6.27 Rubicon
16th of May, 2011
I feel already dead inside by the time aunt Zoey and I roll up to Juniper. Three impromptu interviews-slash-press-conferences in as many days isn't something I'd recommend to anyone, and I wholeheartedly understand why Missy has been dodging the paparazzi by running on the rooftops each morning since the mess with the Fallens.
And the situation doesn't seem like it's going to improve when the both of us step out of the car and hundreds of goggled eyes turn our – more specifically, my – way. It starts with a few children and the odd parents there and there falling silent all of a sudden as they register my presence, then it spreads like a ripple as more people catch on to the fact that Something Is Happening Right Now.
I try to pay it no mind, my own focus narrowed on my friends as aunt Zoey and I make our way toward them and I give them an enthusiastic wave with my free hand, the other holding Zoey's.
"Hi girls!" I chirp aloud as soon as I get into an adequate conversation range, "How's it going?"
"Way to make an entrance, Jacky," Missy drawls, her arms crossed over her chest, though if the way the corner of her lips shake is anything to go by, she's getting a kick out of it, "Hello, Mrs. Barnes."
"Missy, and everyone," my aunt greets, a little short of breath – which, oops?, "Now, if you'll excuse us for the moment, we have to go see the principal."
"Why's that?" Caroline asks, her head tilted to the side and an index poking at her own cheek.
"So I can properly apologize for the mess I made on Friday," I explain, wondering a little why Louise is all silent and stuff, "And to ask that I'd be allowed to keep a glove on in spite of the dress code."
I punctuate the sentence by wiggling my right hand's fingers, and each of the girls turn a little green at that; they badgered me about it until I gave up yesterday, and rather universally regretted ever asking afterward.
"That… would probably be for the best," Missy concedes after a beat, her brows furrowed, before apparently making her mind, "I'm coming with you."
"Really?" I blink.
"Yes," she answers seriously with her Ward-self voice, her tone slightly grufier than I'm used to, "My words have some weight nowadays," which is kind of an understatement, "So I'll back you up on that."
While I'm pretty sure that the acting principal would have seen the light and chosen not to die on that particular hill, the show of support still gives me some warm fuzzy feelings.
"Thanks a bunch, Missy! You're the best!" I beam a smile her way.
"...Don't mention it," she grumbles while turning away, a faint red dusting her cheeks, "Better hurry up though, first period is in ten minutes."
"Then after you, Space Girl." I mock-curtsy her way, unleashing a couple of laughs and a sound not too dissimilar from a boiling tea-kettle, and finally a scoff from the blonde as she about-face.
"Try to keep up," her lips curl up as she looks over her shoulder, "Gear Brain."
I let out a squawk of indignation while tugging aunt Zoey along as we both step behind Missy, the hush that had befell the crowd lifting up with our departure.
***
As always since Emily had taken her office, the beginning of a new week starts with the customary PRT inter-branch videoconference. Keeping abreast of the new major developments across the country is an essential part of her job; like the Boston Games had handily demonstrated four years ago, capes – more accurately, villains – tend to migrate when new opportunities arise, which is why keeping an ear to the ground to try to anticipate the movements of the major players is so important.
That is the theory. In practice, a lot of the time spent during those reunions is usually spent airing complaints to Director Costa-Brown, with each Director jockeying among each other for just a bit more resources, the true purpose of information gathering and sharing taking more often than not the backseat during the course of the discussion.
Yet, for once in her career, Emily is content to remain silent as Director Armstrong argues for reinforcements to be sent to Boston, the bags under the man's eyes having reached critical mass sometimes since Friday. While she has no doubt that Lung will eventually make himself known once again at some point, the Empire has all but been gutted following the latest gang war. Hell, the most credible threat to the Bay's order happens to be a group of jumped-up crackheads whose leader allegedly wears stained briefs as a makeshift mask.
She gives those 'Merchants' two weeks before they'll be able to enjoy the PRT's hospitality through an impromptu visit to the holding cells, and she's conservative in her prognosis. For the first time since the start of her tenure, the PRT has an overwhelming number advantage against the local crooks, and she'll be damned if she doesn't use it. Calvert's little trove of information even gave her the perfect angle to tackle the Nazi-shaped issue; tattling to the IRS about the origin of their funds may seem a little underhanded to most, but she never could stand Max Anders and she's positively salivating at the idea of watching the worm squirm under the feds' boots.
Emily is, dare she say it, almost in a good mood. Sure, most of her Protectorate team is still reeling after the Somerset mess, and Alexandria's heavy-handed attitude with New Wave had soured her professional relationship with half its members, but things are finally looking up!
"–best we move on for now," Chief Director Costa-Brown's voice wrenches her from her idle daydream of a city without Nazi and their Pan-Asian counterpart, "I'll come back to you at the end to see what we can do to help deal with the situation in Boston. Now, Director Piggot? Let's address the elephant in the room."
And just like that, Emily's pleased mood sour all of a sudden.
Before she can even open her mouth to say something, the local sycophant interjects smoothly.
"I'm curious," Director Wilkins faux-idly contemplates, her eyes squinty, "How exactly could this–" she makes a show of looking down at her notes, "–Nictimène manage to weasel her way out of a probationary Ward status?"
"Through no fault of Director Piggot," the Chief Director clips, her hands clasped together atop her own desk, "Since I was the one to preempt any hard sell."
Emily has to suppress a little smile as the NYC Director gets caught thoroughly off guard.
"Indeed," she says while idly smoothing out a crease of her blazer, "I was only following an order from on-high. The exact words were 'do not antagonize, do not try to recruit', if I recall correctly."
"You are," the Chief Director's eyes dart her way for a moment, and Emily knows she hasn't been as successful at hiding her resentment as she thought she'd been, "Despite being Ward-age, and according to Alexandria's own testimony, Nictimène is powerful enough to give even her a run for her money. We are going to be stretched thin for the next couple of months, between properly handling the Somerset Incident, the troubles brewing in Boston, and the recent ruckus at Q5. Picking a fight with a Triumvirate-level cape over past wrongdoings isn't something that we can permit ourselves at the time being."
The Chief Director pauses, before adding.
"Besides the practicality of it, there's also the fact that her unmasking happened during a S rank threat incident. I don't need to draw you the picture if it got known that we were the one to broke the truce to bring a villain to justice while she was instrumental to resolve said incident. With Leviathan's next attack right around the corner, we wouldn't be merely stepping on a landmine, but bellyfloping right in the middle of the goddamn minefield. Plus," Costa-Brown's eyes somehow manage to lock squarely with Emily's own, "The girl already started repaying her debt to society at large with her latest stunt."
Emily can't help but let out a little tsk of annoyance at that; she really, really didn't like to be told to sit still and pretty while a preteen with way too much firepower and the willingness to use it is gallivanting in her city.
"It's true then, that slip of a girl really took down the Nine," Kamil Armstrong's tone is one of wonder threaded with sorrow.
She would bet solid gold that the man is feeling for the girl, which is the ultimate proof that he never interacted with the brat for longer than five seconds in her own opinion.
"We weren't about to take a known liar to her words, so we checked. Thoroughly," Emily explains as she clasps her hands atop her desk, "Dental, fingerprint, DNA: everything matches," she pauses, before clarifying, "Everything we had on record matches. It is to my understanding that Alexandria was the first to take a look at the scene of the battle?"
Her interrogating lilt is directed at the Chief Director, who curtly nods back.
"Indeed. And we should have a comprehensive CSI report in a couple of days," the woman explains, "But she got a good enough look at it to certify that the conflict between Nictimène and the Nine didn't last longer than thirty seconds. Against the likes of the Siberian, Crawler and a Trump famous for killing Brutes in close-quarter."
The pause that falls on the videoconference following the Chief Director's proclamation is a rather pregnant one.
"Realistically speaking, there is very little we can do to contain such an individual. Preliminary analysis shows that Nictimène is fiercely attached to her freedom, and will react badly, potentially lethally, if it is impaired. On the other hand, and her sociopathic tendencies aside," which is certainly a way to word 'cold blooded killer' in Emily's opinion, "The girl clearly craves normalcy on a certain level. She's showing attachment to her adoptive family and value her uncle's opinion," she finds herself begrudgingly nodding at that, "Used her unmasking as an opportunity to stop hiding herself from her circle of friends her age, and is currently back in her school to complete her education."
All things the Chief Director knows because Emily does, and it annoys her a little that the woman is currently using her own report to build her argument.
"Alexandria's testimony was extremely clear on one thing; Jacqueline Barnes, aka. Nictimène, is an individual who staunchly believes that the end justifies the means. She chose to become a thief instead of signing up with the Wards because she wouldn't have had the freedom to act like she wanted, and now that she's, pardon my French, both 'too big to fuck with' and 'as rich as Croesus' after cashing in the Nine's bounties, villainy has become obsolete to her," the woman concludes, a mild frown of distaste maring her traits, "Like it or not, the girl has become famous across the country overnight, which means that as long as she plays ball, we can't move against her. The good news is that she's remarkably well-balanced despite the power she wields, and is unlikely to declare herself God-Empress of the world or something as equally asinine."
No, Emily mentally drawls, she'd rather keep being a headache to my staff and I instead.
***
"Atchi!"
Half a dozen pairs of eyes turn my way, and I feel my cheeks redden a little under the attention while I try to stifle a sniffle.
"...Are you alright, Jacky?" Louise asks, directing big doey eyes my way.
"'m fine," I duck my head to avoid the looks of my classmates while furrowing my brows, "But I'm pretty sure someone just thought something mean about me."
[AN: There has been a lot of theories as to why the PRT did/couldn't do nuthin' to Jacky, so here you have the official stance, as well as a couple hints for the more attentive of you. :3