6.26 Rubicon
16th of May, 2011
Contrary to appearances, I don't exactly have the best hold on my intrusive thoughts.
I know that I probably gave to the local PRT chapter the illusion that I'm an extremely calculative individual that does everything for a reason, but this is only true to an extent. The truth is that I am what I am today because I managed to make myself look somewhat competent – though extremely competent for my age – despite winging it half the time. 'Proper planning' does tend to take the background when you're constantly under a time constraint, with the slew of 'piss poor performances' such a tendency tends to unleash.
Somerset is only the last, and the biggest offender, among my list of personal blunders. Underestimating the locals' response time and/or nosiness saw me nearly getting skewered by Sophia Hess during my first sortie; I only escaped Victoria Dallon because she underestimated my willingness to jump off her grip after falling for the cliché of forgetting to look up; and I had to rescue Taylor Hebert from the Empire's goons because I didn't want to portal to the synagogue and screw with my ritual, while I could have teleported into a nearby side-street and potentially avoided that entire nonsense!
Call it hyperfocus, call it poor impulse control if you want, but for someone pretending to look at the bigger picture, I have the tendency to too often ignore the smaller one to have my fun instead, only for it to come back to bite me in the ass later.
"You're doing well." I smile at Theia as the both of us hold hands while she takes slow, hesitant steps under the moonlight, Coral crimson shining through the joints of her naked, wig-less teenage Worker Drone frame.
"This is frustrating," the features of her temporary vessel slowly twist into an adorable pout even as she takes another wobbly step forward, "I do not understand why this is so difficult. I can move my avatar just fine!"
This, though? I absolutely cannot let it slip out of my control.
"I can think of half a dozen reasons why that would be the case," I hum while guiding her though another slow and marginally less hesitant step, "But I'm pretty sure this is mostly due to the fact that you have total control over the laws of physics in your corner of reality."
Her eyemotes turn squinty as they lock with my visible eye for a moment.
"Your avatar is just a part of the 'you' that is the greater whole," I elaborate, "You cannot fail while in your own domain."
"Ah," the Coraline Shard makes a little noise of understanding while taking another wobbly step, "That would make sense, I suppose. I will have to take a look at my subroutines."
"This is just a proof of concept anyway," I prevaricate a little, getting mentally ready for the discussion that is to come, "I was almost certain that it would work, but I still had some doubts. I'll take some time to rework your vessel to prevent accidental Coral leakage," 'cuz the last thing earth Bet needs is it proliferating all over the place, doubly so because it could start giving other Shards some ideas before Theia and Shaper are done with whatever the both of them are doing, "Rework some of the internals, and include a hologram module."
"...Why is the latter important?" Theia asks aloud after a beat and another slow step.
"So you can personalize it all you want appearance-wise," I explain off-handedly, "And because some clothes and a wig will do wonders to stop people from doing something stupid when they see you for the first time."
Scarlet eyemotes on a black background blink.
"...You want me… to meet… other humans…" she realizes, her voice somehow going through an entire gamut of emotions, hesitant at first, then considering, and finally curious and hopeful.
I lock eyes with her, before slowly nodding as she takes another, surer step.
"Eventually, yes," I answer honestly, "But not–"
"Not before the Warrior has been dealt with," I freeze a little, and she rolls her eyemotes in answer, "He isn't listening, I would know. Without Queen Administrator, he is almost entirely cut from the Network."
"It's not really paranoia if the central-node of an alien's species hive-mind is truly out to get you," I quip back in a bid to bleed my nervousness slightly faster, and Theia gives me a deadpan look, "I'm sorry. I know that you've been alone for a very, very long time and that this must suck to hear, but I'd rather we didn't take the risk until the situation has been dealt with."
We take another step together, and I distractedly realize that she seems to have gotten the hang of it.
"It's fine," she eventually answers after a beat, eyemotes darting to the side and dash tag emoting a blush on her visor, "I waited this long already, I can endure a few more Cycle," she looks back at me, metallic digits squeezing my fleshy ones a little tighter for a moment, "And I'm not alone anymore; I have you."
I blink, then beam a smile her way.
"That you do, Theia, that you do."
***"'morning, everyone." I mumble under my breath while stifling a yawn as I trudge down the stairs, still not feeling completely awake despite having blitzed my morning's conditioning as soon as I woke up.
Three pairs of eyes rise from their own plate to give my comfy panda onesie and me a look of acknowledgement and two verbal greetings as I take my place at the table and reach for my glass of OJ like a lifeline.
"...You seem pretty tired, Jacky," aunt Zoey comments while handing me my bowl of cereal while I finish gulping down my drink.
"It's nothing," I sigh, before waving my right arm distractedly, "I ended up staying up later than I thought I would because I was giving my Stigma a look," and because giving Theia a vessel to inhabit only reinforced her chatterbox tendencies, "Good news, it's safe for everyone; bad news, it's safe for everyone but me."
I shovel a spoonful of cereal into my mouth until two pairs of alarmed look, quickly chewing it down before elaborating.
"To give you the cliff note, it's essentially a poisoned gift imposed on me. It's affixed to my soul – yes, those are real – so I can't get rid of it, and I'm pretty sure that replacing it with a prosthetic limb would see it slowly revert to this unholy eldritch mess before too long," I rattle, an annoyed frown on my face, "The 'gift' part is that it gives me access to some kind of hyperdimensional magic–" I make a little show of snapping my fingers to let ghostly black flames dance along my arm before dismissing those with a wave, "–and makes me immune to precogs the likes of the worst angel like I said yesterday. The 'poisoned' part is that, if I go overboard with it, it won't stop at just taking my arm."
And by this point, the Idea would only need a little push to come back, I internally finish the thought, it would check out; he's rather big on the 'give you the rope to hang yourself with' thing, after all.
It's perverse, and it is admittedly rather clever of the Idea; if I wasn't able to continuously improve as a Tinker of Fiction is wont to do, my Stigma's magic would probably be the best shot I'll ever get at taking down Scion.
I shake the thought away to better refocus on the conversation, just in time to acknowledge the heavy looks of concern threaded with disbelief sent my way.
"It's not a big deal," I wave the concern off while shoveling some more cereal into my mouth, "'m already working on a fix. Should be dealt with in two, three weeks tops."
I'm honestly making it sound easier than it truly is in practice, since I need to find a way to seal my Stigma without damaging my soul in the process, and none of my previous specializations prepared me for this particular scenario.
Fortunately, the next cycle falls on the next Monday, which gives me ample time to think of a new reality for Theia to peek into that would give me the solution I need. I even already found one possible way I could 'get my cake and eat it too' so to speak, but there's no rush.
I don't need to use my Eye to see that my words haven't exactly convinced aunt Zoey that I have things under control – which, fair, considering the last three days – but uncle Alan's hand on her forearm convinces her to clamp down on her first – and possibly second, and third – instinctual response.
She takes a deep breath, before directing me a shaky smile after darting a look in her husband's direction.
"That's… a good news?" She tries.
"It is. I have it under control," I quickly reassure her a second time, before going for another spoon of cereal while giving her a shrug, "And it's not like anyone but me could deal with it in any case."
"Funny you said that," uncle Alan chimes in, before sliding today's Bay's gazette my way, "Because there's another thing only you can deal with."
I blink dumbly his way while chewing on my cereal, before giving the headline of the newspaper a look.
'Local independent hero takes down the Slaughterhouse Nine!'
My head hits the table with a dull thud and a heartfelt groan.
"...More paparazzi?" I ask aloud, my voice slightly muffled by my hair.
"Yes, and they look almost rabid." He drawls while crossing his arms over his chest, looking a little annoyed.
I don't answer immediately, electing instead to give PHO a look, getting a little annoyed that it somehow slipped by me. Granted, I rarely look at the message board, since Louise is generally more on the ball about it.
And yep, here it is. An official statement made by Reave last night triggered the shitstorm I'm about to get swept in, lucky me. I wonder how it slipped by Louise?
I sigh before lifting my head from the table, but only so far as resting my chin on it.
"Can I–" I start asking.
"No punting the journalists into the Bay." Uncle Alan instantly shoots my idea down, his tone mildly chiding, but unable to fully hide his amusement.
"...Spoilsport." I pout scowl while grumbling as I redirect my attention toward my cereal for the time being.
Eating now, dealing with the vultures later.
***
"...You don't have to do this if you don't want to, you know?" Aunt Zoey tells me while nervously playing with her own fingers while we stand in front of the house's door.
"Except I have to," I answer a little distractedly after giving my uniform one last look, my eye locking with her own as I gesture at the glove covering my right arm, "We need to see the principal about this so that the school doesn't get on my case about not respecting the dress code. Otherwise, I would have just portalled straight to the school."
I pause, before adding.
"To be honest, I'm probably going to do just that from now on," I avert my eye, "Not like I don't like you driving me to Juniper in the morning, but I don't want to be a bother and–"
My voice gets stuck in my throat as a hand comes to mush my hair for a few seconds, before pulling away.
"...You're family, Jacky," aunt Zoey says in a soft voice, "And while Alan and I don't see eye to eye on some subjects," understatement of the century if there ever was one considering their recent row, "This one we happen to fully agree on. We agreed to take care of you. Driving you around isn't a bother, it's what a parent would do."
My stomach twists a little on itself at her words.
I don't trust myself to give a good verbal answer that wouldn't feel rehearsed, which is why I do the next best thing and give her a hug instead.
When I pull away a few moments later, my emotions have settled.
"Alright," I exhale while turning to face the door once again, "Let's get this over with."