5.10

5.10

Head still spinning from the interaction with the dog, thoughts and suspicions of a new power flooding through your mind, you made your way to your bedroom and tossed your helmet on the desk chair. You weren't going to be wearing it again that night, and it honestly needed another clean; the thing did a wonderful job of maintaining itself for the most part, with the exterior just as unblemished as the day you received it despite everything it had been through, and the interior padding was entirely intact and had somehow avoided picking up grunge from being pressed against your skin and wild hair all the time.

But that said nothing about the hair itself, which seemed to get caught up in the mechanisms that allowed it to latch and unlatch from time to time, and you had to spend ten minutes unwinding the strands from the metal. Somehow, it was able to get itself into miraculous messes despite absolutely no intervention from anything but circumstance.

Some things never made any sense.

You quickly got changed into a set of comfortable clothes, oversized and worn thin in places from a combination of age and budget fabrics. Perhaps you could have bought more – and indeed, you had bought a few more pieces of clothing, higher in quality, over the last few months, but there was something about the old classics that was hard to let go of. Even if you knew for a fact that they were worse by any objective measure.

Perhaps it was simply that they made you feel like yourself again. The new clothes were nice but they came from the time after you turned into Penumbra, and you spent so much time in costume that returning to something that was wholly Taylor felt reassuring in some ways. As though you weren't changing quite as much.

Shaking off the thoughtfulness, you looked at the clock – it was getting later in the afternoon, time approaching 5PM, and you made a judgement call. After a long day of trying new things and being unsettled, what problems could one new experiment make?

You had cooked before. Hundreds of times, meals for you and Dad. Most of the time though the things you made were pretty boring; soups, stews, toasted sandwiches, casseroles. Things where you could chop things into pieces and then throw them in a pot or a pan and let time do most of the work. Nothing wrong with that, and you always enjoyed the end result. But as therapeutic as slicing something into smithereens might have been, you knew that there was a whole world of cooking out there beyond your instincts and common sense, and given the almost meditative trance that preparing ingredients could be, you wondered if maybe cooking wasn't tailor made for you.

Quickly, you turned your computer on and waited for it to boot up, before logging online and searching.

Shopping hadn't been on either your mind or Dad's recently, what was the impending move to Atlanta and the seemingly endless list of things you had to get done before then, so you knew that you didn't have a huge range of ingredients just lying around in the kitchen. With that said, you knew that you did have at least some things – staples, of course, and a fridge with some decent fresh vegetables and meat. Ever since the Wards program had taken you on and begun supplying some support, along with the unquestionably useful money from the Winslow lawsuit, the Hebert household had been more well stocked than any time since before Mom had died.

The dark interim period filled with microwave meals and frozen pizzas was not to be spoken of again, to anyone.

Eventually you came across a dish that seemed both simple enough that someone without much experience beyond the basics could throw together, as well as which seemed to fit the kind of ingredients you felt were in the house.

Scribbling out a rough copy of the recipe, you padded downstairs in your bare feet and announced your presence in the kitchen by the slapping of skin on tile.

For the time being, it was empty. Dragging out some pots and a frying pan, you quickly filled one with two cups of rice before throwing in some water, and putting it on to boil, before assembling the fresh ingredients from their various places in storage; some seasoning jars and your chopping board added to the mix and you felt like the momentum was going well.

Frying rice first required cooking rice, which meant you couldn't really get on with the bulk of the cooking immediately, but you were able to do some preparation at least. Taking care not to accidentally slice the knife through the chopping board and the worktop, you quickly made your was through some vegetables – led by the champion combination of alliums, godsend of any dish – before separating them out into different bowls and placing them on the back of the counter ready for their usage.

Time seemed to pass quickly after that, as you worked on making sure that each step was followed according to your summary of the recipe as well as it could be, before cleaning up the majority of your preparation and putting things back away. Surprising Dad with something new for dinner wasn't exactly as welcome if it also came with an array of dishes for him to do. As delicious as you hoped the meal would be, it was hard to concentrate on flavour if the sink looked like a bomb site.

After it had finished cooking, you laid the rice out on a tray as thin as you could before throwing it into the freezer. The recipe had suggested the fridge, but the freezer would be quicker and you didn't see much of a difference in the long run. Balancing it so that the tray wouldn't slide off the frozen pizza rolls took a moment of your time but it was the kind of thing that could be done without even paying much attention.

As you engaged in your act of juggling, the front door opened and you heard footsteps, casting your gaze back over your shoulder and spitting out a loose strand of hair that had been caught in your mouth.

'Hi Dad,' you said.

'Hey.'

'How was work?'

'Good, good. Feels weird weird to be finishing up my last week ever, but things seem to be set up well. New contracts coming in now that the dock is cleared, we have you to thank for that.'

Responding in words seemed impossible, and so you settled for a sort of irregular motion halfway between waving him off and giving him a thumbs up. If he didn't know you so well, he might have taken it as a vaguely rude gesture but thankfully he seemed to take it well enough.

'I'm glad you don't have to leave things in a bad state.'

'I don't know if I could. Once you got things sorted though, well,' he sighed a little, and his tone was dramatic enough that you might have been fooled into believing the melancholy were it not for his visible smile. 'I guess they just don't need me anymore.'

Rolling your eyes, you bumped the freezer door with your hip, the gentle motion causing it to close with a tad more ferocity than you had expected, and you winced for a moment before stepping towards the sink, where you were able to pick up the draining cooking knife you had washed earlier and dry it before sliding open a draw to place it inside.

'Cooking?'

'Don't act like it's totally new,' you shrugged. 'I figured I would try out something new. Need to find some hobbies that don't involve beating up Nazis.'

Dad's conciliatory murmur told you that he definitely agreed, and he patted your shoulder before heading off upstairs. After getting home, he usually took a little time to himself to shower and get changed before coming back down for dinner and his timing was fairly predictable; with the short cooking time of the dish involved, you knew that you could get things done by the time he came down. With needing to wait a little for the rice to cool though, you weren't sure.

Things worked out, however. By the time Dad was coming back down the stairs, you were adding the finishing touches to the pan. The chicken thighs had cooked well enough – you hadn't seen any pink, at least, when you had been stirring around – and although ground ginger was certainly not the best substitute for fresh ginger, the spoonful you had tasted to check for seasoning was far from a disappointment.

Maybe cooking really was something you could pursue – it travelled well, after all, and you weren't going to find yourself suddenly cut off from a kitchen no matter where the PRT moved you.

Deciding not to waste anymore time, you portioned out two plates full and then sat them down on the table, Dad joining you shortly after, and the two of you wasted no time in beginning to eat. The quiet clicking of cutlery against crockery filled the air, and you were surprised at how well the food had turned out for your first time.

Eventually, the silence broke.

'Spoke to the boys today,' Dad said between bites. 'They said that I should stay late after work tomorrow. Some kind of goodbye get together since it's my last day. You okay with that?'

'Of course,' you said, not even considering why there might be an issue. 'I think there might be something similar going on with the Wards. Not sure yet, though.'

You hoped there was, as arrogant as that sounded, if only because if there wasn't then you had spent all that time working on your failed speech for absolutely nothing. On the flip side however, if there was no party perhaps you wouldn't be forced into making such a speech and inevitably embarrassing yourself.

Standing up in front of anyone and talking at length was bad enough, but imagining doing it in front of figures as characteristically prone to buffoonery as Clockblocker and maybe even Regent – it was, after all, he and Rachel's farewell too – felt like a step too far. A guarantee of mockery even if you managed to say things right by some miracle.

'I would hope so. They owe you a lot over there.'

'Not really,' you said, pushing your rice around on your plate. 'I think if someone has powers that's kind of not something they chose, and once you get them you have to do something. Not like I could just go out and start dealing drugs or something. Hero work is the only other major option.'

'Not true. Could have gone independent.'

At that, you shot him a look up through your brows. The rims of your glasses, something you didn't usually see from inside of Penumbra's mask, bisected him at the chest.

'Remind me how you would have felt about that?'

Stuffing his mouth with a forkful of chicken and dodging the question felt enough like concession for you, and you decided to rule the conversation as a victory from at least one perspective.

You let the silence sit for a moment or two while you ate. The table's network of scratches and wear suddenly became very interesting, and you allowed it to distract you for a moment. Nothing about the situation was tense or unpleasant, but there was the feeling of unspoken sentiment all around, and you weren't entirely sure what about. Did Dad think you resented him for his encouragement of the Wards? If so, you weren't sure the best way to let him know it was okay, especially since you hadn't acquiesced in the first place and despite his initial thoughts, he hadn't pushed. Even when you had joined, he was one of those who had been sure of you getting a good deal – even if Carol had a much larger role to play in that.

Suddenly, an idea came to you.

'When you do that thing tomorrow, are you going to give a speech?'

It was a long shot. Dad wasn't exactly the most verbose person around and although he was in a highly respected senior position at the DWA, it wasn't the most forward facing either. He had a lot of experience of talking with people, and had almost certainly spoken to crowds before, but he wasn't exactly a polished orator. Nevertheless, he definitely had more experience with it than you, and if he was preparing something to say then maybe he had a few ideas that he would be willing to spare.

'Probably not a speech. I'll have to say something though. Why?'

'Nothing too serious. Just,' you sat back in your seat, laying your fork down. 'I feel like I'll have to say something to and I have no idea what to say. Feels impossible to plan it out without feeling stupid.'

Scooping up another forkful of rice – why, you wondered, didn't we use a spoon for rice? - he chewed for a moment before setting his cutlery down too.

'Honestly, I don't think you should worry about it. Come up with a few things you want to mention but don't bother planning too much. You're a good talker, you'll come up with something that fits the mood at the time. And more importantly, you're fifteen. Everyone will be expecting you to just be straightforward with them, it's not like you're talking to the President. It's people you know, and people you're friends with. Besides, you're going to be back from time to time anyway. Why say goodbye if it isn't goodbye?'

You knew that he was right, but that didn't make it easier to dismiss the feeling that you had to prepare for something. Maybe you'd take his advice, but one last attempt at sketching an outline couldn't hurt anyone, right?

Friday, 15th April

That morning, you headed into the PRT early. You had spent the last half an hour before bed the previous night going over what few notes of your planned speech remained, one of Mom's books on writing propped open on a pillow to your side, and had made a few revisions. Nothing about it seemed good and the more you considered it the more Dad's idea of winging it with the skeleton of a plan appealed to you.

It was, after all, what you had been having the most success with as a cape; Coil's arrest had come largest through improvisation; you hadn't even known what was going on with Hookwolf when Vicky had put in the call and yet attending that fight had been incredibly important for you, and the entire final clash with the Empire had been a success driven almost entirely by Purity forcing your hand away from the plan. Even your march from the locker to the nurse's room had been spur of the moment.

By comparison, your attempts at formulaic plotting didn't seem to be coming to much success – the routine patrol with Regent and Skýla had led to you identifying but totally failing to thwart the Empire, and Vicky and Amy still weren't talking despite your plan to help her settle whatever issues Gallant had identified.

It was for that reason you had made your way into the PRT. While there was no guarantee that he would be there, it was apparently pretty common for Gallant to be present early in the morning even before school and if you had the opportunity to speak to him you could make some further enquiries.

Apparently, it wasn't particularly uncommon for Wards to be present before school in general. Kid Win was fiddling around with a piece of technology on the coffee table in the middle of the room and Vista, dressed in a mixture of civilian clothes and her costume – headgear on, but wearing jeans, of all things – was sat having what appeared to be a semi-reasonable conversation with Regent of all people.

Regent.

'Good morning.'

'Hi,' the crowned teen waved a hand, letting it drop back to his thigh with a thud, before continuing with his conversation. 'Anyway, yeah, if you want to skip then just skip. What are they going to say, you can't miss a day cause you're a hero? Total bullshit.'

'It's not skipping. Don't be dumb.'

You were lost.

'What's happening?'

'Pipsqueak here said school was a waste of time. Says she wishes she could just patrol instead. I told her to bunk off and go on patrol then, and she's whining about it.'

'It is not whining. It would just cause problems, anyone can see that.'

She was right, but Regent appeared unconvinced.

'Problems you could ignore. It's not like they're going to kick you off the Wards or something.'

'They might,' you interrupted. 'Or at least put her on some kind of reprimand status, or probation. Remember how you couldn't leave here until I got you cleared?'

He threw his hands up in exaggerated outrage. It may have been more convincing if he had bothered to go for more than chest height, but it appeared that the drama of the situation couldn't remove the instinctive laziness of the teenage mindset.

That you didn't recognise any such mindset in yourself meant nothing; you had long grown accustomed to the idea that you were weird and didn't quite do things normally. Usually, you just did them worse. That your powers were sufficiently strong as to make up for the trouble it took to get them was probably just the universe's way of giving back.

Pulsing coming from the web in your head wasn't necessarily the most reassuring response that such a thought could have generated.

'Why don't you go to school then?'

Vista's head spun and locked on you and you resisted the urge to throw Regent out of the window. While your contract had an awful lot of leeway built into it, you weren't sure that it covered impromptu defenestration as a punishment. Especially not against someone who, while clearly staunch enough for some basic combat, was otherwise built like an L. S. Lowry figure. Aegis might have survived a fall from a few floors up even without his powers – you'd seen his dense frame during martial arts training often enough to be sure of it. Regent was more like a whippet than a draft horse.

'I'm homeschooled. I still have to sit exams at a regular basis and complete homework, I can just tailor my own schedule. My Dad set it up for me.'

Any of the animating energy that had seemed to possess Vista slid away at that, and you couldn't help but feel a little for her. She was truly an excellent hero, not just for her age, and you understood the frustration she must have been feeling. If you hadn't been able to get homeschooling arranged and were forced to try and fit your life of heroism around Winslow's hours, you weren't sure how long you would have lasted before you found a way to get the entire building sucked into a wormhole.

As you were contemplating, Gallant walked in, wearing a helmet but otherwise dressed in casual clothing of the kind someone might wear to school; clearly in a similar position to Vista.

You imagined that they wouldn't even have worn that much in many instances, since you knew that most of the Wards – if not all of them – knew each other in their personal lives, but with both you and more importantly, Regent in the room there was some need for discretion.

Didn't stop it looking absolutely ridiculous, though.

Determining that he was of little risk to her, whether moral or otherwise, you decided to leave Regent to Vista's staunch repudiations. If he had approached her wondering if he could coax someone into a life of mischief, he had picked the wrong person – Vista's youth meant very little. He'd have had more luck with Clockblocker or maybe even Kid Win. Hell, he might have had more luck with Aegis than Vista, who seemed set to take Miss Militia's job from her the moment she was old enough to enter the Protectorate proper.

Instead, you approached Gallant and were able, after waiting a moment while he checked his bag over, to grab him for a brief conversation. He was clearly somewhat worried for time, and so you cut to the chase.

'How do I get Amy and Vicky speaking again?'

Drawing his head back in confusion, he took a moment before responding.

'They're still not talking at all? I thought Vicky spoke to her at the hospital.'

'I wouldn't call it a conversation. It was more like we ambushed her, and forced her to deal with it. They still barely talked to each other.'

Gallant didn't make a sound in response but there was a look in his eyes that said he was just about done with the particularities of this conflict. He was an empathetic person, and cared deeply about others – you could tell that much. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have gone out of his way to try and help Amy in the first place.

But there's only so much help you can give to someone who is determined not to be helped. At a certain point it stopped feeling like trying to give aid and more like a poorly disguised masochistic game.

Still, he hadn't reached quite that level of cynicism yet, because he spoke after just a moment of thought.

'Amy doesn't like the hospital. Not much, anyway. It's kind of like a job to her, rather than a passion. Confronting her with someone she's trying to avoid at a place she wouldn't really want to be won't be very helpful. Try getting them together somewhere they'll actually be in a positive environment.'

That made sense enough, though you weren't sure that you could think of such a spot. Your own house was out of the question, and it wasn't as though Amy was likely to come along if you tried to drag Vicky to Parian's again. You told him so.

'Look,' he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a resigned tone. 'We're doing a thing for you on Sunday. You must have figured that out by now. Just a gathering to see you off, since you leave Monday. If you can get Amy to come, I'll get Vicky to come along. They'll barely have to speak but they'll have to share space and Amy won't like it at first but she won't want to ruin it. Maybe the good mood will help her out. Sound good?'

You racked your brains to try and find any reason that the plan wouldn't work – other than the pure unluckiness of Amy's grump – and couldn't find one. It seemed as good as any other idea you'd had. Better, in some respects.

'That sounds like a plan, which is more than I've got. You speak to Vicky, I'll speak to Amy. Deal.'

Gallant nodded, before checking his bag again, and rushing himself off. Arcadia must have cared far more about attending on time than Winslow ever had, because the pseudo-tinker appeared startled by the concept of leaving later than intended. With what you needed arranged, you let him go.

You wasted very little time. Knowing that she attended Arcadia too, there was little change of a response from Amy in the immediate term, but you had to try – maybe she would get it during her lunch break. It was better than waiting until school was out and then taking a trip to the hospital, where she may not even have been volunteering that particular evening.

The phone came out, and you pulled up PHO.

Penumbra: Hey Amy, I'm not sure if you know but I'm leaving Brockton Bay next week for transfer. I figured maybe you had heard but I thought I would let you know in case you hadn't. There's going to be a little gathering with the Wards on Sunday, I was wondering you wanted to come. You wouldn't have to stay the entire time but I'd like to see you there.Click to expand...

Not a single lie told. You weren't even lying that you wanted to see her – for two unique reasons, at that. The first was the simple and practical reality that you wanted to have her relationship with Vicky on the mend as soon as possible. While Vicky was immensely popular, you knew that she valued her friendship with her sister more than any of her random hangers-on at school, and getting her that back, especially before you vanished from the state, was something you held at a level of utmost importance.

Beyond that, though, you also had warmed to Amy somewhat. Not a huge amount, of course. Her personality was abrasive and she had made very few attempts to endear herself to you, even when you had made overtures towards her. She was an emotional wreck, from what you could tell, and the idea of spending masses of time around her made you grind your teeth.

Despite that though, the primary antagonism that had existed between the two of you when you first met had largely dissolved. You respected her as a parahuman, both for the strength of her power and the work she put in with it. You knew that she tried, by and large, to be nice – she was just exhausted, and naturally choleric, a combination that was a recipe for resentment when she felt as though her only true friend was abandoning her.

How ironic, then, that that same temperament was currently the true mechanism driving them apart.

You weren't going to have it. The two of them would hug and make up before you leave city limits or you might just handcuff them together and force the issue.

Actions Remaining:

- Give a farewell speech before leaving Brockton Bay

- Complete advanced ConFoam class with Regent and Rachel (Saturday 16th)

- Try out the following hobbies: reading, cooking, woodworking, swimming, puzzles

- Look up a guide to sign language online

- Ask Vicky's opinion on music and for some artists she likes

So, in this update - a relatively short and quiet one - we cooked a new meal and decided cooking might be a hobby worth pursuing further. We also spoke to Dad and got some advice on speeches, which we attempted to put into action. The next morning we went to the PRT and saw Regent attempting to turn Vista to the dark side, before getting Gallant to act as the go-between for Vicky to try and get the sisters to attend our farewell gig at the PRT Headquarters on Sunday 17th.

Next update will be THE FINAL UPDATE for Brockton Bay for some time. We will return, but please cast votes for any actions towards goals in Brockton Bay that you want completed now because we will not be back for a little while. If you want it done, now is the last chance you will get. Next update will be the end of Arc 5 and then there will be some Interlude Action prior to Arc 6 which will see us arrive in ATL.