“Adapt,” I told him.  “That’s all I can say.  If you’ve proven yourself reliable, showed that you’re willing to clean up after the dogs and take care of them without complaining, she’ll test you in other ways.  That’ll be your chance to prove you’re useful.”

He sneered, looking at the girl and the boy with the scars on his face.  “She’s cutting them more slack than she’s cutting Biter and me.  We shouldn’t have to prove anything.”

Maybe that’s why. Maybe she feels threatened by the fact that you have powers?

“What do you do?  Your powers.”

He looked up at me.  “You want to see?”

Yes please.

Gas dogs? Nightmare miasma (the nightmares’ bark is worse than their bite, but they bark pretty damn hard)? Maybe he has to shout (”bark”) to get the full effect of the smoke out of his throat, whatever it may be.

Which left me to deal with her people in the meantime.

That doesn’t make it sound pleasant.

Barker and Biter gave me something of a George and Lennie vibe, with the smaller guy as the brains of the outfit, the larger one as the big oaf.

I can’t say I’m familiar with the specific reference, but it’s a common trope.

While I didn’t have any major clues to Barker’s powers, Biter was clearly a physical powerhouse.  He stood over six feet in height with a severe underbite exaggerated by a metal bear-trap style band of metal around his lower jaw.

Pretty fitting. So does he have any powers related to biting?

His teeth, I saw, were filed into points.  His costume featured spiked knuckle-dusters and a number of leather straps and belts over his clothes.  Each length of leather was studded with sharp spikes.

Are you sure the teeth are filed into points? Maybe that’s part of his power.

Barker was an inch or two shorter than me, his hair and beard cut short enough that there was more skin than hair showing.  His eyes seemed overly large for his face, with heavy lids and folds around them that made him look older than he probably was.

So I was going to suggest dog breeds for the two of them, but it seems like Biter’s characteristic underbite is most common in small dogs like bulldogs, and Barker’s folds seem reminiscent of some big dogs like mastiffs. Bulldogs actually combine the two, being wrinkled and underbitten.

His ‘costume’ consisted of a black sleeveless t-shirt, jeans and tattooing around his mouth.  I’d seen him in something more conventional when Coil had introduced him to us, but now the only sign of his parahuman nature was the faint smoke that curled out of his mouth.

That’s just because of the jalapeños he ate earlier today.

Just going by his lack of bulk and short stature, I thought I might be able to take him in a no-powers fist fight.

Let’s keep in mind that he works for Coil. It’s very possible he’s had training with the Coildiers. Though brute strength does matter in such fights.

She glanced back at her group and whistled once, making a ‘come hither’ gesture.  I couldn’t tell if she was signaling her dogs and expecting the people to follow or if she was treating her own people like she did her dogs.

That last thing sounds better for her people than Rachel not treating them like she does her dogs. She treats her dogs better than she does any human that we’ve seen her interact with.

She grabbed the chain at Bentley’s neck and used it to lead him.

Barker and Biter looked pretty unimpressed, either way.  Barker especially.

Not big on this treatment, huh? Are you going to cause trouble about it at some point, Barker?

We didn’t talk as we made our way to my headquarters, and I was okay with that.  Every exchange between us was one more chance for me to inadvertently offend her, and the silence gave me a bit more time to consider how to tackle all of this.  I was used to feeling like I had to approach every conversation with a strategy, planning out what I was going to say so I didn’t sound like an idiot.  That went double for Bitch, because a slip-up could set me back days or weeks in terms of our friendship.

Kind of ironic given Rachel’s repeatedly stated distaste for manipulators.

A generator stirred to life a short distance down the street, and there was something of a rush as people hurried to get away from the intimidating presence of the big bad supervillains and their mutant animals.

That’s… fair, honestly.

That, and there was something of a fight to get the power tools.  There were only so many circular saws and chainsaws to go around, and anyone who didn’t have one was tasked with carrying the cut wood instead.

Honestly? I think I might pick the wood-carrying.

I created a barrier of bugs to stop one of the teenagers from reaching for a circular saw.

Enforcing an age limit? Fair enough, though I’m sure you wouldn’t hesitate much to use one yourself.

“If you’re under eighteen, you don’t get to use power tools,” I called out.  “Priority goes to the people who know how the tools are used.  Able bodied adults get second dibs.

Reasonable.

Listen carefullyto the guys who know what they’re doing, and work somewhere dry if possible.

Dry?

We’ve had enough casualties, let’s not have anything stupid happening with someone slipping or losing their grip in the rain.  If someone’s being an idiot, tell Sierra, and she’ll inform me.”

Yeah, true, let’s not do the antagonists’ job for them and increase the body pile.