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A Mage's Guide to the Multiverse (Celestial Grimoire SI, Worm Start) by Throwaway1971

Books » Private Rated: M, English, Romance, Words: 202k+, Favs: 160, Follows: 197, Published: Jan 17, 2024 Updated: Mar 20, 2024

25Chapter 21 - I Hate Hospitals

Fifteen minutes later, and it turned out that the answer to my previous question was; a lot of outfits.

Designer Surplus was like Brockton Bay's version of a thrift store. The fact that it was nestled comfortably downtown meant that it was pretty well-kept, but cleanliness didn't necessarily equate to perceptive and hardworking employees. The teenage girl running the front counter barely even peeked up from her cell phone when we quietly entered the dimly lit shop, and considering I had pocketed my mask and thrown my outer coat over my shoulder before we entered, there was no overt attention given to the young black man and his itchy, possibly drug-addled white companion.

At least, not any attention that I could sense. The store was practically devoid of human life outside the clerk; 084 did clean work.

"How does this one look on me, big guy? Yellow ain't really my color, but something 'bout this jacket's really callin' out to me. Or maybe it's the drugs talkin', hehe."

With a sigh, I placed the black, double-breasted long coat down on the bench I was sitting on and glanced over to the changing room.

Squealer was posing in the open door with a wide, pleased grin on her face, hands on her wide hips and her ass cocked to the side as she waited for my praise. I had to admit; with the caked on makeup and amalgamation of mystery fluids cleaned off of her body via Hysh magic - something I did to the both of us after moving to the back of the store - Squealer really didn't look that bad. Drug abuse had given her sores all along her body, made her skin looser and more wrinkly, made her hair lose its youthful luster…but I could see the potential there.

Before she got fucked over by meth and coke, I was certain that she'd been a fucking bombshell.

"Lookin' hot," I said with a smirk, giving her a thumbs up. The genuine pride and dazzle of joy that flitted across her weathered face surprised me. What was up with me collecting women who were in dire need of acknowledgment and compliments?

"Shuuucks, thanks sugah!"

"It's kinda slutty, though. The fuck's the point in getting a jacket if it's cut off right below your tits? And let me cut your hair - it'll look better short."

Her expression flattened, and Squealer stomped towards me in those new white leather boots that I'd seen her nab from the Clearance aisle. Going off of her slightly awkward gait, they probably weren't the correct size, but the chick was older than me and I wasn't gonna be the one to baby every single decision she made.

"Aren't you fuckin' rude," she scoffed, crossing her arms under her large bust and glaring down at me. When my eyes flickered down to the annoyingly jiggly tits that were practically asking to bust out of her new apparel, the frown on her face turned into a victorious smirk. Her heated, half-lidded gaze roamed my unmasked face appreciatively. "Huh. Big boss in charge, and still just a man at heart. Why don't we just head back into the changin' room and shut them doors. I'm sure the lil' bitch up front won't c-"

"Watch yourself," I cut her off sharply, though my face stayed cool and composed. Her little flirtations had only worsened since I hit her with that dash of Hysh, and changing out of my costume had only amplified her thirstiness. Either she was hella pent-up or Skidmark really did have a little shrimp dick. Probably both. "I'm taken, quite happily at that. You upset her and shit gets bad real fast."

Squealer's smirk melted off of her face like lukewarm ice cream.

"Psh. Aye aye, boss man." she grumbled, turning around to angrily browse more racks of cheap clothing. I purposefully ignored the way she skillfully sashayed her hips just enough to get a subtle bounce going with her ass. Fucking Second Sight.

Letting out a breath and standing up from the bench, I grabbed the black overcoat and made my way into the men's changing room. It was a small stall right beside the one Squealer had used, but it wasn't like I needed a large amount of space to utilize my newest ability. In the small amount of time I'd been in the thrift shop, I found a few things out about Master of Disguise and how it worked.

Firstly, it was, quite literally, custom outfit loadouts. By wearing an outfit, any outfit, and coating it in a thin layer of mana, I was able to simply magic away my clothes into what I was starting to equate to some magical, pocketspace boutique. Or, if I wanted to be less gay and more toxicly masculine about it, a hammerspace armory. Whatever the terminology, by utilizing my perfect memory and envisioning the exact outfit I stored in the hammerspace, I was able to seamlessly switch into said outfits by simply twisting on my heel like Michael Jackson and churning my mana. There was no flashes of magical light or a full on magical girl transformation, either - I just did my little dancy dance and bam, new fit.

And trust me, I tried to do it without the spin. It just didn't work.

As a result, I had at least ten different outfits stored away that I'd painstakingly looted from the countless racks of used or recycled clothing in the shop. Thankfully, like the thrift shops back in my homeworld, Designer Surplus still had some nice ass clothes, used or not. Cleanliness was probably an issue, but each outfit got a thorough Cleansing Glow treatment before getting sent to the hammerspace so I didn't have to worry about bedbugs or some shit.

Since accessories counted as well, each outfit also had their very own version of eye protection in order to keep Eyes See All or None activated indefinitely. It was worth getting called a douchebag for wearing sunglasses indoors, at least until I gained a more convenient ability that did the same thing. Contact lenses, funnily enough, worked just as well, but of course they didn't have any in a thrift store. Hair ties counted as 'accessories' too, which was why my dreads were currently tied back low to my shoulders.

Formalwear, hobowear, lounge wear, gym clothes, party wear, a swimsuit complete with a leopard-printed speedo - I had to admit; I was a bit of a fashionista, and I gathered maybe a hundred and twenty dollars worth of clothes to stuff into my new magical closet. I'd always been pretty good at dressing sharp, though the fashion trends of my life were quite different from the fashion trends of Earth Bet. For example, techwear didn't seem to be much of a thing here. I could make other shit work, though - I was motherfucking Jason Black, Tarnished Hero and conqueror of fashion everywhere!

A couple minutes later saw me walking out of the dressing room outfitted for the cold evening air. At some point Squealer - or Sherrel, I guess she was right now - had ambled back towards the changing rooms, and one glance at her clammy skin and fidgeting hands told me all I needed to know. She stood there quietly, fiddling with her hands, a far cry from the spunky and loud southern belle from a few minutes ago. Whatever cognizance had built within the past fifteen minutes was quickly becoming frayed, and we had officially overstayed our welcome.

I took her by the arm and moved to head to the front counter, and she offered no resistance.

"Wha- oh! Hello, how may I help you today, sir?" The girl at the front counter was probably sixteen, seventeen - somewhat close to the age of my current self. She straightened up and leaned forward at my approach, phone forgotten completely in favor of giving me googly eyes. Impressive lack of perception, considering I had a tweaking drug fiend clinging to my hand a foot or two away.

"Cindy, right?" I asked, sliding my banged up wallet out of my pocket and taking out a couple hundreds.

She glanced down at the crisp bills, eyebrows raising. "Y-yes sir, it is. How did you…?" Her voice trailed off, unsure.

I smiled, amused. "Your nametag; it says Cindy."

Cindy blinked, her hands flying up to slap at her breast. Sure enough, the plastic nametag that ready 'Cindy' in messily scrawled marker was present. Her cheeks flushed. "Of course! Ah, I'm sorry. What is it you're checking out, Mister…"

An obvious dig for my name. My smile didn't shift.

"We're checkin' out what we got on right now, that's all. Keep the change." I was being a bit terse, but expediency was pretty important right now. I slid the bills forward, patted them once, and turned around to leave with the silently glowering Sherrel in tow.

"Wait, sir! I didn't scan your items! You- you can't just wear them before-"

The last of what she said was lost behind the closing door. I felt kinda bad, but the place didn't seem like a mom and pop shop and I definitely paid more than the necessary price for all the clothes Squealer and I had. If she called the cops, which I sincerely doubted she would, I'd just explain to them - kindly - that we'd done nothing wrong. Through the usage of Ulgu. Okay, I'd make them walk away with a simple Grey Wind spell. They were quickly starting to prove their worth when it came to avoiding unnecessary conflict.

A cold, stiff breeze hit the two of us as we made our way down the dark street, and I could feel Squealer shiver violently beneath my grip. When I turned to look back at her, she yanked her arm out of my grasp and scowled at me.

"I-I ain't cold! This jacket's just fuckin' fine. It's not too short at all."

My lips twitched. "I didn't say anything."

"Tch!" She crossed her shaking arms beneath her bust, cracked fingernails playing with a loose yellow strand on her sleeve as she stubbornly looked away from me. "Ya didn't have to."

Holding back a chuckle that I knew would further aggravate the suddenly morose druggie, I simply shook my head and shoved my clammy hands deep into the warm pockets of my new coat.

It was time to see just how close Panacea was to what I recognized from my previous life. Hopefully she wasn't as bitchy as some people made her out to be. I was liable to smack the next person who tried to bitch me out.

Amy Dallon wasn't having the best night. No, her night was actually going quite fucking horrible.

The reason?

Well, if you ignored the ungrateful and bitchy nurses who patronized her every time she came in during the late evening schedule, there were still a multitude of things going on at 'home' that made her take a sudden shift at the hospital. Carol had gotten pissed at her a couple of nights ago for going to analyze Hookwolf and attend the PRT meeting without notifying her first, so the past couple of days had been awkward and uncomfortable and even more alienating than usual. Breakfast this morning was horrible because Vicky tried to get them all to watch an old, nostalgic cartoon together like the old days, and even though Amy really didn't want to be affected by her adopted mom's cold attitude, it had fucking hurt when the woman refused and left for work without saying goodbye. Mark hadn't come out of their bedroom for a full day, so that was putting stress in the air. Amy was also on her period.

And, to make matters even fucking worse, Victoria came back home with hickeys on her neck.

Guess who was fucking Dean again?

Everything sucked. Carol sucked. She sucked. Victoria sucked, apparently in multiple ways, and to top it all off Amy couldn't even masturbate to take the fucking edge off.

She was stuck in a rut of stress, anger, and nauseating self-pity. Even doing her duty of healing drunk driving victims and self-harming teenagers did nothing to help her bad mood - not that healing, in general, was ever something she explicitly jumped for joy to do. Regardless, it was a slow night and the nurses on duty seemed hell-bent on blaming her for their own lack of work, so there was nothing to be done there either.

Amy was well and truly stuck, like a stifled breath that refused to fully engage the lungs and be set loose.

She didn't want to go home. Not yet, at least.

She didn't want to hear the gossiping voices of the other nurses on shift, with their fake smiles and judgemental gazes.

She knew what she wanted, but that was never going to happen, so…

She was stuck. Just stuck.

That was how her newest 'patients' found her, huddled in an empty hospital room with her clandestine white robes pooled around her body like a puddle of water. She was staring up at the quiet TV hanging above the bed, tired eyes glued to a Looney Tunes rerun - the same cartoon that Victoria had tried to get them all to watch earlier that morning. Daffy Duck was screaming at Bugs Bunny for getting in the way of another one of his failed schemes, and the spittle flying out of his mouth was enough to cover the screen.

Amy snickered to herself, a small smile forming on her freckled face as she watched the animated duck get progressively more angry. "Haa… what a fucking asshole," she snorted, stubbornly wiping at her eyes.

She'd rather snort sawdust than shed tears over nostalgic memories.

The sound of a masculine, vaguely familiar voice responding to her off-handed comment sent a jolt of shock and fear surging through her body. This wing was supposed to be empty.

"Daffy's a dickhead, for sure. You see the episode where they get drunk and drive off a cliff? Shit's wicked."

Amy was surging to her feet before her mind could even fully acknowledge the stranger's words.

"What are you- FUCK!"

The bad thing about dressing like some nerdy cleric from a tabletop game was that the robes were ridiculously unwieldy. It wasn't normally an issue since Amy didn't fight, and quite honestly detested the mere idea of using her powers in that way, but in cases like these where she was taken by surprise and needed to move quickly, well…

CRASH.

The hem of her robes had been caught beneath the leg of the uncomfortable hospital chair she was huddled up in, and when she went to stand and face the door… she ate shit. The cold hardness of the white vinyl floor felt just as pleasant as a kick to the chest, and Amy let out a deep, croaking woosh as the air was forcibly knocked out of her lungs.

"Oof!"

For a second there were only three emotions: Embarrassment. Frustration. A little bit of pain - but mostly embarrassment and frustration. These feelings all slammed against each other like ping pong balls inside of her stomach, and in the midst of it all Amy temporarily forgot the fear and caution that had her jerking to her feet in the first place. Instead, she just lied there for a moment, her flushed face pressed snugly against the clean, cold floor. 'Let me turn invisible, please god.'

A distinctly feminine snort, barely stifled, erupted from the doorway - and anger quickly found its way back.

"Shit, my bad. Uh, let me-" Quiet footsteps started drawing close, and self-preservation began to kick in and push away the tired lethargy. Amy forced her hands beneath her body and pushed up, kicking back with her feet to bundle her robes up and over her ankles.

"I got it," she bit out, tossing an annoyed glare towards whatever couple decided to sneak in and scare the shit out of her. "You aren't supposed to be back here without-"

"Being checked in - I know. The chick at the front desk was being a bit of a bitch, so I decided to check myself in. Here."

Black clothing temporarily overtook her view, and before she realized what was happening, warm hands were grabbing her by the biceps and gently, yet firmly, placing her up and onto her feet once again. The man stepped away as swiftly as he'd approached, getting well out of proper swinging range - because she sure as hell wasn't going to let some stranger grab her without going for some sort of smack, ineffectual or not.

With the slight distance, however, Amy was finally able to see just who was invading her Looney Tunes time… and her eyes widened.

'Avalon?'

It was embarrassing how quickly she was able to identify the tall young man in front of her. Vicky had forced her to watch the leaked footage of his fight at least five times after Bagrat dropped it in the new hero's speculation thread, and it wasn't as if he put any significant amount of effort into hiding his identity - his mask covered maybe the upper left side of his face, and literally everything else was visible for the entire world to see; the jawline, the brooding glare that his circular sunglasses couldn't fully hide, the full lips…all traits that Vicky had gushed about to her, of course.

He wasn't some flawless Adonis or anything crazy like that, but he had a strikingly attractive appearance.

Just to be sure, Amy checked the spot under his left eye, right below the tinted lens. Sure enough - there was that beauty mark as well, barely visible due to the melanin of his skin.

Why the fuck was Avalon of all people sneaking into the maternity ward?

'And, more specifically,' she thought, narrowing her eyes and leaning past him to glare at the straw-haired, cow-titted woman grinning at her with yellowed teeth. 'Why is he sneaking in here with some drug-addict?'

"You have one minute to explain why I shouldn't call for security right now." Amy said drolly, taking another three steps away from the strangers - because that's what they were, in spite of Avalon's overnight popularity online. "And don't tell me she's pregnant. I don't like liars, and that would be a pretty shitty lie to tell."

That made the blonde woman laugh out loud and shake with mirth. Wait, no - she'd been shaking ever since she entered the room, and Looney Tunes definitely wasn't funny enough to warrant that much amusement. Sweat beading the temple, shivers in spite of the relative warmth of the hospital, placid and clammy skin; these all pointed to symptoms of withdrawal.

When she looked back to Avalon, she could see by the glint in his light brown eyes that he knew that she'd noticed.

"I don't like liars either," he sighed, taking another couple steps into the room.

Amy moved backwards in time with his forward movement, but he stopped once he got close to the chair that she'd been sitting in minutes prior. At her clear bemusement, he gave a lopsided smirk and nodded his head at the Looney Tunes rerun. "Sorry, I just wanted to see the TV a lil' bit more."

She gave him a deadpan glare, and his smirk widened. "Relax, Panacea - my friend here's not well. To be honest, she's pretty much fucked in every way you can spin that term."

"Hey!" His female 'friend' scowled, taking another step inside and closing the door shut firmly behind her. Amy jumped at the sudden noise. "Didn't we speak 'bout respect? 'Cause calling me ten ways of 'fucked up' ain't very respectful."

"I said 'every way', not just ten. Drugs are bad, mmkay?" His voice was as cool and collected as it was from the leaked footage, but she could hear the amusement lurking in the foreground like a lounging predator.

The blondie's twitching gaze turned murderous. "GOD, you're such a fuckin'-"

"Hold it," Panacea cut in, raising both hands to cut the arguing duo off before they could exacerbate the headache already starting to creep into her skull. "It's been a full sixty seconds, and I haven't heard an actual explanation yet. I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you don't want me to call for security."

Avalon's head turned back towards her instantly, and the pure intensity in his gaze nearly had her reeling. 'What the hell is his problem?'

There was a sudden silence, and Amy distantly wondered why she wasn't moving towards the emergency phone line hanging at the back of the room. It was close enough since she had backed away, all it would have taken was a couple more steps. Avalon was a hero, in spite of the pretty clear case of trespassing he was deciding to sully his civilian record with at the moment. She was less sure about the drug-addict he was apparently babysitting, but she doubted he would try anything.

… So why wasn't she moving?

'Because he's watching me like a snake would a fucking mouse, and I feel like a fucking mouse right now.'

But he wouldn't attack her, right? She just had to touch an inch of bare skin to knock him out if it came down to it…right?

"I need to piss," he abruptly said, glancing away from her and giving his blonde companion a flick of the head. She twitched beneath his gaze, but sighed and walked over to the neat and orderly hospital bed in the middle of the room. The mattress squeaked and groaned when she sat down on the edge and crossed her arms.

Amy exhaled. Heavily.

"W-what are you doing? I said that you need to leave." She tried to make her tired, slightly raspy voice sound more commanding, but all it served to do was make it crack. Her ears burned in embarrassment and annoyance.

"I heard you," Avalon responded quietly, turning back towards her. The intensity in his gaze was gone now, though, and in its place was a calm, composed focus. She liked that look better.

He gestured to the blonde woman. "But she's going through a lot of shit right now, and I don't know if I can heal her. I can try, for sure, but I know you can do it. She really fucked herself up with some bad people."

Amy flinched at his words. Wasn't that basically the same as revealing his identity to her? Did he know that she knew who he was? Regardless of the meaning of his casual reveal, the naked, genuine earnestness in his voice was like arrows hitting her chest. As expected ever since she'd seen him protect Parian back at the PRT Headquarters, Avalon was practically rubbing in just how much he cared for others. Just like Victoria - always caring. Always protecting. Was it admiration or envy that burned at her heart?

Better yet, was she really going to turn them away because they'd spooked her a bit and made her fall over her robes? Because she was having a shit day? What kind of healer was she?

"It's cool if you still don't do it after hearing my little sob story - I snuck in and forced all of this bullshit on your lap. I could probably figure it out myself, given enough time. I guess throwing it all at you was the easy solution, but you shouldn't be responsible for every issue in Brockton Bay." His words broke through her sudden bout of self-pity, the sardonic gravel in his voice forcing her to blink her eyes and focus entirely on him.

He had another crooked smile on his face, but this one didn't reach his eyes. He seemed almost…guilty? "Matter a fact, let's go-"

"I'll do it."

'Fuck.'

She was both pleased at her mouth for running before her brain could process it, and upset. Pleased because that's what she'd wanted to say as soon as she saw him looking all disappointed like some brooding puppy left out in the rain, and upset because now she had this feeling of responsibility blossoming in her chest and that was compounding with the other bullshit going on in her life.

Still, a weight lifted off of her shoulders as soon as the words left her mouth. It definitely didn't have anything to do with the way that his sad puppy smile twitched up into a more genuine one. Definitely not. She just didn't like the image of someone as confident and powerful as Avalon acting so miserable and… Amy-like. Bleh.

"I know you said that I don't have to, but… I want to, as naive as that may be. I choose to help you guys out."

The woman's eyes widened in surprise, and she slapped her thigh loudly.

"Really?! Damn girl, I didn't know whether you two were gonna makeout in a bout of sudden passion or headbutt each other."

Amy glared back at the addict, her ears warming up, and the blondie shot back a cheeky grin in response.

Avalon blinked. "Wait, deadass?"

Her eyebrows raised at the strange word. "Uh, yeah. As long as you promise not to pout dejectedly like I just flushed your pet goldfish, I'll do my best."

His mouth opened, denial hot on his tongue.

"Wha- I did not pout."

Amy had to fight back the urge to smile.

"A lot of different expressions can seem like a pout if you pout hard enough."

She clicked her teeth, as if pityingly, as she turned on her heel and made her way over to the blonde woman sitting on the bed.

Said woman smiled woodenly at her approach, a nervous twitch to her cheek before she jeered at the not-pouting Avalon. "Heh, she's got you there. You did kinda sound like a pussy for a second."

He flashed her the middle finger. "Bite me."

"Whatcha think I've been tryin' to do all night, douchenozzle-"

Amy cut her off with a harsh clearing of her throat. "Ahem. Do I have permission to touch you, Miss…?"

Her patient glanced over to Avalon before shrugging uncomfortably. "Sherrel. And yeah, I guess you do. Kinda weird to ask though."

She let out a long sigh. "I have to ask every patient for the sake of liability. Wouldn't it be great if I suddenly got sued by the very same people that snuck into the hospital and browbeat me into giving them healing?" She was being facetious, of course, but the constantly dry tone of her voice made everything sound facetious.

Sherrel suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"To be fair," Avalon said, leaning against the wall near the door, "I didn't browbeat you…I pouted you into helpin' us out. The minute details are important, and I want the court to know that I was dejected and sad when it happened."

Amy found herself snorting, an amused upturn on her lips, before she could think to stifle the pig-like sound. "Pfft. Get out, sir I do not know the name of. Didn't you say you needed to use the bathroom?" Sudden burst of charitable generosity or not, she drew the line at cleaning up urine.

He snapped his fingers, eyes widening. "Right, 'preciate the piss-break reminder. Play nice, girls." Before either of them could react, Avalon swept out of the room as fast as he had entered - a whirlwind of mystery and intensity.

There was a brief, awkward moment where Amy and Sherrel both stared at each other, lost on what to say without the tether that was Avalon in the room with them, before Sherrel suddenly clapped her hands and smiled nervously.

"Alright, let's get this healin' party started! My girlies are pretty fuckin' big, so if you can fix that knot in my upper back-"

Amy tuned out the woman's inane ramblings and pressed her hand against the exposed skin of her upper shoulders.

Avalon's previous statement of her being 'fucked up' had been acknowledged, but she doubted that the woman was as bad as he had been making her out to be. Outright addictive behavior wasn't something she could help her with - that was what therapy was for - but she'd helped out enough homeless people to take care of the worse of the symptoms and purge out the effects of whatever drug-

"Oh."

Sherrel jerked up in fear. "Whaddya mean 'oh'? I don't have breast cancer or anything, do I?"

Amy swallowed thickly as her powers roamed through the woman's battered, damaged, and diseased body. 'Fucked up' wasn't even the start of what she was seeing.

It was a shame that her healing didn't work through rubber gloves.

"No, not breast cancer," she said quietly, taking her hand off of Sherrel's shoulder and cracking her knuckles.

"Then what the fuck was the 'oh' for, mousy?!"

"Mousy- you know what? I'm too tired to deal with your shit right now. Lie back and stay still," Amy frowned, moving around the hospital bed in order to get a better angle on the woman's body. "This is gonna take a while."

Sherrel slowly leaned back, but the jitters were getting worse. Her bloodshot eyes began jumping from ceiling tile to ceiling tile. "W-why? What's wrong with me?"

Amy pressed two fingers against her neck. "Shhhh." Panic was never a good time in the operating room.

"Wha- wh- wuhhh…so…sleepy."

A grim, humorless smile formed on her face.

"Okay…let's start with the gonorrhea."

Sometimes - most of the time, actually - she really didn't like her job.

I splashed more hot water on my face, the steaming temperature bringing a modicum of comfort to the anxiety I was currently feeling. The men's bathroom was empty and silent outside of my repetitive splashing, and I thanked whatever God - or Devil - that was watching over Earth Bet that there was no one around to witness my embarrassing loss of composure and logic.

Perfect recollection sent another burst of insights through my head, more Amy is depressed. Amy is self-destructive. Amy is guilty. Amy feels guilty that she doesn't want to help you. Amy feels horrible that she is disappointing you. Amy feels horrible that she is disappointing herself. Amy feels sad. Amy is hiding because she feels sad. Amy is hiding because she hates her home life. Amy hates her home life because she feels like a stranger there. Amy is stressed. Amy is stressed because-

Panic attacks, the bane of cool kids everywhere.

Hidden Intuition wasn't a perk with inherent weaknesses, like, say for instance, Tattletale's Thinker ability. I didn't get headaches from overusing it. Sometimes it got overstimulating, but that was a factor of my own brain's limitations than anything inherent in the perk. I couldn't be upset at it for blowing my brain up with the extreme fucking stress that that girl was keeping buried in her chest, pressing down against her shoulders.

It was probably my fault for activating my magical Intuition full-tilt once she asked us to leave, and keeping it on in order to guide her towards helping us had only deepened the information I was gaining. It helped the situation for sure, and I didn't regret anything - well, maybe a little - but holy shit I just hadn't been expecting all of…that.

She needed to get fucked. Badly. And get high, on some really good weed…because holding all of that inside just could not be good for you. It obviously wasn't, considering the monster she became later on in Worm, but still…I felt bad for her. Being unknowingly mindfucked into wanting to have sex with your sister was bad enough without your adopted mom treating you like a fucking ginger stepchild.

'I wonder if she'd get high with us.' I wasn't a stranger to marijuana, and it was fine in moderation. Cassie definitely had some stored away somewhere.

I threw another handful of scalding hot water into my face, feeling my skin bristle beneath the heat. I wasn't a stranger to panic attacks either - they used to be pretty damn common when I was younger and dealing with a lot of stress, and experiencing all of…that probably triggered a bit of that trauma. I had a pretty good handle on it these days, so thankfully I doubted that I'd be seeing a repeat offense anytime soon.

Then again, the changes from my newest perk had contributed to my anxiety as well. Just a little.

[Superior Being (150 CP)]Queens in Wonderland often stand out by being the best (in some ways at least) of the "species" they represent and rule over. Your basic stats are enhanced to be slightly above the average member of your species; any additional boosts to your stats are stacked up on this initial enhancement. In addition, the perk makes those of the same species of your current form more willing to follow and obey you; if you change species between forms, you also change who you affect with your charisma for this perk. For all intents and purposes, you appear as the peak specimen of whatever species you are.

The Grimoire had offered it to me mid-conversation, and after distractedly glancing over what it did I had accepted the ability without much of a second thought. An outright physical and mental boost that stacked with what I was already dealing with, alongside a straight charisma increase? Why the fuck not? Heroic Aptitude was already pushing me beyond what a normal human was capable of, and that wasn't even getting into the physical enhancements of utilizing Aethyr as well. It was pretty much a no-brainer.

That is, until I felt it changing my body.

Holding back a magical transformation while having no innate understanding of how to do so while also traversing a delicate conversation while also juggling a burgeoning panic attack was a lot to handle for little ol' me. As badass as I was, it was just a lot to handle all at once, and retreating to the bathroom gave me enough time to just…

Breathe.

I opened my eyes and glared at myself in the mirror.

Before, my skin was pretty good - I had a few blackheads maybe, but I took care of my skin as much as any other guy that showered religiously. I considered myself fairly attractive, maybe a 7.5/10 on a non-frizzy hair day and a couple whitening strips. Heroic Aptitude had been doing a number on my body, and I had shot up from 5'11" to an even 6 foot over the past week and a half. Broad, lean, corded - but imperfect, as all humans were.

Yeah, well… not anymore.

I wasn't a 'Queen' by any means, but clearly they flipped the term around and decided to label me a 'King' instead.

All imperfections seemed to have just vanished from my skin - no more blackheads, no more minor acne scars, my pores seemed to have taken a fucking vacation with how small they'd gotten, and I seemed to almost glow with health. What little baby fat that had come with my body de-aging had completely evaporated, leaving behind a handsome and chiseled face that seemed more compatible with a fucking Vogue supermodel than me of all people.

The whites of my eyes were bright and healthy - there were no more dark spots that had come from years of staring at electronics for way too long. My brown eyes seemed almost amber in their clear intensity, and my eyelashes were full and soft.

When I opened my mouth and rubbed my tongue across my teeth, they were perfectly straight and gleaming white.

That wasn't even going into my hair. How a magical perk managed to neatly and perfectly retwist my dreadlocks of all things will forever be a mystery to me, but I was thankful for the increase in hair volume and shine. Cassie's hair products were not for black people.

Overall, I still looked like Jason Black… if a God decided to take Jason Black, bang out everything imperfect or 'average' about him, and finish it all off with an airbrushed makeover.

Fuck a 10/10, I was-

A perfect, gleaming, and familiarly roguish grin formed on my lips.

"Superior. Heh…hehe…hahahaha!"

Wild laughter began to bubble out of my chest, and all thoughts of anxiety and stress fled my mind as my psuedo-maniacal cackles reached a peaking crescendo.

It was such a fucking corny line, but in that instant, I just felt relieved. Relieved that I was still the same dumb, autistic me. For a brief moment, looking in that mirror, things had felt unfamiliar. Alien. I wasn't against change, but would I sacrifice who and what Jason Black was in exchange for magical power?

I'd like to think not.

So I was just happy to know that, no matter how I looked or what magical spell I learned next, I would still be me.

That was probably the most important thing - just staying Jason Black.

Five minutes later when the laughter died down and I sat my perfect ass down on the counter, checking my phone and responding to the multitude of texts (and a few nudes) that Cassie had sent me, I had to wonder…

'Would she be pissed if I invited Amy over to smoke weed?'

[Perks Accepted]

Superior Being (150 CP): Queens in Wonderland often stand out by being the best (in some ways at least) of the "species" they represent and rule over. Your basic stats are enhanced to be slightly above the average member of your species; any additional boosts to your stats are stacked up on this initial enhancement. In addition, the perk makes those of the same species of your current form more willing to follow and obey you; if you change species between forms, you also change who you affect with your charisma for this perk. For all intents and purposes, you appear as the peak specimen of whatever species you are.

600 CP remaining.

[A/N]Amy is properly introduced to Jason. I wonder what effects his interacting with her will have on the future of Brockton Bay? We also got a very interesting perk this time around, one that will have a permanent, lasting effect on both Jason's appearance and charisma. Keep it in mind if you see him finagling things a bit easier in the future - pretty privilege is a real thing. Moreso if its compounded by actual fucking magic.

Hope you guys enjoy the chapter. As always, the has the next chapter already posted so feel free to join up if you're impatient.

Note: Two perks were declined this chapter. If the perks accepted don't match up to the wordcount, know that it's because he either didn't have the CP to grab something or he declined it without much fanfare. It's hard to keep a consistent narrative going while also breaking off to analyze different perks that he won't end up taking anyway.