Prodigal Daughter Pt 4 (Patreon)

Part Four: Twisted Sisters

[A/N: this chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

I lounged on the porch of the big cabin, eating a chocolate bar and drinking a can of soda. The chair I was sitting in was leaned back against the wall, making me wish there was a rail or something I could put my feet up on. But there wasn’t, so I just had to make do with crossing them at the ankle and admiring the coloured splashes on my sneakers. When the novelty of that wore off, I raised my eyes and watched as my father strolled up to the cabin.

Even before I got my powers, I would’ve been able to tell he was pissed. Now, it was even more obvious, no matter how much he tried to hide it. I took a bite of my chocolate bar, and another drink of soda.

I knew perfectly well that soda was bad for me. But there’d been a whole fridge full of the stuff, with a glass front. When Shatterbird did her little trick, that left all the soda gradually warming up. I was just doing my bit to make sure not all of it went to waste. It didn't help that there'd been more than a few glass bottles in the fridge, which meant there was a minor ocean of soda on the floor in there, with a whole lot of bottle caps floating forlornly in it. Thus, the coloured splashes on my sneakers.

Jack Slash stopped in front of me and put his hands on his hips in a pose which he probably thought was intimidating. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

I couldn’t resist. Straightening out in the chair, I clenched my stomach muscles and let out the loudest belch I could manage. His jaw muscles twitched slightly and he breathed in deeply through his nostrils. I got the impression he wasn't used to having to control his temper like this. If he looked at it the right way, I was doing him a favour. This was good practice, after all.

Finally, he cleared his throat. I pretended to look attentive. The rest of the Nine had gathered in a group behind him, and I found it a little more interesting to look at their powers than pay too much attention to him.

Jack's knife power showed up as a laser-straight yellow line that led out from the knife he held in his hand. I wasn't sure what his other power was supposed to do, but it took the form of soft white fluffy clouds drifting outward from him. They strengthened when he talked, but even then they hit my grey bubble and just dissolved. Interspersed with them were blue marble-sized balls that spread outward from him in all directions. When they hit the others, they returned to him with bits of odd colour in them. The ones that came for me also dissolved when they hit the bubble. I wasn't sure what the clouds or the marbles were about, or if he even knew he was making them.

I couldn't really see Bonesaw's power, except for odd flickers of green around her scalpel as she worked on some of the ... well, I would've called them 'survivors', but they'd been captured so survival wasn’t exactly guaranteed. Tinkers, I supposed, didn't show up well to my power.

I'd already seen Hatchet Face's power, with the dirty-grey field and the red lines through his body. He had a bulky bandage over the stump of his arm, and he kept a careful eye on me. Like with my father, I gathered that I'd given him a new experience. It was a pity that neither of them seemed to appreciate it.

Burnscar's power manifested as a flickering orange-yellow field that surrounded her hands. It didn't look particularly urgent, so I figured it was where she could project her fire if she felt like it, not where she intended to do it. Which was a good thing, because that area included the cabin where I was sitting. Shatterbird just had a spreading field that went a long way out, with a purple-red tinge, which I figured was her glass-control field. She had a bandage on her throat and glass was floating around her again, so I guessed Bonesaw had fixed her throat. Good for her. Maybe she’d learn from her new experience, too.

Crawler was just a big dark bulk in the night, glowing mainly red with a kind of yellow-orange cloud around each of his mouths. I wasn’t quite sure what that was about, and I didn’t really care. Mannequin didn’t seem to glow at all, but that was probably because he was a Tinker who wasn’t doing any Tinkering. And the Siberian had a weird negative glow, just a red outline around her body, with a wispy blue-white cord running off through the trees. It was pretty but like with Crawler, it didn’t affect me, so I didn’t care about that either.

“Well, it seems we have good news,” he said brightly, trying a different tack. “You’ve already triggered with powers. That means Bonesaw won’t have to try to make you trigger.” The white clouds were piling out of his mouth and crowding around me. I watched with mild interest as they fizzled out of existence at the border of my grey bubble. More blue marbles manifested and suffered the same fate. “So, you qualify for full membership in the Nine. Given the special circumstances, we can even waive the initiation requirements. What do you say?”

I tilted back the can and drained the last of the soda, then tossed the can over my shoulder through the window into the cabin. Distantly, I heard the splash as it hit the lake of soda. Letting my chair fall forward so the front legs clunked on to the wooden porch, I stood up and stretched. I’d taken the opportunity to splash water over my face when I got the soda, to get rid of the feeling of hardening blood clinging to my skin.

“No,” I mused. “I really don’t think so. It’s been interesting meeting you, but I’m not really interested in being a …” I paused, trying to think of the exact word I needed.

“Murderhobo?” he filled in, with a smile that didn’t reach as far as his eyes. I got the impression he was less amused than he was letting on. “It’s a funny word, but I’m going to have to ask you not to use it any more.” More white clouds billowed out at me, but not a one of them came close to my face.

“I wasn’t actually going to say that,” I said. “I was thinking more like ‘roving serial killer’.” Tilting my head, I tried to give him the same sort of smile that Bonesaw used. “Come to think of it, ‘murderhobo’ does kinda fit, after all.”

As I said the words, I saw the line of his blade blurring up toward me, even as it remained in place. I let the iron bar slide out of my sleeve as I kept track of where he intended to cut me. Nowhere lethal, but I would’ve gotten some nasty scarring out of it, and of course it would’ve been a humbling lesson that I wasn’t anywhere near as good as I thought.

Except that I was. The blade swung in my direction, the bright yellow track scoring a path across the wood behind me with the sound of splinters springing free. Almost casually, I raised the bar to intercept the beam just as it would’ve crossed over my arm, then moved it to match the path of the damaging effect and contain it. Flakes of rust chipped away from the metal as Jack frowned with incredulity, looking down at the blade in his hand and then at my unmarked clothes and skin.

“So, it appears my daughter thinks she’s smart,” he said, addressing the assembled Nine behind him. “Let’s see how good she really is.” There was a spark of anger in his eye now.

Again, I saw his intent ahead of time. This time, he was going to swipe the cutting beam back and forth across my body faster than he thought I could react. But I acted first, locking the grey bubble on to the white one and pushing outward. It was a lot easier than when I’d been inside Hatchet Face’s aura, and I was protected from head to toe before his attack ever reached me.

Still, the expression on his face was almost funny when I waved the iron bar back and forth randomly in front of me. He redoubled his efforts, watching the position of the bar and moving the knife to avoid it. His expression of confusion and irritation only intensified as my clothing remained whole and my skin failed to split. Of course, he couldn’t see how his yellow knife-beam ended at my grey bubble, but I could. All he knew was that his normally infallible attack wasn’t living up to expectations.

"Seriously?" I asked. "Is that all you got?" I was pretty sure I didn't really need the bubble. If I was right about the red energy weave, and I was pretty sure I had it nailed down, his knife beam would've done zip-all to me, but I didn't really feel like letting him wreck my clothes.

He ceased his attack on me, about five seconds before I would've smacked him on the wrist for being a dick. Of course, I was going to use the iron bar. Nothing says 'you fucked up' more vividly than a broken wrist.

Well, maybe two broken wrists.

I had to wonder if he’d pulled this shit on the other members, and why they let him get away with it if he did. Maybe the white clouds or the blue marbles had something to do with it. Some kind of Master effect? But they didn’t seem like they were being puppeted.

Expressions chased one another over his face; confusion, irritation, resignation. Finally, he grunted and slid the knife up into his sleeve again. “You’re a very annoying girl,” he muttered peevishly. “I suppose I should have expected this. You’re my child, after all.”

“Well, you’re not exactly father of the year, either,” I retorted. “Or the month, for that matter.” I rolled my eyes. “Seriously, my first real chance to get my head together, and you’ve got to stick your nose in with some twisted idea of father-daughter bonding. Not even Dad pulled that shit on me. I’m not joining the Nine. I’m going back to Brockton Bay.”

He smirked, giving me advance warning of what he was going to say next. “Well, I can’t force you to join. But you’re going to have to make your own way back. We’re not a taxi service.”

“I could take her there,” offered Crawler. “Your kid’s pretty cool, Jack. I never seen anyone surprise the fuck out of Hatchet like that before. Or you.”

My father turned, a look of real anger on his face. “No!” he snapped. “You’re not taking her to Brockton Bay, or anywhere else. If she’s not joining the Nine, she’s on her own.”

I could’ve sworn Crawler recoiled with a hurt look on his monstrous face. His reaction was a lot milder than I’d expected, given that he probably would’ve stomped anyone else to death, or eaten them, or both. But as the white clouds from my father surrounded him, he accepted the abuse without a murmur. I had to wonder about Master effects again.

“It’s okay, Crawler,” I assured him. “I appreciate it. And I’ll figure something out. Even if my father is being a total douchenozzle about all this.”

Jack turned angrily toward me and opened his mouth. I gave him the finger. He stepped toward me and grabbed me by the shoulder. “You don’t talk to me like—”

I hit him under the breastbone with the heel of my hand, knocking him off his feet. He sprawled on the ground about two yards away from the porch, a look of astonishment on his face.

“New rule,” I said mildly. “If you aren’t gonna be giving me a lift, you don’t get to tell me how to talk.” I wasn’t overly worried about getting back to Brockton Bay; my exploration of the cabin had located a landline phone. But he didn’t need to know about that. Mainly because he’d probably cut the line if he got the chance.

“Whatever,” he grunted, climbing to his feet. “Just stay out of our way. Everyone, collect what supplies you can find. As soon as you’re done, we’re moving out.” He dusted himself off and shot me a glare. “If you haven’t changed your mind by the time we go, we’re leaving you behind.”

It struck me that he wasn’t used to having people defy him. The more it happened, the more pissed he got. For my part, I didn’t give a shit about what people thought of me. The more people tried to tell me what to do, the more inclined I was to tell them to fuck off.

“Suits me,” I said, and stepped off the porch and walked past him, ignoring the tension in his posture. Bonesaw’s eyes widened as I approached her, but I tucked the iron bar back up my sleeve and gestured at her latest creation. “Need a hand?”

<><>

“Just hold your finger there for a moment, please?” Riley waited until I was applying the correct pressure, then tied off the stitches. The subject of her ‘surgery’ twitched and tried to mumble something, but she jabbed it with a probe until it shut up. “Thanks. So what’s it like living in Brockton Bay all the time? What’s your other dad like? Do you go to school? Have you killed anyone there yet?”

I had to smile, at least slightly. Once Bonesaw—Riley Grace, as she informed me after we’d been chatting for a while—was sure I was serious about not going with them, she’d opened right up. For a notorious mass-murderer, she was quite the chatterbox. And she asked the weirdest questions. I figured spending the last four years as a murderhobo had led to an unusual worldview.

“Well, it’s Brockton Bay,” I said. “We’ve got gangs, we’ve got capes, we’ve got people. I guess it’s worse than some places, better than others.” I raised my eyebrows in her direction. “You’ve traveled more than me, so you’d know better about that sort of thing. Dad’s well … Dad. He’s okay as a dad. Goes to work, remembers my birthday, stuff like that.”

I took a drink of the soda I had sitting beside me. Riley had asked the Siberian to fetch us drinks. She’d picked bottled water, because she said good girls didn’t drink soda. I hadn’t argued. Whatever a ‘good girl’ was, I was pretty sure I didn’t fit the definition. “Yeah, I go to school. I’ll be going to high school in a couple of months. Winslow. They say it’s pretty shitty, but that sort of thing doesn’t bother me. And I haven’t killed anyone yet. Waiting for the right time and place and person, you know? I want to to be someone special. Not just a random nobody.”

“Yeah, I get that,” she sighed. “I didn’t get to really have a special first kill. I think he was a cop who tried to shoot Mr Jack, then he tried to shoot me, then the Siberian caught him. She broke all his fingers and arms and legs, and gave him to me to play with. I was so nervous, I forgot to ask him his name. And then he was dead, and it was over. I used his brain in my first spider, but that one didn’t last very long.”

I heard a snort, and turned around. Shatterbird was standing nearby with a weird expression on her face. “What?” I asked.

Normally I could figure out why people acted oddly around me, but I had no idea what was going on in her head right then. Slowly, she shook her head, still with that expression on her face, and walked off.

Riley and I looked at each other, then at the Siberian, who was face-palming. “Do you have any idea what that was about?” I asked.

“None whatsoever,” she said, and sighed. “I just don’t get adults, sometimes.”

I put my hand on her shoulder. Observation had taught me people found that sort of thing comforting. “Don’t worry. I bet you’ve had plenty of cool kills since then.”

“Well, I’ve definitely killed a lot of people,” she agreed, cheering right up. “It’s kind of what we do, in the Nine. I’ve tried to make it mean something, you know? Otherwise I’d be just some common murderer and like Mr Jack says, we’re not common murderers. We’re uncommon murderers.”

“I can definitely see that.” We admired her handiwork as it tried to shamble around. It was still getting used to its odd limb placement, but it would probably work things out in the end. “Actually, there was something I was meaning to ask you. A favour, really.”

“Silly Taylor,” she said with a smile. “We’re practically sisters, and you’re letting me stay as Mr Jack’s favourite. What’s a favour between sisters?”

I guessed when she put things like that, it made sense. “Well, I was wondering if you could show me how you smile like that. All creepy, I mean. I’m not good with doing smiles, but I’d like to learn how to do that one.”

“Oh, sure,” she said immediately. “Oooh, I could also do other things to make you seem creepy, if you want.” Her face lit up at the idea.

I was definitely interested. “What did you have in mind?”

She gave me that creepy smile again. I leaned in to listen.

<><>

“How you doing there?” she asked, leaning in close to my open mouth, her hands busy with her surgery tools.

I couldn’t speak, mainly because I had two different things sticking down my throat, and my jaw was dislocated. Riley had shown me how to do that, after injecting the inside of my mouth with a muscle relaxant. So instead, I gave a thumb’s up.

Off to the side, the Siberian watched us both intently, barely moving a muscle. I had to approve of her as a mother-figure. With her around, Riley didn’t have to worry about anyone trying to hurt her.

“Good, good,” she murmured. “I’m just dilating your throat so I can get at your larynx … that’s good. You’re an amazing patient.”

I didn’t try to respond. The itching from the corners of my mouth had nearly stopped, for which I was grateful. It had been a pain to cut them back an inch on either side, like Riley had suggested. She’d started cutting on the inside of my cheeks, but hit a point where her scalpel simply wouldn’t part the flesh.

Eventually she’d politely asked the Siberian to do the job, which the silent tiger-striped woman had achieved using the nail on her pinky finger. It’d only taken a second and it hurt a bit, but the numbing agent Riley had already injected kicked in, and it was all good again. She said that with the treatment she’d given them, they were going to be healed over properly by the time I got back home.

It was the weirdest feeling, lying on my back with my head hanging off the edge of the porch while Riley did surgery way down at the back of my throat. This was so the blood wouldn’t run down into my lungs, of course. My sinuses were going to be full of the stuff, but that was something I’d have to deal with later.

Normally, she would’ve gone into my larynx from the outside, but none of her cutting tools even scratched my skin, and when the Siberian ripped someone’s throat out it tended to be irreversible. But apparently I was still squishy and cuttable on the inside, so she was going with keyhole surgery. I was fine with her doing it this way. Being able to change my voice from really high-pitched to normal to really low-pitched at will was gonna let me be so damn creepy.

“It’ll only be a few minutes, and we’ll be done,” she said happily, but I wasn’t paying attention any more. Because behind Riley, my upside-down view of the area in front of the cabin now included Jack Slash, my douchenozzle father.

“Wrong. She was done five minutes ago,” he said, bringing his hand from behind his back to reveal my machete. I’d wondered where that had gotten to. “Daughter or no, she’s too much of a danger—”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I just got comfortable. It wasn’t even as though he could hurt me … or could he? He’d only tried with a knife before. The yellow cutting line for the machete looked positively vicious. I had my grey field compressed as hard as I could so I didn’t cut off Riley’s power, which meant that only my red weave was protecting me.

The iron bar was in my hand. It was an awkward angle, but I flipped it up and threw it more or less backward at him, as hard as I could. I didn’t even expect to hit him, just make him duck long enough for me to get my grey field up and running again. There was a solid meaty chunk, followed by an equally solid thud, then Jack disappeared from my view.

Rolling on to my side, jaw still dislocated and surgery tools still protruding from my mouth, I propped myself up on to my elbow and looked at what I’d done. Jack Slash lay on his back, the machete beside his hand. Four inches of the foot-long iron bar protruded from his left eyesocket. The Siberian crouched beside him and touched the iron bar, then pulled her hand away again. Then she turned her head and looked at Riley questioningly.

I met Riley’s eyes, then we both stared at Jack again.

Whoops.

Part 5