another time. Do you have any other sins that weigh upon you?"

"Two days ago, I committed murder in my heart. He is an evil man, and he has committed acts of unspeakable cruelty towards selfish aims. He uses the innocence of another as a shield, and so I spared him, but for that evil alone I would have slain him, if it would not have brought great sorrow to another."

"Bronwyn, any act of murder brings great sorrow. Even if only to those who love you, no one wishes to see your soul wounded by such a sin. I know that your anger seems justified, and perhaps it is, but it is not given to you to sit in judgment.
Picture to yourself all the torments and indignities that Christ endured for you, think on his constancy, think on the love he found for us, his tormentors. The strength it will take for you to mimic this love for mankind will serve you well as you serve others.

"Go in peace, Bronwyn. And good luck."

She stood, but before she left, one final question came spilling out.

"Father, can you tell me, I know that to clone a human is sinful, but is the result a sin?"

His eyebrows raised in surprise, there had been enough flags that many of her earlier confessions had not truly surprised him, but this one had not been expected. "A clone would have no part in whatever sin their creation might be, the sin is in creating life outside of the bonds of family and holy matrimony. Some theologians caution, however, that the danger in such unnatural works is that they might not truly be people. But even so, just as an animal cannot sin, neither could a being without a soul.

For myself, however, I believe a clone would have its own soul, just as identical twins do. The error would be in believing the clone to be a true copy of the original." He shook his head ruefully, "Folly, life is sacred because of the uniqueness of our souls. Genetics counts for very little in comparison."

"All right: ideas. Anything you got. Just throw them on the table," Whippoorwill said to Matrix and her best friend and weapons designer, Whetstone. Wingblade was currently in a wind tunnel, clocking a new top speed and now going for an endurance record after enduring a grueling morning and afternoon of tests and examinations. Even employing the most sophisticated sensors and diagnostic equipment, Shayera was not exhibiting the slightest hint of control. Furthermore, nothing indicated that she was recording or transmitting any sort of data like the old 'model.' "Why do this? Why give her back to us? It's gotta be some kind of Trojan horse, right? What are we missing?"

Matrix's emotionless eyes turn to regard the veteran Defender. "I've detected nothing to indicate Subject Wingblade to be a mole. Psychological profile and brain scan are similarly identical with what is on file. With one exception."

Whippoorwill nods. She knew. "Increased positive emotional responses," she says, wondering why that bothered her so much. Wingblade had been emotionally stunted when she first found her. That was to be expected from a being grown in a lab to be an emotionless killer. She had made incredible progress, developing the empathy required to be an actual super hero rather than someone who liked to do violence with government approval. She hated those types, moreso than the actual villains, usually.

No, this indicated that the introduction of these childhood memories of her "father" was actually improving Wingblade's overall emotional health. Given how she had so vehemently defended her father against Bran's confrontation, somehow her mind had wholly embraced the fiction that she had a supportive, loving parent during her time at the lab.

Hence, the question of, "why?" that was bugging her so much. Why do this? Why do this, and give her back to us? Was it really so that we'll stay away from this man?

"Well," Whetstone offered in his simple, easygoing tone, "if I was a villain and I wanted to get you all twisted into knots, I'd do something nice for you."

Whip arches an eyebrow at him severely. "You're paranoid. And I can't say that that's a bad thing for you to be," he holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Goodness knows you've saved more people than I can count by being prepared for every crazy scenario that pops into your head. And you don't watch popular culture, which is doubly impressive," he says with a grin.

"But the one thing that gets you wound up tighter than an eight-day clock is something without a motive. This man, he knows enough about you that you'll see through almost any ruse. So, he gives you something you can't figure out: No ruse at all."

Whippoorwill hugs herself as she thinks on that. She looks deeply uncomfortable. It's possible, she decides, but better to keep looking.

"Is that the best we've got? The only reason he did it, is to be nice?"

"That, and his stated objective to keep you from moving against him directly," Matrix adds.

Whippoorwill pinches her brow. Is it that simple? This was going to give her a lot of sleepless nights dreading when the other shoe will drop. She looks back at the readouts, showing Wingblade had reached her old endurance limits and showed little sign of exhaustion.

"We can rebuild her. Better, stronger, faster," Whetstone mutters under his breath.

"Huh?"

Whetstone was spared from having to explain his pop culture reference because Matrix alerts them both to a stretch limousine that just appeared outside of the Defenders HQ building.

Finished with her shower and throwing on some exercise sweats, Wingblade heads out of Defenders HQ flanked by Whippoorwill and one of Matrix's drones to confront the limousine occupants. The driver is a thick-necked brute stuffed into a designer business suit wearing black sunglasses. The rail-thin man in the back is in a similarly expensive suit, but a pristine white.

"Ah, good," the man in the white suit says. "My name is Benedict, and I'm here on behalf of Miss Wingblade's father to take her to her new home."

"My what?" Wingblade asks.

"Her what?" Whippoorwill asks simultaneously.

Benedict smiles unctuously. "Her new home. Her father has gone to considerable lengths to procure her an ideal apartment suited to her unique needs and talents. It's his understanding that her old place suffered an unfortunate collapse."

Whippoorwill narrows her eyes and grinds her teeth. Wingblade's eyes go wide. The two exchange a look.

"Okay," Wingblade says and moves to enter the limo.

"I don't know about--" Whippoorwill starts, then cuts herself off when her protege starts to get in. Her lips press together tightly. "All right, then. There's room enough for all of us?"

"Of course," Benedict says, who waits for Matrix and Whippoorwill to enter the limo after Wingblade.

The inside of the limousine is exquisite beyond compare and roomy enough even for vaguely claustrophobic winged fliers to not feel cramped. Benedict opens up a small refrigerator that contains a variety of root beers and other non-alcoholic drinks. Wingblade samples a few under the vaguely disapproving eyes of Whippoorwill while the limousine winds through downtown Halcyon City.

The limo pulls into an underground garage beneath one of the largest skyscrapers of the city and past a highly-secure checkpoint without needing to stop. More beefy men in extremely fine suits open the doors and escort everyone to the bank of elevators.

The elevator doors open to revealing the Man in the White Coat, smiling his oily smile, and bathed in the rich light of the gold-trimmed compartment. Wingblade brightens even further, while Whippoorwill turns icy cold. Matrix regards everything dispassionately.

"Wingblade, welcome to what I hope you will consider to be your new home. Come on in. I had heard your old place suffered an... incident during your convalescence."

"My what?" Wingblade asks.

"When you were getting better," Whip says, not taking her eyes off the man.

Benedict places his hands on the shoulders of the two winged heroes and escorts them inside the elevator. Wingblade looks around. "Where are all the buttons?" she asks.

The Man in the White Coat simply smiles and leans down. "It's all voice-activated. Completely secure. Just say, 'Home'."

She glances to Whippoorwill, who is looking like she ate something that disagreed with her. "Okay," she says, moistening her lips. "Home." The elevator immediately begins to move upward at a pace that would cause the stomach to flip of most humans, though the two heroes are unphased. Benedict looks uncomfortable, but the Man in the White Coat shows no sign of discomfort.

After a brief but rapid transport, the elevator slows and stops. The doors part, opening into a massive, open penthouse suite. Glass and chrome dominate, letting in the brilliant midday sun into the three-level suite that puts Whippoorwill's to shame.

The elevator opens to a hardwood floor at the lowest level of the suite. One side is completely open air rising up all three levels while the other area is sectioned off with paper wall partitions. Modern steps go up to a middle floor with a huge kitchen and dining room. The upper level is an entertainment area with large, comfortable couches arrayed around a massive flat screen and bank of computer displays. A balcony opens up to a dazzling view of Uptown Halcyon City and gives her an easy way to fly into action.

Where Whippoorwill's penthouse featured a high ceiling and an array of acrobatics bars for her to practice her maneuverability, this suite has... art. Hanging from the ceiling is an assortment of geometric shapes that can serve the same purpose as an obstacle course, but is also a brilliant display of modern art.

Benedict slides the partition open to reveal a luxurious bedroom. The bed is sized less for a king and more for an emperor. Beyond that is a bathroom with more square footage than modest three-bedroom houses. Another door opens into a walk-in closet could be best measured in acreage. Within is a massive assortment of high fashion outfits, skirts, dresses, slacks, blouses and shoes.

Wingblade is agape for the duration of the tour. Whippoorwill looks sick. Matrix emotionlessly assesses the penthouse and its features.

"This. Is. Amazing!" Wingblade shouts as she launches into the air and dives into the suspended modern art structure. She weaves into and out of it, managing to avoid hitting any of the pieces until the very end, when her wing catches one of the geometric shapes sending a spray of sparks down on everyone below. She drops down and lands heavily on the lower floor. "Sorry. Is it all right?" she asks, looking up.

The Man in the White Coat smiles. "It should be. It's made of the strongest alloys." He then gives Wingblade a lanyard and tablet. "You're enrolled in school already. I've contracted a fashion consultant to arrive each morning to coordinate your outfits, so you can look your best. Each evening, a classically-trained chef will prepare your supper."

Wingblade's eyes, already bulging, nearly drop out of her skull. "Really?!? That's amazing!" She looks down at the lanyard and the excitement fades immediately. "Wait. 'Halcyon Preparatory Academy?' What's this?"

"Only the most prestigious private school in Halcyon," Benedict says snootily. "It's practically impossible to become enrolled in the middle of the semester like this."

Wingblade frowns. "But-- but I want to go back to Halcyon High."

The Man in the White Coat tilts his head. "But this is the absolute best school in the Western hemisphere. Wouldn't you want to go to the best?"

Wingblade looks up at him, meeting his eyes. Whippoorwill stays silent, studying the interplay between the two.

"Not really. I'd rather go to school with my friends."

The man stares at her for a moment, silent. Finally, he nods once. "All right. If that's what you wish."

Kenneth groaned slightly as his alarm went off. 5 AM on a Saturday was typical for him, but after the night's activities he had trouble forcing himself up. Staggering to his dresser, he pulled out a tank top and shorts, preparing for his morning run.

After assessing himself in the mirror, he added a sweatshirt. His legs were fine, but several bruises covered his arms. Between being tossed about by Skuld's impromptu tornado and attempting to get past Scythe's guard, he was left with several sore and painful reminders of the league he would be playing in. Grabbing his phone, earbuds and a water bottle, Kenneth left the house and hopped in his car, making the short trip to Halcyon High.

Technically, the campus was closed, but he wouldn't be the only one to use the school track for exercise today. Putting in his earbuds, he began jogging the loop, his body falling into a pattern he had trained so often it took no thought to maintain. As he ran, his eyes unfocused while the voice of his math teacher played in his ears, "Settle down. I know its Friday and you don't want to be here..."

The voice acted as a mnemonic. Kenneth didn't need to hear the calculus lecture a second time. In fact, he hadn't needed to hear it the first time, but the sounds triggered the images and sensations of that Friday class. In his mind, he could see the anatomy book he had been reading that day, each word as clear as if the page was in front of him. Instead though, his focus was on his sense of touch, his fingers playing steadily across the second book in Braille sitting in his lap. The Long Term Effects of Combat Sports on Empowered and Unempowered Bodies... well this should be pleasant reading.

***

Entering the kitchen, fresh from showering off the sweat of his morning routine, Kenneth grabbed a stack of papers from a tray with his name on it. Each member of the family had a tray, though the other two were empty, his father's stack currently being rifled through at the breakfast table and his mother's presumably wherever she was. They each had news aggregators that printed articles for them to peruse over breakfast. They could have used some type of app, but they all agreed there was just something about having it in your hand.

Making a bowl of cereal, Kenneth sat down across from his father. The family resemblance between the two was striking. Dr. Gray had the same short black hair as his son, but with sprinkles of gray coming in, and the facial features were similar but with more smile lines and wrinkles. He looked old for a man in his forties, but his eyes shown with an intensity and livelihood of a much younger man. "Did you see, Kenneth? That company I interviewed with a while back, Reaver Technologies, got broken into last night."

"No, really? Well it's a good thing you took the job at the hospital then. You're probably happier there too. Actually, speaking of jobs, is there any way I could make some extra money? There's a multitool I wanted to buy."

Dr. Gray's handful of pages came down at that remark. "Really? What's wrong with the one you have?"

Images of a windy rooftop and angry guards popped into Kenneth's mind. "Ummm well nothing, it's just, I've lost it. I think it fell out of my bag somewhere at school."

*sigh*"You have to take better care of your things. Well, they're always looking for more volunteers at the hospital. Come by after lunch, I'll let the nurses know you're coming and they should have some filing or something for you to do. Do a good four hours and we should be able to work something out."

The door to the garage/Mrs. Gray's workshop opened and Kenneth's mother popped her head in. A stark contrast to the men, her round face was framed by the bright red hair that had fallen out of her pony tail and currently had a surprising amount of grease on it. "Oh Kenny, good your back. Could you come out here and give me a hand, this is really a job for two people and your father's already dressed for work."

Looking down at the collared plaid shirt he'd put on to hide his bruises, Kenneth shrugged and got up to follow her. "Sure, mom. And thanks dad, I'll be there!"

***

Leaving the hospital that evening, Kenneth felt conflicted. He knew Finn volunteered there regularly, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to talk to his friend yet, but since the other boy didn't show up, he felt like he'd missed a chance too.

He'd parked several blocks from Halcyon General rather than pay for parking. The area around the hospital, particularly in this direction, was in decline. While the hospital itself was inviolate, supers had a tendency to have drag-out battles leading up to and away from it, which drove down property values.

Approaching his car, Kenneth glanced around in an habitual act of surveillance. Just as he was about to step into his car, he noticed a young woman, professionally dressed, cut through an alley. What is she... oh, well this should be interesting. As if on command, two unsavory looking men stepped out of a nearby doorway and followed the young woman.

Following the dangerous procession, a smile unconsciously crossed his face as Apex pulled on his mask.

Finally getting some time to decompress, Skuld enjoyed a bath.

She had always found the hot water to be the perfect place to give over her strong emotions to, allowing the heat to drain it away.

Once she had bathed, she wrapped herself in a pair of towels and sat on the bed, opening the case of runestones from one of the pouches on her armor's belt and arranging them in a specific order to form words, which would be etched onto a tablet in Asgard that would be taken to her grandfather and father to read.

To the Noble House of Odin, Allfather and protector of the Aesir,
I give hearty greetings and pray that hearth and home are well, and
the mead flows in the longhouses. I am of sound mind and my sword
arm is strong.

I have one question: can I die?

Having sent the message, Skuld put away her runestones and picked out what she would wear tomorrow. Once that was done, she sat brushing her hair while she used the computer to look at the mortal rites for challenging another suitor for one being wooed.

As she had expected, there was a tradition of swordfighting between two suitors, although she could not find any stories of how such traditions were handled when the suitors were mixed sexes.

Reading on, she was disappointed to learn that such practices had fallen out of favor, yet there was nothing that really took their place.

This Google oracle then suggested that she might mean something called Romantic Comedies.

Looking through the records, Skuld became increasingly angry at the mortal world: where were the stories of two men that wed? or two women? Did mortals truly not have respect for any mating but that which produced offspring? what about love?

Skuld resolved to ask someone else about this the next day, and she had just the person in mind...

"This is Abacus, your new supercomputer," the Man in the White Coat says as he waves his hand toward the large bank of computer screens on the upper level. "Abacus is capable of 98.7 petaflops, and can provide up to eight billion computing hours for your crime-fighting efforts," he says.

"That... sounds really impressive," Wingblade says.

"It is," Matrix confirms.

The protege looks to her "father" and throws up her hands. "This is all so cool, but you don't have to do all this," she tells him. Whippoorwill finds herself nodding vigorously.

The man looks at her seriously. "It's the least I can do, since you're becoming a great superhero. Wouldn't you agree that the best heroes deserve the best equipment?" He hits a button and the floor opens at the lowest level, revealing a state-of-the-art chem lab and a full medical suite.

Wingblade gawks, along with Whippoorwill. Matrix's eyes glitter. "That's-- I don't even know how to work any of that!" she exclaims to her father.

"You'll learn. I don't want you to lack for anything," the Man in the White Coat says with his satisfied smile.

Whippoorwill stares at him hard. "A full chemistry and medical lab? What do you expect her to do?" she asks harshly.

He turns to her with that oily expression. "I trust that you've been teaching her in the full panoply of heroics. That means not just 'punching' the bad guys, but also doing the necessary legwork to identify them?" Whippoorwill seethes.

"Wow, this stuff's incredible," Wingblade says as she peruses the labs.

"I'll have one of our topmost forensic chemists visit to teach you the best uses for this equipment," the Man in the White Coat says. "In the meantime, here, you should have this." He hands her a necklace with a small runestone at the center of a simple silver chain. He also gives her a plastic card with a magnetic strip.

Wingblade looks at both with interest, while Whippoorwill narrows her eyes suspiciously.

"The necklace is something our mystical research team created. It's a glamour; you wear it and it disguises your wings from perception. You could wear simple gym sweats and no one would notice your wings. The card will access your spending account. Should there be anything you still need."

Wingblade's jaw drops and she doesn't bother to close it when she considers the two additional gifts. She throws the charm over her head and just as promised, the metallic wings on her back shimmer and disappear. "Wow! They're invisible! And way better than the harness!"

Her 'father' smiles again at her pleasure.

She next goes over to the supercomputer and sticks the card into a reader. The screens come to life, and one of them shows a numerical figure.

"Wait. There has to be some mistake. There's at least three extra zeroes here," Wingblade says, scarcely believing the reported account balance.

The Man in the White Coat smiles again. "No mistake. I just want to make sure you don't lack for anything."

"Shayera," Whippoorwill says softly but insistently. "There's almost never any need for that kind of cash."

Wingblade blinks in astonishment one more time, then looks at her mentor. "I can kind of see that. But why not use it if you've got it? Dad's giving it to me to use for good," she says.

Whippoorwill grinds her teeth and says nothing more on the topic.

"Getting you re-enrolled back into Halcyon High will be of little difficulty," the Man in the White Coat interjects. "Perhaps you would be best suited to assess what you need additional tutoring in, and take the steps needed to graduate on time?"

"Yeah, okay," Wingblade agrees. "Can I stay here?" she turns to her mentor after a bit of thought and noticing her deep discomfort.

"All right," Whippoorwill says after a moment where it looked like she swallowed a bug. "As long as you use it for good, right?" she says pointedly.

Bronwyn's rituals started well before a meet.

The night before, her bright yellow duffel (the black one Shayera'd given her was definitely higher quality, but was way too easy to lose in a crowd) was already packed and double checked. Homework (Latin and Chem), her uniform, extra shorts, extra shoes, extra spikes (for all her different events), extra deodorant, extra- really extra anything cloth, mineral, or chemical she might end up wearing, and a wrench to get 'em on!

She had her cooler already in the fridge with a bunch of little half-sandwiches (extra in case someone got particularly hungry), War Paint makeup ready on her vanity, and that was all before dinner with her papá, baked potatoes (only his was fully loaded, but there were two of them for Bronwyn), some grilled asparagus, and a couple lean steaks.

The next morning, a dawn run of just under a mile, then a hot shower, and straight into sweats to keep the heat in. All that was followed up by a breakfast of waffles with peanut butter and banana, and daubs of black and yellow makeup for her War Paint, and she was ready to head out.

Her papá was driving today (tomorrow she'd catch a ride with Ronnie), and after a few stops to pick up assorted track brats as well as a long suffering Mary-Beth with a backpack bulging with books, they were on their way.

It was a familiar routine, she kinda wished it still helped.

Ever since she'd gotten her powers, a meet like this was an exercise in control, showing some improvement, but not too much, trying to strike the balance between not using her gifts to beat a bunch of girls who were, after all, only human, but not just ceding the field when she knew she could do better, even without her powers!

***

During their warmup before the 100 meter hurdles, she carefully eyed her teammates to see who was at their top form. Ronnie, she thought, picking the racer she was going to lose to.

A part of her wished she could have just kept those power-dampening shackles from Reaver, but she wasn't really sure they had people's long-term health in mind when they designed them, and even if they'd been a bit more subtle, there was no jewelry allowed at the meet today.

Which was why Gae-Dearg wasn't on her wrist, stashed instead in a hidden pocket in her duffel.

She still really didn't like that, but the idea of leaving it at home where she wouldn't be able to get Bran at all spooked her worse.

She couldn't quite talk herself out of her nervousness, so she distracted herself instead, looking out to see her papá waving proudly, Mary-Beth sitting next to him with her nose buried in a book, with maybe half an ear out for the start of one of Bronwyn's events. No Eli though. He'd barely missed a meet before, but it wasn't that she was surprised to see that he was missing, just... it felt like he still should be.

HND MT HRD RCR, FV MNTS TYR MRX The call came out over the loudspeaker for her first event (in a credible impression of one of Charlie Brown's teachers), so she helped gather up the rest of her team (helped by their own bright yellow), swapped her trainers for spikes, and shucked off her warmup layers til she was down to her uniform top and briefs.

It's not really a competition, she reminded herself, but as she stepped up to her starting block she couldn't help but break out into a fierce grin.

Let's go.

Kenneth turned away from the concessions stand and grimaced at the hot dog and nachos in his hands. These look disgusting, who actually eats this stuff? Making his way into the stands though he acknowledged the benefit of his unfortunate meal. Much of the crowd was separated into groups, family and friends of the competitors. The track meet was still a popular event, but it didn't have the same draw as something like football or basketball, and solitary members of the crowd stood out more. Hence the cheese-coated urban camouflage.

Kenneth had taken to attending as many of the school sporting events as he could, trying to keep an eye out for any budding superheroes... or supervillains for that matter. Officially, anyone with powers wasn't supposed to compete, but he knew that the arrogance of youth would encourage most teens who had suddenly developed super strength to use it to dunk on their rivals. It would encourage most adults too, but they would have more difficulty getting away with it.

Besides, while he didn't think they were all that special, Kenneth knew that events like this were high-stress competitions that the competitors invested with significant importance. In other words, the perfect catalyst to awaken superpowers.

Settling in near the top of the bleachers, a smile crossed his face as he caught sight of another solo attendee. The middle aged man was a little overdressed for the event and seemed to be splitting his attention between intense focus on the athletes and playing with his phone, clearly a talent scout. Well, I guess that makes two of us.

"Six weeks!?! I've been out of school for six freaking weeks?!?"

"Five. You missed the week-long season break," Benedict corrects Wingblade, who rolls her eyes. "You really should consider attending the academy, Li Xiu. It's far more prestigious. And you're already behind."

"Call. Me. Shayera," Wingblade says through a face she's trying to keep motionless while Miss Tiffany Yincy applies foundation and powders.

Benedict sighs, though his posture remains upright and proper. "Li Xiu, you have just returned from China where you were traveling with your father for the last six weeks. 李秀英, Li Xiu Ying, is your real name. 'Shayera' is just some name you pulled out of a hat. It's not a Chinese name."

Wingblade tries to shake her head but is prevented by the viselike grip of the cosmetologist. "It's stupid. Half the school probably knows I'm Wingblade -- I go away, Shayera goes, I'm back, Shayera's back. Changing my name to Li Xiu and saying I was in China isn't going to fool anyone."

"The preparatory academy is looking better and better, is it not?"

"Gaah! Shut up about the stupid academy." She claims her face from Miss Yincy and throws up a manicured hand to keep her at bay. "It's just a stupid track meet! Why go to all this trouble?"

The makeup artist tisks and shakes her head incredulously. "It's not trouble, it's fashion. Now hold still; I'm almost done. And pay attention since I won't be around to touch this up for you."

=====================

The twelve-cylinder engine roars like a wild, dangerous thing as the Aston Martin Vantage GT3 pulls into the drop-off zone, drawing the gawking stares of everyone within earshot. The passenger side door opens and someone steps out looking like she belongs on a high-fashion red carpet rather than a high school track meet. Knee-high designer boots stop just below a glimpse of bare thigh between the boots and the hem of a slate-gray skirt. Completing the ensemble is a fashionable cream-colored blouse and light blue scarf elegantly tied around her neck. A pair of sunglasses worth more than some entire wardrobes adorn her face.

The sunglasses hide much of her expression as she moves through the gates and studies the crowd in the bleachers. Finally, she seems to spot whoever it is that she's looking for, and moves gracefully up the steps.

She sits next to Kenneth Gray without hesitation. She smiles, extends her hand, and says, "Hi, Kenneth Gray, right? I don't think we ever met when I was here before. I'm Li Xiu Ying, but you can call me Shayera. I was told you're in the student tutoring corps? The guidance counselor said I should seek you out, since I need to get caught up."

Thankfully, hurdles wasn't the hardest event to fake. She just had to stay a couple strides behind Ronnie, and if she got ahead of herself, or if Ronnie took a tumble? She could just smack her knee on a hurdle, after all, what were they for if not to lose a little time?

She pushed off the starting block, stuttering one of her first strides to hit the first hurdle a little slower than she needed to 9 left. This was one of Ronnie's better events 8 left, and she'd expected to be able to log a 2nd place finish without attracting too much attention, or stealing Ronnie's glory. 7

But one of the girls from the Altamont Lions (from somewhere upstate, presumably Altamont) was clearly happy to take care of that for her. 6, 5

There wasn't really time to shift 4, 3, 2 tactics in a race like this, wasn't really a lot of time for tactics in the first place. 1

By the time you'd want to... 0
The race was done.

A lot of preparation and training went into those few seconds, but once they were done? A quick clasped hand of congratulations to your teammates, a nod of respect to the fastest, and then the cooldown. No real need for a snack after a race that short.

She had about an hour till her High Jump, which after her cooldown, meant she'd easily have a good 15 minutes before it was time to start warming up again. She didn't feel like forcing Mary-Beth or her papá to fake conversation about 17 seconds of hopping, so instead she angled her last few slow-speed drills to end over towards her bag, where some homework awaited her.

But then she saw Shayera, a strange shimmer hovering just above herwhere she sat on the bleachers. What did she do to her wings?"Track."
Whoa. Where did she get those clo-
"Track! Hey! Get out of the way!"

"Oh my God. Sorry, I- sorry!"

Narrowly avoiding getting run over by a knot of warming up decathletes, she plopped down safely out of the way to recollect herself.

Well. At least everyone's staring at me.

***

The High Jump wasn't too eventful. Getting to know exactly how high she was trying to jump made it really easy not to accidentally shatter any records. Nothing they'd try to jump was really outside of her capabilities, so all she had to do was catch an ankle at the wrong moment, and log a respectable but unremarkable meter and a half.

She didn't really want to talk scores yet. She'd been a relatively indifferent jumper before she'd gotten her gifts, so she was used to having a lot of ground to make up after the first couple events.

Happily, there was a lot more time between hopping around like a lunatic and finally getting to throw something, even if it was a shot put, so she grabbed a PB&J and sauntered over to the bleachers, trying to clear the much lower bar of being cooler than her earlier 'startled deer' performance.

Kenneth had to keep himself from jumping as the Asian girl sat next to him. He'd been so focused on the runners that he'd let his situational awareness lapse. There was something about the current girls' race that he couldn't quite put his finger.

Turning to the newcomer made it harder to keep his shock in check. This can't be a coincidence, after the Reaver job and the things Bran was saying. I'll have to take this very carefully.

"Didn't you die?" As soon as the words are out of his mouth, his eyes bulge as though he just realized what he said. "I'm so sorry that came out wrong. There was this rumor and you left right when they had the funeral for... I'm sorry Xiu Ying. Or is it Li Xiu? Does your family name come first or did you Americanize it for me, or you said Shayera. I'm sorry, let me start over, it's nice to meet you Shayera, I'm Kenneth." As the babbling let's up, Kenneth moves to shake her hand and then looks down, seeming to notice that his hand is now coated in Nacho cheese. Sometime in the midst of his verbal flailing he'd managed to place his hand directly in his chips.

Grabbing a napkin he quickly tries to wipe the cheese and chip residue off his hand muttering "Figures, first time a pretty girl talks to me and I..." Freezing, he looks back up and meekly says "Umm you said something about tutoring?"

The things I do for a cover identity.

Meanwhile:

"Ms. Odsdottir, I understand that you think being pretty makes you above all of these "mortal" concerns, but you must indeed still take Math. Here is your homework, and I expect it done by Friday."

Skuld looked at the truly prodigious stack of paper in front of her, and sighed when she realized that this would likely take all of her free time. Even through...Oh no, the Track meeting!

Skuld had the briefest of moments where she considered summoning a tornado to destroy the school, but the thought passed as quickly as it came.

Instead, she sighed and sent Bronwyn a text:

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 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 true to yourself. Do this and you will
never be defeated, even though a thousand foes
be arrayed against you.

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 the
'pix'...is that the correct word?