Avery stares up at the hero. A licensee in action, costume and all: kicking down doors, saying one-liners. All to save her from... no one anymore. From anyone to begin with, if Thea is telling the truth.
In what should be a moment of relief comes an onslaught of questions. Worried questions. Spawned by her habit of blurring past one catastrophe in search of the next. Am I going to have to pay a bill or something? How much does a rescue even cost? Shit, this is my first year paying taxes. Are rescues tax-deductible?
Avery doesn't ask any of those, opting to keep them prisoner within her oxygen starved mind. She sucks in an unsteady breath. "Why did it take you so long to get here? Is the ambulance close?"
Scrypher moves her head, but barely: a centimeter up and to the right. She probably has a clock in here. "No. It's only been five minutes since you made the call and we were on-site within three; that's more than acceptable." Scrypher says, reaching a hand into the breast of her trench coat. "Medics will arrive momentarily. Before they do, could you tell me who's hiding behind that desk with you?"
Avery shifts her body to better see Thea past the chair and her own raised legs. "How did you kn—"
Her words fizzle out.
The face of the anxious priest from earlier is gone. Stricken with hollow, unmoving eyes. A painting that depicts a visage of utter defeat. Hopelessness given form through muscles, fat, and whatever eyes are made of.
It's a feeling so pure — so raw — that its infectious. Memories flash through Avery's mind: every time her parents encouraged her; each move from home to dorm, reinforcing the passage of years. How stagnant it all made her feel. How it still makes her feel, just remembering all that time spent on a path she never wanted to walk.
On the desk above, the cat circles once. "Meow."
Thea blinks. The hopeless gaze disappears and she looks around aimless, almost as if she's taking in an unfamiliar sight. Until her eyes lock on Avery's. She smiles. A broken smile, but nonetheless genuine.
Light flickers; a couple clouds darting past the moon. Some moment in that flash of darkness, Thea looked away to plant plants the tip of her cane on the carpet in front of her. She utters a barely audible whisper. "Now or later, I guess."
She climbs, a trembling skyscraper that defies all reason. Rising higher and higher. Up past the lip of the desk—
Scrypher whips out a revolver and levels it in Thea's direction. "No sudden moves!"
Impulse blazes through Avery's body faster than her thoughts: an instinctive fear that tingles over her scalp and screams at her to run. She hefts her head off the carpet and angles it behind Valerie's desk, using it as cover. "Whoa!" Pain flares inside her shoulder. "Euh — what are you doing? Put that away!"
Scrypher brings her head inline with the revolver's iron sights. "Not until I know who that is. Spit it out, then."
Compassion muddles the fear inside Avery's chest with a sprig of uncertainty. And a sensation that's hard to place. An odd push; the twist of a nerve; a wrongness that eats at the center of her stomach and mind. What is she going to do to Thea when she finds out? Does Thea deserve it?
The pressure of alignments. Of good and evil; of law and chaos; of apathy. Easy apathy.
Stuck in the middle of a squat, Thea struggles to stand on trembling legs. Lodged between her newfound courage and a desire to not be sent heavenward. Tears surge down her face, through canyons and cliffs. Skiing down her nose's bridge; slipping through the cracks in tightened lips; and falling off her jaw to plop onto the carpet with a muted thud. She digs nails into her cane, leaving shallow gouges behind. "I—I'm s-sorry. My n-name is T-the—"
Don't. You'll get us—
At that moment, something materializes in Avery's core. An urge as clear as crystal. She unfurls from behind the desk, landing in full view of Scrypher and her revolver. "T-Thea. She's Thea."
"Okay. And why is she here? I can come up with a few reasons for you, but none for her." Scrypher says.
"I..." Avery scrambles for words. "T-this area is scary at night, so she said she'd come with me. I'm lucky she was awake or I— well, I don't know what would have happened on my own." She says.
"You too? Flimsy, but I'll play along. Let's get this out of the way while you're talking: what's an intern doing here after-hours?"
Flimsy? Come up with something else! She doesn't believe you and now you're going to get caught up in all this. Does prison sound fun?
She forces words out as they come to her, past grasping tendrils trying to wrestle them away. "I-I wanted to check on one of my tanks. The one in the Hall of Discovery, with the tetras and angelfish and all them."
"It couldn't have waited until tomorrow?"
"Well, i-it could have. Maybe. Caring for animals isn't always clear cut. I just wanted to be sure. This kid lost control of their power and threw things around and I couldn't get it off my mind... like, what if the tank was damaged, or a fish was injured and I didn't notice earlier, or maybe I —"
"Okay, I get it. I don't need a whole book about it. Your being here doesn't matter." Scrypher tips her head toward the cat — toward the priest and past the cat, rather. "All I need to figure out is why Thea there came with you. Or if you're lying for some reason. Hey, Thea. Listen carefully and do exactly as I say. Raise your hands above the desk so I can see them. Nice and slow, yeah?"
In a raucous shlorping that's enough to make whoever hears it queasy, Thea snuffles. "Uu-umm, I t-think I may f-fall over if I can't l-lean on my c-cane."
"Then sit down first."
"Really? Is that f-fine?"
"Yes, just do it. Quick. But keep it slow."
Thea gulps. "O-okay. I'm going to s-sit down now." She lowers herself to her knees. No gunshot.
If Avery's heart had fingernails it'd be biting them. She might be doing it herself, but the gnawing in her heart freezes her in place. Unwilling to tip the scales of tension so delicately balanced between hero and priest.
Careful to never outpace a glacier, Thea drops the cane beside her and raises trembling hands. "Is that g-good enough?"
Something tickles the back of Avery's brain: a swelling dizziness that floats inside her eyes. "Guh. Ugh." The scream of danger goes quiet and her head thuds back to the carpet. So nauseous...
Scrypher lets her shoulder's relax. "Sure. Any powers that would—"
Thea crams her eye's shut and blurts words at the wall. "I can smell sin."
Nothing on the outside of Scrypher's mask changes, but harshness tints her voice. Like she's forcing it through clenched teeth. "I suppose that answers what I was going to ask good enough. Let me finish—"
"They smell like flowers and berries."
"Enough. I'm trying to follow policy here and you're making that difficult."
Thea pins her lips between her teeth and talks through the corners of her mouth. "Oh, s-sorry. Sorry."
Scrypher slips one leg forward, out from underneath her trench coat. "Now, if everyone can stay nice and calm, I'm just going to—"
As the sole of her heeled boot touches carpet, an odd sensation interrupts her words. A hitch. Then another, like time played a quick game of hopscotch. Over fast enough to chalk up to two mistimed blinks.
Nausea hiccups to the center of Avery throat; she dry heaves. The world spins, swirling around her at impossible speeds. What? What was that? What's going on?
"I'm just going to ease around the desk." Scrypher continues, unfazed.
Avery fans out her good arm, searching for steadier purchase. "You — guh — you didn't feel that?"
"Feel what?" Scrypher pivots around the desk, getting a full view of the two women cowering behind it. She stares down at Avery. "You're a mess. What did you do?"
There's silence. Staring. No on moving except for Thea's raised and trembling hands. Then, within a moment, everything erupts: people in navy blue uniforms pour into the room, Thea collapses forward, clutching her chest, and — before passing out — Avery pukes.
She pukes everywhere.
Avery stares up at the hero. A licensee in action, costume and all: kicking down doors, saying one-liners. All to save her from... no one anymore. From anyone to begin with, if Thea is telling the truth.
In what should be a moment of relief comes an onslaught of questions. Worried questions. Spawned by her habit of blurring past one catastrophe in search of the next. Am I going to have to pay a bill or something? How much does a rescue even cost? Shit, this is my first year paying taxes. Are rescues tax-deductible?
Avery doesn't ask any of those, opting to keep them prisoner within her oxygen starved mind. She sucks in an unsteady breath. "Why did it take you so long to get here? Is the ambulance close?"
Scrypher moves her head, but barely: a centimeter up and to the right. She probably has a clock in here. "No. It's only been five minutes since you made the call and we were on-site within three; that's more than acceptable." Scrypher says, reaching a hand into the breast of her trench coat. "Medics will arrive momentarily. Before they do, could you tell me who's hiding behind that desk with you?"
Avery shifts her body to better see Thea past the chair and her own raised legs. "How did you kn—"
Her words fizzle out.
The face of the anxious priest from earlier is gone. Stricken with hollow, unmoving eyes. A painting that depicts a visage of utter defeat. Hopelessness given form through muscles, fat, and whatever eyes are made of.
It's a feeling so pure — so raw — that its infectious. Memories flash through Avery's mind: every time her parents encouraged her; each move from home to dorm, reinforcing the passage of years. How stagnant it all made her feel. How it still makes her feel, just remembering all that time spent on a path she never wanted to walk.
On the desk above, the cat circles once. "Meow."
Thea blinks. The hopeless gaze disappears and she looks around aimless, almost as if she's taking in an unfamiliar sight. Until her eyes lock on Avery's. She smiles. A broken smile, but nonetheless genuine.
Light flickers; a couple clouds darting past the moon. Some moment in that flash of darkness, Thea looked away to plant plants the tip of her cane on the carpet in front of her. She utters a barely audible whisper. "Now or later, I guess."
She climbs, a trembling skyscraper that defies all reason. Rising higher and higher. Up past the lip of the desk—
Scrypher whips out a revolver and levels it in Thea's direction. "No sudden moves!"
Impulse blazes through Avery's body faster than her thoughts: an instinctive fear that tingles over her scalp and screams at her to run. She hefts her head off the carpet and angles it behind Valerie's desk, using it as cover. "Whoa!" Pain flares inside her shoulder. "Euh — what are you doing? Put that away!"
Scrypher brings her head inline with the revolver's iron sights. "Not until I know who that is. Spit it out, then."
Compassion muddles the fear inside Avery's chest with a sprig of uncertainty. And a sensation that's hard to place. An odd push; the twist of a nerve; a wrongness that eats at the center of her stomach and mind. What is she going to do to Thea when she finds out? Does Thea deserve it?
The pressure of alignments. Of good and evil; of law and chaos; of apathy. Easy apathy.
Stuck in the middle of a squat, Thea struggles to stand on trembling legs. Lodged between her newfound courage and a desire to not be sent heavenward. Tears surge down her face, through canyons and cliffs. Skiing down her nose's bridge; slipping through the cracks in tightened lips; and falling off her jaw to plop onto the carpet with a muted thud. She digs nails into her cane, leaving shallow gouges behind. "I—I'm s-sorry. My n-name is T-the—"
Don't. You'll get us—
At that moment, something materializes in Avery's core. An urge as clear as crystal. She unfurls from behind the desk, landing in full view of Scrypher and her revolver. "T-Thea. She's Thea."
"Okay. And why is she here? I can come up with a few reasons for you, but none for her." Scrypher says.
"I..." Avery scrambles for words. "T-this area is scary at night, so she said she'd come with me. I'm lucky she was awake or I— well, I don't know what would have happened on my own." She says.
"You too? Flimsy, but I'll play along. Let's get this out of the way while you're talking: what's an intern doing here after-hours?"
Flimsy? Come up with something else! She doesn't believe you and now you're going to get caught up in all this. Does prison sound fun?
She forces words out as they come to her, past grasping tendrils trying to wrestle them away. "I-I wanted to check on one of my tanks. The one in the Hall of Discovery, with the tetras and angelfish and all them."
"It couldn't have waited until tomorrow?"
"Well, i-it could have. Maybe. Caring for animals isn't always clear cut. I just wanted to be sure. This kid lost control of their power and threw things around and I couldn't get it off my mind... like, what if the tank was damaged, or a fish was injured and I didn't notice earlier, or maybe I —"
"Okay, I get it. I don't need a whole book about it. Your being here doesn't matter." Scrypher tips her head toward the cat — toward the priest and past the cat, rather. "All I need to figure out is why Thea there came with you. Or if you're lying for some reason. Hey, Thea. Listen carefully and do exactly as I say. Raise your hands above the desk so I can see them. Nice and slow, yeah?"
In a raucous shlorping that's enough to make whoever hears it queasy, Thea snuffles. "Uu-umm, I t-think I may f-fall over if I can't l-lean on my c-cane."
"Then sit down first."
"Really? Is that f-fine?"
"Yes, just do it. Quick. But keep it slow."
Thea gulps. "O-okay. I'm going to s-sit down now." She lowers herself to her knees. No gunshot.
If Avery's heart had fingernails it'd be biting them. She might be doing it herself, but the gnawing in her heart freezes her in place. Unwilling to tip the scales of tension so delicately balanced between hero and priest.
Careful to never outpace a glacier, Thea drops the cane beside her and raises trembling hands. "Is that g-good enough?"
Something tickles the back of Avery's brain: a swelling dizziness that floats inside her eyes. "Guh. Ugh." The scream of danger goes quiet and her head thuds back to the carpet. So nauseous...
Scrypher lets her shoulder's relax. "Sure. Any powers that would—"
Thea crams her eye's shut and blurts words at the wall. "I can smell sin."
Nothing on the outside of Scrypher's mask changes, but harshness tints her voice. Like she's forcing it through clenched teeth. "I suppose that answers what I was going to ask good enough. Let me finish—"
"They smell like flowers and berries."
"Enough. I'm trying to follow policy here and you're making that difficult."
Thea pins her lips between her teeth and talks through the corners of her mouth. "Oh, s-sorry. Sorry."
Scrypher slips one leg forward, out from underneath her trench coat. "Now, if everyone can stay nice and calm, I'm just going to—"
As the sole of her heeled boot touches carpet, an odd sensation interrupts her words. A hitch. Then another, like time played a quick game of hopscotch. Over fast enough to chalk up to two mistimed blinks.
Nausea hiccups to the center of Avery throat; she dry heaves. The world spins, swirling around her at impossible speeds. What? What was that? What's going on?
"I'm just going to ease around the desk." Scrypher continues, unfazed.
Avery fans out her good arm, searching for steadier purchase. "You — guh — you didn't feel that?"
"Feel what?" Scrypher pivots around the desk, getting a full view of the two women cowering behind it. She stares down at Avery. "You're a mess. What did you do?"
There's silence. Staring. No on moving except for Thea's raised and trembling hands. Then, within a moment, everything erupts: people in navy blue uniforms pour into the room, Thea collapses forward, clutching her chest, and — before passing out — Avery pukes.
She pukes everywhere.
