(b/f) SG: Reflecting Upon Reflections (or Caustic Illusions) Part B
Eric Burns
sabre at annotations.com
Wed Sep 5 23:39:18 PDT 2018
[Beginning of Part B]
* ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤*
* Friday Evening*
* (Pacific)*
* Blue Moon Tavern*
* Seattle, WA*
Elizabeth looked somber, eyes down on her beer instead of Chalandra.
"All this happened because Maria was cut off from tactile sensation, right?"
"Right. Which Sensation used against her. He took her stimulus-starved
nerve endings and overstimulated them to levels which would be addictive in
a healthy person, much less someone cut off from the world."
"Precisely. Stimulus starved. She had less than an hour of touch in
years of deprivation, and then had her emotions torn open during the
Dreamquake event."
"And this is your fault?"
There was a rough tap on Chalandra's shoulder. "Hey Lady!" a rough
voice demanded.
Chalandra turned, snarling. "Can I *help* you?"
There was no one standing there.
Chalandra turned back to Elizabeth, who gave a little wave.
"You're an illusionist. We know this."
"I'm a telepathic illusionist with the almost otherwise unknown ability
to affect the nervous system of others without necessarily going through
their brains to do it. There's literally nothing Sensation could do that I
couldn't, Chalandra. I could have given Maria the sensation of interacting
with her world whenever I wanted to. I could have given her a bulwark
against that temptation. But I didn't. I let her suffer. And so when someone
*did* offer her a way out of her deprivation, she took it. She let him get
her addicted. Ultimately, she did whatever needed to be done to keep him
stimulating her. That's on *me,* Chal. I could have stopped it before it
ever started. So don't tell me it's not my fault. I'm not Yury. It is
*precisely* my fault."
Chalandra looked at her friend for a long moment. "Yury's one of the
healthiest people I know, Elizabeth. If she heard you say that, she wouldn't
stop saying 'bullshit' for five straight minutes. As for me? I'm more
refined. I'll keep it down to a few simple recitations." She cleared her
throat. "Bullshit."
"Chalandra--"
"Bullshit!"
"Chal--"
"Buuuuuuuuuuullllllshiiiiiiiit!"
Elizabeth slammed her hand on the battered wooden table. "What do you
want from me?"
"A little recognition of the total bullshit you just spewed would be a
start."
"I could have prevented this!"
"So why didn't you? Huh?" Chalandra leaned forward. "Yeah, we're both
psychologists, but you're the one who went nuts with it. Sitting on boards.
Publishing papers. Peer reviewed crap. So tell me, *Doctor* Liz... why
didn't you spend the last three years tickling the shit out of Maria Mendez
three times a week?"
Elizabeth looked away angrily.
Chalandra's voice dropped. "You know the answer, Liz. You didn't do it
because you're a doctor. And you understand Maria's condition." She leaned
back. "We're dancing around the term, but let's be frank. Maria's
*disabled.* And you don't do a disabled person any favors by giving them the
*illusion* of normalcy. They have to learn to deal with their actual
situation. They have to learn to live with their disability. They have to
*accept* their disability. You can't help them hide from it." She shrugged.
"If nothing else because you can't walk around behind Maria twenty four
hours a day giving her fake stimuli, so no matter what happened she'd be
plunged right back into her sensory deprivation over and over again. She'd
never heal that way."
"She didn't heal this way."m00sewood
"Did you try? Did you offer her counseling? Did you work with her in
and around class? Did you investigate the reasons why she can't control her
powers?"
"You know I did."
"And did she take those opportunities?"
Elizabeth looked away. "No."
Chalandra shrugged broadly. "And that was her choice, Liz. Not yours.
You did what you were supposed to do. What you *had* to do."
"I could have made that therapy a requirement of her attending the
Academy."
"How? You weren't requiring the other kids to get *their* issues dealt
with before they came in. You can't just unilaterally declare that this one
person doesn't get to have the opportunities her peers have because she's
disabled. There's this whole law that got passed that says that's out and
out illegal, for one thing."
"I'm not sure the ADA applies to this case," Elizabeth said.
"I'm sure that it *should,* and it's *your* job to make sure it *does,*
so superguys don't get a raw deal because they're different." Chalandra went
to puff on her cigar, but noticed it had gone out. She pulled a wooden match
from her pocket, striking it with her thumb in a practiced flick and puffing
the cigar as she held the flame to its end.
Elizabeth took a deep swallow of her wheathook. "I want to wrap them
all up in bubblewrap, Chal. They're so...."
"Young?"
"Well, yeah."
"Every one of the Mobsters... well, former Mobsters, I guess... have
helped to save the world. At least one of their members has died and gone to
Hell. More than once, even. Samantha may be nineteen, but she's also a wife,
an expectant mother, and the queen of a dominion larger than any on Earth.
Timothy's subjectively lived longer than *you* have, and he knows full well
he's never going to get a day older." Chalandra smiled ruefully. "Which on
the whole, for the record, is actually pretty nice but you go through some
bad patches with it, trust me."
"Yeah. I bet." Elizabeth took a deep breath. "All right. Doctor
Harkness. You're ham-handedly psychoanalyzing me. What's your prognosis?"
"Well... bearing in mind this is effectively a pat diagnosis based as
much on past experience as not and that we're both somewhat drunk and you
haven't been comprehensively interviewed?"
Elizabeth waved that off. "And without first obtaining my full medical
history. I live in the same building as Mike Green -- I've seen the Monty
Python episode too. Go on?"
"Tentatively? Irrational guilt, survivor's guilt, delusion of
responsibility, delusion of reference, imposter syndrome, past abandonment
issues, *fear* of abandonment, narcissistic personality disorder and post
traumatic stress disorder. Oh, let's throw in generalized anxiety disorder
in there just to keep things tied up in a lovely bow." Chalandra smiled.
"Did I miss anything?"
Elizabeth stared at Chalandra.
"I'll take that as a no."
"Why not take the plunge and go straight to borderline personality
disorder?"
"Because of all your problems? Black and white thinking isn't one of
them. If anything, you're *too* stuck in shades of grey."
"Oh. Well. Okay then. I feel so much better."
"Good. You should. Being told you really are nuts should always be a
positive."
"I'm being sarcastic."
"I know. You're not that good at it."
"What survivor's guilt? Everyone survived!"
"Did they? Get any mail from Akane lately?"
"That -- that wasn't--"
"Honestly, the survivor's guilt goes back to Faith. Transcendence
doesn't really emotionally feel like survival, after all. But then, that's
when your trouble really started."
"What? No. Put a pin in that. *Narcissistic personality disorder?*"
"Oh Liz. I adore you. I really do. I wouldn't be here if you weren't
one of my best friends in the world. I sure as Hell don't want to change
you. But you've *always* wanted to be the center of attention, drama queen
subtype. Honestly, it made CalForce harder for you than a lot of us, because
who could compete with Key, Yury, Akane--"
"And you?"
"I was going to say Templar. You're at least as good looking as I am."
"Well, that's a lie."
Chalandra laughed. "It was all okay, though. Because there was Faith."
"You said that before. What are you talking about?"
Chalandra poured another tumbler-full of her terrible scotch. "Get
another beer and I'll tell you all about it.
* ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤*
* Monday Evening*
* (Eastern)*
* A.L.U.C.H.Q.M.O.U.S.E.*
* A Tower Floor 10*
* Room 1013 (Single Occupancy)*
* Boston, MA*
"This room is... really ugly," Buddy said, looking around from his
vantage point in Alice's hair. The cricket adjusted his glasses as he
looked around.
"Yeah, they all are. I hung out in Mem's one night--"
"Do I need to have my 'staying safe' lecture with you? 'Cause it
doesn't really translate well to non-egg-laying species."
Alice rolled her eyes. "He's still a minor, and I'm not. Besides,
Kid-E, Trans, Nobody and S...Sam were all there." She looked around. There
was a comfortable looking bed, a surprisingly spacious closet, a study nook,
a window with a great view of B-Tower -- Alice made a mental note to close
the blinds if she were going to change at anything less than blurred speed
-- and really ugly xolchacrete walls and xolchalinoleum floors. Across the
hall there was a common kitchenette which Alice had already put to good use
by simmering a spaghetti sauce in the name of making this place feel
slightly more like home. She'd be keeping a closer eye on it, but JOEL was
watching it for her. "Anyway. It's kinda comfortable. There's a student
lounge with magical reappearing soda and all the fun of communal showers to
add to the joy."
"Yeah. Joy's what you're radiating." Buddy laughed, softly. "It's kind
of... small... after the mansion, right?"
Alice paused. "Does it show?"
"Kinda. I mean, understand -- it's *mammoth* from my point of view. But
then, I'm a cricket. You're a giant primate."
"You say it with such affection, too." She looked around again. "I'm
grateful for it. The mansion's probably going to be under repairs for
months. Having a place to hang my hat..."
"You own a hat?"
"I could own a hat. No one says I couldn't."
"Hey -- own two hats. I'm flexible. Just don't imply *I'm* your hat."
Alice smiled a bit, checking the drawers. Plenty of space for her
clothes when they got here from Stately Ward -- not that she had that much.
"You fail at being a hat, Buddy. You don't keep rain off my head or sun out
of my eyes."
"I occasionally play guitar."
"That just makes you headphones--"
Alice suddenly lurched to a side and sat down hard on the bed,
shuddering. On her head, Buddy hung on to her hair for dear life. "Alice --
what the hey--"
Alice's eyes closed. She could see it all -- Samantha and her children
falling into the pit. Healer behind Alice. All of it in her mind. All of her
in *their* minds--
"...it can't be. It makes no sense..." Alice whispered.
"What makes no sense?"
"Me. I... I healed Samantha -- or kept healing her or boosting her life
meter or something. I don't even know. And I could hear her thoughts and she
could hear mine, and Tirkoff was in my head anchoring me down and... and..."
She shuddered again. "Why would I be a telepath? Or a healer? Or *anything*
like that? The professor's formula literally just makes people faster!"
Buddy kept holding on. "Yeah, well -- the professor's formula also
makes people burn out, except you don't do that, so..."
"That's not an answer."
"I don't have answers! I mean -- maybe you were already a telepath and
healer and the formula just made you fast. Or maybe you got bitten by a
radioactive healing cat or something. I don't know!"
* }{Alice?}{*
Alice froze.
* }{Alice, it's Doctor Tirkoff. May I come in?}{*
"Get out of my head," Alice hissed.
There was a long pause. *}{Alice. I'm sorry. I really am. But I'm not*
*in your head. You're in mine.}{*
Alice froze. Around her, time froze as well -- Buddy no longer moving
above her. It was like that moment when she ran to intercept the bullet
before it hit Samantha. She looked around, and realized that she could feel
air shifting out of her way but not really resisting her. Not just fast, but
*fast*. Like, Half-a-Dash level fast.
That didn't make any more sense than the healing or the telepathy did.
Alice carefully plucked Buddy off her head, and very carefully set him
on the desk on the other side of the room, behind a pile of books she'd
already pulled out. She didn't know if there was any chance Tirkoff didn't
know he was here, but just in case...
Alice took a deep breath, and tried to let time start moving again.
She felt herself 'gear down.' Felt herself moving more normally.
"Okay," she whispered. "You can come in."
The door opened, and Doctor Tirkoff -- no, Healer -- walked in. She
quietly shut the door, and moved to sit in the chair next to the desk.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey," Alice answered. "That was really me in your head?"
"It was. I suspect the anchoring helped."
"How'd... why is this happening?"
"I don't know why you're telepathic, if that's what you're asking. I
have a couple of theories about your life-force sharing, but they're just
theories. But... if you're asking why your telepathy's manifesting *now?* I
have a theory about that."
Alice took another deep breath. "Go for it."
"I was thought-talking to you during the mission. And I was using my
telepathic abilities. And you were able to 'see' me doing it... and
unconsciously start to try it yourself. For most people, that wouldn't be
enough... but with your speed... it's possible your subconsciousness learned
*very* fast, so that by the time you needed to slipstream after the bullet
and then start supporting Samantha, your subconsciousness knew what to do
even if you didn't."
"Are you saying that extra speed's part of... the *telepathy?*"
"It's not impossible. You may need the telepathic sense or other
psionics to perceive the world when you're going that fast, so you don't run
into things. Similarly -- your gearing up to that speed may be giving you
bursts of fast healing, and that may take the form of an energy you can
share..."
"Boom. I'm a healer." She chuckled. "Just like you."
"Hey. I'm limited to 'pathetically running after the T' speed, and my
'healing' is purely psionic -- either healing people of psychic injuries or
'healing' them of the abnormalities that make their parahuman abilities
possible."
Alice blinked. "Wait -- that's *real?* I mean, I heard the rumors--"
"Oh yes. It's real. And along with *that* comes a raft of other
off-spec abilities, like my illusion-shaping and my ability to
telepathically stimulate the nervous system without having to enter through
the mind. But then -- everyone's abilities are unique in some way."
Alice looked back down at the floor. "I don't want this. I don't *want*
to be telepathic. If I'm telepathic then I'm--" She looked away.
Healer took a deep breath. "If you're telepathic then you have
something in common with the monster who hurt you."
Alice snapped her head up, staring at Healer. "Did you go into my--"
"Alice, I'm a pretty good psychologist. The most likely reason for your
hatred and fear of telepathy was trauma. No, I didn't look into your mind to
see what happened. And I won't, unless it's to save a life -- most likely
your own. But one thing I *can* tell you... is that no matter what happened
to you... you *don't* have anything in common with your attacker... because
even when you were a quote criminal unquote you cared more about everyone
around you than almost anyone I've met. Your abilities don't define you.
Your actions do."
Alice stared, then looked down. "Yeah, well... my actions weren't my
actions back then."
Healer took a deep breath, listening.
"It... *he* crawled into me. He wore me like a *suit*. So much is a
haze, but he had a *grand* old time. And I..." She shivered, wrapping her
arms around herself.
"Alice?"
"...yeah?"
"I won't do anything without your permission... but I *am* a psionic
healer. May I look? May I help?"
"...you won't like what you see."
"I won't like what happened to you. I *do* like you, Alice. And that
won't change."
Alice looked up slowly. "Okay," she said, softly. "Okay."
* ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤ ¤¤¤*
* Tuesday Morning*
* (Eastern)*
* A.L.U.C.H.Q.M.O.U.S.E.*
* Command Center*
* Boston, MA*
Michael Green, aka the Masked Bruce, walked into the Command Center,
whistling a jaunty tune. "Hey there, Dani!" he called over to Dangerousgirl.
"What's the good word?" Mike had been acting progressively weirder ever
since he had been bonded to the nigh-omnipotent Omniquantum Megabracers --
more properly known as the ancient and mysterious *Oanthet*. He'd been out
of touch for a few days.
Dangerousgirl half-scowled. "No good words over here. You lose your
Xolchacomm?"
"Wha-- oh! No, but I knew you guys could handle whatever it was."
"...what?"
"Just what I said! I could sense that whatever was going on you guys
could handle it, and I was learning some new, subtle abilities the Oanthet
grants me with my--"
"Do. You. Have. Any. Idea. How. Many. Mobster. Members. Are. In.
Medbay?"
Mike blinked. "What?"
Dangerousgirl was staring at Mike. "We put out a top priority recall
for a reason! Dreamweaver almost died! Mighty Dog was badly injured! Roger
lost his body and is cohabitating with a girl who isn't me! Phobos is--"
"...wait. What happened?" Mike looked serious, now.
"Oh, now you want to know what--"
There was a thrum, and Mike's armor formed over his body as he floated
into the air, the golden mask forming over his face. "What. Happened."
Dangerousgirl paused. "Random Encounters happened. He gave some guy the
ability to project tactile sensations into other people, and they used that
to suborn Mirror Maid. She betrayed the Mob and they were all almost killed.
I went down with the Dash, Healer, and Momentum and we pulled them out of
the fire, but..."
The Masked Bruce stared at Dangerousgirl, and then with a ripple of
light he was gone.
"Oh, hey. Good talk. Thanks." She rolled her eyes.
"Sadly, that seems par for the course these days."
Dangerousgirl looked over at the far door. Mandy was walking in, Frigid
Girl and Memorex behind her. They'd been left on monitor duty while they
were fighting Random Encounters. Clearly, they were cleared to do it again.
"Tell me about it. Or don't. I'm tired of hearing about *Mike.*"
"He seems weirder every time I see him," Memorex said. The teen was
cocking his head, slightly. "An' have you noticed his speech patterns--"
Trashman came through the door the Masked Bruce had originally come in.
"Ah. Dangerousgirl. Good. And you've got a relief? Excellent. I was--"
Dangerousgirl signed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Seriously? We're
going to do the yelling-at-Dani thing *today?*"
"Dangerousgirl--"
"I know! I'm probationary! But there wasn't anyone else! And the Dash
answered her recall so there was a full member on hand so it wasn't even
against the rules!"
"Dangerousgirl--"
"And we hit them hard and we won the day and everyone was saved! Even
Maria! So I don't appreciate--"
"*Dangerousgirl!*"
"What?!"
"I just wanted to say you did well, and find out if you'd be willing to
take a walk with me. Say, down on the waterfront."
Dangerousgirl blinked. "I... did well?"
"Extremely well. I know I may not be your favorite person right now,
but--"
"You... don't... have any cutting remarks to bring my ego down to
size?"
"...not on *hand*, but if you're disappointed I can always--"
"No! No... that's fine. A... walk. Okay. Um... lemme go put on
civvies--"
"Of course. I'll meet you downstairs."
Mandy half-smiled as Trashman and Dangerousgirl both went out --
through separate doors. "Well, that's either a good sign or we're all going
to die. Right. You two have the board. Have fun with it." She walked out the
same door as Trashman.
"Fun, she says," Memorex said. "I'm thrilled we're gettin' to do more,
but *fun--*"
"What about the Masked Bruce's speech patterns?" Frigid Girl sounded
serious.
Memorex paused. "It's probably nothing--"
"You notice things, Mem. You're a detective. It's not nothing. What
about his speech patterns? Are they... wrong?"
Memorex bit his lip, walking over to the board. "No... they're almost
*too* right."
"...what does that mean?"
"No idea. But it's like... like he's... I dunno. Forget it."
Frigid Girl paused, then slowly nodded. "Okay."
"Right." Memorex slid into one of the chairs in front of the board. "So
what do we do while staring at monitors?"
"As I recall? Someone in this room needs tutoring in Algebra..."
Memorex rolled his eyes, sighing. "Yeah yeah. Okay."
[End of Part B. Part C follows.]
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