29

Notes:

supa fast uploade

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Lisa stretched with a massive, jaw-cracking yawn as the jeep rumbled down the street, making a weirdly cat-like mewling noise as she writhed in her seat for more leg room.

Their driver, a mercenary, had the decency to pretend he didn't exist. The fact she Mastered him about thirty minutes ago likely helped.

Taylor stared ahead with half-lidded eyes, trying to reduce visual stimuli in the chance it would make her feel better.

Her head still hurt from yesterday. Thank god for the suspensions being so damn crisp on this car, or her head would have hurt a lot more from all the potholes bouncing her brain up and down her skull.

They had only managed to get to Trickster and Genesis yesterday before Taylor had to stop or risk a horrid migraine, so she'd have to Master the rest of the Travellers soon.

Healing Ballistic likely hadn't helped with the migraine, but Lisa had felt really bad for blowing his damn leg off, and she gave into the request.

Immediately after, they had gone home and she had to reschedule with the PRT, who were oddly happy to delay her power testing. Then dodge her dad's questions and annoying fussing, change Lisa's appearance again, subtly, changing her hair to black and curly and her hands into being covered in geometric, vaguely runic-looking tattoos she had come up with on the spot, and by the time they should be eating dinner, they had both been nursing a horrible headache from their respective powers, and had pretty much fallen on top of each other on Taylor's bed.

That lent itself to stiff limbs and a bad rest for Lisa.

For her, nothing much changed, but she had a few extra couple hours to plot.

…Why was her inner language so cheesy? She wasn't sure.

She glanced aside.

"Any ideas for your new cape name?" She asked calmly, letting downtown flit by as the jeep continued its morning trip.

Lisa groaned.

"No. Can't come up with anything. I mean, I have, but nothing that fits. You say Tattletale is too childish, which, fair, we're getting serious now and you want your theme to be severe and edgy, but everything else feels dumb. Oracle doesn't fit because I'm not a precog, Thoth, the egyptian god of wisdom and secrets unavailable to anyone else, fits really well, even if its foreign, but it sounds male and pretentious-"

"Doesn't matter if it sounds pretentious if you can back it up. We can't commission you a suit until you pick something. Thoth sounds easy to costume around."

Lisa paused, and frowned, adjusting her domino mask.

"I mean, I guess, but it still sounds like a guy's."

"Okay, fair. I'm going to throw some suggestions then. Allseer. Meaning is obvious, but too precog-y. Khal' Am Velkhara. Means 'the discerning eye that unearths' in a dead language only I know. Bit of a mouthful, so, consider. Herald. Beyond the meaning that comes to mind, which is that of a sign that something is about to happen, in older times they were officials employed to oversee state ceremonial, precedence, and the use of armorial bearings, and to make proclamations, carry official messages, and oversee tournaments. So, you'd be my Herald, in a sense. My official, there to proclaim to my enemies and allies that I am coming." She said, pitching her voice with grandiosity undercut by the deadpan tone as she spread her arms in the back seat.

Lisa took three seconds of thinking in silence before bursting into laughter.

"Okay, the weird tongue twister sounds the coolest, but it sucks as a cape name. But Herald... I like it. Heavy as hell with context. Doesn't even spoil my power, now that I think about it. Alright, it'll do." Lisa sighed as she shifted to curl up against the door. "I'm pretty sure there are at least two or three other Heralds in the US though. Have to be."

"We'll pay them a polite visit then." She shrugged, and Lisa chuckled again, an edge of impressed incredulity in it.

"I mean it's not unheard of for capes to fight for names, but I'm not sure we should be sending a damn hit squad on people just for my name."

"I am." She deadpanned, a smile playing at her lips, and Lisa snorted again.

"Well, your boundless creativity has won. Herald it is. Costume design?"

"My current mockup for when and if I inevitably get discovered and have to come out in public as myself, is basically a dark grey suit of plated armour with red spikes all over it. But, I don't really have a dress code for my capes beyond some basics. Costume design is yours to think about."

Lisa hummed.

"No, no, I dig it. Herald. Someone who signals the coming of something else, or general change. So something that could be either a sign of hope, or something as a warning to say 'you just fucked up and you're going to die horribly when my sister gets over here'." Lisa blew a raspberry, staring at the car's roof as they took a turn.

"Mix it up with something whimsical and playful and such, because while you're holding out admirably, I can still feel the need to be an annoying brat whenever you interact with anyone else. So… something dual in nature, of sorts? Half the costume eerie and creepy, and half the other bright and flashy? Something like someone mashed up a cryptid and a fairy?"

Lisa's eyes livened up, her grin widening.

"You're just full of good ideas. Yeah, that's sick. I'll think up of some ideas later, pester you for inspiration and such."

"Can't wait." She dryly huffed, and Lisa exhaled jerkily in amusement, a silent piel of laughter through her nostrils.

Two minutes later, and they were there, parked comfortably in the back of the club, where only the employees were allowed to park.

She swapped into Evelynn, and assumed Renata's form once more as she stepped out, her attitude slipping back on like a well-worn glove.

The driver got outside the car, but didn't follow.

"So, Herald. What did I say about this meeting?"

She couldn't see Lisa, as she was behind her as they walked forward into the back entrance, held open by one of Faultline's men, but she could taste the exasperation from here, and imagined that she was rolling her eyes.

"I know how to act as someone's subordinate, Ren." Lisa said.

She decided to leave it at that as they stepped through the back doors. A winding path through back hallways, and another staircase that brought them to the VIP room again.

The usual cast of characters awaited them inside, with the addition of Trainwreck looming behind Faultline menacingly at eight feet tall, likely because none of the furniture could take the weight of his power armour, and one Paige Mcabee, sitting on the edge of the couches on either side of the coffee table, still wearing the heavy contraption around her neck like a brutalist mask-collar, a notebook and pen in her lap.

Now that she had time to actually see her, Canary was quite a sight. Shock-yellow hair, bright enough to almost be glowing, like the fuzz of an exotic bird, and accompanied by equally yellow feathers coming out of her hair and adorning her head like cosmetic highlights.

Her eyebrows were also intensely yellow.

A rather plain, but pretty face, and timid, scared and despondent eyes that examined her with a mixture of fear and meek, fragile determination.

Faultline nodded at her.

"Renata."

"Faultline." She rumbled back through the mouth-piece, the tinny quality adding a certain flavour to her voice that was hard to match.

"Hey, Faulty." Lisa quipped, cheery but mild, grabbing a beanbag from the corners of the room and tossing it down by Taylor's armchair, before moving over and flopping down on it, lounging as she crossed her legs.

She felt a mild tang of annoyance at the action, but powered through it.

Faultline startled, her visor moving to Lisa.

"Herald, behave. Excuse my subordinate." She calmly said as she walked around Lisa's legs and sat down in her chair. "She's new, but insisted on some mild field experience. I believe you knew her as Tattletale."

Lisa steepled her fingers on her stomach, but not before giving a two-fingered salute.

"We did. Glad that the rumours of your fate proved wrong. My condolences." Faultline said, sounding quite genuine, and Lisa went still for a moment, before giving a tight nod, her light mood seemingly vanquished by those two words.

"Let's get down to business. First, where is Oni Lee, and why is Canary down here with us?"

"Upstairs," Newter answered, his eyes half-lidded in exhaustion, tossing his thumb over his shoulder. "Blindfolded, tied, unarmed, and given a tap that should keep him under for an hour, every thirty minutes."

She resisted the urge to glare at him with the venom of a pit full of vipers.

"Miss Mcabee is with us because she insisted on coming, and frankly, I found no harm in letting her." Faultline filled in.

"I see. Before we begin to talk, Miss Mcabee, do give me a moment to clarify something to Faultline." She said, directing her purple-glowing eyes to the feathered woman, who gave her a nervous thumbs up in lieu of a nod.

Her eyes narrowed as she turned to Faultline, just enough to portray displeasure, but not enough to glare.

"Faultline. I will be blunt. While not knowing that the PRT had laid a trap is not something I can wholly say is your fault, your subordinate's indiscretion is. If this is the level of so-called professionalism I can expect," She said, nearly spitting the word out, "-to have Newter namedrop his clients in the middle of a fight, in front of heroes, I might as well grab any random thug off the street and give them enough brews to act like they have powers." She said, voice hard as ice and twice as cold.

Lisa sucked in a small gasp.

Faultline, to her credit, did not react beyond stiffening a little.

A useless restraint when she could feel that sudden flare of muted frustration.

"Let me make something perfectly clear. Should Newter, or anyone else in this room, reveal information about Summoner, even their name, we will treat it in the same manner as if you had unmasked them, and return the favour."

Everyone in the room stiffened, caution, doubt and defensive anger in the air.

And a bit of vindictive, amazed glee from Lisa, but she ignored that.

"They will reveal themselves when it is time or if they are forced to. No more slips of the tongue if we wish to continue working together. Consider this a warning, but not a threat. We have no interest in grandstanding."

There, a bit of sugar to lessen the sting of the lemon.

Faultline slowly nodded.

Labyrinth turned her head to stare mutely, curious. Odd child.

"While disproportionate in its response, I understand where your frustration comes from. Newter has been reprimanded quite severely for his slip-up. It will not happen again." Faultline assured, turning her head to Newter a bit, who rubbed the back of his blue-haired head and grimaced, guilty.

His eyes were strange now that she bothered to meet them. They had no whites, only blue irises that extended from corner to corner, with rectangular, horizontal pupils.

She looked away.

"Good. Now, to move on from the unpleasant part of this discussion. Having to rescue you and escape without being traced placed Sovereign out of commission for a week, and forced us to tip our hand. While I will not be ruthless enough to seek compensation for this, do consider that this will factor into the weight of the owed favour for your rescue, which will not be cashed in for now. Unless there is something else… I do not believe we have more to discuss."

"I don't believe so either."

"Good. Newter, could you carry Oni Lee to our transport? It's the armoured black jeep in the front, one of our men will help you place him. Give him a fresh dosage too."

"Sure thing." Newter said as he bobbed his head up and down, before vaulting backwards off the couch to stalk off into the restricted hall in the corner.

"Faultline, could you remove Canary's collar?" She asked, more out of politeness, and eyed the hoodie the woman was wearing. It would have to be enough until they worked something out for her.

Faultline hesitated. "I can, and Canary seems like a fine young woman, but are you certain?"

She nodded.

"I'm immune to Master effects. If she tries-"

"She won't. She's considered it, but she won't use her power to tell us to kill ourselves or something. She knows the situation she's in, to some extent." Lisa interrupted, and Taylor turned her head to give her a caustic look, half for show and half-genuine.

Lisa raised her hands placatingly.

"Sorry boss, it just seemed like you were about to threaten her. She really doesn't need that right now."

She acquiesced with a hum.

"Fine."

Faultline took that as an affirmative, and she got up to walk over to Paige, who looked decidedly more nervous now. Her gloved hands clamped around the collar, and it slumped, perfectly separated in the middle, before with some of Canary's own help, they lowered its parts to the floor.

Newter walked back in before Canary could get a word out, a limp Oni Lee on his shoulder.

"By the way, just so you know, something is wrong with this guy. His breathing is all messed up and the few times he's tried to shift in his sleep, it looks like something out of a horror movie. I think they zapped him or something and his nerves are all messed up, but I'm not a doctor or anything."

Lisa jerked a little, as if startled.

Gregor sent her a questioning look, as did everyone else in the room.

It took a moment for Taylor herself to get what the reaction was about.

Regent. Lisa had vaguely mentioned something about nerve damage from long-term control, hadn't she?

Newter walked past them and down the stairs.

She got off the chair, and extended a left hand to Canary, who took it.

"Greetings, Miss Mcabee. I'm Renata Glasc," she said as she shook her hand, then gestured towards the exit. "Let us go. We can discuss things in the car."

Canary opened her mouth, gulped, closed it and nodded, getting up. Lisa did the same.

They walked out, Canary trailing behind them, mostly so she would get a false…ish sense of freedom, and Newter sent them a salute as he walked past them, the mercenary settling Oni Lee's limp body in the corner of the back seats, all but hog-tied and blindfolded. 

"Herald, take the front seat."

Lisa shrugged and did.

She opened the back door, and slid in beside Oni Lee, and Canary hesitated outside, tugging her hood lower and eyeing the black, bulky beast she was about to get into.

Lisa leaned back, wrapping an arm around the head of her seat and twisting over it to meet Canary's eyes.

"Hey, relax. We're not going to drive you into a dungeon full of spiders or something, we just wanted to get somewhere where we can actually talk without someone overseeing or overhearing."

Canary worked at her lip for a moment, then nodded, and ducked into Taylor's left side, squeezing in a little.

Taylor subtly slimmed her hips from the wide shape of Renata's, to make a bit of room, and the door closed.

"Drive." She rumbled.

The mercenary did.

Lisa spent about five minutes slumped backwards on her seat, chin on its shoulder, staring at Canary.

At the sixth, Canary broke, directing a weak glare at Lisa, who just gave a shit-eating grin.

"What?" Canary asked, a tad testy, and Taylor pretty much felt her eardrums have an aural orgasm.

Wow. She could tell why Canary was pretty much a mainstream celebrity at this point, if Earth Bet could be said to have any of those left.

Even a snippy 'what' sounded like the sound was made from a divine instrument rather than a throat. Like her vocal cords were both violin and harp strings.

If Canary didn't want what she was going to offer, she was going to offer her a job to sing lullabies to her or something.

Lisa raised a lazy finger to point at Canary's head.

"First of all, the feathers look fucking awesome. Second, can I grab one or two for my new costume? I feel like fake feathers can't compete with those. Seriously, do you do something to get them looking like that?"

Taylor briefly broke character to sigh in exasperation.

Canary blinked at Lisa, befuddled.

"I… t-thanks? I uh. No? I don't… do anything. They fall out naturally, but if I pull them, it hurts. So… I could give you some in the future?" Canary asked, wringing her hands together, considerably less tense.

Whatever Lisa was doing was working, so she didn't say anything.

"Yeah, I'd really appreciate that. Thanks. Just keep them in a bag as they shed, I'll pay ya for em."

A moment of silence.

"So… when do we give her the pitch?" Lisa asked, raising a brow at her.

Taylor briefly looked around, through the tinted windows. Slightly less desolate than usual streets.

Fine enough for her.

"I-I'm not going to Master people for you." Canary said, the determination in her voice ruined by the crack in her voice, and the ensuing blush on her face.

And the taste of fear in the air.

She nodded.

"Good."

"No- I- what?" Canara fumbled, staring at her with wide, yellow eyes.

She raised an arm, and slowly draped it over Canary's shoulder, relaxing into the cushions as her charge stiffened.

"I don't want you to Master people for us. What I want from you is something entirely different. Consider it like signing up with a record label, actually. Me and my associates will soon own this city. Until then, I want you to lay low, and stay safe. We'll provide you with housing and a stipend to live off until we're done taking over, which should be soon enough. And when we do own the city, what we want from you is to do the thing you love. We want you to sing. We want you to hold concerts, upload videos, do autograph sessions, be a major star and attraction for this city."

Lisa stared at her, wide eyed and grinning.

Canary was just gaping at her, something like fragile hope and resigned dread in the air around her, even as she gradually relaxed.

"I- I'm a criminal. I was supposed to be in the Birdcage. I can't hold concerts, or upload videos or-"

"Canary. Let me talk for a bit, I'll give you some insights and context."

Canary nodded, glancing at Lisa who held an encouraging smile as she lounged like a cat across the front seat.

"First of all, Brockton Bay. This city is dying. There are many reasons for this, and If I went into details as to why, we'd be driving until nightfall. One of the reasons, however, is the lack of tourism. This place is sinking into the gutter, and the only reason anyone ever comes here willingly is either because they're an illegal refugee from overseas, or because they came here for Panacea to heal them. We're going to fix that. Part of that solution is you. The perception of you online and in real life, is not what you think it is. Of course, the PRT and its lackeys have managed to sway a lot of the population that has never heard of you and never would have cared, that you were just a parahuman singer who gave into her evil nature and Mastered a man into killing himself."

Canary flinched as if she was slapped, lifting her legs off the floor to hug them. She squeezed her shoulder a little, and surprisingly, it did make Canary feel a bit better.

"For everyone who looks past the skin-thin surface of the narrative however, you are the victim. A victim of the corrupt system who needed a sinner for their pyre, and made one up on thin justifications and a sham of a trial. Your fans made an entire internet campaign, websites, petitions, even crashing TV interviews with their movement. You've touched people's lives in a way that few parahumans do. Parahumans usually fight. They destroy and ruin and break things, even the heroes. You are one of the very few examples of parahumans who resist this nature, and create. You, and Panacea."

She lounged back a little, allowing the menacing tinny-ness of her voice to fade out for a more comforting tone, almost motherly.

"You are something special. You have presence, fame, even now that the world has basically written you off as dead. So, what happens, when we take over this city, and you begin to post on the internet again, explaining what happened to you? What happens, when you begin holding concerts again? Brockton Bay's name gets out there. People come here, the news cycle begins to buzz. We become a city that holds something special, and instead of keeping it in a crypt, we flaunt it. We flaunt you. And we become the only city that holds something this special, because no other city nor organisation cares to pour resources into defending a mere noncombatant singer, not like us."

An additional benefit would be to put into the eye of the world that sometimes, the courts and the PRT were not right in their assessment. A bit of contingency in case Taylor got a Kill Order somehow, because the public's opinion did matter, to some extent.

It was also part of her loose project to make people stop being such apathetic doom mongers. A bit of soul-touching music and a monthly slash bimonthly celebration in the spirit of a festival can go a long way.

Canary seemed entranced, eyes laser focused on her own.

"You make Brockton Bay your city. You become another brick that will uphold the city and keep it from keeling over. You sing, grow, put it out there that you live in Brockton, become a forbidden attraction that nobody else can access anywhere. You use your fame and name to grow, expand, and you occasionally use it for our benefit, to some extent or another. You don't join or deal with other parahuman aligned entities. The only real caveat that might be dangerous is that in the case of an A-S class threat arriving, we'd like you to stick around and try to help us defend the city if your power is able. That is all. In exchange? We protect you from everything and everyone, and give you all the resources you need to become a star again."

Canary swallowed, a shrill note of hesitance still around her.

"Just think about it. You keep all your profits, continue to do what you love, and Brockton has a songbird to lift its spirits, to attract attention and people. What we want from you is nothing all that more nefarious than the average record company. We want to use you, of course, let's not pretend, but you will use us. Mutual benefits."

Canary took a moment to digest that, resignation and hope biting at eachother like rabid dogs, fighting for dominance.

"But… I'm…" Canary quietly started.

"Are you worried about the heroes?"

Canary nodded, biting her lip, eyes glazed in thought.

She scoffed.

"Don't be. Once we've taken over, we could hold the concerts right on the Boardwalk, across the Protectorate's base, and if the heroes tried anything, they'd be faced with a wall of villains with the explicit orders to protect you, all of whom could probably turn them into mincemeat. There is no world in which it would ever be worth the price to attack you or try to bring you in. And, we have a tracker. If you give us a drop of your blood, even if you were captured, which will not happen, we could track you to the other ends of the earth and just bust you out again."

Canary's emotions numbed as they mixed together. She glanced at Lisa.

"She's serious, by the way." Lisa said, shrugging with a slight smile. "I was in a somewhat similar position as you, you know. Captured, surrounded, no allies and powerful enemies. A villain who wanted to kill me and had enough money to hire an army to look for me. Ren's boss busted me out, and fixed all my goddamn problems in a week."

"I… okay. But I just… I-I'm not a villain. I really want to say yes, but I don't know what you guys do."

"Ah. So it's a moral reasoning to some extent. Well, to give you a rough gist, we're essentially a shadowy syndicate of sorts, but without much of the ugly parts. No need to tie up loose ends when we don't make loose ends, for example. Neat operations have no victims, and we're quite careful. However, I will not lie to you and say that a lot of our agents are good people, or unblooded. We're hardly good guys. But, compared to what most gangs are like, and what the Bay's gangs are like, we're practically saints. We don't torture, we don't deal in prostitution or racial violence or meaningless chaos. We're professionals where we can be."

Canary, surprisingly, seemed to accept that answer a lot more easily than her attitude would have suggested, nodding once. Perhaps she wanted to be convinced.

"Okay…. Okay, I'm in. So, uhm… what do I do, exactly?" Canary asked, wringing her hands.

"Not much, in all honesty. We'll drive you to your new apartment. Then, I'm going to bring an associate to change how you look, namely, your brows and hair, so you can even go outside and live normally without anyone knowing who you are. You'll give us a drop of blood, we'll give you new documentation, new papers, a car, and even a bodyguard if you want one. Everything you could need to stay alive and safe. We'll also send you a slight stipend to live on, and a phone with a panic button, in case anything happens. When we take this city over, that's when your new adventure begins."

Canary nodded, licking her abused lower lip.

"I… can you tell your boss thank you? From me? I was… I thought I would end up in the Birdcage, to… to be someone's b-bed warmer, or something. Or just, dead, because I can Master people. I-" Canary said, her voice hitching as her breathing grew a little uneven. She hurriedly wiped at her eyes.

She squeezed her arm around Canary, just a bit.

Lisa gave her a look that was so oddly full of satisfied pride, that she almost felt like an actual hero there, for a moment.

It was a heady feeling.

"I'll be sure to tell them. Congratulations on your new life, Paige." Lisa said, not an ounce of snark in her voice, and Canary bobbed her head in a hurried nod under her hood.

A moment later, Lisa gasped.

"Wait, where am I going to get my feathers from if you change her?! Can you give her like, a week to keep them and shed?" Lisa pleaded, awkwardly clasping her palms together over the top of her seat as she swivelled to Canary.

She closed her eyes, breathed deep and let it out in a massive sigh, rubbing at her temples.

Canary exhaled in amusement through her nostrils, before nodding. "A week is fine. I'd like some peace and quiet for a bit, and uh, Herald gets her feathers."

Then she turned to her, and Taylor took her hand away from her face to look back.

"Uhm… you'll change me back when you're… done, right?"

"Of course."

"Okay. I'll uhm… how do I contact you?"

"Your phone will have contacts in it, just call them. Or text, preferably."

"Ah. And-"

"Canary, stop fussing. We have it all covered." She reassured her, and rubbed her shoulder a little, unsure if it would help or not.

Surprisingly, it did, and Canary nodded, slumping down.

The rest of the ride was silent, and after they escorted Canary up to her new apartment, nicked her finger with a pocket knife, and handed her the keys, their new associate muttered another thank you and quietly closed the door.

Lisa beamed at nothing the entire walk back to the car as Taylor grimaced at how weird it was to lick blood off a knife.

Then she began to delegate some protective company for Paige as they drove off to the outskirts of Brockton Bay, somewhere where Taylor could quietly Master Oni Lee and quickly go off on her scheduled meeting with dad's mechanic friend.

Notes:

minimal editing, point out any issues you see, i kinda rushed this one out in a day