Chapter 32: 3-2 Surge

Surge 3.2

2010, October 26: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

Tuesday afternoon found me at the workshop, trying to work out a way to handle all that generated power in a safe, consistent manner. As it was, any transformer I stuck to it to try and change the voltage wouldn't last long. Power stations produced electricity at roughly fourteen thousand volts. The average transformer found in the home handled electricity in the hundreds of volts range, certainly not the millions.

"Trial log: Hybrid soda engine test run eight," I spoke into my PokéNav.

My current solution was simplistic: If one couldn't handle the charge, use more. I stacked two transformers together and flipped the switch. The engine whirred to life. SAINT and I stared with bated breath. Then, with the sound of tortured metal, one of the transformers gave out and burst in a shower of sparks.

"Fuck!" I shouted, blocking a flying piece of scrap with a hasty Protect. "That was stupid."

It turned out that stacking transformers did not make the voltage go down meaningfully. Instead, the heat generated by the magnetic induction process mounted higher and higher, ruining both. I kicked the scrap aimlessly until SAINT nudged my hand encouragingly.

"Yeah, you're right." Picking up the distorted cube of iron and wires, I frowned. "I'm going to have to make a transformer from scratch, aren't I? A steel core isn't good enough. I need something with better heat tolerance…"

It turned out that the task wasn't as hard as I feared it would be.

With the understanding of modern technology that came with the Air Gear specialization, I had several ideas to control this kind of energy output. Ultimately, I decided to work on a tungsten-based magnetic core to be the focus of the induction process. Tungsten wasn't just used for industrial or military purposes. It was a metal commonly found in heating elements, light bulbs, and high-speed steel (HSS), a specific type of steel alloy used in cutting tools like power saws. I had plenty of those to draw from.

I figured I'd also have to replace the wires to avoid them burning out. I settled on silver, the most conductive metal on earth, and got to work. I'd grabbed several silver tableware sets during the Hillside Heist, along with jewelry and a mirror for this specific purpose.

By the time I finished up testing for the day, I'd received a message from Strider on PHO telling me that he was interested in my offer.

Creed_Official: Strider?

Strider_Transport: That's me. What do you want with all that volcanic ash?

Creed_Official: Cement.

Strider_Transport: You're kidding.

Creed_Official: Yup. Need it for tinkering. I'd explain, but it'd just bore you. It's a whole lot of technobabble. Anyway, you interested in the job?

Strider_Transport: I'm not cheap, you know.

Creed_Official: I do. I also know Faultline's already told you my terms. Don't try to negotiate higher. I already gave you my best offer.

Strider_Transport: Fine, fine. Forty-five grand worth of volcanic ash from Hawaii. It is an impressive offer… I accept.

Creed_Official: Excellent. Do you mind showing up at the Palanquin with your favorite suitcase? Leave it with me for a day and I'll make it fit way more than it should.

Strider_Transport: Deal, kid. And hey, for what it's worth? I heard about the mess on Saturday and I think you did the right thing. Things are more complicated than keyboard warriors like to pretend. I get a lot of grief about why I'm a rogue instead of a hero too.

Creed_Official: Thanks, that means a lot coming from a veteran.

Strider_Transport: Yeah, I'll be in Brockton tonight. Do you mind?

Creed_Official: That's fine.

I wasn't sure how I felt about some random cape trying to make me feel better. Or, for that matter, that hearing I hadn't royally fucked the pooch somehow did make me feel better. Strider was a hero. Sure, he didn't punch villains, but he made a real difference as the world's best teleporter. Endbringer and disaster response just wouldn't be the same without him.

A part of me wished I didn't care about his opinion. Another not insignificant part of me appreciated the gesture. I swallowed my feelings down and pushed them to the back of my mind. Instead, I started to design gene editing procedures for the gravity child project.

X

2010, October 29: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

I picked up Strider's suitcase on Tuesday and returned it Wednesday evening. It was one of those giant ones used on long-distance flights and had ended up with an impressive eighteen hundred pounds of carrying capacity. Clearly, Strider intended to get his time's worth out of our deal. I wasn't too upset however. In exchange for making his life easier, he agreed to be my courier for any (quasi)legal materials I might need, assuming I paid a discounted fee of course. Really, by raising his carrying capacity, I was also making him more useful to me.

On Thursday, I visited an optician in costume. I was textured as a punk kid with purple hair and muddy-brown eyes looking for non-prescription contacts for "drip." He was more than a little irritated with the kid who seemingly made light of his work, but I waved enough money at him to quell his annoyance. Money talked, and Accord certainly spoke the language. An hour later and some of the thinker's pay lighter, I walked out of there with several pairs of colored hydrogel contacts, all a pale aqua-blue like my original eyes. I'd need these once I became a gravity child.

Beyond that, the rest of the week passed with little in the way of excitement. Carlos finally got the nerve to ask out Stephanie. She said yes, apparently having given up on starting a definitely-against-PRT-regulations romance with Aegis. If Amy's eyes rolled in her head any faster, they'd look like a laundromat spin cycle.

Vicky and Dean had a fight about something or other. From the bare bones of what I could understand, she thought he wasn't spending enough time with her. He apparently had to shadow his dad at work as the Stansfield scion and hadn't told her he'd be busy. Teen drama, solved with thirty seconds of conversation… As much as I liked my friends, sitting with them forced me to be privy to this nonsense.

As for tutoring Hannah, she continued to be a brat. I did find out one thing about her though: She was a massive Glory Girl fangirl. I wasn't sure how I could leverage that into making her do her damn homework, but I'd think on the matter. Worst case scenario, I could have Vicky snitch to her mom for me. Having heroic friends had to be good for something.

Admittedly, that was mostly wistful thinking. I wasn't that petty, nor was I so invested in someone else's education. Worse comes to worst, I'd just return the money and find a new student.

Then, as if to prove that Friday was indeed the best day of the week, I had my breakthrough. The gravity child project was coming along nicely, with my blood sample reacting well to the changes I'd made. I based the process on the work of Dr. Minami, the main scientist of the project in canon and father figure of the Hurricane King.

Where I could, I also bolstered my understanding of genetic engineering with that of Dr. Vegapunk's lineage factor manipulation. Soon, I'd have a serum that could edit my DNA on a fundamental level.

Even better, my quasi-devil fruit radish was also growing well. Rather than clumps of bulbous roots, the radishes had fused into a single large orb. It bore the faint spiral markings of a devil fruit, but I knew that it would do nothing but make me allergic to the ocean. There were no powers attached to it, no lineage factor that could grant them. For that, I'd have to grab some DNA sample. Perhaps an animal, but I was partial towards a changer.

Or, could I cure a Case-53 using this? I would need Newter's blood to start with. If, if I could get a genetic map of Newter's genome, could I isolate the part that made him human and ignore the influence of his Shard? If that was possible, then I could theoretically make the Hito-Hito no Mi, Model: Newter. If he ate it, it should allow him to revert to his pre-experiment state and use his Case-53 form as a changer state, sort of like a standard zoan…

That was a lot of ifs. It was a possibility, but to tag on another if, if I could acquire Amy's help, could I remove a devil fruit's weakness to the ocean?

Perhaps…

As fascinating as it all was, I forced myself to table the project for one reason: Cauldron. Contessa really didn't like it when people started mucking about with their experiments and I didn't want a visit from the boogeyman. If it got out that I could actively cure Case-53s, I would be drafted by Cauldron within the week and as much as it loathed me to admit, I wasn't ready.

I could tell Piggot to shove off. Kaiser? Lung? Coil? All manageable. Cauldron? I couldn't tell them no, not as I was now.

I apologized to my friends in my mind and resolved to not make the attempt. Success really was more dangerous than failure here.

I could of course eat a fruit on my own without any attempt to heal a Case-53, but that too came with its problems. Or rather, one big problem that I knew was coming next April: Leviathan. Being allergic to the ocean in a city where Levi was all but guaranteed to strike sounded absolutely disastrous. No, there were less ruinous paths to personal power.

I also finished the hybrid engine. Making the transformers out of tungsten was a costly decision, but one I couldn't bring myself to regret. Now, I quite literally had enough energy to power the entire city by myself. I'd initially planned to keep the reserves of precious metals like gold and silver set apart just in case I stumbled on a specialization with a more mystic bent, but this was probably fine. I could get more silver if ever I ended up with the power to make an alchemical blade with lunar magic properties or something.

X

2010, October 30: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

Saturday found me back at my lab, fully dedicated to turning myself into an affront unto human evolution.

Last night, I'd set the serum to develop in a vial set under optimal temperature and pressure. The conditions were regulated through a modified pressure cooker, something else from the Hillside Heist. It was as ready as I could make it, with only one potential hurdle left.

Theoretically, it should turn anyone into a gravity child, but that was assuming it could bypass the body's immune system. Rather than inject it directly into myself like an idiot, I spent the morning extracting samples of my white blood cells. I mixed the serum with my white blood cells and left them under a set of monitoring devices.

While I was waiting on those results, I decided to make the hybrid soda engine smaller. As it was, this more powerful variant was too big for use in the workshop beneath Harvey's or in any kind of power armor I might make in the future. By lunchtime, I developed a blueprint for an engine the size of a small trash can, the kind shoved under office desks all over the country. It was a far cry from Tony Stark's arc reactor that could fit into a single hand, but I was happy with it nonetheless.

By the time I'd finished scribbling down the blueprints and returned from lunch, the serum was ready. It showed no adverse interactions with my white blood cells so I felt reasonably confident that it wouldn't kill me or give me some kind of super-cancer.

'What does it say about me that I'm more scared of having to ask Amy to purge my systems than I am of actually getting super-cancer?' I mused.

I wanted to inject it immediately, but decided against it. I had no idea how long it'd knock me out for, so I wanted to have a full night of sleep to get over it.

X

Being the day before Halloween, I decided to make an appearance at the Palanquin. I was invited after all and it'd help promote the idea of Creed as a whimsical, devil may care personality.

It was half past ten and the party was in full swing already. The club had been decked out in appropriate décor. Faux spider webs lined the walls and draped down to form a curtain over the entrance. A large jack-o-lantern had been placed out front, with a sign declaring the night's specials: four-dollar jello shots, rail drinks, and beers until midnight. Every drink had some appropriately spooky theme: boo-weiser, witch's brew, bloody mary and the like.

The crowd was an eclectic mix. I saw the generic mummies, vampires, fairies, and whatnot, but I also saw a fair mix of people dressed up as capes. "Sexy Mouse" seemed to be an oddly popular choice for whatever reason. I thanked all the gods in the multiverse that I wasn't famous enough for anyone to want to be me… this year.

The crowd of young adults, and more than a few faking teens, reacted in a way only Brockton Bay natives could: Most of them looked at me, gave me a once-over, came to the conclusion that I wasn't about to start a fight, then went straight back to what they were doing. A few frat boys in the crowd heckled me to try and get my attention, but I ignored them in favor of the bouncer.

The bouncer must have been expecting me because he greeted me with a nod and a single raised brow. "Evening, Creed. Faultline is upstairs," he said.

"Thanks, Xavier, I appreciate it," I said as I visibly slipped a hundred in his pocket. I gave him an affable pat on the arm and strutted inside like I owned the place, cape billowing in the background.

'Am I trying too hard?' I had to ask myself. I mulled it over for a moment then mentally shrugged before making a beeline to the bar. 'Ehh, my persona's supposed to be over the top anyway.'

I wish I could say the crowd parted for me like Moses parted the Red Sea, but that wasn't what happened. I was, even with my boots and helmet, barely five-five, if that. In a darkened club full of costumes, mine barely drew attention. I tried to pry my way to the bar but failed. I could either muscle my way through like a douche or squirm and shake with the beat until I found an opening to squeeze between the pulsing bodies.

I took option three. I leapt straight into the air and kicked off the wall before seemingly coming to land above people's heads. That got their attention.

"Holy shit, it's a cape," some guy in a George Clooney mask called.

I swirled it around myself and took a bow. "Yeah, nice, right? Made it myself." I ignored the questions and catcalls in favor of a leisurely stroll to the bar, still above their heads.

"Hector!" I shouted above the pulsing beats. "Mi amigo! How's it going?" I greeted the Ecuadorian barkeep I'd gotten to know. He was one of the few people Faultline employed that I knew by name, mostly because he served me drinks sometimes and ignored my obvious lack of vertical stature.

"Hey, Creed, good to see you. I didn't know if you'd show," he said. He was sharing the bar with three other bartenders, one young man and two women. Hector and his male coworker were dressed in crisp, frilled shirts with sleeveless jackets and plastic "fangs" while the women wore devil horns and short cocktail dresses that flashed plenty of skin. Faultline knew her audience. Either that, or Newter won a bet and got to pick out the night's uniform.

I hopped down onto a stool and settled into a comfortable squat. "Ehh, loud club music isn't really my scene but hey, once in a while is alright."

Hector polished off a glass before mixing someone a screwdriver. I rolled my eyes. It seemed that even across different worlds, drink choices were basically the same among college students. It wasn't like I could complain much; I drank practically nothing but gin and tonic my entire past life. It was fizzy, cheap, and simple so I never had to wait long. That, and I didn't know much about alcohol. I was a social drinker who grabbed the occasional glass to fit in.

Truthfully, I'd tried more drinks in the past month hanging with Faultline than ever. Tonight, he pushed a copper mug before me. "Want to try something new, man?"

"Why not?" I shrugged and released the chin-guard of my helmet. It folded down and inward to circle my throat with a pneumatic hiss. I raised the cup to my lips and admired the golden-yellow liquid before taking a sip. It was cool and sweet, with a refreshing aftertaste. "What is this?"

"Mint julep," he replied. "It's bourbon, sugar, water, and fresh mint. Like it?"

"Yeah, I think I just found my new favorite drink. Thanks, man."

"Aren't you a little young to drink?" came a snide voice next to me. She was a tall girl with heavy curls dressed up as some sort of dryad. There was a large, plastic sunflower nestled behind her ear.

"Villain," I grinned. "If I cared, I'd be a hero."

"Right," she snorted. "Is underage drinking the worst of your crimes, Creed?"

"Only when I'm sober."

Before we could continue, someone else butted in. Like me, she flew above the people's heads. Crystal Pelham was quite literally radiant, with strobing lights bouncing on her glitter-specked hair. "Creed," she said with a disapproving frown. "I thought it was you."

"Know anyone else who can run on thin air?" I slowly looked her up and down before letting out a low whistle. She was dressed in a full-on disco doll outfit, with enough glitter to make my eyes hurt. "A tad too much glitter even for you, don't'cha think, Sparkles?"

"Shut it. I can only get away with drenching my hair in glitter one night out of the year. Let me have this. And actually, yes. Cloudwalker, Skyline, Osprey," she ticked off a finger with every name. "There are a lot of capes who can walk on air."

I deflated exaggeratedly, slumping to lean my helmeted head against the countertop. "Way to make a guy feel like one in a crowd."

"Sorry," she spoke in a tone that said anything but. She then turned to the dryad. "You with him?"

"Umm…"

"Just someone lecturing me about the merits of the legal drinking age."

"She's right. I could take you in for this," she smirked.

"Really? You're picking a fight over a mint Julie?"

"Julep," Hector corrected helpfully.

"That."

Crystal glared at me sternly for a moment before breaking out into giggles. "Nah, does it look like I'm dressed for a fight?" She waved at herself, doing a little midair twirl. "Besides, you wouldn't fight me. You'd just run away. Weenie."

"I would. I'm just your cowardly tinker. Don't mind me. No plans to conquer the world here, no siree."

"That's got to be the single sketchiest denial ever."

"Probably. How'd you end up here anyway?"

"Guess you wouldn't know since you're Wards-age but the Palanquin's been advertising at the college for the past two weeks. Figured I'd see what's what. I even brought my cousins."

Seeing that she wouldn't be getting Laserdream to back her, the dryad left in a huff for someone else to bother. Crystal sat down in the now empty stool and ordered some super-hoppy IPA. She took a sip and visibly tried not to wince.

"How's your drink?" I asked snidely.

"Delicious. Can really taste the hops. I didn't take you for the fruity cocktail type."

"I didn't either, but Hector made me a drink and I can't say no to my friend, you know? This is really good though. Didn't take you for the beer type either."

"It's… okay… It's really bitter."

I rolled my eyes. Sometime in the mid-2000s, hops became associated with artisan, craft beer in my past life too. Maybe I just had shit taste, but IPAs all just tasted like breweries were competing to make the most bitter beer possible. I slid my mug over. "Try this. Tastes a lot better than your swill, promise."

She raised it gingerly to her lips. I saw her eyes light up as the sugary drink hit her tongue. "Woah, yeah, this is better."

"See? Hector knows what he's about."

"So he does. Hi! Excuse me, can I get one of these instead?" she called to a bartender.

She was served in a few minutes and we had a surprisingly civil conversation, as civil as a hero and a villain could have in Brockton. Taking a long sip of my drink, I asked, "So, Amy Dallon, Panacea, is here?"

"Sorry, she doesn't take requests." The tired way Crystal said that, like a telemarketer repeating a script for the millionth time, made me pity them. How often did people come to Crystal to maybe get a meeting with her cousin?

I tried not to let it show on my face and instead laughed. "Hah, no, I don't want her to treat me or anyone I know. I'm just surprised is all. Your cousin and Halbeard are running neck and neck to see who's the biggest workaholic in the city. How'd you manage to get her out here, Sparkles?"

"I didn't. Vicky did," she said as though that explained everything. To be fair, it did. "Speaking of which…"

"Crys!" my blonde friend called. Like me and Crystal before her, Victoria didn't bother wading through the crowd and simply landed from on high. She was dressed as an angel, fluffy halo and all. Amy, dressed as a red devil with curling, plastic ram horns and a little barbed tail, scrambled down from the bridal carry. She must have seen me trying to stifle a laugh because she shot me a heated glare.

I gave her a shit-eating grin and tapped the orange bindi-like gem set between my brows. She got my meaning; that thing was a camera, usually meant for SAINT to look through. Tonight was prime blackmail material. Amy in a "devilish" cocktail dress? Yes, please. No matter how the rest of the night went, I was already glad I came. I fully planned to hold this over her for years.

"Ah, Collateral Damage Barbie, Panacea," I nodded and sipped my julep. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Hey!"

"Pft, 'Collateral Damage Barbie?'"

"It's not funny, Crystal," Vicky pouted. Her aura flared and I felt an ominous chill crawl up my back.

"Vicky, aura," Amy reminded.

Just that brief display had managed to clear several feet of room for us. "Shit, sorry, Ames."

"How come Amy doesn't get a nickname?" Crystal asked.

"Because she'll probably pull out my spine through my dick. Or I respect her. One of the two."

"Oww, what are we then?"

"My entertainment." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw several people lining up for the bar but too hesitant to approach the four capes. I gestured behind the girls. "Perhaps we should find someplace else to talk?"

"Yeah, let's. We're in the booth by the stairs," she said before flying off with her cousins.

I ordered several more mint juleps and balanced the copper mugs with Magnet Rise before walking off to their booth. "I bring booze!" I shouted with a cheery grin, arms splayed and five copper mugs floating circles around my head in a shitty imitation of Victoria's halo.

"Seriously? Are you always so… extra?" Crystal asked.

"Of course!" I thrust a single fist into the air. "If something is worth enjoying, it's worth enjoying boisterously. Exuberantly. Go beyond! Pus Ultra! Youth!"

"You realize that none of us are old enough to drink?"

"It's Halloween."

"Yes," Amy drawled, "your argument is flawless."

"Of course it is. I'm flawless."

Crystal grabbed one of the mugs and took a sip. "Well my cousins aren't going to drink. Unlike you, they have reputations to keep and teen heroes underage drinking isn't the kind of message we want to send."

"You're underage too, right?"

She shrugged and shot me a sly smirk. "I'm in college I look less obviously underage."

"Hypocrite."

"Take it up with mom. So long as I'm responsible about it, we've got an understanding. Either way, my cousins aren't drinking."

"Suit yourselves, but what do you mean I have no rep to keep? Why do you think I'm drinking?"

"Because you're trying to develop a habit?" Vicky chimed in. She'd taken off her halo and started to twirl it on a finger.

"Funny, but no. I wouldn't want to poison myself then make more work for your sister, especially not tonight."

"Gee, how thoughtful of you," the resident healer drawled.

I gamely ignored her. "I'm trying to be that carefree indie, someone who straddles the line between hero and villain."

"Aren't you trying too hard?"

"Bombastic and over the top is better than meek and reserved. Besides, underage drinking is one of the few ways I can break the law without wrecking the place. That, and randomly pickpocketing people. Just look around, all these drunk idiots who'd blame a misplaced wallet on the alcohol come morning." I could see Amy glaring at me in warning. I laughed and pulled someone's wallet out of his back pocket using Psychic before putting it back with a cheeky wave.

"Ah, yes, your mysterious heroic sponsor. Care to tell us about the Goat?" Crystal probed.

"The GOAT," I corrected. "All caps. It's necessary."

"Sure, The GOAT," she humored me.

"The GOAT is the Greatest Of All Time. They are unassuming, like the humble goat. They are ever climbing, like the brave goat. They are true to themselves, like the resolute goat. The GOAT exemplifies all the virtues embodied in the noble goat, and so is called The GOAT," I waxed poeticaly. I felt Amy kick me under the table so I smiled at her like butter wouldn't melt in my mouth. "They're also very ill-tempered, also much like the goat."

"Wow… I genuinely don't know what to say to that."

"Say nothing, my dear. You need only bask in the glory of the truth."

"Okay, how much are you getting paid to say that?"

I raised my hands to the air and threw my voice like a reverend before his congregation. "I get paid in only one currency, the only one that will not depreciate: the Truth!"

The look on Amy's face, of a woman slowly losing her sanity, was like mana from heaven to my cold, black heart. Vicky tried to stifle a giggle. She'd waved down a waitress for a bottle of coke for herself and was nibbling from a plate of salted peanuts. "Seriously, what the hell? Did they really pick that name for themselves?"

"The GOAT is a title conferred upon the noblest of souls. It is not a name chosen, but a crown bestowed," I said solemnly.

"Sure… So who are they?"

"The GOAT is The GOAT. The GOAT is here and everywhere. All things are The GOAT, for all creation strives endlessly towards one peak."

"Cous, I don't think he's going to tell us anything," Crystal said with a tired laugh.

"Are you?" Vicky tried batting her lashes and I felt the sudden urge to cave. "Pretty please?"

I shook my head and zapped myself with a weak Thunder Wave. "Aura," Amy, Crystal, and I chimed together.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that again," I said firmly.

"So, Creed, what's with the name?" Crystal changed the subject, she clearly didn't want a confrontation here either. "Is it supposed to mean you have a code of honor?"

I nodded. "I chose the name because I wanted people to know that just because I'm a villain doesn't mean I have no standards. That, and it tells people absolutely nothing about my personal skillset."

"Clever. So what's your creed then?"

I held out a hand and began ticking them off on my fingers. "First, minimize civilian harm if reasonably possible. Second, do not target medical personnel or institutions dedicated to medicine. Third, do not target children or institutions dedicated to children. Fourth, all of the above goes out the window in the name of reciprocity. I will abide by these rules of engagement until these laws are compromised by my opponent. If you break the rules, you do not deserve their protection. Finally? The most important rule of all?"

I leaned forward conspirationally. Then, in an exaggerated whisper, "Do nothing for free."

The last one made the girls roll their eyes. "Of course. How dare we assume you have a charitable bone in your body."

"Precisely. Charity is for whenever I need to cover up a scandal."

"Creed…"

"What? It's a valuable life lesson: If something sounds too good to be true, that's 'cause it is."

Victoria frowned. "And your money-grubbing ways are better?"

I shrugged as I polished off a mug of julep. "I don't know about better. I never claimed to be. But I do think I'm more honest and there is value in that."

We fell into an uneasy silence, three heroines and a single villain sipping their drinks. I grabbed another cup most of the girls couldn't drink and savored the minty aftertaste as I scanned the room. A shock of ginger dreads almost made me choke. I hopped up three feet into the air and sure enough, I spotted my sister and her friends. She'd told mom and me that she'd go out with some friends and expected to sleep over at Sabah's.

'Guess it makes sense. If Crystal heard about the party, then she must have as well.'

"Something wrong, Creed?" Vicky asked.

"No, I thought I saw some people I recognized. I'm sure they'll be fine."

Eventually, I tired of the miniature interrogation session and started balancing the copper mugs using Magnet Rise. I pulled on the leftover julep and ice cubes to create a dazzling circle around the mugs. Crystal spread out a swarm of weak lasers from her fingers, reflecting them against the spinning mugs to create a miniature lightshow. The lasers bounced on the shiny copper to form a pentagram star.

I was impressed; I'd known she had lasers powerful enough to stagger Leviathan, but I didn't know she could be so precise with them. We amused ourselves and a gathering crowd before I decided I'd had enough to drink.

I settled the mugs down and stacked them neatly on the tray of a passing waitress. Standing, I took a flourishing bow. "Thank you, thank you. A round of applause for the wonderful Sparkles!"

"Are you done already?" someone in the crowd asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid I'm a bit of a lightweight."

"Three mint juleps makes you a lightweight?" Amy drawled. "Methinks someone's developing a habit."

I shot her a shameless grin. "What can I say? Hector is wonderful and it would be rude to refuse his kindness. Speaking of, any of you fine folks in the crowd want a free drink?" I snagged the leftover mugs and passed them out.

"Of course. You drink to be polite. What else could it be?"

"In any case, I think it's about time for me to go greet the hosts, and maybe pass out on their couch." With that, I took three hops into the air, then vanished with a swirl of my cape.

Author's Note

Party scenes are hard. I've never been much for clubbing and I can count the number of times I've been in a club in the past ten years on one hand with fingers to spare. I tried to keep the scene closer to what I'd do, more about relationships and smaller group conversations than dancing.

Fabled's Animal Fact: There are twenty species of armadillos in the world we know about and their name means "little armored one." Disappointingly, most do not actually use Defense Curl in real life. Only one species, the three-banded armadillo, can ball itself.