Guardian
a Worm/Destiny Crossover
Chapter 14: Make Like Carnegie
The message, which was actually a thread post, read like this:
Hey there, bright eyes!
Got an idea I want to run by you. Can we meet? No harm either way. Mildly urgent. PM with answer soon, please.
T
Not the most informative message, to be sure. Also, 'bright eyes'? Last time Taylor checked, which was when she'd brushed her teeth this morning, there was nothing especially bright about her eyes. They were dark, wide, brown, and she didn't think about them too much, but when she did the word 'bright' never came up. Maybe it was similar to the way guys called each other 'chief' or 'boss' in conversation. Like a kind of catch-all nickname. People online did that too, didn't they? She wasn't real sure. Most of her conversations of any sort before she met Ghost, and subsequently Sabah, weren't exactly what you'd call open and friendly. Almost exactly the opposite, in fact. Still. No point in dwelling on that, she had a decision to make. Or she would, were she able to move on from the oddity of being addressed as 'bright eyes'. It was like a brain stutter. She looked around her dad's office, as if expecting him to jump out of one of his – well, her mother's – bookcases and agree with whoever T happened to be. Then, in addition to being perplexed, she had managed to embarrass herself. Not a bad accomplishment for two measly little words.
She wiggled the mouse, dancing the cursor across the screen before scooting back to kick the chair in a lazy circle, spinning slowly 'round as she thought. Part of her, the part warned to never talk to strangers or get in scruffy white vans with blacked-out windows, wanted to dismiss the invitation outright. Another part, made of Light and the cold, sharp edge of her knife said that she could take anything anyone threw at her. That anyone who tried anything would end up as ash drifting through the air. A third part, all slowly growing confidence and cautious optimism, decided that whoever this person was, the odds were good that they were on the up-and-up, so to speak. Then there was a fourth, which was still confused about the whole eyes and brightness thereof thing.
Once more lazy orbit to consider, and she came to her decision. Scooting back to the computer, she clicked on the link provided in the message and began to type.
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This would be the first time she wore her costume in public. It would be the second time she wore it. The first had been at Sabah's insistence to see if everything fit the way it was supposed to and didn't pinch anywhere, which was a thing that could happen, evidently. It hadn't felt real, that time. Now, though, standing in front of her bathroom mirror with her cloak's hood pulled up, causing shadows to fall over the upper half of her face? It felt real. And it felt good. She turned this way and that, admiring the swish of fabric across her back and at her calves. Today, her knife rode at her thigh, pressed flush against her leg with hilt pointed up. Easy to draw, easy to put away, easy to see. A statement and warning in one six inch piece of steel – I can use this. I will if you make me. Not bad.
Panoptica, T, or whatever they were called, had suggested a dive bar out on the edge of town as a meeting place. Somer's Rock, it was explained, was a sort of neutral ground for independents such as herself to meet and hash stuff out. Taylor, on the advice of Sabah – who called the place "an insult to shitty little booze holes" – and the urging of her own instinct, rejected it. If there was an intent to ambush her, she wasn't going to make it easy. With that in mind, she offered a back alley not far from the Boardwalk, and in turn was rejected on the grounds of it being too public. They ended up with a place neither were happy with, which her dad assured her was the element of a good compromise. That great monument to bad judgment, weight gain, and people too cheap to buy actual food.
No, not Fugly Bob's.
McDonald's. Rather, the gutted building a mile from the Docks that had once been one. The whole area was full of abandoned buildings. This one, chosen because of its relative isolation from the others and its wide, open parking lot, would be their meeting point. With one last look at herself, she shouted that she was heading out to her dad and jumped out the window. She didn't have to, technically. It was just too tempting to pass up. She landed with a flex of her knees, having become accustomed to leaping from second story windows, and darted off into the afternoon.
One thing her research had forgotten to mention about the meeting place: it smelled. Not the perfume of the Merchants, with which she was lamentably familiar. This was...dirty floors and burnt cooking oil and the accumulation of sweat and body odor. The windows, after they'd been broken, had been boarded up. Then the boards were stolen, leaving the square building looking oddly menacing with the shadowed holes in its walls. She couldn't see or hear anyone inside, and took that to mean she was first on the scene. Which meant she had the unenviable task of waiting, and there was no way on Earth she'd be doing it inside. She crouched, shifting her feet to find a good grip, and vaulted herself into the air. The trim along the roof's edge had long since fallen away, leaving tacky strips of asphalt and gravel behind. Her hands slapped down on the roof, sending up impact clouds of dust, and she levered herself up to land in a crouch. That done, she found a place to sit that wasn't clearly visible and settled in. She didn't have to wait long. Less than five minutes, going by her watch. It wasn't a staggering entrance, as entrances went. A pale brown sedan pulled into the parking lot and out stepped...
Whoa.
I didn't think I was gay, Taylor thought, until right now.
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Pale blonde hair, almost white, shone and curled down to her shoulders. Deep, bright green eyes peered from the dark fabric of a domino mask, snapping with intellect and humor. A slender, toned body hugged very tightly by a black-and-purple bodysuit. Boots covered and shaped calves of smooth muscle, and Taylor wasn't so struck that she missed the knife handle protruding slightly. A belt was wrapped around T's hips, the sleek black lines of a pistol riding at her side. Gloves covered her hands to near-completion, leaving only the tips of her fingers exposed. A smile tugged at the pink curve of her lips, the kind of smile that would cross the face of someone who knew something you didn't. Always. Then she began to walk, and the only word that came to mind at the motion was slinking. She was all smooth grace and invitation, and Taylor wasn't sure it was on purpose. She didn't know if she wanted it to be, either.
Her mouth went dry and she found herself unable to blink. A heat, like nothing she'd felt before, pooled hot and languid in the pit of her belly. Sweat prickled her palms, her heart pounded in her ears. It seemed to her, just then, that there wasn't enough air to breathe up on the roof of the gutted, abandoned McDonald's. They came too fast, her breaths, scrambling her thoughts and robbing her of the composure she'd worked so very hard to muster for this. Once it was gone, the floodgates on her brain opened, the images conjured within were lurid, explicit, and worst of all...enticing. Images of long, pale, naked legs tangled with hers. Of searching, clever hands and smiling, pink lips. Warm, wet kisses on peaked, aching skin. A shudder went down her spine and a quiet gasp escaped her.
This is so not the time, Taylor. Get it together!
She ground her teeth, muscles in her jaw flexing, exerting her will on her own libido. She could fathom it later, she could...deal...with it later. Right now she had a meeting to attend. A meeting with an incredibly appealing blonde with a tight, tight costume, a mysterious agenda, and no name. Only a letter. T was now close enough to her perch to spot her, and lifted a hand in a cheery wave. Taylor wiggled a hand in return, stood, walked to the edge of the building, and stepped off. Luckily, she'd experienced the malfunction of her cloak flapping up over her head when she left her bedroom window earlier, so she was ready this time – grabbing the sides as she fell, landing, and then walking forward as if she were in complete control of herself.
"Hey, there!" T's smile, if anything, grew. "I'm Tattletale. Thanks for meeting me."
Taylor swallowed, glad for her hood's hiding the pink in her cheeks, and intended to introduce herself. What she said was, "Why'd you call me bright eyes?" There was a moment, or maybe an hour, of silence. Then, "Never mind. Uh...forget I said that. I'm Guardian."
Something in Tattletale's smile changed. It had been an impersonal thing before, almost generic, if such a word could be applied to a smile. Now it was warmer, somehow. Personal. She offered Taylor a hand, who took it. "Nice to meet you, Guardian." Her grip was stronger than expected, solid.
"Nice to meet you too. Not to be rude, but what was it you wanted to talk about?"
Tattletale dropped the handshake and didn't move back. This was worth noting, thought Taylor didn't know why. "Right to business, then." Had there been another option? "Should we go inside? We could have eavesdroppers."
The fingers of Taylor's knife hand flexed and she fought the urge to look around. "Are you expecting them?"
"Always." Came the reply. It seemed paranoid, and some of that thought must have shown, because; "It's not paranoia if they're actually out to get you. So...yeah. Let's go inside." With that, Tattletale walked past and boosted herself in through a window. Taylor shrugged to herself and followed.
=+= Chapter 14: Make Like Carnegie =+=
The inside of the McDonald's looked terrible. There was a caking of dirt and grit on the floor, staining the whole think an unpleasant shade of brown. The tables and chairs were long gone, either removed or stolen, leaving behind only the bolt holes drilled into the floor. Those pieces of wall, placed to break up the flow of the room, were nothing but slowly rotting studs and a few rusty, exposed nails. Over the counter, still present and mostly hole, the back half of the store was completely empty, cleaned out long ago. The smell wasn't any better inside than out, sadly.
Tattletale made a quiet, grossed-out noise before spinning around. "So!" She hopped up onto the counter, crossing her legs and drumming her fingers on her knee. "I bet you're wondering what this is all about."
Lacking any place to sit herself, and oddly unsure what to do with her hands, Taylor folded her arms across her chest. "Among other things, yes."
"Well..." The word dragged out, green eyes flickering over her face, as if searching for something. "it's like this: I have an idea, and I wanted to run it past you."
Confusion bid her raise an eyebrow. "Why me? And also, what idea?"
"I want to put a team together, and I want you to help me."
Taylor blinked. "I...what?" She wanted to say more, and in fact had many questions to ask, but there seemed to be something wrong with her mouth. It would only let her make confused noises and half finished thoughts. "Team...me?" See?
"Yeah," Tattletale's eyes glittered with the humor barely contained by her smile. At least somebody was enjoying themselves. "you."
"But – but why?"
"Short answer?" A shrug. "You're a badass."
Taylor frowned, some composure regained. "How about the long answer?"
"The long answer?" Tattletale shrugged again. "You're a badass that people trust. A rising hero who has the respect of Armsmaster and brought down half the Merchants' capes by herself. I can't say either of those things."
If anything, her frown deepened. "You want to...piggyback on my – my street cred?"
"I mean, I wasn't going to put it that way, but basically. Not that it's the only reason, mind you, but definitely one of them."
Taylor wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that. Or the turn this whole meeting had taken. She turned away from Tattletale to pace, chewing on her lower lip. Not one to pace, not normally, but needs must and all that. Her mouth opened, then closed.
"Well?" Tattletale hid it well, but there was a shiftiness about her now, a nervous energy that wasn't present before. It was something in the cant of her shoulders or maybe the intensity of her finger drumming. "What do you think?"
"I think..." What did she think? Blindsided would be a step up from where she was, that's what she thought. "I think I need to think. I think." Then she shook her head like a dog, only instead of water, it was brain fog she was shaking off. "Forget I said that, too. Um. I can't say I'm not tempted, but I don't know enough of...well, anything, really. I need more information."
Tattletale's smile turned just a hair smug. "Well, that I can give you. Sit a spell, Guardian, and let me yarn at you."
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What it boiled down to was this: there were entirely too many baddies with kill orders on them that just wandered around happy and free. Which meant that not only were the wrong villains being focused on – Chubster came to mind, people were walking around alive who had thoroughly earned death. Tattletale seemed to take issue with both of these things. She had wanted, she said, to do some real good. That meant going after the real monsters. Nilbog. Moord Nag. The Three Blasphemies. It didn't escape Taylor that no mention was made of the Slaughterhouse Nine or Seven or Whatever Number They Were On Right Now. It seemed an odd distinction to make, and she said as much. The response came too quickly to be anything other than prepared.
Tattletale shrugged. "They're on the list, sure, but they can be fought. Normal, though I hesitate to use that word, capes can and have stood up to the Nine, though not without cost. These guys, though, nobody goes after. Nobody even tries. Like, when was the last time anyone tried to take out Heartbreaker? Or that asshole down in the Everglades... uh," She snapped her fingers. "Swamp Thing."
"He actually called himself that?"
"She, actually," came the correction, "and yeah. The point is, that these guys have waay too much...mythology or whatever surrounding them. It makes them look immortal, or at least untouchable." Something flickered in the depths of those bright green eyes. Something dark and cold. "No one is untouchable, and everyone can die. I want to remind these guys of that." Then it vanished, replaced with a diffident smile. "Of course, the generous bounties on 'em all makes it just that much more appealing. So. That's the long and short of it, Guardian. I'm doing this to make money and the world a better place, though not necessarily in that order."
Taylor took a deep, calming breath in, held it for a three count, then let it back out. Her mind was racing, desperately scrambling to gather and make sense of everything she'd just had dropped on her lap. It was a near impossible task, one made harder by the knowledge that the girl who'd done the dropping was both incredibly gorgeous and less than ten feet away. None of it made for coherent, cogent thinking, and that was she really needed right them. She wanted to say yes, that much was clear. On the surface, it was exactly – and she did mean exactly – the kind of thing being a Guardian was about. Seeking out that which threatened the future of humanity and putting them in the ground. The temptation to agree all but sang to her. Begged her to put her name on this thing and not look back.
Two things stopped her. One: every piece of information she had before coming to this meeting screamed at her that what Tattletale was proposing was suicide. Plain and simple. The reason people didn't go up against these guys was that everyone who had tried was dead. Nilbog came to mind. The military strike intended to take him out had exactly one survivor. One. Out of a force of some two hundred and fifty.
Two: this was huge. Too big a thing to commit to based on a snap judgment or instinct, no matter how well they had served her so far. She needed to...step back. Get perspective. She needed time. "This is...I don't know what to say."
Tattletale shrugged again. "Say you're in. Or don't. Or say you need to think about it. I said there was no harm either way, and I meant it. You need time? Say the word. I get that this is big, Guardian, and it's a lot to take in. I've had a year to talk myself around to this crusade of mine. It'd be stupid of me to expect you to do the same in – how long's it been – half an hour?" She hopped off the counter. "So...yeah."
"Uh huh." Taylor didn't know what she was agreeing with, exactly. Needing time, perhaps. "I'm uh, I'm gonna have to think about it. This is – I want to, don't get me wrong, but I do this without talking to my – to some people and there's a good chance they'll kill me."
That brought a smile to the other girl's lips. The soft, personal one. Not the smug one or that weird, diffident almost-smile from earlier. "I bet. Look, you got a pen? I'll give you a number you can reach me at, anytime."
She did not have a pen. On the list of things to have when preparing to go out and superhero, a pen wasn't on it. However, "No pen. I have a good memory, though. Hit me."
Tattletale rattled off a phone number, which Taylor committed to memory. Even if she had the leakiest ability to recall things this side of...someone really forgetful...there were a few things that would ensure this particular piece of knowledge would be all but tattooed to the inside of her skull. She left that meeting, after watching Tattletale drive away, with the sense that the easy part of her day had just happened. Things were probably – no, they were – going to get harder from there. She had to talk to her dad, and convince him she hadn't gone insane.
...yay.
=+= Chapter 14: Make Like Carnegie =+=