She smiled back. “You know, you’re not what I expected.”
…fuck. I think I might ship it.
Ships aside, though, this is a very good line. Taylor might take it the wrong way, though, since she’s concerned about her subordinates not seeing her as a strong, inhuman leader.
But I don’t think a strong, inhuman leader is what she needs to be. She needs to be a competent, human leader.
There’s a difference between strong and competent.
“I’m not what I expected, frankly,” I said. I turned my attention back to the cabinet, found the dustpan and stood up.
“Nobody listened to me at first when I tried to warn them. It was only when Battery showed up at the hospital and confirmed that the Slaughterhouse Nine were around that people started trying to prepare, but there wasn’t a lot we could do in those ten minutes.
Go Battery!
So wait, why did she show up right then? A result of the meeting, maybe? It’s not like the PRT didn’t know the Slaughterhouse Nine were around before, though. They could’ve done this earlier, though they’d risk causing a bit of panic.
Unless either Battery knew about the incoming attack (possibly due to someone from the Slaughterhouse warning Armmaster, or due to Skitter’s warnings to the civilians) or they agreed to it at the meeting, there’d be no difference prompting the PRT to do this now as opposed to before.
There were a lot of people in the hospital, and a lot of equipment, monitors and displays, lots of windows. Everyone who could got under their beds, and people put mattresses against the windows in rooms where there were people who couldn’t move.”
Ooh, nice.
The equipment getting busted would still kill a lot of people on its own, but at least they could minimize the danger from the windows.
“But they were okay?”
“Most?” Sierra frowned. “I couldn’t really tell. It was chaotic, lots of people running around, equipment failing. Battery tried to grab me to ask me how I knew what was happening, and I used the chaos to slip away, spent the rest of the night in my parent’s room, hoping she wouldn’t spot me.”
I wonder what Battery would do if Sierra told her the truth, that she was warned by Skitter. I do think that would reflect positively on Skitter, at least.
“And they’re okay? Your parents?”
“They’re okay.”
That’s good to hear. And I guess Bryce is okay too, or Sierra would be far more upset than this. Same thing would probably be the case if her parents weren’t okay, for that matter.
“Okay.” She met my eyes as she responded. Better. I wrote the address down for her, then watched as she headed off to pull on her shoes and make her way off to the cellar exit.
Regent: “Huh. I didn’t know the dork was religious.”
“And me?” Sierra asked.
“Go to the basement, get a box of supplies, and bring it up. There should be a propane stove in there. Cook up some rice, and then start cleaning out the cupboards.
Ah, so Sierra gets the cleaning duty.
Wear gloves, and focus on picking out the stuff we can keep from the stuff that needs to be thrown out. Use the box from the supplies to hold some of the extra trash if you need to.”
Makes sense. There’s still going to be a couple things that weren’t ruined by the Shattering in there. Like bottles made of hard plastic.
“Okay.”
I walked over to the corner to find a broom and dustpan.
Are you going to help with the cleaning too?
“You’re cleaning up too?”
“Yeah. You were at the hospital last night, right? How did things go?”
Well, I’d have to make use of them anyways. My focus on the cupboards and the damage inside, I asked, “Charlotte, you up for a job?”
Cleaning duty? I don’t suppose it’s as easy as going to the store under these conditions – there’s tons of glass in most stores that carry these sorts of products. Any given food store is going to look a lot like the inside of these cupboards.
“Yeah,” she said, behind me. When I glanced back at her, she looked away again. I knew I’d taken some hits, but did I look that bad?
Again, I think this is about communication. She’s clearly still loyal, but I think she has her thoughts about the fact that she wasn’t told this might happen and isn’t sure she can face Skitter with them.
“It’s a bit of a walk, but I need to get up to date on events. You’ll be going to the territory of a guy named Regent. He’s a friend, and it’s close. Tell him about the Mannequin incident, tell him I’m alive, and get details on what happened to Tattletale and the father.”
Oh, I see. She wasn’t literally focusing on the cupboards, that’s just where she was looking.
This is a quite sensible course of action.
Also, “the father” – interesting phrasing there. I’m guessing it’s for Sierra’s sake, so as to not let on which father she’s talking about. Charlotte can probably figure it out fairly easily, though, especially once she talks to Alec.
Opening the cupboard, my hopes of having a solid breakfast to start my day were dashed. Bottles of spices that had been on the same shelf as the teabags had exploded, sending their contents and countless glass shards throughout the cupboard.
Sheesh. Nothing’s working out today, is it.
The cupboard reeked of cinnamon and cumin and various peppers. They weren’t the only casualties there. Bottles of cooking supplies had exploded on the upper shelves, and their contents had settled overnight, most of it pooling on the shelves in layers of congealed liquid that were thick with the needle-thin particles of shattered glass.
The fridge, assuming there is one, probably isn’t faring any better. Especially if its shelves were made of glass.
I looked at the pair of them. Neither spoke, and Charlotte even looked away.
Yeeah, definitely an issue here.
I hated this. Hated feeling flawed, knowing they saw me that way. Being bruised, sore and stiff, I was visibly mortal to them.
I don’t think that’s the problem, though.
I hadn’t been able to stop Mannequin from hurting bystanders, or protect and warn my people about Shatterbird. How were they supposed to respect me as someone in charge? Sierra was even older than I was.
You did, though. You didn’t do a perfect job of it, no, but you were able to stop him from hurting more bystanders, and you were able to warn at least some of your people about Shatterbird via Charlotte. Hell, you even warned more people on your way to your dad. Sierra and especially Charlotte personally saw you doing everything you possibly could to make a difference, as a leader of the territory and otherwise.
I made my way downstairs, unlocking the door that led between the second and third floors. The second floor was relatively unscathed – the metal shutter had kept the floor-to-ceiling windows from sending their contents indoors, and the terrariums were hard plastic rather than glass.
Oh, nice. I actually did spare a stray thought for the terrariums at some point last chapter, but I don’t remember why and I don’t think I wrote it down.
Knowing Shatterbird was in town, I’d been reluctant to spend much time in a room with sixty or seventy sturdy glass cases, and I was glad to have one less room to clean. Still, there was no shortage of mess.
Yeah, good call there.
…wait, sixty or seventy??
I was picturing, like… twelve at most.
I guess they’re smaller than I thought.
Sierra and Charlotte were downstairs, talking at the kitchen counter. They fell silent as I appeared.
Hi there. Are we about to deal with the issue Charlotte brought up over the phone, that Skitter should’ve informed them that she was aware of the Slaughterhouse Nine being in town, and more generally that there needs to be more open communication?
They didn’t speak as I walked over to the cupboard. Tea. Tea, maybe some toasted breakfast pitas, some bacon, an egg…
Whatever they were talking about, they probably don’t want Skitter to hear them talking about it. It’s most likely either that or they’re distracted by watching her moves.
I dried off, put on my contacts, combed my dripping-wet hair into place, and stepped back into my slippers to navigate through the sea of glass shards and head back to my bedroom to dress.
Y’know, considering that every window in the building is broken, it’s probably a good thing Shatterbird hit in late spring rather than, like, the winter. And that Brockton Bay is explicitly a relatively warm place.
My TV, laptop and phone were all useless. There was no way to get information on recent events. I couldn’t call the others, couldn’t check the news for details on the events of the past night, couldn’t even know if I’d managed to save anyone when I’d been waking them and leaving messages.
Once again, Shatterbird’s versatility shows: She deals considerable damage to both people and property, she puts communications out of order, she flies or at least hovers, she breaks tons of equipment that could be used against her or the other Fellowship members, she obscures vision (through sandstorms), makes it risky to cross ground without being careful by covering it with glass, she creates obstructions (like the glass walls she put up against Hookwolf), and so on. It’s a really good power as long as you’re fine with and/or want collateral damage.
And apparently she’s not the only one who has it, either. Let’s not forget that tidbit.
I was left to expect the worst, and it soured my already iffy mood.
Yeeeah… the mood has been quite tangibly sour so far, even though nothing had really been said about it until this point. Good writing.
Shuffling over to my bathroom, I groaned quietly at the sight of the shards of mirror and shower door that were carpeting the floor.
“Oh come onnn.”
Yeah, gonna take a bit of work before this bathroom can be used.
I made my way back to my room and put on some slippers, grabbed a shirt I didn’t care much about and dropped it on the bathroom floor. I kicked it around enough to get the worst of the shards out of the way, brushed the glass out of the shower and onto the tiled floor, and then cranked the shower on.
I suppose that’s good enough for now.
The water pressure wasn’t even half of what it should be, and it was cold. It didn’t warm up over the thirty seconds I stood there holding my hand under the flow.
I guess something’s broken in the water heater. Maybe it’s advanced enough to use a computer chip? Or maybe there was a glass window on it or something.
I jumped in anyways, in the hopes of waking myself up and getting my hair wet enough that I could make myself look somewhat presentable.
If this is the result of glass involved in the heater system, better hope shards of it don’t come through the pipes.
I knew from experience that not washing my hair had a way of making it frizz out hardcore. Not that I’d be able to tell, with every mirror within a thousand miles in pieces.
Hehe. Sounds like major fanart potential.
Also, imagine if Shatterbird were superstitious about mirrors…
My injuries and the general aches from running barefoot and fighting Mannequin had all melded together into one giant, stiff bruise.
This is how the name Bruce came to be. “Hi, I’m a bruise.”
It would be easier to name the parts of me that didn’t hurt. My chest was the worst, each of my breaths drawing a stab of pain from the lowermost ribs of the right side of my body.
No wonder. She kept getting knocked back by hits to the chests, if I’m not mistaken.
It took me two tries to get up from my bed and stand.
Ow.
A quick investigation showed that bruises had spread across my abdomen, yellow and blue.
This reminds me of the aftermath of Hive.
Some careful prodding showed that the tissues beneath the bruises weren’t rigid or particularly tender. That meant there was no serious internal bleeding, if I was remembering right.
Well, that’s good at least.
If this kept up, I was going to need another go at the first aid courses, to refresh my memory on the particulars and brush up on my skills. February felt so very long ago.
…the conversation I was in during the minutes before I scrolled down to read this sentence:
(I’m “Member of the Midnight Crew” in this screenshot.)
It was not the start I wanted for my day.
Ah, right. Taylor’s in the mindset where sleeping in is not a luxury, but a failure.
So it turns out we’re not following right on from the end of the last chapter. Due to the amount of immediate continuity between chapters recently, I didn’t actually consider that possibility.
I guess that means she went back to the Hive to recover.
I’d been too tired to sleep, I hadn’t been able to get my thoughts to slow down, and I hadn’t been able to resist just one more check of my territory to ensure people were safe and sound.
Checking if people are okay is Taylor’s version of checking her phone in bed.
I don’t know if that’s funny or just sad.
Compounding it all were my injuries, which did an excellent job of jolting me from the twilight of almost-sleep any time I moved the wrong way or shifted position. When daylight had started to stream in through the slits in the metal shutters, I’d pulled a pillow over my head and tried to get just a few hours more.
I guess she must’ve managed it eventually, because at this point it doesn’t sound like she slept in.
If I wound up having to face down Mannequin or any other members of the Nine, I’d need to be well rested. Running on two or three hours of sleep would get me killed.
…that’s probably true, yes.
It sure didn’t feel like the added sleep I got made any difference.
I think sometimes it’s worse to get a short sleep than a very short or no sleep, due to the sleep getting interrupted before it can properly end. Like turning off a computer without a soft shutdown, but for the sleep cycle.
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