Chapter 45: 3-14 Surge

Surge 3.14

2010, November 14: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

It took me exactly thirty-two minutes to get where I wanted, though I supposed I could have stopped at any point past a hundred miles. The ocean stretched as far as the eye could see, blue and gray and ominous and majestic all at once. The waves roiled below my feet and I was struck by the eerie silence of it all.

When the sea was mostly calm like this, without any waves high enough to slap back against the surface of the water, the ocean was as quiet as the grave. I'd never experienced this level of quiet before, in both lives. I'd gone camping sure, and there were quiet nights spent staring up at the stars, but the forest wasn't ever truly quiet. Crickets. Owls. The wind playing its melody through the branches. The forest wasn't quiet, not like the sea.

I turned on my helmet cam and spent several minutes recording, just looking up at the sky, then at the horizon where the blue of the sea met the blue of the sky. It was pristine, untouched by man since Leviathan's arrival. No, even prior, we were merely guests, using this stretch of sea as a simple thoroughfare. I wondered if any sailors ever got to appreciate the silence like this, or were their boats too loud?

I too was a guest here. I came to test out some of my more destructive techniques because I feared that even the hull of an oil tanker wouldn't be enough to contain them. Truthfully, a not insignificant part of me felt like a big fish in a little pond, powerful enough that should I go all out, no one in Brockton could afford to ignore me.

Looking out at the tranquil sea around me, I realized now how arrogant that line of thought was. I was so small. Hell, with Air Gear's modern tech, I could build hydrogen bombs, the Tsar Bomba even, but they'd still be small compared to the breadth of the sea stretching out beneath my feet.

And Scion was so much bigger than this…

One step at a time. I took a deep breath and called to my most treasured partner. As much as I cared for Amy, our partnership was built on manipulation, world-ending secrets, and a constant tug-of-war between our moral compasses. I loved her dearly but there was only one person I could unreservedly trust. "You ready, SAINT?"

My HUD burst to life as the greatest mallard of all blipped onto my screen. Lego-duck appeared a little pixelated, like one of those old pokemon games, an aesthetic filter he liked to mess around with. "Porygon, pory," he chirped.

"Alright, After Burner is more or less mastered, I figure. I'm pretty low on aura but if I can do it for half an hour, it's probably good to go."

"Ree."

"I know, I made sure to keep enough in the tank to run back. If all else fails, I can just float along for a few hours before heading home. It's not like I have anything to do today."

"Porygon."

"Right. To start, I want to go through some of the basic capoeira forms that've been trickling in through the Inorganic Net. I picked capoeira specifically so I could incorporate it into my run after all." A little clip art of Disco Stu from the Simpsons popped up on my screen as the theme song for So You Think You Can Dance blared into my ears. Cheeky fucker. "Yes, SAINT, I'm going to dance."

"Pory…"

"No, you may not get out so you can record me."

"Pory…?"

"... Fine… You may pick the music…"

As soon as the last word left my mouth, the tranquility of the open ocean was shattered by My Heart is Stereo. "Really? Why Gym Class Heroes?"

"Ree."

"Fine, whatever floats your boat."

I connected the suit to Crown Chimera and triggered Hole Nine Heaven's Door. Idiotic name that could only sound cool to a Japanese mangaka aside, I felt something shift in my regalia and a deep connection form between rider and AT. The data sticks inside my regalia processed the stored information and sent cues to my helmet, allowing me to act out forms and routines I'd never experienced before.

I allowed my body to go limp and followed along with the bamba's, what you call a capoeira master apparently, movements. The sound of a dozen berimbau, the main, single-string percussion instrument in capoeira, filled the air as Gym Class Heroes faded into the background. Still weird, but I couldn't fault SAINT's music choices.

Slowly, beat by beat, I swayed to and fro like a reed in the breeze. Or more accurately, like a buoy upon the waves. I took an hour just to get used to the motions. Just because my suit could do them didn't mean I wouldn't pull a muscle or something if I wasn't ready for it or tensed at the wrong time. I allowed myself to relax and let the foreign memories guide me through the proper motions.

My footwork became rhythmic, sending ripples along the surface that merged seamlessly into the waves. I transitioned first to cartwheels, sweeps, and then winding kicks that I'd never be able to do without instruction. My torso twisted and burned with the exercise as muscle groups that I didn't often use got put through their paces. Soon, I was moving so quickly that my feet kicked up streaks of water and made the air whistle as they swung past.

Then I shut off the Door. It wasn't like I needed to know every little thing about capoeira after all. In the end, I just wanted it to give me the foundations so I could adapt it to my own style. The martial art's primary purpose as a medium of dance made it so only selective portions of it were applicable to me.

I continued dancing and kicking, turning a meia lua de compasso, a quick, spinning kick, into a martelo, a very strong kick typically used to drop someone in one stroke. I danced until I could perform the moves even without my suit's nudging. It was an amazing feeling, never losing balance despite the constant motion. The enhancements of a gravity child helped me get the hang of these foreign movements far faster than a normal person.

I could already tell; even though I could do the moves individually, I'd have to spend some time and effort to incorporate them into my muscle memory. It wasn't enough to just dance after all; I needed to be able to use this in a fight, to fall back on these movements with instinctive familiarity.

Another hour later, I plopped down onto the water and let the cool current ferry me along. The seawater felt wonderful on my burning muscles. "I wish I'd brought some snacks," I told SAINT. I was getting a little peckish now that I wasn't doing anything.

"Ree?" he trilled as an image of fish popped onto my screen.

"Heh, I guess I could. Crown Chimera could probably be used to cook something in a pinch," I replied with a chuckle. "Don't worry, I'm not that hungry."

After a few minutes of rest, I hopped back onto my feet and kicked off. This time, I activated Crown Chimera in earnest, adding its power to the routine I'd been practicing. I grit my teeth and bore the strain as my ATs bit into the condensed water vapors beneath my feet. Instead of sailing free through the air, they were still "running" on misty clouds, still accelerating even mid-kick.

The repetitive swaying motions layered vapor trails behind each skate until I was going fast enough to turn it all into steam from friction alone. Then, when I felt I'd built up enough momentum, I skipped into the air and twisted with my lower core, whirling into a spiraling snap kick that launched the condensed vapor like a lash. Or, a thorn.

*Crack*

The compressed water pulled and strained against its pyrobloin bonds until it all struck with the same, sharp crack of a ringmaster's whip. Unfortunately, I didn't get to appreciate my handiwork. The water wasn't the only thing that cracked.

"GAH!" I cried out in surprise and pain.

I fell like a stone into the ocean below. Before the weight of my suit could drag me to the bottom of the sea, SAINT's Psychic took hold of me and raised me to the surface. I felt like a rod of molten iron had been inserted into my spinal column. There was a detached feeling in my pelvis. Tears rose unbidden to my eyes as my HUD blared with enough warning lights to remind me of a dance club.

"S-SAINT, status?" I gasped.

I blinked away the tears and watched as a model of my body took up the screen. Crown Chimera built up friction via compressed water vapor and harnessed that friction for both Flame and Lather Road tricks. The empowered kick had been so sharp that my torso couldn't keep up, Germa suit be damned.

I didn't just twist my spine, I twisted it off like a screw cap while simultaneously dislocating my right leg from my pelvis. Germa engineering was phenomenal at keeping external impacts from getting through, but internal tensions were a different story apparently.

"Well, that explains why I feel like dying," I groaned. I laid there, breathing deeply until I could compartmentalize the pain. When I could breathe again, I called up my well of aura and whispered, "Recover."

I let out groan of relief as I felt my spine stitch itself together. As horrible as the injury felt, it was easier to repair than a severed finger, simply for the fact that all the pieces were where they needed to be already.

"Alright," I muttered as I stood atop the water again. My hip felt a little tender but I got to my feet anyway. "Let's try that again, this time with a bit less power and a bit more mist…"

"Porygon? Gon!"

"Yeah, I know. We're still doing it until I can make a proper thorn. The Sonia Road is probably going to be beyond me, but if I can incorporate it into my run, I can make Mirage Road techniques based off the same general principle."

"Gon…"

"I don't need to puncture reinforced steel with a kick, SAINT. I just need to harness friction and sound and be able to use it to shape mist into tangible clones…"

"Ree…"

"Okay, yeah, that sounds way complicated when I say it out loud, but everything I need is right here! I can do it, just… I just need more time."

"Pory… gon…?"

"You know what I need? I need a shonen training montage."

"Gon?"

"I know. School and family and all that. That just means we need to get started now. Ready?"

"Pory…"

X

In the end, I broke my own spine a half a dozen more times before I managed a proper thorn… sort of… If anything, it wasn't a "thorn" as much as it was a "wave," something akin to the Rankayku of Rokushiki fame. It was something I realized about my regalia. Ringo's Thorn Regalia was uniquely suited for shaping sound into these needle-sharp points. Crown Chimera? Not so much.

Mine took its energy not from the speed of my run, but the water vapor being condensed and rotated at high speeds in my heels. The vibration against seastone and the friction it harnessed was my source of power. And like the Lather Road, Crown Chimera wanted things to behave like water. Bursts of mist? Massive fogbanks? Or even Om's Bubblegum Crisis? All great. Blades of water that SAINT estimated could cut steel? Difficult, but doable.

Thorns? Nah.

After a while, I realized I was getting too hung up on copying Ringo much as I had been too hung up on copying Kazu. I took a deep breath and allowed myself to relax. I tuned my own regalia. If anyone knew how it worked, it was me. So why was I so insistent on riding someone else's road?

After that, things became a lot more manageable.

"Watch this, SAINT! Lather Road: Bubblegum Crisis!"

I grinned childishly as a huge bubble of water formed with both of my heels as the frames. With a leap and a front flip, I slammed it down towards the ocean. I'd made it twice my size, big enough to look like Naruto's Odama Rasengan. The spiraling orb ripped through the ocean's surface tension before detonating with a deafening boom that could be heard for miles. For several seconds, my attack carved a crater the size of a small garage into the ocean. Then the water came rushing back and slapped a column into the air, drenching me again.

"Yep. Definitely can't use this at home," I said. "We'll file this under 'fuck you in particular' tricks, okay, SAINT?"

"Pory."

I cackled like a proper supervillain at the destruction I'd caused. Was the name stupid? Absolutely. But why shouldn't I embrace it? I made steak-flavored apples for fun, dressed up as a bootleg power ranger, and planned to build myself a Megazord of my own as soon as I could swing it, because there was no way in hell I was going to settle for just a boring boat. If there was one truth in shonen, Pokemon, One Piece, and Air Gear all, it was that freedom and self-expression always lent itself to personal growth and power.

"That's right, fuck what people think. Right, SAINT?"

"Porygon!" he cheered. No matter how lame I became, it was good to know I'd have the world's greatest duck in my corner.

Bubblegum Crisis was actually surprisingly versatile, for something launched out of my heels anyway. I could also choose to spout a torrent of smaller bubbles instead of one large one. I'd probably do that most of the time because an attack like this… I didn't think even the E88's twins could tank hits like this without getting horribly maimed. The smaller bubbles that blew up like grenades were already bad enough.

I then started working on a technique of my own. By layering mist at different densities, I could make hazy "mist clones," which were a far cry from Spitfire's realistic illusions, but could be an excellent base for them in the future. They looked like hazy silhouettes at the moment, as though someone was standing behind layers of fog and their features couldn't be made out. I likened them to Skitter's own bug clones, useful but not as much as I'd prefer. Although simple and incomplete, combined with my own texturing and invisibility modules, I considered the skill an excellent investment.

I also made a third trick, Lather Road: Bubble Prison. It was admittedly just a ripoff of Zabuza's Water Prison from Naruto, just a stabilized ball of water that could hold a person. Still, what was the tinker of fiction if not the greatest plagarist of all time?

The only difference between his technique and mine was that instead of intentionally suffocating people, I made the insides hollow and swirled the bubble in a way that minimizes friction inside. The idea was to create a jail that offered its prisoners zero leverage. It'd come in handy for nonlethal takedowns if nothing else. I could capture multiple people and take them all out of commission via Thunder Wave into the bubble.

Really, tricks were so much easier when I stopped fighting my own regalia like a stubborn dumbass.

All this came after hours of practice, practice that would have been ruinously crippling on several occasions without the help of Recover. The Germa Expansion Suit was phenomenal. It could withstand hilarious amounts of punishment even without the barrier module. What it couldn't do? It couldn't protect the wearer from himself. If I twisted so hard that I ripped my own spine or landed in such a way that I tore my ACL to shreds, well, that was all internal. A big part of this training exercise was as much about learning my own body's limits as it was about mastering the Roads available to me.

All things considered, I believed I made great strides. I would have liked to learn more about the Flame Road, maybe even figure out Time and Saint Elmo's Crossfire, but I simply didn't have the time. Having a usable repertoire of tricks was more important to me than knowing a single, overwhelmingly powerful finishing move that I wouldn't be able to apply practically.

"We're doing this again," I told SAINT as we skated back to shore. "Maybe not every night, but definitely on the weekends. Maybe I can tell mom I have a sleepover and find an atoll to camp out at or something."

"Pory," he trilled in affirmation. Next time, once I better mastered Crown Chimera, I'd have SAINT come out so we could spar without concern for anyone overhearing us through the tanker.

X

"I'm so sorry I couldn't get back to you until now," said the figure on the other line. She was a woman with snow-white hair kept in a tight bun. Over her face was a white and silver mask that complemented her hair and crystal-blue eyes nicely. Fractals reminiscent of snowflakes dotted her mask and hair pin and hints of blue glitter accented her rosy cheeks. All told, my first cape client looked like a fairy tale princess.

She was very pretty but the outfit didn't fit with how haggard she looked. There were deep bags under her eyes and a slouch to her posture that she tried but failed to correct. Her makeup was all over the place and it was clear she'd only just rolled out of bed before hastily throwing on her costume so she could be halfway presentable.

"That's no trouble at all, Glyph," I reassured her. She didn't owe me anything. More importantly, the young woman had legitimate cause to delay; SAINT had been thorough in his assessments. "I understand people have prior commitments. You were active in a joint mission in Bosnia with the Suits and just returned to Canada the night prior. Villain I may be, but well done, Glyph. You did great work out there."

She looked visibly surprised. "You're well-informed. Most people don't even know who the Suits are in America."

"My tech is valuable," I replied simply. To be fair, she wasn't wrong. Without SAINT, I wouldn't have a clue either. The only reason SAINT found out about her activities was that it wasn't classified, most Guild missions weren't for the sake of international accountability. "It's imperative that I know what my clients are up to. While I am primarily interested in business, the one holding my leash is rather particular about who uses my tech."

"Right, The GOAT," she said dryly. "People still have no idea what kind of thinker they are, or if they're just one person. Hell, I don't think Dragon knows, though I doubt she bothered to dig too deep."

"And we appreciate her respect for the unwritten rules. In any case, rest assured that you have been thoroughly vetted and deemed heroic enough for me to sell to. Now, if you don't mind, step back from the camera and show me what I'm working with. While you're at it, tell me what you want in more detail if you please. We discussed a shield module but nothing beyond that."

She backed away, revealing a svelte young woman clad in a white and blue suit with the same snowflake fractals running along her sides as her mask. There was a complex logo on her breastplate but she wore little else for protection. The fabric did look sturdy but I didn't think it was tinkertech, probably a stab-resistant weave of some variety.

As we talked, I sent Amy a full profile of Glyph's activities as compiled by SAINT. Everything save her personal information was there, from her suspected age of trigger to her brief history with the Winter Maples, an independent team from her hometown, and her many missions with the Guild. Her cute, Disney princess aesthetic was great for PR and she started off in mostly noncombat roles but had recently stepped in to fight alongside Narwhal as one of the premier defensive and utility heroines in the organization. She'd shed the ball gown of her early days in exchange for the outfit I was seeing now. All things considered, what she had was a great costume that showed she now favored freedom of movement over simple aesthetics.

In a word, Glyph was perfect. She was respectably strong, versatile, and had a nearly spotless career with a demonstrable history of saving lives. She deserved my help and as annoyed with Amy as I was right now, I didn't think she'd find a problem with me selling to Glyph. Helping out the heroine would be a good way to show Amy I was still committed to our partnership.

"Okay, that's great to hear," I stopped her. She was a bit chatty, maybe because this was her first commission and she felt a little nervous? "Any specific designs you want?"

She did a final twirl for me, getting into the conversation now. "How about a cape?"

I couldn't resist. It had to be said. The memelords demanded sacrifice. "No capes."

"Why not? I think I can pull it off."

"No. Capes."

"You have a cape!"

"Do as I say, not as I do."

"Isn't the shield tied to your cape? You swish it around to block."

"And I'll give you something else. Maybe a brooch."

"I don't see why I can't have a-"

"No. Capes," I declared imperiously. Then I changed the subject to something more productive. "What's your current costume made of?"

"Umm… I don't know? Dragon had one tailored for me after I sent her my sizes. It's pretty durable though. I haven't had any wardrobe malfunctions."

"Not good enough. Tear and stab-resistant isn't enough for a hero. If your glyphs fail or you need to be up close and personal for whatever reason, you're going to want something more than that."

"That's why I'm buying a shield thingie."

"Maybe, but even that's not perfect. Glyph, you're in the big leagues now. That's why you're here, isn't it? Narwhal doesn't fuck around and I can't imagine someone on her team is going to have the safe missions."

"That's true but… It'll cost more…"

It would. It was my job to upsell after all. "And? Is that worth your life?"

"Hey! How about you? You're a villain, right? Shouldn't you be afraid I'd come back to beat you with your own tech?"

"Hahaha, no. The Guild isn't likely to intervene in my affairs unless I go international and that's not in my plans at the moment."

"At the moment," she repeated, eyeing me suspiciously. "Really, what do you get out of helping a hero?"

"The GOAT-"

"Yes,The GOAT, whoever that is. But what do you get out of it? Why work with them in the first place? If you really cared about money, you could probably join up with the Elite or something."

"True, true. I have my own reasons. You'll just have to be satisfied that I'm on the side of angels… sort of," I said with an exaggerated wink, then felt really stupid because she couldn't see through my helmet.

"Whatever. Dragon's going to go over your tech with a fine-toothed comb to make sure you haven't slipped anything in, you know."

"Of course. I'm counting on it in fact. If anything, I'd be very curious to see what she makes of my gear. Now, as I was saying, my own suit is made up of something I call Germa fibers. They're completely bulletproof up to and including most assault rifles. You'd need a sniper round to pierce a shirt made of this." 'Or a Walker pistol,' I didn't say. "A big enough impact can still leave bruises and crack ribs, but you won't be bleeding out or anything. It's an additional layer of protection I have beyond the shield module."

"That does sound nice… I won't have to look like a Sentai Elite cosplayer?"

"Super Sentai," I corrected automatically. "The team is themed around the show. And no, I can make you a Disney princess again if you want."

She made a face. "Eugh, no thanks. I need to be a serious hero now. I can't just twirl a wand around and pretend I'm at a ball anymore."

"Fair enough. Can I interest you in a set of new boots?"

"Boots?"

"Mobility is everything and these babies will let you walk on air. Or you can add in my ATs, Air Treks, to skate faster if you want."

"Definitely no to the skates. I have horrible balance; I don't even like wearing half inch heels. I'd just embarrass myself if I wore those skates. The boots though… I've seen videos of you running on air. How long does it last?"

"Six hours of operational time. After that, give it an hour to charge."

"How do you charge it?"

"I'll include a canister that your suit collapses into. Just plug it in; it's idiot-proof."

"Lovely. You know, every time a tinker says that, the world will just invent a better idiot."

I snorted. "A hero with a sense of humor? My, Canada does make them different."

"Anywhere not Brockton you mean. Anyway, you're being awfully generous."

"Generous? Sweetheart, we haven't even begun to talk about price," I exclaimed. "The more I give you, the fatter my paycheck becomes!"

She let out an audible groan. "Lovely, how much is a suit, boots, and shield going to cost me?"

I leaned forward and steepled my fingers ominously. In lieu of facial expressions, body language was critical to setting the right ambiance. "And now we're at my favorite part of this conversation. How does a nice, round eight mil sound? Cheap, right?"

"You're fucking with me," she deadpanned. "What kind of trust fund baby do you think I am?"

"Heh, yes, I am. I want to impress upon you the true value of my suit. Once you have it, I can guarantee that it will not require maintenance unless you decide to go wrestle the Ash Beast or something equally stupid. In fact, the suit is far more likely to outlast you than the other way around. And if you do somehow manage to damage the suit, first ten maintenance sessions are free of charge.

"Now compare that with the conventional cost of weapons development borne by standard militaries and governments. Because let's face it, this suit isn't just a suit, it's a weapon. 3D mobility, protection that would make you a high-end brute. This is the kind of thing nations would spend hundreds of millions developing. You're not paying for a fancy new jacket; you're paying for something you'll be trusting with your life."

"Well I don't know what to tell you then. The Canadian government doesn't subsidize our costumes, at least not to the tune of millions. And a full member of the Guild makes $140,000 Canadian dollars per year unless we contribute something else. I mean, I do and I make a bit more, but you're crazy if you think I have hundreds of millions to throw around. Or even eight million."

"I know what you make. Again, I'm trying to show you monetarily what my suit is worth."

She frowned but nodded. "Well, that's development. Not production. Each individual weapon is much cheaper even for a conventional military. The development cost isn't the same as the price tag on an individual product."

"Hmm… Good, I'm glad you know how to negotiate. Now that you know what it should cost, tell me what you can afford."

I quickly ran into a problem: Heroes were poor. Well, not really. They made good money and had their housing and many other costs of living subsidized by the government. But they weren't rich enough to afford even the heavily discounted price I'd laid out.

I'd sold the Black Rhino for $200,000. Surely a tailor-made costume had to be worth more than that? Except, that was more than Glyph's entire annual salary and she was understandably not eager to dip into retirement funds or take out a loan, even if she thought Dragon might be willing to do her a solid.

In the end, we reached an impasse. I wanted to help her. It was an unambiguously good thing I could do. But… But it'd mean building a reputation for myself as a bit of a sap, a "not a real villain."

'Aren't I already that?' I wondered. 'How much money do I actually need to build a base anyway?'

The answer was… not this much. Certainly not enough that I couldn't do a good woman a favor. Volume of sale could make up for an individually larger payday.

"I'm… I'm willing to be talked down," I admitted quietly. The businessman in me rankled.

"Then-"

"Not by you though. Frankly, you've got very little ground to negotiate from. I'll… I'll chat with The GOAT. There are things they can do for me that might sweeten the pot."

"Oh, okay…"

"I'll get back to you soon."

"Yeah, thanks for hearing me out."

"Likewise, Glyph. For what it's worth, you do good work and I honestly do want to help you." I cut the call and sank into my seat. "Ugh, why is everyone so poor, SAINT?"

He typed into the computer, They are not. Statistically, the average Canadian has a median income of $27,500, Maker-Trainer. Glyph is actually quite wealthy compared to the vast majority of Canadians, sir. Could it be that you have unrealistic expectations?

"Probably…"

What will you do now, Maker-Trainer? Will you speak with Amy?

"No, I said she can have a say in who I sell to, but I'm not going to let her set the price. If I did that, she'll make me give my tech away for free."

You told Glyph you would speak with The GOAT.

"That's you," I said semi-truthfully. "The GOAT is anyone that isn't Creed, or really an excuse for me to behave one way or another."

Do you still intend to sell to Glyph?

"Of course. I'm just… I guess I need to give myself some time to be convinced. It's… I mean, even fifty grand is probably too much for her to comfortably afford, never mind the millions I should be charging."

This is likely. Considering the cost of living and any extenuating circumstances, $50,000 is likely to be a significant sum of her savings and represent multiple years of disposable income, SAINT typed into the chat. He then brought my attention to several studies on economic trends and the spending habits of a mid-twenties woman in stressful occupations.

"That's what I was afraid of. What do you suggest, SAINT? How can I help heroes while still being a mercenary?"

I do not know, Maker-Trainer. A mercenary mindset which prioritizes personal gain is fundamentally contrary to altruism.

"That's… Things aren't quite that black and white. I can make money and advance my own tech tree while still doing good in the world. It's a balancing act… Which I guess is the whole point. Thanks, SAINT, it helps talking to you."

A pleasure, Maker-Trainer. I look forward to the balance you set.

Author's Note

Remember when Gym Class Heroes used to be on at Every. Goddamn. School. Dance? The 2010s man… Not gonna lie, I still listen to them sometimes for nostalgia, and because I haven't cleaned out my Spotify in about that long.

Saint Erasmus of Formia, whose name sounds way cooler than its abbreviation, is the patron saint of sailors and Saint Elmo's fire was a phenomenon first recorded by sailors atop masts. They believed it was a warning from God of storms on the horizon, hence a sign that their patron was looking out for them.

Glyph's appearance and powers were heavily inspired by the Schnee family from RWBY. There is very little information about Glyph in canon besides that they're a frontline combat-capable member of the Guild, not even their gender, so I just went with whatever came to mind first.

Edna. Mode.