by wildbow
I’d nearly forgotten about Bitch’s henchpeople in the chaos of dealing with the Nine and all of the fallout that had ensued. I realized I knew very little about them.
To my surprise, it was Biter who did the talking. He had a low voice, and his words were muddled by some combination of the mouthgear and the underbite. “You get along.”
I folded my arms.
He spread his hands, “How?”
“How do Bitch and I get along?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable talking behind her back.”
The girl with her arm in a sling spoke up, “She acts like she’s frustrated with us. And I think we’re frustrated with her.”
“I don’t want to be rude, but that’s really her business with you.” They’re her property, her territory. If I screwed around with her minions or started something, it would effectively be stepping on her toes.
“You can’t offer us any tips?” she asked.
She looked so hopeful. Damn it.
“I can, but it’s going to sound pretty damn basic. Be honest, be absolutely clear in what you’re saying. Be obedient, but be assertive. Don’t let her walk all over you or she will walk all over you. At the same time, if you think there’s something worth arguing over, be prepared to fight tooth and nail for it, because you’ll be in a weaker position if you fight over it and lose. Respect her space and her things, and remember that she’s your boss above all else.”
“She doesn’t act like a boss,” Barker said, and he made it sound almost insulting. Puffs of the dark smoke spilled from his mouth with each word, but they seemed to carry further than cigarette smoke would. It seemed to be tied to the stress or emphasis on the sounds that drove it forward. “She does her own thing and she leaves us to clean up shit.”
“Adapt,” I told him. “That’s all I can say. If you’ve proven yourself reliable, showed that you’re willing to clean up after the dogs and take care of them without complaining, she’ll test you in other ways. That’ll be your chance to prove you’re useful.”
He sneered, looking at the girl and the boy with the scars on his face. “She’s cutting them more slack than she’s cutting Biter and me. We shouldn’t have to prove anything.”
“What do you do? Your powers.”
He looked up at me. “You want to see?”
I shrugged.
“Whore.”
The puff of smoke that accompanied the word detonated like a small thunder-clap, mere inches from my face. I flinched, but it hadn’t been intended to harm. Only to alarm.
He sniggered. I’d never met anyone who really sniggered before.
I could see how Coil thought Barker and Bitch would be a match. I could also see where there would be some friction between the two.
I sighed a little, watching as Barker looked to the others, then over at Charlotte, as if they’d be joining him in his amusement. None did. Biter earned a brownie point in my book by staying quiet and simply watching.
I caught my baton from behind my back and swung it underhand, still folded up, into Barker’s chin. His teeth clacked shut with percussive force, and I stepped closer to push at his upper body while hooking at the chair leg with my foot to pull it in my direction. He toppled backwards, his head hitting the wall behind him.
I didn’t have a full measure of his ability, but I did know his mouth was his weapon. It made me look weaker, but I stepped back so his legs and the chair seat gave me cover in the event that he decided to attack me.
For extra measure, I drew the bugs out of my costume and sent them straight for his nose and mouth.
He went bug-eyed as he sat up, coughing and sputtering in an attempt to clear the bugs from his airway. After one rolling cough, he created another detonation in and around his mouth, obliterating a majority of the bugs I’d tried to gag him with.
I glanced at Biter. He was still seated. Good. I’d somehow thought that the guy would be stepping up to defend his partner, making this a two-versus-one fight.
Barker was climbing to his feet. I saw him falter, then start coughing again, gagging.
The capsaicin had kicked in.
“That’s the sort of thing you have to watch out for,” I told him, as he fell to the ground, writhing and coughing, tears welling in his eyes. I kept my voice level. “You’re in my house, my territory, and you fuck with me? That’s the sort of thing that would get you in your boss’s bad books if you did it to her.”
“He has,” the boy with the scars on his face spoke.
Barker only gagged in response.
“Guess that’s why he deserves shit duty,” I commented. I leaned against the wall, folding my arms, my telescoped baton still in one hand.
Bitch had chosen that moment to return. She stared at the scene. Me standing idly by as Barker was curled up on the floor, wheezing and making pathetic noises, a few stray bugs crawling across his face.
She looked at me, glaring.
“He started it, I finished it,” I told her.
She looked at Biter, who shrugged and nodded agreement with my statement. Bitch seemed to accept that as answer enough. She picked up his chair, moved it a few feet so it wouldn’t be in Barker’s way as he kicked and spasmed, and sat down.
“I’m surprised there’s no objections about me attacking your partner,” I told Biter.
“Your house, your rules, you said.”
“What do you do? No demonstrations, please.”
“I make parts of myself bigger.” He pointed to his mouth, then to the fist with the spike-studded knuckle-duster. “Open wide, swing with bigger hands.”
Nothing that would have been that great against the Nine. I couldn’t blame Bitch for leaving them behind.
“Fair enough.” I addressed the two unpowered individuals from Bitch’s group. “And you two? Why were you picked for her team?”
“I was just starting my first year as a vet before everything went to hell,” the girl said. “Needed money to pay my boyfriend’s hospital bill, was offered more than enough. He got better a week ago, then broke up with me. Not even a thank you. Guess I’m still here because I don’t have anywhere else to go, and I like taking care of the dogs.”
I saw an opportunity. “Did you have a dog growing up?”
“Greyhounds. Eclaire and Blitzen.”
“Blitzen? Like the reindeer?”
“No. Like German for lightning. And Eclaire is French.”
I could see Bitch was tense. Something about this line of conversation?
I guessed what it might be and continued the questioning. “Why greyhounds? Don’t they need a lot of exercise?”
She shook her head. “No. They’re running dogs, but they only need about a half-hour of walking a day. They work really well living in an apartment, which we were.”
“They howl,” Bitch said.
“Only if they’re unhappy,” the girl protested. She glanced down as Barker thumped on the ground with one fist, then looked up at Bitch and smiled a little, “And ours were happy.”
Bitch seemed to accept that.
“Do you have a dog now?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t have the money. Or I didn’t have money, before Leviathan came. Student loans and living expenses kind of ate up whatever I made. I’m hoping to save up enough with the work I’m doing now.”
“You buying the dog?” Bitch asked. She seemed interested, now, but there was still a tension, as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. One wrong answer, and this could turn ugly. I could only hope the girl had the right answers.
“I kind of want another greyhound, because it’s what I grew up with… and you’ll get greyhounds from an animal rescue ninety percent of the time. There’s one I’m pretty fond of that’s in one of your shelters, but he’s yours, of course.”
She’d taken my advice about respecting Bitch’s ownership. Good.
“Greyhound? Chase or Ink?” Bitch asked.
�
�Ink.”
Bitch frowned. I tensed, ready to jump in and distract with some mention of food.
Grudgingly, Bitch said, “Rather they have a proper home than stay with me.”
I could see the girl’s eyes widen in surprise. “I didn’t—um. Thank you.”
“If I see him in some cage in a shelter after you’ve taken him home, I’m going to track you down and dismember you,” Bitch growled.
I could see from the expression on the girl’s face that she believed Bitch. Still, I saw her steel herself as she replied, “If I fuck up, I deserve it.”
There wasn’t much more I could do to help that conversation. I had hope that this would set Bitch’s underlings in the right direction.
While they continued talking, I stepped away to check on the hamburgers that Charlotte was cooking on the stove.
“Is he going to be okay?” she asked me.
It took me a second to realize who she meant. I looked back at Barker. “Yeah.”
“I mean, is he going to attack us?”
“I dosed him with pepper spray, basically, as well as a few stings and bites to add to the hurt. That’ll generally put someone down for half an hour, so I don’t think he’s a threat. I don’t think he’s stupid enough to attack with Bitch and I here.”
She nodded, but she didn’t look relieved. I would have asked what was up, tried to pry for more clarification on just why she hadn’t slept well, or why she was so easily spooked, but I was interrupted by the vibration of my phone.
I stepped up into my lair to take the call.
“We’re a few minutes away,” Lisa told me, the second I picked up.
“Bitch is here already,” I answered. “Come in the front door when you get here.”
“Righty-o. Ta ta.”
She hung up.
I took a second to compose myself, alone in the second floor of my lair. Dealing with people, the sensitive management of Bitch and her underlings, pretending confidence where I didn’t necessarily have it, and thinking of all the little details that would help me convey the image of someone confident and powerful… it was draining. It meant standing straighter, having the answers, thinking two steps ahead and using intimidation and fear to prevent any argument or insubordination like Barker’s little stunt. It meant retaliating in excess to any slight or disrespect.
Barker had pushed me, I’d left him mewling like a baby.
At the same time, I faced a dilemma on the opposite end of things. I wanted to help people, and I wanted to build friendships with the others. With the way Bitch sort of mandated that I go the extra mile, it was hard to be nice to her without seeming weak to others.
Well, what they didn’t see didn’t hurt them.
I stepped downstairs.
“Bitch?” I asked. “A word?”
She frowned, glancing at the food.
“We’ll be done before the food is,” I promised.
She followed me up the stairs.
“It’s not complete,” I admitted, walking over to where I had fabric draped over a workbench. I picked up one piece and flicked it out. “I just figured you’d want to see it and voice any complaints before the others got here, so your voice doesn’t get drowned out.”
She took it from my hands. It was a jacket, not dissimilar to the one she’d lent me once upon a time, but it was naturally lighter. There was a hood with a fluffy fur border at the edges, extending around in front of her shoulders. Besides the zippers and buttons, the fur was the only thing I hadn’t made myself.
“I dyed it dark gray. I figured if you wanted it any color, you’d want it something dark, so I can tint it dark red, dark blue, dark green, or whatever you want.”
She stared at it, her forehead creased.
“It’s spider silk. Tensile strength like steel, but flexible enough to resist wear and tear that steel wire would experience. And it’s lighter than the steel would be. Knives won’t cut it. I figured you’d want a heavier feel, judging by the jacket you lent me before, so I put rectangular panels of armor in between the inner and outer layer to give it more substance. I originally meant for there to be an undershirt or something you can wear to protect your upper body for when you don’t have it zipped up, but I kind of cannibalized it for my own costume, after I burned my legs. I’ll have the shirt ready for you in a week or two. Here, there’s leggings, too. They survived.”
I picked up the leggings. Unlike the jacket, they were skin-tight.
“I don’t wear tights,” she said.
“I thought you could wear them under your pants if you were expecting a serious fight. I gave you an inner layer with a really fine weave for the inner thighs, for when you’re riding, so there’s less chafing.”
“Uh huh.”
“I went out of my way to give you lots of pockets like you had in the other jacket. I don’t think it’ll be too hot. There’s zippers in the armpits so you can ventilate some cool air inside, and you can detach the hood if you want, but I liked how it looked with the fur. I’m planning an inside liner for when it’s—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupted me. “Stop talking. It’s good.”
“Yeah? I didn’t get a chance to get your measurements, so I went by memory, based on the jacket you lent me.”
She pulled it on and adjusted the front. “Fits fine.”
“Here,” I said. I turned around and grabbed the next piece. I handed it to her.
She turned it around in her hands. I’d cheated and formed the base sculpt out of chicken wire, covering the remainder with layers of dragline silk and painting the end result. It was, as close as I’d been able to manage, a recreation of what her power did to her dogs in the form of a mask. Except I’d made it half human and half dog.
“Looks like Brutus,” she said.
I didn’t see it, but I didn’t see fit to correct her either.
She pulled it on.
“It’s just a little bit flexible, if you want to bend any bits that are rubbing in the wrong place, or shape it to fit your face better.”
“It’s fine,” she said. She adjusted her jacket again.
“If you want me to change anything—”
“No.”
Her refusal was so curt it gave me pause. I couldn’t tell if she was upset or happy.
I forced myself to keep my mouth shut. I’d give her a few seconds to let me know either way. If she didn’t, I was ready to escape by pointing out that lunch would be waiting for us.
“You made stuff for the others?”
“Yeah.”
“But I didn’t ask for it. I told you to fuck off when you asked me for my measurements, remember?”
“I made it anyways.”
She adjusted her mask, turning it so it hung off one side of her head. She was glowering at me. “Why didn’t you listen when I told you to fuck off?”
Two ways I could interpret that question. “Don’t worry about it. Look, the hamburgers will be ready soon…” I trailed off.
An awkward silence reigned. I turned to head downstairs.
“What do you want for this?”
I looked over my shoulder. “What? Nothing.”
“You’re trying to get some favor from me.”
“No, I’m really not. It might feel like it, with the timing and what we’re going to talk about with Lisa and the others, but it’s really not. You’re free to argue and disagree with me or the rest of us, just like usual. The costume’s a gift.”
“I don’t get many gifts.”
I shrugged. What was I supposed to say to that? I couldn’t help but feel that if I were a little more socially adroit, I’d have had a snappy answer.
She kept talking. “All of the stuff I’ve gotten, it’s been with strings attached. Used to get gifts from one of my foster dads,” she paused. “And I get the money from Coil.”
“Those aren’t really presents. They’re more like bribes or enticements. Really truly, this is no strings attached. You can act like you normally wo
uld, I won’t expect any different.”
Again, that glower.
I swallowed. “Wear it or don’t wear it. It’s okay either way. It’s not a big deal.”
“I’ll wear it,” she said.
When I turned to head downstairs, she followed.
I guess that means ‘thank you’.
We were greeted by the others in the kitchen. There was just enough time to grab and prepare our burgers before the others arrived. Grue, Tattletale, Imp, Regent and Shatterbird. They turned down the offer of food, and together, we ventured back upstairs.
With everyone gathered in my headquarters, I handed out the costumes. Like Bitch’s, the other costumes were in various stages of completion, primarily with minor details missing or askew. I ate while the others tried it all on.
Lisa’s costume was virtually the same. The complicated aspect had been maintaining the crisp differences in color without any bleeding of black into lavender or vice versa. There’d also been the issue of getting the mask to fit her face well. I’d accomplished the former by making the black and lavender pieces separately and attaching them to a gossamer-thin sub-layer when I was done. We had the boys and Shatterbird turn away while Lisa and Aisha changed at one end of the room. The mask was a failure, it didn’t sit right around the eyes, but I was left with an idea of what to do.
Grue’s costume was not unlike his motorcycle leathers in terms of thickness and design, making him one of the most heavily armored of our groups in terms of the amount of material he was wearing. His headwear was the part I’d changed the most: I’d modeled the face-plate after a figurine he’d bought at the market. It was a step away from the visor he’d worn up to now, more demonic than skeletal. The only real trick there had been making it non-porous enough that his darkness wouldn’t bleed through. A quick experiment proved that my efforts had turned out alright. In costume, the face-mask down, the darkness framed his mask but didn’t cover it unless Grue forced it to. A demon’s face in dark gray in a vaguely human-shaped twist of darkness.
For Regent and Imp, I’d settled on bodysuits and masks. Regent would wear his beneath his costume and Imp would wear hers as a simple black bodysuit, complete with a scarf and the horned mask Coil had provided.
