Chapter 14: 12-2: Oh Wheeere Is My Hairbrush?
Friday, September 14th
7:18 am
Shell-shocked.
That was the best way to describe Izuku's state of mind. It was like white noise filled every murky corner of his brain when he thought about Kacchan, shutting off any and all intelligible thought. He'd talked to Aguni-sensei yesterday (in a serendipitously pre-scheduled session) and the therapist had assured him it was a natural response to trauma. That the mind could put things on hold that it wasn't quite ready to process.
He'd wanted to protest that this didn't qualify as trauma, per se, but found it hard to argue when his brain just kept…liquefying.
Kacchan was a brash fountain of infinite strength. He couldn't just…fail. Lose everything. All at once.
If only Izuku could hold—comfort, cry with—his friend. He knew Katsuki wouldn't allow it, but anything was better than this.
The greenet risked a bloodshot glance across the communal bathroom's sink well, past Kaminari to where Bakugo listlessly brushed pearly teeth. The boy who normally scrubbed at plaque like it was a mortal insult to his soul was gone, replaced by an automaton. In fact, Kacchan's movements were so sluggish, he could have been mistaken for a cold-climate lizard that had yet to sunbathe.
Izuku's eyes jumped past his rival, taking in Kirishima. The redhead was staring at Kacchan's hand with pinched brows.
Looks like Midoriya hadn't been the only one to notice Bakugo's slowness.
Suddenly, Eijiro's eyes were on Izuku. Pleading.
A cold sweat crept along his back but he found his spine steeling anyway. Antagonizing Bakugo was daunting, but it was a way to actually help. If the nitroglycerin-quirked teen didn't get his blood pressure up, he was going to pass out. Izuku'd never forgive himself if Kacchan slipped into a coma just because he couldn't take a few burns.
"K-kacchan."
Everyone in the bathroom froze, toothbrushes hanging half out of frothy mouths. Katsuki, however, didn't so much as twitch, blue bristles maintaining a circular motion against his teeth as his eyes kept their hundred-yard stare.
Izuku needed something more irritating than Bakugo's childhood nickname to get a rise. Something that wouldn't ultimately make things worse.
Spitting minty foam into the sink, he followed with, "I heard that Baku-chan is going to be moving in. It'll be nice to see her."
When several pops exploded down the way, Izuku knew he'd succeeded in getting Kacchan's attention.
For some reason, now that he had it, an idea popped into his mind.
A good chase might raise Kacchan's spirits.
Turning on the faucet and cupping his hands under the water, Izuku acted like he was going to rinse out his mouth. Halfway to his face, he threw his arms left, arcing the liquid into a projectile.
Denki squawked, hit by crossfire as the provoker pivoted and flashed out of the bathroom.
A split-second later, a smoke of pursuit obscured and smothered an afterimage of green sparks.
Friday, September 14th
7:42 am
Harsh breathing filled the air as Midoriya peeked around a corner. Poking at Kacchan had gone a little too well.
Black scorch marks peppered Izuku's grey jacket, the dark teal of one of his shoulder accents hanging by a thread.
Luckily, he'd lost the other boy when Aizawa had cocooned his pursuer in a capture scarf. But that left a bigger problem.
Aizawa-sensei.
Izuku half expected the man to come ghosting around the main campus building like an angry ogre, eyes glowing red and aura threatening.
When he didn't, the greenet sighed, but not in relief. That meant the Erasure hero would be more like a funnel spider, lying in wait for Izuku's inevitable return to Homeroom.
The bedraggled teen checked his phone. Forty-five minutes until class.
He couldn't go back to the dorms, for obvious reasons; but he could hardly stick around here. If he walked around campus without a supervisor for that long, there's no telling what Aizawa-sensei would do.
Midoriya's cell phone went off, startling him enough that he almost dropped the device. Checking the screen, he found his lips lifting at a text from Kirishima.
Thanks, Man! You're the best! Bakugo's already dropped six f-bombs in the past four minutes. :)
Thank goodness.
His phone chimed again.
Don't worry about your books and stuff. I'll bring em with to class.
Even better. Now he just needed to figure out what to do about killing ti—
Another ding.
Midoriya-shounen. Are you okay? Aizawa-sensei just called me.
All Might!
The mini-Might nearly scratched his screen with a fingernail in his haste to reply.
Yes! I'm fine! I'm just outside the main building.
Did you want to talk about it? I'm in my office right now.
Midoriya had already typed No, don't worry about it. I'm fine, and was ready to hit send when he paused. Hadn't he just been thinking he needed to find a supervisor? And he really did need to talk to All Might about something else. Holding down the backspace, he rewrote, Be there in a minute.
Stepping out from the corner he'd been hiding behind, Izuku approached one of the H-shaped building's main entrances and ducked inside. As tempting as it was to take the stairs, the athlete ignored them for the elevator, riding the lift up to the ninth floor where the faculty offices were.
It wasn't long before the motion-sensor lights led him down the hallway to the plain brown door of Yagi's office.
Slipping inside, Izuku wasn't expecting the lengthy, frail arms that instantly dragged him into a hug or the fresh tears that spilled down his face before he could stop them.
"I'm so sorry, Midoriya."
Great, ugly gasps rasped from weak lungs as he struggled to breath, throat closing and snot oozing from a red nose. The world faded and his thoughts floated away until a woolly suit jacket roughed his face enough to anchor him, tethering him to his sanity like a kite tied to a windy bluff.
The distraught student opened his mouth, a hissing wheeze escaping instead of the words he'd wished to form. Another shuddering breath and he tried again, this time with marginal success, "Kaccha—" hic "—n needed it. I—" another shaky breath "—had to get him worked up."
Izuku was reminded once again exactly why he loved Toshinori as the adult just gently nudged him toward the office's couch. "You aren't in trouble. Aizawa-san suspected you were trying to help. He called to see if I would check in on you."
For some reason, that brought more tears which Izuku frantically wiped away as he settled onto the green furniture. The cushions dipped next to him and he caught the tail end of his mentor leaning back, one hand still lightly holding Izuku's shoulder even as he coughed to the side.
"Sorry, All Might. I know I need to stop being such a crybaby."
"I think I'll let it go, just this once." The skeletal man raised his free hand, a finger going to thin lips as if to say "shh".
Izuku released a choked laugh, but it was enough to remind him why he was actually here.
All Might-sensei needed to know about Lunch Lady's attack on Kanagawa. The curly-haired boy had promised Ojiro-kun he wouldn't say anything, but seeing his tailed friend come home from the punitive meeting yesterday had changed his mind.
The blonde had never been so still. (Not literally. He'd moved. He'd talked. He'd interacted. But something had gone from the boy that "motion" just didn't cover.) He'd seemed so blank, smile reassuring as a Nopperabo donning a Noh mask.
Still, Izuku had to be smart about telling.
If Ojiro-kun found out he had, the greenet wasn't sure the other teen would ever forgive him. But, if All Might came across the article on his own, through some well-timed hints, well, technically he'd be keeping his promise.
"Thanks. Everything just really caught up to me all at once." Izuku carefully extracted himself out of the taller male's personal space, scooting a couple inches away so that their thighs were no longer touching. "I feel better."
"Can I get you anything? Water? Juice? Tea?" Yagi asked, already turning toward a small mini fridge in the corner of the room and pushing off from the couch.
"No, thank you. I was actually hoping to talk to you about setting up a field trip for the class. Things have been really rough and I think it might be good for everyone to get a day off campus. I hear there are a lot of temples near the Kanagawa shopping mall that would be great to do research on for our upcoming Kamakura project. Maybe we can go there."
"Do I really need to remind you that UA is in lockdown?" Toshinori lifted a (mostly hairless) brow ridge and popped open the door to the fridge. Spindly fingers clamped down over a small juice box, drawing it out like an arcade claw before closing the fridge and puncturing the container with a straw.
"We could bring a ton of security! It doesn't have to be unsafe! I've just been seeing a lot of articles lately about how cool the area is. I really think it would help us get our minds off the green Nom—"
"—Midoriya-shounen, you know why we can't do that." Izuku winced as All Might plopped back down on the couch with a sigh, sucking at his sugary drink until the laminated cardboard dimpled.
Izuku took a breath, blowing out frustration. "Can you at least just think about it? Look into the area a bit? I bet if you did some research, Nezu would have to listen to you."
"I'm sorry, Midoriya. You have to understand. There's really nothing I can do to change the staff's mind on this."
Izuku's jaw clenched, then relaxed. This was going to be harder than he thought.
He'd have to try again later. If he kept pushing it'd be suspicious. And if All Might didn't stop being so dense, he was going to say the wrong thing and incriminate himself despite his best efforts.
Friday, September 14th
8:57 am
Carl Johnson's lanky frame shouted up at the auditorium, reminding his students that the assignment on identifying RAM types was due Monday.
Danny slouched, holding a throbbing head as he uncapped his thermos and took a swig of the peppery, nutmeg-lemonade flavor he associated with ectoplasm. A nearby student gave a weird look, nose crinkled, but after Danny's mechanical-pencil-ray misfire last Friday, she refused to comment. Not worth getting involved with a "Fenton", he was sure.
Normally, he'd find that level of shallow behavior mildly annoying, but right now he was just thankful he could nurse his hangover in peace. It was pretty funny watching her endure the scent of "antiseptics and chemotherapy chemicals" in self-imposed silence, though.
"Okay, Class! Enjoy your weekend and I'll see you all Monday!" As per usual, Mr. Johnson was the first one out the door.
Danny rose, grabbed his red bag and started down the aisle. He hadn't bothered unpacking anything today as it had taken all his effort just to listen beyond the pounding in his ears. Pushing by peers that leaned aside to let him pass, the halfa ghosted toward the door.
Huh. That'd been surprisingly easy. Normally there was at least an iota of resistance for anyone trying to leave right away.
Oh. Whoops.
Danny sucked his aura back into himself, removing his "pain" from the air. Several students at the end of the row nearest him visibly sagged and he ducked through the door feeling somewhat guilty.
The second he got to the other side, his two best friends fell into step beside him.
They were here early. Especially Sam.
Danny eyed the goth suspiciously until she queried, "Soooo. How are you feeling?" The words were considerately quiet, barely a murmur, and the pieces clicked into place.
"My head feels like it got hit by a sledgehammer." (He'd know.) "But other than that, I'm good. No more nausea, at least. Things are still a bit bright, but at least the sound sensitivity's gone."
"Oh sweet! That means I don't have to whisper," Tucker called loudly, grinning at the other boy's discomfort.
Sam elbowed the technogeek's side and rolled her eyes as Danny stepped in front, leading the two down the stairwell and outside to a set of empty picnic tables.
Danny felt a hum in his chest as he sat down that caused him to look over at his friends. Their breath frosted the air and there wasn't a speck of winter gear between them. Not even Sam, who normally had an array of fleece-lined, print-covered leggings for Fall. Stealing glances at the bright, formless cloud cover above them, he offered, "We can go inside, if it's too cold."
"Nah, Man. This is fine," Tuck assured, plopping on the other side of the table and pulling out his phone. "You wanted to complain about something ghostly, right?"
"How did you know that?" Danny whined, hiding his head in an arm cradle. "I haven't even said anything yet."
"Oh I don't know. Maybe the fact that you took point on our walk and led us to a place devoid of people?" Sam teased.
Tucker just shook his head, commenting "Clueless," before absentmindedly opening a Digimon emulator and tacking on, "Don't forget a Scrambler."
Scrambler. RIGHT. Danny lifted his head and a sharp jab to his brain reminded him exactly why he'd forgotten to use the power.
Hurrying to flood the area with technopathy, he nudged all nearby machines to "ignore" outside sights and sounds.
"So? What's up?" Sam's arms were already wrapped around herself, but she didn't comment on the chill.
Ice-cold energy crept from Danny's core, pouring up his throat and out his eyes in a way that turned their normal blue ethereal. The temperature surrounding his friends skyrocketed fifteen degrees at the same time that fat snowflakes began to fall over the school's baseball fields.
Bile suddenly rose in his gullet and he turned around, vomiting into the grass.
"Danny! We said it was fine! Don't overextend yourself!" Sam scolded, her tone telling him just how exasperating he was to be around even as he felt a slender hand start to rub circles on his back.
"Can I just—?" The ravenet looked pleadingly at the stinking pile of neon-green-oatmeal.
"No!" came at the same time as, "Please, Dude, or I'm gonna hurl too."
Danny spread intangibility through his shoe to the ground and the vomit disappeared into the grass like magic.
"Tucker!" Sam seethed, steadying Danny through another wave of nausea.
"Hey, don't be too mad, Sam. At least my powers actuallywork today. Yesterday was awful! I had to move to the Ops Center after I burst a pipe just getting water. Thank God the girls were in the lab."
"It's probably just a side effect of the whiskey. You do have one heck of a hangover," Tuck reminded, as if Danny had even a chance of forgetting.
"You don't understand. Yesterday was bad. I lost my pants. And set my shirt on fire. At the same time," the supernatural boy deadpanned.
"Well, have you made any headway on why everyone's powers are acting up?" Sam inquired, grabbing Danny's thermos out of his bag, uncapping it and handing it to him with a no-nonsense expression.
Danny accepted it without a fight, sucking in a gulp of the viscous liquid before responding, "Not yet. But Frostbite said he's looking into some weird radio wave that's been broadcasting in the Zone. He seems to think it might be related. Some kind of discourse thing."
"Ask if it got stronger yesterday or something," Tucker cut in. "That'd give you a pretty good idea if it's the source of the problem.
"True," Danny acknowledged, tipping back the rest of his drink. "But I don't want solutions right now. I want to vent! You should have seen the size of my—"
"EW! No! Gross! There is no way that you can end that sentence that will be okay," Sam cut him off.
"Whaaaat? I was just talking about a ghost shield," Danny responded innocently, blinking big baby blues at his disgusted friend.
"Suuuure you were," Tuck laughed, looking up from his game with a grin as Danny fought his own smile.
"It's true! I sneezed! Blasted a fifty foot ghost shield. Right out of my nose!"
"WOW, would you look at that?" Sam made a show of rubbing her arms. "Goosebumps. I'm officially cold." The goth pushed herself up from the table and extracted herself from the bench. "Time to go inside!"
The boys shared a glance before following Sam's lead, snickers chasing her brisk-paced form all the way to the Arts Center.
Friday, September 14th
10:33 am
Tokyo Central Trauma Center. How may I help you?
"Hi, I'd like to speak to Hoshizora-sensei. Would you be a dear and transfer me to him?"
Are you a patient or family member of his?
"No, I—"
I'm sorry, but I'm afraid you won't be able to speak to him unless you have an appointment or have been admitted to our ER.
Color bloomed in Chiyo's cheeks and she pursed her lips. Now that was just downright rude. Was this how Central hospital treated people these days?
"My name is Shuzenji, Chiyo." The grandma kept her tone even and soft, like she was talking to someone particularly slow. "Also known as Recovery Girl. I am neither a patient, nor a moocher. I need to speak to my colleague about a work related issue." An edge hardened her next words, sharp as an obsidian blade, "If you would be so kind."
Shuzenji-sensei!? An office chair suddenly creaked in the background,the wheels thuddering along something plastic, possibly a floor mat, before the receiver muffled and the person on the other end called out something indistinct. Someone else apparently answered, because a second later the phone returned to clarity and she breathed, He's with a patient right now, but if you leave your number with me I can have him call you—oh wait, he just got out. HOSHIZORA-SENSEI! Chiyo pulled the phone away from her ear at the yell. Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to—I just—here! the receptionist squeaked and clattery static filtered through the line.
Uhm, hello? The words sounded more than a little confused. This is Hoshizora.
"Ryuji-kun! Hello, Dear. This is Shuzenji." Chiyo let warmth into her tone. The reason for her call might be grave, but she wouldn't let it interfere with genuine happiness at talking to an old resident.
Shuzenji-sensei?! the chicken-dinosaur hybrid squawked. How have you been?
"I'm sorry Sweetheart, but I don't have time for a social call right now." Chiyo easily pushed regret into her voice. "I wouldn't mind one when I'm less busy, but I'm on a mission right now."
Oh, of course! Sorry! What-What did you need?
"A direct line to reach you in the future would be much appreciated, for starters. Your receptionist is a bit like Shiitake-kun used to be, before I set him straight," the elder chuckled.
Ah…
"Second, I need to do a patient sweep. I'm sure you've heard about the missing students. Hagakure Toru and Kamada Haru."
Yes. I'd heard. My condolences.
Chiyo could have corrected him, reminded him that the girls could still be alive and well. But this was her old student. They both knew the statistics.
A few mouse clicks and keyboard taps later, Hoshizora answered Chiyo's request, No patients have come in under those names. And no invisible Yamada Hanako's.
Hair and eye color of the other student?
"Grey for both."
Any mutations?
"None."
It was a good thing Chiyo was a doctor and a hero. Otherwise bypassing PPC wouldn't have been near so simple.
No one's coming up. But I'll let you know in the future if that changes. My number's—
Chiyo hurried to scribble down the string of digits, glad she'd had a pen and paper nearby for notes.
"Thanks, Ryuji-kun. Sorry to have our first talk in a long time be all business."
No, not at all. I remember how you operate. It was good to hear your voice, at least.
"Yours too. I'll call again another time, but I have to go for now. Lots to do."
Talk to you later, then.
"Bye."
Chiyo sagged in her chair, eyes scrolling over a long list of hospitals in the area.
Placing a check near Central, she exhaled.
Work to do, indeed.
Friday, September 14th
11:17 am
Hizashi Yamada rubbed puffy, dark eyes. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night, knowing what the staff had been forced to decide on. Removing students from the hero course for misconduct was something UA did not do lightly. In fact, the last time it'd happened, Hizashi had been a student.
It also didn't help that the decision came on the heels of two voluntary unenrollments from the hero course.
Yamada took a slow breath, counted to seven and released it.
Dwelling and moping wasn't going to help any of his students, but continuing to go through fanmail might help Hagakure.
The talk show host looked over at a mountain of papers next to him, its jumbled slopes stark white against the forest green of his office couch.
He was in the hour between periods, so he had some time. Best to get to it.
Tying his hair in a ponytail with a black elastic band, he grabbed an envelope at random from the chaotic mess and tore it open. A letter withdrew and green-yellow eyes scanned for a red mark. Seeing scarlet crayon above a sloppy scrawl of hiragana, the hero grimaced, already bracing himself for what news this little listener might have to share.
It was always harder when children used the SOS notation.
Their problems could be as simple as a stray cat not showing up for dinner. But sometimes, sometimes they were much worse. Those letters and voicemails always broke his heart no matter how quickly he could get child protective services involved.
Luckily, this one seemed to be mismarked. He should probably feel annoyed that the kid didn't understand the importance of a red tag, but all he really felt was relief.
Hi Mr Pres൭Nt Mic.
My -m- naMe iss Sou-chan. I found anew fri൭nd that might B coOl -2- TOo HAVe on you're sho-uu-w. No 1 is lice him. He iz licE A NEW aniMle.
PS pleez have HIm on! He is so coOL!
Below the heartfelt note was a drawing that wasn't a stick figure, but may as well have been. Yellow circles framed out a disproportionate body with nine strands of hair and a smile in brown. Beside the figure (labeled with an arrow as "Me") was a lime green circle. Big red eyes looked out from the blob that was aptly named "Watrmellen".
Yamada felt a smile creep onto his face. He might just have to have Sou-chan and his pet watermelon on the show. But not right now.
Standing up and walking to the far wall, the celebrity pinned the letter to a cork board full of favorites before turning back around and eyeing the couch.
He should probably switch to voicemails. They tended to be a lot easier to sort through and had more recent information.
Strolling over to his desk, Hazashi opened a drawer and grabbed out his "tip line" work phone. Swiping the lock screen open, he held the "1" on the device's keypad until the cell started to ring.
Please enter your password.
1365.
You have_twenty-seven_new messages.
There were a lot today. Hopefully, that meant actual news on the missing girls.
Thursday, September thirteenth, 9:02 pm.
"Hi, Present Mic. I wanted to report a possible drug dealer in the Minato ward near block twelve. Petite female with short black hair, pale skin and some kind of toad-controlling quirk. She often meets with—"
Hizashi skipped the message, noting the timestamp and "drug dealer" on a nearby notepad for his secretary. She could go back over the message later, but right now, the Voice hero had bigger fish to fry.
Friday, September 14th
1:03 pm
A rush of heat and hazy smoke escaped the door that Snipe opened, swirling out into the chill Autumn before drifting away on a breeze.
Today he wore his underground hero attire, standard cowboy threads replaced by a gothic-steampunk bodysuit well suited to a shitty vampire movie. His face was exposed for once, right half displaying a mottling of shiny pink skin. It didn't matter though, he fit right in.
Before even stepping into the seedy establishment, the sharpshooter scanned between grungy bar stools, posters, dartboards and a pool table, spotting no less than three low-level villains each with their own set of scars.
His own contact stayed hunched in the shadow of a booth, full cowl drawn up over a yawning darkness.
Snipe strolled over to the bar, lifting a hand in a casual, two finger salute. Shortly after, a pair of shot glasses clinked down in front of him, filled to the brink with a clear liquid.
"You want that on your tab, Bullet?"
A quick nod before he snagged the drinks and strode purposefully toward his "friend".
Red vinyl creaked under Snipe's weight as he slid into the booth and peered through the shadows of his contact's hood, not at all surprised when a variety of eyes looked back.
"Grave Robber." Snipe inclined his head.
An apt name for someone who accumulated extra body parts from corpses.
A mass, in-tandem blink returned the greeting before a raspy voice replied, "I called in because I found something on one of my 'walks'. It seems I'm in possession of a hot commodity right now. That is…to the right buyer."
The less than law-abiding citizen reached into his cloak.
Beneath the table, Snipe drew and aimed his gun in one smooth motion, posture remaining deceptively lackadaisy.
The dim light of the table lamp caught and highlighted the edge of something distinctly electronic before his informant hastily tucked the item back away.
Snipe found himself leaning forward, curiosity piqued. "Oh, and what leads you to believe I'm the 'right buyer' for this particular piece?"
"Haven't you heard?" Grave Robber's multi-colored eyes twinkled and his voice lowered, "Things have been disappearing lately. Important things. In impossible to reach places."
The underground hero's eyes narrowed, focus intensifying on the person in front of him even as his ears strained for possible eavesdroppers.
Words coming out even lower than his companion's, Snipe demanded, "And what, exactly, does this have to do with your product?"
"Thing's've been going missing…" A tentacle slithered onto the table, tracing a slimy circle on the wood. "But they've also been turning up." Grave Robber's hood tilted back, just enough that a hint of light made its way onto the lumpy flesh of what should have been a chin. "Unnatural things."
A thrill shot up Snipe's spine as a serrated smile bloomed on marred skin, overflowing with entirely too many teeth.
Friday, September 14th
2:00 pm
Jazz Fenton lounged on top of her little brother's bed, the dark purple comforter hiding a set of NASA themed sheets. Hair twirling around a finger, she flipped through The Beginner's Guide to Counseling and Therapy. It'd been a while since she'd read it and she was due for a refresher.
A sharp tug to the scalp pulled her attention away from the book and she glanced over at her hand.
"How the heck did I manage that?" Jazz breathed, mildly cross as she frowned at a tangle of red hair.
The difference between an intentional and compulsive lie would have to wait.
Tucking a bookmark into place, Jazz leaned over a small, white dresser to the side of the bed. Lifting several sheets of paper, she frowned, finding only a bracelet nestled beneath the stack. Putting it on and ignoring the tinkling charms, she opened the top drawer.
Where the heck was her hairbrush?! She knew she left it here.
Ugh.
Maybe someone moved it.
Jumping to check the upstairs bathroom, her lips pursed when the vanity yielded no results either.
She sure had been losing a lot of stuff lately.
Either the girls were hoarding her things, Dad was pilfering again, or there was a ghost involved.
What was her life that she even had to include that last theory?
The front door of the house creaked open before thumping closed and Jazz turned toward the sound.
Must be Danny. Mom and Dad were already on the plane to Switzerland and wouldn't be back until Tuesday. Maybe he'd know who was taking her things. She'd bet good money on Youngblood.
As she headed toward the staircase and past her room where the girls worked on homework, she heard shoes flop to the floor and the fridge open a moment later.
Straight to food and no footsteps. Definitely Danny. A fond smile cracked Jazz's scowl and she crossed the living room. Slowing to a stop at the cased opening to the kitchen, her eyes landed on the ravenet as he rubbed at his temples in the light of the fridge. Her own problems faded to the background.
He still had a headache?
Danny's eyes suddenly winced shut and Jazz froze halfway through a turn toward the medicine cabinet. A swirl of green had appeared above her little brother's head, just barely missing his hair.
Was that…a portal?!
It vanished.
Taking a breath and cracking his eyes back open, Danny reached into the freezer.
What was a portal doing—
The tall male tugged at some frozen vegetables that someone (probably Dad) had crammed in; only for the bag to rip, sending broccoli and carrots spewing to the floor.
Danny jumped back with a hiss and another little current of ectoplasm formed on the kitchen table at his back, the salt shaker vanishing through.
No WAY.
Starting forward, foot raising to accept her weight, Jazz announced, "Danny! I figured it—"
Her brother startled badly, a much larger portal opening between them.
Jazz's eyes popped wide as her step disappeared into air.
Chapter 15: 13-1 Ulcers All Around
Friday, September 14th
2:12 pm
"—AAAZ—!"
Jazz's foot just barely cleared the portal behind her before her brother's shout abruptly cut off.
Stumbling slightly from what was apparently just a six inch drop, the redhead managed to catch herself on a piece of wicker furniture. When she looked up, it was to an expanse of potted squash plants colonizing a serene rooftop. A gentle breeze tickled her face, and the chill added to her mood despite the sun.
"Gosh darnit!" Jazz fumed, stomping over to the edge of the building as she mussed her hair in frustration. Raising a fist at the sky and shaking it, she yelled, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!"
She found out Danny was the cause of the portals and now she couldn't tell anyone?!
AAARGHHHH!
Danny must have done something to piss the universe off. That was the only explanation she was willing to accept at this point. He had to have broken too many mirrors fighting ghosts over the years, or something, because this was ridiculous.
Gazing out over distinctly Eastern style architecture, she worried her lip. The people with mutations in the crowd below meant it was possible that this was Hagakure and Kamada-san's dimension. But what if it wasn't? What if she was trapped somewhere else entirely. What if—?
"A-a-ano. Hello?" [U-u-uhm, H-hello?]
Konnichi wa? Definitely Japan.
Jazz snapped around, greeted by the sight of an elderly gentleman hovering half-out of the door to the building's stairwell. His sage-green shirt was mostly visible, but only a single one of his legs poked through the door, the other still inside and clearly ready for a quick getaway.
Jazz's normally milky complexion paled to paper-white.
Right. This was somebody's residence.
Suddenly self-conscious, she reached up to touch at a nest of now thoroughly-ratty hair.
Despite the twenty or so feet between them, the man flinched.
CRUD. She must look like a crazy person that had climbed onto his roof to have a shouting match with the voices.
Cheeks doing a 180 from lack of color to full-bloom red, she stilled, halting her hands from their automatic urge to hide her face. Taking a breath, she shifted her posture to non-threatening, dropping her arms until they hung loose at her sides and relaxing her shoulders.
"I'm sorry; I'm stuck up here. Can you help me get down, please?" Jazz asked, slowly pointing to herself a couple times before down at the sidewalk below, hoping her tone would come across even if the words didn't. "Help. Please," she repeated, when the man's thinning eyebrows scrunched down in confusion.
"Sumimasen, I don't understand," [I'm sorry, I don't understand,] he shrugged helplessly.
Well, at least with how often Hakagure-san liked to say wakarimasen, she'd understood most of that sentence.
Man, this would be a heck of a lot easier if—
OH DUH.
This was one of those rare times Jazz could just feel how closely related she was to her brother as she held up a finger in the universal sign for "wait a minute".
The guy relaxed as she drew out her phone, seeming to understand that she was having trouble communicating because she was an English speaker, rather than someone with a neurological disorder. Pushing the door he'd been hiding behind the rest of the way open, he stoppered it in place and stepped out on the roof.
Jazz felt her heart skip a beat as the grandpa emerged from the shadows, his other sweatpant leg coming into view.
A decal of a man posed proudly on the light-tan fabric, flashing a smile as his massive hands gripped a set of bulging, muscular thighs.
All Might.
Kamada had gushed about the blonde hero enough times in the past week that Jazz would recognize the rip-off Fighting America anywhere.
He even looked the same age as he did in the pictures on Kamada's phone.
It seemed things were looking up.
Friday, September 14th
2:12 pm
-Simultaneously-
"JAAAZZ!" Danny's scream echoed through the house, shaking the large, black canister light near the ceiling and rattling the kitchen cabinets.
The kidnapper took his sister FROM RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM!
It had to be a revenge scheme! The villain knew Danny was getting involved with the girls. And Jazz—
"Danny! I figured it—"
Oh God. She knew who it was. She'd made a breakthrough, and was coming to tell him.
The person took her to silence her.
"They took her!"
They were going to kill her.
Danny's core railed, condensing in his chest like a snowball into ice.
He had to go—He had to save her. He—!
Suddenly there was warmth.
Arms?
Human. Mine. Protect.
The cold sucked back into his core so fast he felt dizzy, rapidly reheating a chilled room.
"DAANNY-SAN! Danny-san!"
The halfa tried to focus on the voice as he turned his head, angling it down as he went.
The person attached to him was so small. So…fragile.
Danny's eyes wandered over a rounded chin, past a button nose, and up to a pair of almond eyes guarded by thick, long lashes.
They were trying to tell him something. But what?
Danny snapped back to himself with sudden clarity as another person stumbled into the room.
A weird energy trickled away from his eyes like sand from an hourglass and he blinked, the image of the first girl disappearing like a lost dream. Only a pair of hollow jeans and a shirt remained, the ebony sleeves of a sweater clasping him in a hug.
Hagakure.
Danny gulped in a breath that sounded entirely too much like a wheeze and his heart lurched in an unnatural beat.
When did he start sweating?
Oh. He needed to—he needed.
Focusing on his breathing, Danny inhaled.
One. Two. Three.
Exhale.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
The air was cool on his face. His converse rubbed at the back of his right heel—he needed to glue one of the worn edges back down. Focus.
Keep counting. Even breaths.
The cabinet across from him had a chip in it. He should buy touch-up paint.
His body felt tingly, like all his hair had been tickled.
Gooseflesh.
Rubbing his fingers together, he noted the rough of callus skin and fingerprints.
His clothes were cold.
Hagakure was warm.
Danny opened his eyes.
Just when had he closed them?
"I'm—I'm okay." A shuddering breath; then, a rapid, "They took Jazz."
"Ano—watu about Jazz-san? Tuu faastu," Kamada asked, watching his lips closely.
"Mou ichido, onegai shimasu," [One more time, please,] Hagakure agreed as she finally let go of the tall male and stepped back a few feet.
Danny played the Japanese back in his head. Wait. He knew that phrase. Duh. They needed the Gabber.
Numbly grabbing into his pocket, Danny slid out his phone and turned on the app.
"They took Jazz. The kidnapper caught her with a portal when she came to tell me something." It was like a fresh bucket of ice dropped down Danny's back at the recount. His breath hitched and its successors immediately turned shallow.
"I don't—I've looked into everything I can. I don't have any more leads." Danny buried his face in his hands. "Clockwork won't help. I need to save her, but—but how can I if I don't know where she is!?"
Hagakure's voice was even as she admonished, "Danny-san, calm down."
The halfa's hands dropped in a snap and his resulting glare was sharp. "Calm down? You want me to calm down?! SOME PSYCHOPATH KIDNAPPED MY SISTER!"
"Danny-san, I think what Toru-san is trying to say is that panicking doesn't help," Haru broke in, soft voice more jarring to Danny than even Hagakure's steady one. "We should call Tucker-san. Maybe he can track Jazz-san's phone."
"And we should check the residue from the portal while it's fresh," Hagakure chimed in.
The anger left Danny in a rush, and suddenly, he was just so tired.
What was wrong with him? Snapping at people who were trying to help? With sound advice, no less.
He hadn't let his obsession so thoroughly trounce him in years.
"I'm sorry." Danny was going to elaborate, but saw he didn't need to. Kamada's face and Hagakure's body language told him they understood.
And they would. Better than anyone.
Standing up straight, Danny opened his contacts and dialed Tucker.
Friday, September 14th
2:27 pm
Jazz strolled down an urban sidewalk, running fingers through bright orange hair in an attempt to remove the plethora of knots. Getting it somewhat under control, she reached into her back pants pocket and grabbed out a phone, opening it to the Notes app. A document labeled "FDR" filled the screen and her lips turned up automatically.
"Jazz, get the POTUS plans!" a younger Danny yelled, watching as FentonWork's kitchen went up in green flames.
"The what?!"
"Execute order 32!"
"Danny, this is no time for jokes!" Jazz retorted, throwing the door to the fridge open and slamming her hand on one of two buttons next to the ham. Blue showered from above, covering everything in what looked like men's shaving cream. "I don't even get it!"
"C'mon Jazz, you're the history buff," Danny whined, hand visor protecting a pair of ice-blue puppy eyes, "If you don't, no one will."
At her little brother's pleading, Jazz groaned, scooping a glob of foam off the floor and plopping it on her chin to stroke in thought.
It had ended up being a joke about Franklin Delano Roosevelt. For the sole reason that his initials shared an acronym with the Fenton Disaster Response plans.
Danny was such a dork.
Smile fading with the memory, Jazz swiped through the document's pages until her thumb stalled over "So You Fell Through a Natural Portal".
That was probably the closest she was going to get to her current predicament.
Weaving around a colorful, A-frame sign, Jazz huffed a laugh. The instructions started eerily similar to the Prime Directive, which meant Dad must have written them. Although…maybe it was a joint effort, seeing as cute, precise doodles peppered the margins. The ninja hiding behind the words "be stealthy" definitely had her thinking of Mom.
Looking through the "possible outcomes" section, Jazz winced, reminded just how lucky she'd been. She could have portalled anywhere or anywhen. There was no fail-safe to keep her from winding up as a corpse-sicle in outer space or a splatter mark on the ground after a mile-high drop.
Yet somehow, she'd ended up entirely uninjured and in a non-hostile environment, able to pass as a typical resident (albeit a quirkless one) using knowledge she'd gleaned from Hagakure and Kamada-san. She even had a freakingtranslator, for goodness sake, a map and a coat. It was practically a guaranteed recipe for success.
The last two items were even new.
Ito-san, the gentleman who'd owned the garden, had been the one to give them to her. He'd been very adamant that she take them after he learned how she'd been stranded on the roof by an overzealous prank.
She felt bad about the lie; but she really did need the work jacket (it was chilly), and her Google Maps was not only outdated beyond belief, but couldn't connect to the internet.
Besides, a prank had been pulled on her. One that technically involved a "quirk". It just so happened that the universe, or perhaps Clockwork, was the instigator rather than some fictional girl from her sight-seeing tour.
Finally reaching the end of the block, Jazz maneuvered her phone between her last three fingers, leaving her pointer and thumb free to unfold the travel brochure.
Was it this corner? Or the next? It was so hard to tell when none of the roads had names or signs.
Apparently sensing her confusion, a pedestrian approached, his seamless, concrete body making little noise as he shifted several plastic grocery bags from one sculpted arm to the other. "Tetsudaimashou ka?" [Would you like some help?]
The surprisingly smooth voice had Jazz scrambling to minimize her Notes in favor of the Gabber app. "Uhhhh. Just a second, I didn't catch that." Then, "One more time, please."
"Oh, an American! I was asking if you wanted any help." Squinty black eyes crinkled in a smile as they glanced at the map.
Jazz found herself mirroring the expression. "That would be wonderful."
After only a few minutes of back and forth, blue pen covered the paper—a path and several landmarks inking it.
With another smile and a quick, "Arigatou!" Jazz was off, on the hunt for a minimart.
It didn't take long to find, but she still felt compelled to duck inside. It wouldn't do to start her journey with the wrong Lawson, which was, apparently, a fairly common chain around here.
The owner was thrilled, asking for pointers on how to pronounce several English words and insisting the interaction be in Jazz's native tongue. Somehow, the foreigner left the store with a warm riceball shoved into each coat pocket.
Japanese people were just so…so nice.
What was their secret? Their culture? How they were raised?
Even completely ignoring the superhero aspect of their society, this place was fascinating.
The young psychiatrist's brain worked overtime, half keeping an eye out for a yellow building while the other half people-watched in search of answers.
MUSTARD.
The garish color pulled the American's attention away from a toddler helping his dad sweep the sidewalk.
Stone guy had said the yellow building would be hard to miss. But wow. Jazz didn't even know that brick came in that hue.
Orienting herself off a nearby parking garage, she set out again, this time for a WacDonald's. A smile sprouted on her face and the traveler shook her head, keeping an eye on the far side of the street.
Alternate dimension indeed.
When a set of inverted, golden arches finally came into view, Jazz sidestepped a bird-headed man in a business suit and pressed the button for the crosswalk.
It was a left before the WacDonald's, not after.
The light turned green and a small pod of humans rushed to absorb her, depositing her on the other side of the road and leaving the girl to continue straight on her own.
Within several blocks, foot traffic slowed to a trickle, then disappeared entirely, this section of the city proving far less interesting than the shop-lined district behind.
Jazz pocketed her map and grabbed at her bracelet, sorting through its charms before finding the ones she wanted and wiggling them free.
Taking the silver band off, she held the jewelry parallel to the horizon and called, "Ecto heckto!", satisfied when the ring lit neon green.
Hmm. This was going to be tricky without a table.
Spying a short, cobblestone wall nearby, she strolled over, holding the glowing band an inch and a half over it. A quick drop through the hoop like a basketball had her "earring charms" growing in size, revealing their true identity to be Fenton Phones.
Jazz wasted no time, snatching the comms system up and fitting it in her ears.
"Testing, testing. One, two, three." Sliding her bracelet back into place, she listened, disappointed when not even the static of the Ghost Zone came through as feedback.
Well that was a bust.
Deflating, she slipped the Fenton Phones into a zippered pocket that sat above her chest and continued on.
It wasn't long before she approached a three-story building, the windowed walls of the second and third floor catching the sunlight and reflecting it into her eyes. The redhead looked away, blinking down at the concrete path below.
As the spots in her vision faded, a community notice board slowly appeared in their place.
Holding her phone camera up to the kanji, Jazz was pleased to find "Musutafu Public Library" floating on the screen.
Cracking a grin, she started toward the building.
It was important she find a way to take care of herself until Danny could get to her.
The thought stalled her good mood and anxiety gnawed at her stomach lining like some acidic monster.
With how dense her brother was, it might take him weeks to realize he was the problem. Heck, it already had been weeks and he still hadn't figured it out.
She was fine, obviously; she wasn't worried about herself.
But Danny's obsession pretty much guaranteed that his health was in for a nosedive.
Friday, September 14th
2:42 pm
"I'm sorry, Danny. Phantom's signature is the only one here, and I can't get a lock on Jazz's phone," Tucker apologized from his crouch near the living room-kitchen border. "She might have turned it off to save battery." The technogeek shifted on the balls of his feet, holding out a PDA with his right hand while the other one automatically steadied the Fenton Finder on his left knee.
Danny surveyed the screen from just a yard away, making no motion to take the device even as his foot practically vibrated with nervous energy. Kamada and Hagakure hovered further in the kitchen, staring anxiously at their host.
"Check again." Face drawn, the ravenet's eyes lowered to the tile in front of his best friend.
"Danny, I've already looked three times. This isn't getting us anywhere. We gotta do something else."
Gaze darting up and turning severe, the halfa briefly caught a set of teal eyes before zipping back down. Opening his mouth, Danny paused, then hissed out a long breath. His next words were bland, carefully controlled, "What else can we do?"
"Maybe we have to open the portal downstairs," Kamada offered tentatively, keeping an eye on the red splotching over Danny's cheeks like rosacea.
"That's a great idea, Kamada!" Tucker praised, setting the quiet girl into stuttering deflection as Danny muttered, "If the portal that took Jazz used the Zone as its midway—" his voice sped up, gaining emotion, "—opening the Fenton Portal might act as a conduit and allow us to reach her!"
Snatching at Tucker's arm, Danny pulled his friend up. The boy yelped, only just managing to grab the Finder before it could crash to the floor. The relief was short-lived, as a second later, he was half-led, half-dragged through the house toward the lab.
Startled, Hagakure and Kamada rushed after, trying to keep up with the boys' much longer strides. The invisible teen took point, the support student trailing behind with a still-stiff leg. It was a good thing, too, because halfway through the dining room, Danny bumped a chair in his haste, toppling in front of the girls. Toru's fast reflexes were the only thing to save her from a nasty bruise.
Their host didn't notice, bulldozing ahead and yelling "Danny!" at the voice authorization panel like he hadn't just slammed a hip into hardwood.
Exchanging a silent glance with Kamada (who tried her best to meet the other girl's unseen eyes), Hagakure just picked up the chair and pushed it in, walking through the still-open door to the basement. After a short pause, Haru steeled her shoulders and followed, pressing a button when she passed the threshold.
As the security lock dinged and the metal doors slid shut behind them, the pair started down the stairs.
"—sorry, Man. There's still no signal."
Green bathed everything, the tell tale, fluctuating light an obvious sign that the portal was already open.
"There has to be!" Danny snarled, forcing Tucker to either lean back or get spit on. "I have to help her!" Hands clenched into fists, the ghost boy started to pace like a caged tiger, nearly invisible, ectoplasmic flames wisping off his exposed skin.
Tucker covertly glanced toward the stairs and set his electronics aside before stepping into his friend's path. Grabbing the larger man's arms in a no-nonsense hold and stifling a wince, he demanded, "Dude, calm down!"
The fire snuffed out just as Hagakure and Kamada reached the base of the stairs.
When no exclamations or accusations came forth, Tucker sagged and pulled his hands away, immediately hiding them in his hoodie pocket.
Danny stared at the younger boy's sweatshirt, eyes showing a little too much white, before wrenching his gaze side-ways toward the girls. Teeth clenched and face turning decidedly pasty, he watched Hagakure approach.
When she got close, a black sleeve rose up like a snake and a divot appeared on Danny's nose, causing him to go cross-eyed. "Danny-san! Stop panicking for a minute and think! Kamada-chan and I both fell through a portal, but we're fine."
"Hagakure-san's right," Haru tacked on, bringing up the rear, "We weren't captured, just transported. She's probably just wandering around lost somewhere."
"I bet she's not even lost!" Tucker grinned, latching on to the reasoning with forceful confidence. "You know how resourceful Jazz is. She can handle anything that comes her way." A blush reddened his darker skin. "She's strong, capable and brilliant with people. I wouldn't be surprised if she's thinking more about you than herself right now. What are you gonna do when she comes back and the only thing wrong with her is an ulcer from worrying about your sorry ass?"
Danny's eyes flicked from Tucker's cocksure face, to the portal and back again.
Like a pile of drapes held up wholly by rumpled creases, Danny finally sagged.
"You know. I really hate it when you're right."
Friday, September 14th
3:27 pm
A mechanized belt lay unassuming on a metal welder's table, its silver circuitry overlaid in several places by pathways of electric green. Various cords led away from the device, hooked up to all of the best instruments UA had to offer.
Beside them, the school's principal stood high on a stool, looking down at the gadget before turning his gaze to survey the rest of the support course workroom.
A ding cut the silence and Higari Maijima grabbed up a nearby tablet, scrolling to the bottom of the readouts and measurements supplied by the surrounding machines. Sharp air whistled past his lips. "You're right, Kocho-sensei. The ectoplasm powering the device has the same signature as the portals."
With that verification, Nezu ground his teeth. Luckily, he didn't have to worry about the wear on his incisors (they'd grow back), but he did have to worry about the small bald spots developing under his sweater-vest.
This mystery was leaving him equally confused and frustrated. Every new thing they discovered made his original theories drift farther and farther away from reality.
Nothing was adding up. Not a single thing.
What villain left a trademark etched into their nefarious device? He'd assumed at first that it was stolen tech, with how official the "FentonWorks" logo had appeared. But the company didn't come up in any system he had access to—legal or otherwise—and now that they knew the signatures matched, it was obviously made for the villain. Not to mention the fact that the name was written in English, the same language that "Lunch Lady" spoke.
And why a belt? Higari had managed to makeshift a key for the center clasp to activate it and all the accessory had done was coat itself in ectoplasm.
It was hardly a doomsday device, so it must be some kind of support item meant to power up the wearer. But why?
The residue of energy from the initial portal site had been formidable, but maybe that had been a result of the belt. Maybe the portal user couldn't make enough ectoplasm on their own to keep this up?
But why get rid of the belt if that was the case?
Why make things appear at all?
Was it a trap? An SOS from a kidnappee? Or was it something else entirely?
Maybe the portal user was an unwilling participant—the belt did have a lock on it—or the villain didn't have as much control as UA believed?
That last could be true. The green Nomu had shown signs of major quirk instability in her most recent fight against the faculty. It wouldn't be a stretch to assume ectoplasmic Nomu shared at least some pitfalls.
A light knock sounded at the door and both Power Loader and the rodent turned to it.
"Kocho-sensei. It's Ectoplasm," came almost totally muffled through the metal. The individual study rooms were heavily soundproofed, so it was no surprise.
"Come in!" Maijima ushered and Ectoplasm obliged, sidling through the opening before gently shutting the reinforced door behind him.
Covering a gaseous hiccup, the duplicator fished, "You requested my assistance?"
"We have acquired something from our opponents," Nezu informed, cutting to the chase. "I'm going to be frank. We're not sure exactly what it does, but we think it's a power booster of some kind. We've run various tests over the past hour and it doesn't seem to be a weapon, but it may require an ectoplasm user to understand its purpose." The principal let the words rest in the air like dough, hoping that his employee would rise to the occasion.
"We thought you might give us some insight," Maijima added, gesturing with a hand. "We don't expect you to try it on unless you want to, but it's possible you'll catch something we didn't."
Dark blue head dipping down, the math teacher crouched in front of the device. "I am not opposed to having a clone test it in the future. But I would like to thoroughly look it over first. I assume you've already tried hacking into the software?"
"We have." Thinking about the inaccessible code that only returned the letters T and F no matter what they did, Nezu's muscles tensed. "But there's a firewall we can't seem to bypass."
One of Ectoplasm's eyes widened, giving the illusion of a raised brow to his smooth forehead.
"It's particularly…adaptive. We suspect an advanced AI," Nezu explained in response.
"Impressive. It is rare for any code to best you two."
"You're telling me. For a fashion accessory, it sure packs a punch," Maijima conceded, walking over by Ectoplasm and dropping onto a spare stool with a sigh. "I'm worried we might not crack the code before the ectoplasm fades."
"Speaking of. It doesn't appear to be shrinking. At all," the kneeling male commented. "I know it looks like ectoplasm, but are you sure it is?"
"We're sure. Its signature matches the portal user's."
"Check the decay rate. Something's off."
Maijima opened a new app and ran one of its programs. A whirring disturbed the air as a nearby electronic angled toward the belt, a dish-shaped sunflower turning towards its green-hued sun.
"It's stable," Maijima pronounced a second later, tone filled with awe as he tapped a number on his tablet and held it up. "There is almost no sign of radioactive decay."
Silence greeted the statement.
Someone had not only managed to make a device that ranon ectoplasm, but they'd also managed to stabilize the incredibly volatile substance.
Just who the heck were they dealing with?
Friday, September 14th
4:30 pm
"Irasshaimase. Nanika osagashi desu ka?" [Welcome. Are you looking for something?]
Jazz set her phone on the counter between the middle-aged woman and herself, tapping on the device's screen as she mimicked a phrase Hagakure liked to say during English practice, "Mou ichido, onegai shimasu." [One more time, please.]
Hesitantly, the librarian repeated herself, jumping slightly when the Gabber app parroted her words in English.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you were American." The slightly chubby female ducked her head, eyes sliding away under Jazz's focus and down to her own pink shirt.
"It's fine. I seem to be hearing that a lot today," Jazz responded with a grin. Keeping her voice soothing, even though the app couldn't convey tone, she tacked on, "I mean, I am in Japan, after all. Assuming I'm Japanese is hardly an insult."
At the other woman's answering smile, the psychiatrist redirected the conversation back around, "Now, would it be possible to get a log in for the computers? They seem to be locked."
"Absolutely. May I see your ID?" A plump hand reached out and the woman tilted her head, unaware that the simple question had sent Jazz into a tailspin.
The Amity resident's purse, and therefore wallet, were stationed where they always were when she was lounging at home—on the coat rack by the front door of FentonWorks. There was a back-up picture of her driver's license on her phone, but Hagakure and Kamada had described a rather negative political climate due to the League of Villains and the FDR plans had explicitly warned against finding her way onto any government's radar. Having her real information in a public database sounded risky.
Who knew if her hometown even existed in this universe? Or what if her ID was flagged for something mundane, like lacking a quirk description? Heck. If by some miracle she didn't get tagged, they'd still have her name tied to what was going to be a very peculiar browsing history.
She wished she could say she was being paranoid, ridiculous even—she was at a public library, for Pete's sake—but experience had taught her that her brother's terrible luck tended to be very transferable.
"Hello? Miss?"
Jazz was startled from her thoughts, and she blurted out the truth. Well, a version of it. "I forgot it at home—I mean, the hotel." The foreigner winced, before looking up sheepishly. "I didn't know I'd need it."
"Oh!" The other person looked panicked, shuffling around behind the desk. "That's okay. Let me just—Ack! Sorry!" Dark-green eyes watered as the woman momentarily sucked on a red thumb-tip, using her other hand to hold out a clipboard and pen. Taking a breath and dropping the injured hand, she explained, "You can just use the sign-in sheet. ID's aren't mandatory, they're just easier to use because we can scan them."
Jazz's shoulders dropped minutely and she gave a thankful smile.
Beaming in return, the librarian added in a rehearsed tone, "Please limit computer time to an hour when the library gets busy. If someone is waiting to use the computers, whoever has been on the longest will be asked to log off. But if no one is waiting, feel free to stay on as long as you want."
That…actually was a really good policy. Jazz would have to suggest it to the Amity library when she got home.
The American glanced up at an analogue clock on the far wall, jotting down "Jazz Smith" and the time, before relocking gazes with the woman's dark eyes. "Uhm. Would you mind helping me log in to the computer? I have a feeling I might need help switching the keyboard and operating system over to English."
"Oh, of course! I don't know how, but I'm sure we can figure it out together."
"Team work makes the dream work," Jazz agreed automatically.
"I'm sorry?"
"Uh, nothing. Don't worry about it."
Dang it, Danny. Her brother needed to stop being so contagious.
Thin-plucked brows drew together in confusion, but the librarian didn't comment, stepping out from the centralized help desk and leading Jazz toward a row of computers along the back wall.
Daintily tucking a blue skirt under her legs as she sat down, the sweet lady accessed one of the monitors and grabbed out a smartphone. "Let me just check Bang—" Bang? Jazz's lips twitched, "—real quick, but I think you can hold a series of keys to switch the keyboard over."
Only a few seconds passed before, "Yep, here we go."
Satisfied when a quick document test proved the fix viable, the plump woman started navigating the computer settings.
"Do you mind if I take a video?" Jazz had learned a lot at college. Like the importance of instant, visual notes.
"Oh, not at all." The librarian leaned to the side, pine green hair sliding over a shoulder as she allowed Jazz's phone camera access to the screen.
"Let's see…time and language…language…Oh, that's nice! It looks like English is already on here. Now we just need to sign out and sign back in and you should be good to go!"
"Thanks for the help—uhm, I'm sorry, what was your name, again?" Jazz asked, fairly certain the other woman hadn't said.
"My name?" The lady seemed flustered, cheeks going red as she peeked back at Jazz. "Oh, it's—" she paused, eyes widening before squinting in a smile, "You can call me Inko."
"Thank you, Inko-san. You've been a big help."
"You're very welcome." The librarian stood and did a slight bow, then threaded her way back through the bookshelves to the help desk.
After her assistant left, Jazz turned back around, taking Inko's place in the chair. Fingers interlocking and palms stretching outward until her joints cracked satisfyingly, the ginger shook out her hands and grabbed the mouse, opening the internet browser.
When the homepage popped up, she couldn't help but snicker.
Time for a "Moogle" search.