"He just...asked what my opinion was. Like—uh—of you?"
After getting a text from Amory that the coast was clear, Emma had
made her way to his apartment. In a way, it was kind of good to have
Blake here, too, if only as a passive observer with a laptop between
him and the rest of the world. He was..still catching up on homework,
apparently. "I uh..wh-what I answered with was kinda
embarrassing, and I can't remember it exactly anyway. But it was
good! Um, very—very positive."
"And after that?" Amory asked.
"He got...he was really...quiet for a minute. And then he said something about how...he's been trying to trust you more, and it's really hard to be a parent, and...uh, s-something about not wanting to pass down his own trauma."
"And after that?" Amory asked.
"He got...he was really...quiet for a minute. And then he said something about how...he's been trying to trust you more, and it's really hard to be a parent, and...uh, s-something about not wanting to pass down his own trauma."
"That's uh..different."
"He left off after um, basically wishing us the best?"
"He left off after um, basically wishing us the best?"
"Yeah..he told me, 'you be good to Emma. She's a keeper.' Just
before getting in his car and driving back home," Amory said.
"Sooo...I guess that's a success!"
"Still a little weird," Blake interjected. "He
basically interrogated me for like two hours and then nodded and
said, 'you're okay'. And we've barely talked since."
"Maybe he's just...trying not to be as suspicious in the first
place?" Emma said. "Or...um, he could be saving the
interrogation for later."
"Yeah, like if you two get any more serious." He shook his head, resuming his work.
"Yeah, like if you two get any more serious." He shook his head, resuming his work.
"What um...do you know what he meant about 'trauma', though? I
mean—I know you lost your mom or something..."
Amory nodded. "Yeah. I guess I should tell Blake about this too, huh. You remember the other night, when you asked if we'd ever suddenly understood something about someone that caused a total change in how we saw them?"
Amory nodded. "Yeah. I guess I should tell Blake about this too, huh. You remember the other night, when you asked if we'd ever suddenly understood something about someone that caused a total change in how we saw them?"
"Oh, y-yeah. You said you had..with him," she
nodded.
"Uh-huh. Pretty much, it's like this...
"Uh-huh. Pretty much, it's like this...
"All my life, I felt like he was hovering over me, watching me
every single second. Telling me to be careful about every tiny little
thing, wouldn't let me do anything or hang out with anyone he thought
was even slightly 'risky'. So my senior year in high school, all I
wanted to do was get out from under him. I was gonna go to a college
way out on the other side of the country, or out in Europe somewhere,
where he'd have to take a plane to get to me. He wanted me to
go to a college like five minutes' drive away, and get on the fast
track to a medical license. I felt like he was just trying to control
me, like I was supposed to be his little puppet.
"We got into this huge fight. I dunno if I've ever been so angry
in my entire life. I can't remember half of what I yelled, and I
don't think I really even meant half of it. But then, there
was something I said—I think it was about mom—and he just…broke.
Right in front of me, my dad, who I've known my whole life to be this
cheerful, strong, super stubborn man, just like…cracked and
fell apart. I remember what he said when it happened, it was...'I
just want to keep you safe.' And it was quiet, like a whisper I could
only hear because I'd shut up completely too when I saw that.
He broke out into tears, and when he'd stopped sobbing enough to
talk, that's when he told me what really happened to my mom. He
didn't really stop crying the whole time, and neither did I. In the
end, I wound up here because we compromised. We both liked this
school, it's not too close and not too far, you know..more, normal
stuff."
"So, you didn't know what happened to her until then?"
Amory shrugged. "I mean..I knew she'd..died, once I was smart
enough to know what death was. But he always avoided the subject when
I asked about her. What she was like, or what had really happened. I
felt like he didn't think I was 'ready'."
Ning parked her car and got out, walking up to the school to pick up
her little girl. It was so much easier now to literally pick
Nadia up and spin her around laughing, then pull her into a brief,
tight hug before setting her down again to walk alongside her, back
to the car to go home.
While they walked, holding hands, Ning had a brief realization of the
obvious. Her body, as it was now, came with super strength. She was
more than strong enough to crush a normal human adult with a hug,
much less a young girl like her granddaughter. And yet—it was so
easy to not do that; she had such fine control over her own
strength that it was effortless. It was a good thing, for sure, and a
stark contrast to her initial level of control when it came to
lightning. Even now, with her powers 'rebalanced' and her body
shifted to what she considered a more ideal look, she could
occasionally feel small sparks flying off of herself when she was
stressed or worried. Nothing more than the equivalent of a little
static from rubbing one's feet on across a carpet, but plenty to show
that she still wasn't one hundred percent in control of that part of
her powers, and perhaps she never would be.
On the drive home, she considered: She had the benefit of experience
now, but raising a child the first time around had been much easier
because she hadn't had to do it alone. There were all kinds of new
concerns when it came to raising Nadia now, especially with her own
position as a well-known "superhero". She would have no
choice to be protective at times...but that was true of any parent.
If she could just manage a level of self-control when it came to that
urge to protect her little girl that rivaled the control she felt
over her own strength...or honestly, even just the level of 'not
fatally electrocuting people by accident with her powers'...that
would be enough.
It was encouraging to know that, for her age, Nadia was already quite
a smart and capable girl. She'd be all right.
Amory continued, "He said that my mom was the one and only love
of his life, and she ruined romance with anyone else for him—which
is why he never even dated anyone when I was growing up. She was
smart, kind, capable...he said, 'she was my heart, and when I lost
her, I had to spend a long time growing myself a new one.'
Or..something like that. And what she'd died of, well, it was just
cancer.
"I mean—not that fatal cancer is ever just cancer,
but...you know. Lots of people, die from that. I was...maybe one or
two years old when she got it. Or, well—that's when they found
it. Maybe she had it before I was even born. Anyway, he's a surgeon,
and he'd saved people in a situation just like hers dozens of times.
He cut it out of her himself—the main mass, at least. And they did
chemo, they did everything they could. They fought it
together, tooth and nail, for over a year. But it just wasn't
enough. The caught it too late, or maybe it was just so bad that it
wouldn't have even mattered how early they caught it.
Somewhere near the end, she made him promise that he'd take good care
of me.
"So, that was why. He'd never wanted to control me in the first
place. But he'd loved her, and he loved me, and he'd made a promise.
He'd just..misunderstood what it was he'd promised to do. I think he
realized that, then. He promised he'd try to trust me more. So, I
guess he's still..trying to make good on that promise."
He took a deep breath and let it out before continuing. "I
thought about the look he used to make, when I asked him about
my mom all those times before. I'd thought it was—I dunno, like he
was annoyed or frustrated or even angry at me for bringing her up.
But right then, when he told me what had really happened, I finally
got what that look meant. He was just...sad. It hurt him too
much to even bring it up, to talk about it."
Emma couldn't really think of anything to say to all of that; in fact
her brain was mostly busy processing all of it against the way Emmett
had behaved once he'd been alone with her for a few minutes. It did
make slightly more sense, she thought...except for, maybe, the part
where he hadn't called her out on lying to him.
"Uh..hey," Amory said, finally breaking the silence. "This
is, kinda a change of subject, but you know...last night, the big
meeting thing..there were some people who wanted to meet 'Gemma' if
possible. Like, show you their powers and stuff?"
"Hmn?" she tilted her head slightly, then quickly nodded. "Oh, I knew about that."
"Prism 'thought about it' while we were her," Blake added.
"Hmn?" she tilted her head slightly, then quickly nodded. "Oh, I knew about that."
"Prism 'thought about it' while we were her," Blake added.
After returning to the VI headquarters, Simon started toward the PR
office to start doing the job he was largely being paid for. But he
happened to glance inside one of the lounges on his way and see
something that immediately drew him inside: Cynthia was in there,
alone. She was sitting on one of the couches with his gift,
busily scribbling away at a sketch. He just had to know what
she was drawing, so he sneaked quietly in to get a glance over her
shoulder. It wasn't a very successful attempt at stealth, of
course—fox ears and all. But she didn't stop working at it as he
approached, which he considered a win.
The picture seemed to be mostly complete; it was a somber, moody sort
of piece. There was a dark cave with only the faintest flicker of
light coming in, and a clearly present but slightly blurry and
indistinct human figure crouching terrified in its darkest corner.
There were broken-off bones and patches of torn clothes and fur
scattered around in some of the places the light reached. It was like
the cave belonged to some great monster, but the monster was away
just now—and yet its victim, huddling in the corner of the cave,
was still too terrified to flee, or knew full well they would be
tracked down even if they tried.
After he'd watched her continue to fill in the edges of the picture
with pencil for a minute or so, she turned her head back. "Whad'you
think, huh?"
"I knew you were talented," he said with a big grin. "You only just drew that today, and look at the shading, the perspective, the figure...all the emotion it conveys! It's not perfect, of course, but I could easily see a painted version, or maybe a little digital refinement, resulting in a piece worthy of collectors."
"I knew you were talented," he said with a big grin. "You only just drew that today, and look at the shading, the perspective, the figure...all the emotion it conveys! It's not perfect, of course, but I could easily see a painted version, or maybe a little digital refinement, resulting in a piece worthy of collectors."
"Mmh. This ain't really all that original...I'm just copyin' it
from memory."
"Oh? From where?"
"My old sketchbook."
"Oh? From where?"
"My old sketchbook."
"What happened to..." Simon trailed off, remembering her
background slightly too late to stop his mouth moving. He knew
what had happened—it had burned down, along with the rest of her
house.
Or at least, he thought he knew. She said: "Last time I
saw it, my dad found this sketch. He got angry. Real angry.
Took a lighter to the whole thing, and laughed at me the whole time
it was burnin' up.
"...Same man who kept my drawings from elementary school on the
fridge, and used to brag 'bout how his little girl was gonna be a
famous artist some day. He'd come home drunk or high, and real angry
either way, and beat me with his fists until I started bleedin'. Then
he'd finally notice I was hurt and just—stop, an' start cryin' his
eyes out and sayin' how sorry he was. Tryin' to bandage up the wounds
with his hands still clumsy from whatever he'd screwed himself up
with, and then tuck me into bed like he used to, like he was still a
good dad an' all."
"Er..." This sudden outpouring of distressing information
had come out of her flatly, with very little emotion, which was even
more worrying than if she'd been crying about it. This was a
very rare case where Simon had no idea how to respond.
"Sorry, guess that's oversharing."
"Sorry, guess that's oversharing."
"Y..you know." He came around to sit on the far side of the
couch from her. "I've always seen art as a playground. I've got
loads of talent, and have built up a ton technical
skill, but I always just want to make something unusual or
interesting—or whatever I think will sell. But among my peers, I've
met plenty who need it, for something else entirely. Whenever
they go and tell me why, and it's something like what you just told
me...I never really know what to say. I've tried saying 'well, at
least you're past it now', and I either get glares, or silent
head-shaking, or the most worrying laughter I've ever heard. Or I'll
say, 'hey, at least you got good art out of it,' and that gets
me the angriest glares. I'm certain giving expression to those kinds
of memories is super important, but there are people trained
to know what to say. Or when to say nothing at all, for that matter,
and..I'm not one of 'em." He shrugged.
Cynthia fixed him with a look throughout this, and then for a moment
afterward, then said: "'I'm sorry you went through
that.'"
"Hmn?"
"Hmn?"
"That's all you gotta say. At least, far as I'm concerned."
"Huh." He nodded. "Well, then, I certainly am. Wish
nobody did."
Simon had work to get to still, but didn't want to leave her off on
an awkward note like this. After mentally grasping for a second or
two, he said, "You know—well, you've probably noticed. I've
been sort of trying 'Phoenix' on for you as a 'superhero name'. I
didn't come up with it, but I liked it ever since I first heard it.
But, I, haven't really asked you for your opinion about that. I can
stop right away, if you don't like it."
"Hmm. Pheonix, huh? Big fiery bird that dies, and comes back
brighter and stronger from the ashes," she recited in a
faux-dramatic tone.
"Right."
"...Nah, I kinda like it. Just hope I can live up to that whole
idea."
"I'm confident you can," Simon said, hopping up onto his
feet. He nearly ran into Rowan on his way out of the room. "Ah—'scuze
me, off to work!"
Clark started the car. "That went well overall, didn't
it?"
"Yeah. Not bad. I think we could even stand to talk to each other again sometime," Rory said.
"Yeah. Not bad. I think we could even stand to talk to each other again sometime," Rory said.
"He seemed friendlier and less intense than last time,"
Clark continued. "Honestly, I think he is a pretty good
father."
"...I don't know about that. But then, I don't really
remember."
"He wants the best for you, I think. It's just that he wasn't ready back then, maybe, to accept that you could know better than him what 'the best' is. Maybe you were both so used to butting heads that neither of you would ever be willing to admit the other one was right. But time heals all wounds, right?"
"He wants the best for you, I think. It's just that he wasn't ready back then, maybe, to accept that you could know better than him what 'the best' is. Maybe you were both so used to butting heads that neither of you would ever be willing to admit the other one was right. But time heals all wounds, right?"
"Maybe. Time and memory loss."
They drove quietly for a few minutes. Then he said: "I can't
help but think about Tobias."
"Who?"
"The puppeteer?"
"Oh." This single, short syllable was dripping with disgust.
"Who?"
"The puppeteer?"
"Oh." This single, short syllable was dripping with disgust.
"He turned out that way, at least partially, because he
wanted...control. Control that his father would never relinquish to
him. I suppose freedom, too. He was simultaneously spoiled rotten,
and boxed in."
"So what?" she was, understandably, not particularly sympathetic to her murderer's former plight.
"So what?" she was, understandably, not particularly sympathetic to her murderer's former plight.
"I just..hope I turn out to be a better father than that."
"You think she's any less to blame? Just because of her
upbringing?"
"No, no.." Clark shook his head slowly. "A person like that is always responsible for her own actions. But, perhaps he still deserves some blame for the way things turned out...and paid for it with the loss of his son."
"No, no.." Clark shook his head slowly. "A person like that is always responsible for her own actions. But, perhaps he still deserves some blame for the way things turned out...and paid for it with the loss of his son."
Rory crossed her arms. "I'd say that's a pretty harsh
punishment, but...I'm really not feeling like it was right now.
"Anyway—you've got nothing to worry about. If anything, I'm
sure I'll be the
one who winds up handling all the discipline. You'll be the nice,
permissive one who bakes cookies for 'em and plays games with 'em."
"You don't think I'm capable of handing out punishment?"
Clark said.
"Hahah, are you kidding? I bet you take one look in
our little boy's or girl's eyes after saying 'no dessert for a week'
and it starts raining brownies and ice cream!"
"Hmph."
"Hey, don't look so upset about it. You're kind," she said. "It's what I love about you."
"Hey, don't look so upset about it. You're kind," she said. "It's what I love about you."
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