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[Smells Like Teen Spirit]—❈—18:: Let's Try this Again [I]
🕑 Added 2024-02-23 07:32:57 +0000 UTCTuesday, March 22, 2011
The next time I see Armsmaster after the memorable event of Saturday, is Tuesday, my fourth day as an official member of The Protectorate.
I have another power testing session scheduled for today, and apparently, Armsmaster has made some decisions that I'm not privy to, because he asks me to bring my fellow Wards along when I portal to the power testing facility in The Rig.
“Hello, Musa,” the armoured hero says in greeting as I step out of the portal.
“Hey, hi,” I say back looking him over; he looks fine. Same armour, same neat beard, same solid stance. He looks the same unflappable hero he always does.
“Hey, boss,” Dennis says stepping out after me. “You're looking… cognizant.”
Missy smacks him upside the head as she steps out after him.
“I apologize on his behalf,” she says. “His Mom dropped him on his head.”
“This many times,” Dennis proclaims, holding out three fingers.
Armsmaster sighs.
The older cape waits for the rest of my teammates to file out of the portal, before addressing us all.
“I apologize for my abrupt exit last time,” he says. “It's one of the disadvantages to being a tinker, unfortunately. But, on the bright side, the ideas I got helped me finish an important project I've been working on, so there shouldn't be any interruptions today.”
Dennis opens his mouth, likely to make some quip about how that’ll go, but Armsmaster speaks over him.
“And just in case there are, I have Dragon here with us today to take over in my place.”
“Hello, Wards,” Dragon says from over the speakers.
A smattering of heys greet her back.
“And we're sure that Dragon can't get a tinker fugue or whatever from remote observation?” I can't help but ask.
The thing with Armsmaster on Saturday had freaked me out a little bit.
Both Armsmaster and Dragon pause for a second, as though neither of them had actually considered that.
“We're reasonably certain that she'll be fine,” Armsmaster says. “And in the event that she goes into a tinker fugue, I'll take over; the odds of it happening to the both of us, me for the second time in days, are next to zero.”
I stare at Armsmaster for a second, then finally shrug.
“Sure, if you say so.”
“So, we're going back to testing the sword, right?” Missy asks.
“Yes,” Armsmaster says. “But not just Musa's.”
Armsmaster walks to a rectangular case about a foot in length sitting on a metal table nearby.
He opens it, and pulls out a thin, curved blade of the purest silver about the length of the case and holds it up to us.
“This is my first successful prototype of a monomolecular blade,” Armsmaster says. “Much of its design comes from scans I took of Musa's weapon.”
“So, you're going to test them against each other? See how they compare?” Chris asks, approaching Armsmaster and observing the fine blade with more than a little awe.
“Something like that,” Armsmaster says. “Though I don't expect it to match up to Musa's yet; this is only version one. Maybe in a few more iterations.”
Armsmaster’s fancy blade draws the attention of more than just Chris, and the rest of us gather around too to get a better look at it.
“You know, it's kinda crazy that Musa hasn't even debuted yet and you're already stealing his thunder,” Dennis says idly. “Tinkers really are bullshit.”
A complicated expression flits across the little visible portion of Armsmaster's face, and his body language gets hard to read for a second.
Before I can remember to stop myself from doing it, I take the tiniest Sniff of him (so tiny, it isn't even enough to require me to actually sniff).
My power, when used this lightly, barely gives me more than surface emotions, and what I get off Armsmaster in this moment is a complicated blend of embarrassment, annoyance, and a hint of shame.
It's enough.
Armsmaster is embarrassed because what Dennis said is true, is annoyed with Dennis for saying it, and is ashamed because… huh, he actually enjoys knowing that he can ‘steal my thunder’, as it were.
The urge to dig deeper into that takes a moment to shake off, and I focus instead on the other matter at hand.
“Meh, I don't really mind sharing ‘my thunder’—” I add the air quotes “—if it means another person on our side gets something useful out of it. Besides, I'm pretty sure I'm the only person who can actually use my sword, so it's good that we have someone else in case I'm not around and we really need to cut something.”
“True,” Dean says. “Individual glory is less important than doing our part for the team.”
The older boy looks to me, and I remember something that I really should never have forgotten in the first place; he's a thinker too.
More specifically, Dean's an empath. Which means that, not only does he know (probably better than I do myself) how Armsmaster reacted to Dennis’ words, he also knows why I just said what I did.
Since he's in his Gallant costume, Dean's entire face is covered, and I can't get a read on his reaction to the situation.
I could Sniff him of course, but he would know that I did, so, hardly an option.
“Well, individual glory or not, nobody better invent a time-locking gun anytime soon,” Dennis says. “Cause then I'd be out of a job.”
“You know, that might not be the worst idea,” Missy says. “It'll be like having a quieter, more competent you with the team.”
“Haha,” Dennis deadpans. “Good one, Shaker nine-and-a-half.”
Missy scowls at the older boy.
That just has to be a dig at her age.
“Let's focus,” Armsmaster says. “Musa, your sword please.”
My teammates give me some space, and I summon my sword, then, just like last time, Armsmaster begins to provide materials for me to test the edge the on.
As expected, my sword goes through everything provided, and as I cut, Armsmaster, Dragon and Chris get into tinker talk that the rest of us don't even bother to try to follow.
Eventually, we run out of mundane materials to cut, and we move to the more… exotic items.
A tiny forcefield that's barely bigger than a coin, a strange cube of ice that freezes anything it touches and shatters it like glass, even containment foam, all part before my sword.
This entire time, Armsmaster has tested his prototype monomolecular blade against everything I've tested my sword against.
The blade had held up well against the more mundane items, but had quickly stalled and broken against the crazier stuff Armsmaster had pulled out after.
Whatever aspirations Armsmaster has of copying my blade's capabilities, he seems to still be a ways off from realizing them.
With my sword having now cut through everything Armsmaster's provided for the test, we finally get to why he asked me to bring my teammates along today; he wants to test my sword against their powers.
“Uh, dude, are you sure about this?” I can't help but ask the quiet, full-masked cape.
Browbeat simply nods.
The ‘this’ in question is me testing my sword’s edge on him.
Apparently, Browbeat has a telekinetic shield around him that makes him really hard to hurt on top of everything else, and the older(?) boy is curious whether my sword can go through it like it’s gone through everything else so far.
“Seriously, dude?” Dennis asks, sounding unsure himself. “Because we just saw that sword go through some things that a sword has no business going through.”
Browbeat's response this time is to take off the glove on his right hand, and to hold out said hand to me.
I hesitate.
“Don’t worry, Musa, just be careful,” Armsmaster says, then, almost hesitantly, adds; “Besides, you're a healer.”
“Do still be careful though,” Dragon says, and Armsmaster quickly concurs; “Yes. Do.”
Right, I'm a healer. And I can be careful.
More relaxed about this whole thing now, I hold out Browbeat's finger with one hand to steady it, and, with the other, I gently use my sword to leave as shallow a cut as I can manage before unsummoning it to avoid any accidents.
Filled with morbid curiosity, all eyes in the room train on the spot my sword came in contact with.
“It didn't work,” Missy says.
“It did,” I say.
“The wound is simply too thin for the naked eyes to see,” Armsmaster explains.
I press on the sides of the invisible wound and a thin line of red makes itself known on the whiteness of Browbeat's thick finger.
“Shit,” Carlos says slowly and with feeling. “Can't Browbeat theoretically tank a hit from an Endbringer?”
“Yep,” Dennis says.
Browbeat pulls his finger from my grip and holds it up to his face.
The quiet boy stares at it for several seconds, then finally, he puts his glove back on, says “thanks” to me, and steps back to his preferred spot at the back of the group.
Well, that's the first time someone's thanked me for cutting them.
It's also the first time someone's ever asked me to cut them either, but it's just that kind of day I guess.
After Browbeat, the next of The Wards I test my sword against is Missy.
I don't have to cut her though… thankfully. No, with Missy all I have to do is see if I can cut through a space that she's stretched—or shrunk—with her powers.
Missy looks genuinely curious to see if my sword can somehow cut space affected by her power.
According to her, the only limit she's found to her power so far is the Manton Limit.
Besides that, her power has no known weakness or counters.
Something tells me that will be ending today.
Armsmaster marks out two spots on the ground, and Missy stretches out the three feet of space between them into a mile.
I swing my sword through it and the space snaps back to normal.
Missy groans, pressing a hand to her head.
“Whoa, you okay?” Dennis asks.
Dean reaches out and steadies her by the shoulder.
“I’m fine,” Missy says gathering herself. “I guess I know what a thinker headache feels like now. Ow!”
Missy recovers pretty quickly (which I suspect has less to do with the single dose of my healing power I give her, and more to do with her own tenacity and the lack of seriousness of her injuries), but even with that, we all decide that it would be irresponsible for me to continue testing with her, so we move on to the next on the list, Clockblocker.
“This isn't gonna give me a headache too, right?” Clockblocker asks, not actually sounding as worried as his words would imply.
“Vista is a shaker; she maintains direct control over any affected spaces. You, on the other hand, are a striker; your power has a more fire-and-forget bent to it. So, ideally, no,” Armsmaster says. “But, in the event that it does happen, the blowback shouldn't be too severe; If Vista is any indication.”
Clockblocker stares at the older cape. “So, basically, you have no idea,” he says.
Armsmaster opens his mouth, likely to disagree, but then he paused and closed it. “Yes,” he says, the admission sounding like it physically pains him. “I have no idea.”
“Alright then,” Dennis agrees easily.
He takes the sheet of paper that Armsmaster hands him.
“Guinea pig no. 2 stepping up to the plate,” Dennis says, running in place for a bit and rolling his shoulders like an athlete… well, stepping up to the plate. “Alright, guys, we're in the final quarter of the game, with eight laps to go before the touchdown. Looks like I'm gonna have to give this all I've got.”
“Clock, for the last time, stop making sport jokes,” Missy says. “You don't understand sports.”
“Like, seriously, at this point you have to be screwing with us,” Chris adds.
“Who says I don't understand sports?” Dennis asks, faking affront. “I know the touchdown dance.”
And he dips into a little hip-twerking routine that has us laughing despite ourselves.
“Let's get back on topic, please,” Armsmaster says.
“Right.” Dennis holds up the paper, and, without any flash of light or fancy effect, it goes impossibly stiff.
He lets go, and it continues to hang there.
“Well,” he says stepping back, “all yours.”
I summon my sword, hold it ready, then swing gently.
Two clean-cut halves of white paper flutter to the ground.
Silence reigns for several seconds.
“Oh, come on,” Dennis says, “that's some bullshit.”
