Summary:
For some reason, some people didn't like this one.
'Not enough action.' 'Pointless waste of words.' 'We don't even like that character.'
Bah.
Bet you no one complains about the 'waste of time' hanging out with Vista next update, and Vicky after that.
Chapter Text
THUR MAR 3
I got up, did a half hour workout, made breakfast, and took a shower. Then I went back to my room and freaked out for twenty minutes, digging through my dresser and closet. I wound up settling on a sky blue blouse that had juice stains across the chest and one side, which should thankfully be covered up by the suit jacket I put on over it. After a bit of deliberating, I decided not to dig for the stockings I had no idea if I still had, or if they were still in one piece. The skirt went on, followed by my dressiest socks and shoes. I could survive normal soles for a day.
Then I started packing. My wallet, phones, pepper spray, baton, and a couple extra bits of identification went in my various pockets. Costume, canteen, thermos, tonfa, the rest of those little fans, and a first aid kit went into my backpack. I looked around, scanning the room while I cleaned up the mess I'd made, but didn't think of anything else to add by the time I was done.
Dad was up by the time I headed downstairs, picking at the food I'd left out for him, while watching the news. He caught sight of me, and I could feel his jaw drop a little. His tells were awash with sorrow, grief, and shame, amidst a mix of fluttering lesser ones that were hard to identify. At least until he tensed, swallowed, and took a breath, forcing himself to feel something closer to pride. "You look good."
I forced a small laugh, readjusting my bag. "Yeah, that's the hope."
He set his plate and utensils aside, and pushed himself to his feet. "You do, Taylor." He patted my shoulders, holding me at arm's length to inspect me with a smile. Then he gently pulled me into a hug. "You're growing up. I'm so proud of you, Little Owl."
I scoffed into his shoulder. "Doesn't feel like it." Still, I patted his shoulders and didn't bother pushing out of the embrace.
"That'll sneak up on you, sometime in your thirties, kiddo." He chuckled, pulling back. He didn't even have to force the beaming grin he gave me.
"I'll... look forward to it?" I awkwardly tried, then shook my head. "I should get ready to go."
His mood dipped, his smile twitched, and he nodded. "Alright, I'll see you after work."
"Don't wait up for me, I have no idea what all Vicky has planned for today." I almost told him about Lung, but I didn't want to worry him. I'm sure everything was going to be fine. He gave another nod, happy I had friends to go out with, again.
I was only waiting for a few minutes, before the car showed up. I went out to get in, and had a bit of a standoff with the driver, holding the door open for me. I stared, brow quirked, switching focus between her and the open seat just long enough for her to feel nervous, before I slipped my bag from my shoulder and slid into the seat.
Gram gave me a curious, if somewhat disappointed side-glance. I replied with a flat glance of my own. Why yes, that was entirely necessary. Her head tilted in a tiny shrug, and I sighed. "Thanks for the help today."
"I still don't understand the situation," I hadn't told her it was Lung I was expecting trouble from, today. "but there were matters that required attending at some point, and today is as good as any. Did you bring what I asked you to?"
"Yeah." I patted my suit jacket. "Copies of my birth certificate and social security card, my school ID, and passport." Which Gram had insisted I keep renewing, just in case. "Why do I need all that?"
She nodded to the driver, who started the car and backed out of the driveway. "Our first stop is the DMV, to get you a permit. Then we're going to the bank to set up additional accounts that will be necessary, moving forward."
"A permit?" I mused out loud. I hadn't given serious thought to driving in... years? It might have been years. Mom's death put me off wanting to learn, but it wasn't like we could afford a second vehicle anyway. Recently I just hadn't considered needing more than my powers to get around, if I couldn't just take the bus.
She must have taken it as a serious question. "Additional identification, reduced penalties for driving unsupervised, additional means for getting around in ways you couldn't, before." The minor stress on the last point caught my mind.
After a bit of thought, I realized she meant it to explain away power-based travel. "Right. Yeah."
Gram gave another small nod. "After that, we're going to assess a small business. They don't have the credit rating for a bank loan, and want to move to a new location."
"You want to see if it's worth buying in?"
She tilted her head to the side in a small, considering nod. "Unlikely to be worth the risk, and I wouldn't normally bother with a bakery... it does, however, present an opportunity to teach you some of the signs to look for, before ever seeking to broach such negotiations."
"Like what?"
"Simply giving you a list to follow may be unhelpful, but it's the best we can do with the time we have. Learning experience must start somewhere." She took a moment to think. "The most obvious will be the state of the shop. If it's in poor repair, dirty, or unsanitary. I don't expect to find any of these amiss, as they're easily rectified red flags."
"Everything's broken down in the Bay, though." I muttered.
She turned a steely eye my way. "Hardly an excuse not to make an effort. Recent damage is one thing, but a systemic lack of maintenance kills business, regardless of the pressures they're under." She shook her head and moved on. "The next is marketing. Signage, displays, business layout. Can they draw and retain a client-base. Whether you can think of things they could be doing better, or worse. Then rating employees, which includes the management. If they can't engage with clients properly, there must be a reason for it. Perhaps they're unhappy with their job, or their supervisor, or their production process. It's also possible they're suffering in their home lives, which implies a failing in management, for hiring or retaining incapable workers. Everyone you interact with should be capable of doing their jobs, and attempting to generate a positive experience to promote future business."
"That sounds..." I cut off my original line of thought. She didn't want to hear about me thinking she was wrong. "It sounds like weighing someone's life on whether or not they're having a bad day."
As expected, she brushed my concern aside. "Bad days can be acted through, and there are positions that don't require dedicated client interaction, for people who can't."
That still didn't sound right. The few jobs I'd looked at were all service positions. It felt like everything entry-level was. Then again, businesses liked sticking girls in those jobs. It wasn't like I'd be taken seriously applying for a hard labor position where I didn't have to talk to anyone, since those were 'for men'. It was societal pressure all the way down.
"Perhaps least important for our purposes is the actual product involved. So long as whatever the business produces isn't inadequate, location, marketing, and client experience are more important to a business' survival. It's still worth keeping in mind display management, product appearance and arrangement, and quality."
I cringed. "That sounds really sketchy."
She snorted. "I'm sure once you begin to look and understand it, you'll find the vast majority of the world as it works fits the definition of... 'sketchy'." Gram smiled and shook her head. "But, as I said, we do expect the product to be good enough. If we were talking about a software company, or some other development service, the 'product' would be held to a much higher standard than stores or shops that are all selling essentially the same things."
"...sounds familiar." I muttered.
"True." She must have heard me. Her smile had grown sharp and brittle, showing more teeth, but her tone hadn't changed. "Our stores have nothing that couldn't easily be purchased for a similar price elsewhere. The same name brands, shipping their product to every store in the state. Similar generics made to be comparable to the same brands that every other generic product is emulating, leading to equivalence there as well. Every store- ours, competitors, similar noncompeting chains- every one of them receives patronage that follows the same equation; Convenience, Cost, and Marketing. The product does not factor, beyond shifting competition brackets." Her mood was improving, forgetting the barb in favor of capitalizing on a teaching moment. "You go to a grocery store for food, a drug store for medicine, a hobby shop for crafting supplies, et cetera. One generally chooses whichever location is closest for convenience, though the financially limited will go out of their way for lower prices. Past this, comes happenstance and marketing. There is a better chance of someone shopping at a location they were taken to as children, they are likely to cease patronage at establishments they've had negative experiences with in the past, and a sufficiently convincing marketing ploy can sway those undecided."
"Huh." There was a lot more to this than I'd thought. "That's... statistics?"
"And Economics, yes. Both courses I highly suggest you prioritize studying in the future. I understand Arcadia has an acceptable pre- Business Degree track, starting Junior year."
I groaned. "I'm not sure I want a degree in it..." She frowned, and I waved to placate her. "I want to know enough to not get talked circles around, though."
"Good." She nodded. We were pulling into a parking lot now, and I recognized downtown out the windows. It was only another minute before we were pulling into a disabled space right in front of the DMV, the driver not bothering to turn the car off as she hopped out to get the door for Gram. I let myself out, leaving my bag in the car. She had no reason to dig through my stuff, right? With both of us out, she popped back in the car to find an available- and legal- parking space.
My hackles raised as we strode up to the building, Gram tapping the 'press to open' button by the door with her cane, and I groaned as my senses were confirmed. She cleared her throat to pull me back to her side after I started toward the lines and nearly-full seating for the 'licenses' part of the foyer, and led the way to the nonexistent line for passports and other non-driving business.
"Hello, could you page Geoffrey? We have an appointment."
The woman didn't even bother hiding the stink-eyed glare she sent Gram's way, and I flinched and gave an apologetic smile that did absolutely nothing to help. Still, she picked up the phone and dialed an internal connection code, spoke a few hushed words, and told us to go wait.
We backed away from her desk's line area, but didn't move to actually sit. It was about two minutes after she'd called that a middle-aged deskjockey came to collect us. He had a similar build and 'middle management' vibe that Dad did, down to the glasses and thinning hair. I wasn't surprised when he led us to what was apparently his own small office, where he gathered up a few sheets of paper and thick booklets.
"Alright, here is the guidebook and paperwork, if I could have your identification for our records?" I started pulling papers from pockets while Gram marked away at the sheets we'd been given. He only grabbed the passport and my birth certificate to photocopy, but I suppose too much was better than not enough. Gram pulled my attention back to confirm what she'd filled out and sign in a couple places, after which my passport and the copy I'd brought were handed back. "Okay, you should get the permit in the mail in two-to-three business days. Study up on the book, and have a licensed adult with you while you're driving on public roads. Have a nice day."
"That's it?" I muttered. "Isn't there a... test, or something?"
He stared for a bit, confused and anxious. "Do you... want to take the test?" He shook himself back to full awareness. "Listen kid, we'll worry about tests when you come back for your actual license, okay?" He tapped the booklet and pushed it toward us again. "Until then, you're fine."
I looked up at him, then over to Gram who raised a brow at me, then back. I put everything back into my pockets, picked up the thick, cheaply mass-produced newspaper-print booklet on learning to drive, and stood to leave, absently thanking him for his time.
Gram sent her driver a text, and I could feel the car pulling up before we'd even made it back to the lobby. "You paid for special services." I muttered quietly. I wasn't angry, and I'm not sure I'd even call it sad. More... numbly accepting.
"Our time is too valuable to wait in lines, Taylor." Or bother with tests, and legalities, when money could grease wheels. I sighed, and nodded. We were those people, I guess. It felt a bit silly now, to have expected anything else.
We spent a few silent minutes in the car on the way to the bank. It was one of those larger national chains, probably one Gram worked with, back in New York. The driver did her door-dance again, and left to park like last time.
"Is that... entirely necessary?" Gram hummed inquisitively. "The thing with the door."
"Of course not. I didn't even ask her to do that." She mused, shaking her head with a small smile. "It's simply too amusing to bother correcting her."
"Still feels mean." I groused.
She rolled her eyes. "I am tipping generously, for playing the fool. Though I admit she's unaware of my reasoning." It felt like she was encouraging her... which wasn't incorrect, once I'd thought about it for a moment.
By that point, we were inside the bank, and continuing the conversation felt too public. Gram again led me away from the main lines, past the little swath of sparsely populated unwalled cubicles, to the 'business banking' section. I wasn't sure if someone called back, or if we just ran up to some appointment time, but it only took a couple minutes for someone to come and collect us. Gram stood and shook his hand, before turning to me. "Taylor, this is Frederique. I've been working with him on local business ventures."
"Taylor Hebert." I offered my own hand.
"Oh, always a pleasure to meet the big names, before they're famous." He lilted jovially, and I half expected him to try kissing my knuckles, rather than the soft handshake I got. He had a Mediterranean complexion, with a head of wispy curls and thin, tightly-maintained facial hair. "If you'll follow me, we'll take care of everything you need, for today."
I stood there, processing my incredibly odd day, for a moment. Then I took a few hurried steps to catch up to the pair heading for the back offices. We were held up briefly as he took a moment to put in an eight-digit code to let us back into the pens, followed by a short walk to an office he used his lanyard to buzz us into.
"Alright," He sat behind the desk, motioning us toward the seats in front of it. "you mentioned new accounts?"
"Taylor is in need of several long-term differentiated portfolios, most significantly savings, expenses, and retirement."
"Retirement?" I bit out more waspishly than intended.
She turned a gimlet eye my way, and nodded. "Fifty years may feel like an eternity to one so young, but time has a way of catching up with us all."
"I-" My jaw clicked shut and I tried to hide my grimace. 'I may not live to 65', really, Taylor? The hard truth of the statement didn't mean I had to rub Gram's face in it. And... it would be nice to plan on a long life, despite the dangers of the cape scene and state of my city. I could almost picture myself in her seat, with children or grandchildren of my own, helping them make their own ways through life. This would of course require finding a man I could trust as my husband, becoming a mother, making a home with my family... it was a nice thought, but felt far-flung and fanciful. It was just a normal life, the same that most people wound up having one way or another... I couldn't help but feel even that might as well be a fairy tale. I was already a cape. I might as well be a magical princess. Why did normal life feel so outlandish in comparison? I shook my head, drawing myself back to the silent room. "I guess... it couldn't hurt?"
Gram nodded again, and Fred started typing away at his terminal. "I'm afraid I'm going to need a driver's license, or other identification, as well as your social security number, for tax purposes."
I guess I did need it. "I have a passport?" I pulled it and my little SSN card from my pocket, sliding them across the desk.
"Perfect." He purred, opening the booklet to my picture with one hand, and keypadding the ID number into the system with the other. "Now, this account should have an interest rate between five and ten percent, annually. We've had good luck hitting eight percent, since 2005. You'll be able to set your other accounts to have a chunk of funds pulled from them monthly, annually, or on deposit, either when you set them up or whenever you would like it done, though the latter may take longer to implement the change." I had no idea if the numbers were good, but Gram seemed to expect them, so I just nodded. A few minutes later, he stopped typing. "Now, while that's percolating through the system, what else can I get started for you? Savings and expenses, anything else?"
That felt done to me, so I glanced at Gram and shrugged. Her lips pursed slightly. "Checking, and a credit line. She may not actually utilize her expense account regularly for some time."
"Huh." I muttered. Gram quirked a brow and asked if there was a problem. "Just... don't see myself as a credit card person?" They still reflexively brought to mind girls like Vicky and Emma, just a tool to facilitate shopping binges. "And I have a checking account already."
She nodded. "It is often better to consolidate one's services, for ease of use and optimizing time management. However, no one will force you to close your old account, and there are no fees involved in having the new one open. I think you'll quickly come to find the process of transferring funds between banks tiresome, once you begin to require these accounts."
"And, no offense," I added to Fred, before turning back to Gram. "but, why do they have to be here?"
"Ease of utility, outside Brockton Bay. Your father's bank is serviceable here, but I do hope that even if you insist on centralizing here, you will choose to expand beyond the scope of one single city, over the course of your life."
My face tightened as I tried not to scowl. "I appreciate the thought to future-proofing." Though I didn't like the unilateral nature of the decision. "We'll see what I do in the future. My priority is still the Bay, for now." Gram felt unhappy with that, but it barely showed. Fred was an odd mix of anxious, worried, and giddy. It seemed they were still waiting on me, though, so... "Alright, we'll make the accounts here. Still not sure I need a credit card."
"Likely not." Gram agreed. "However, having and using it will let you improve your credit score, and you are unlikely to fall into the common error of incurring more debt than you can easily repay. We can set the credit account to be paid in full from the checking account each month, and there are some establishments that do not take debit or cheques." I hummed noncommittally, and she took a moment to think. "What is the most you expect to spend at one time? Barring emergency situations, or things like a car or house, or anything better categorized as a business expense?"
Well, the only thing that came to mind was... "If I get dragged shopping again," because I highly doubted I'd get the card in time for today. "then... maybe two or three hundred, at most?" Likely less, especially if I wasn't buying an entire wardrobe.
"Double it for emergencies, in the event that something comes up before the bank can be instructed to pay the balance, and I believe a six hundred dollar monthly limit is reasonable for now."
I wanted to argue, maybe bring up rent or bills, but those were years off from being a thing in my personal life, and would only drive the number up anyway. Besides, there was no reason I had to use the thing. "Alright." I grimaced out.
The rest of the meeting was rote account setup, with the checking account, credit card, business account and associated credit line for that in case I needed it for plane tickets or hotel rooms or business lunches or whatever. I was going to need a ledger to keep all of these damn accounts straight, I just knew it. Still, that wasn't everything we had planned for today, and after confirming all the cards would take a still far-shorter-than-reasonable few days to make their way to me, we went back to the car.
"So, tell me more about this place we're checking out." I asked, once we were under way. "It's a bakery, looking for a loan, and what else?"
"An Italian bakery situated near the mall, they want to move closer to the Boardwalk. There are three other such establishments in the city already, the most significant being one Downtown, and their primary competitor in the mall. It's larger, but the one in the mall is much better positioned, and they'd come into conflict with the one Downtown if they move, even if they get their desired location on the North end." She motioned off to the side, since we were heading vaguely West-Southwest. "The new location is indeed superior, with an increased price to go with it. Their current location is valued around thirty thousand, and the Boardwalk location at forty-five. Adding in the costs for refurbishment, moving, and marketing the new location, they're looking for eighty to one hundred thousand for the move. I suspect the reason they are incapable of procuring their loan from the banks to be that they may still be paying off the loan used to acquire their current location."
"They're struggling that badly?" I wasn't sure I liked what I was hearing.
"It's possible they have a good business plan and simply ran up against a poor economy, or stiff competition. Most of the small businesses private investors work with are struggling in some way that makes them less palatable to bank investment, necessitating the interaction. The question then becomes whether it might be worth the risk."
"Right." I guess I'd have to wait and see.
The building itself actually looked fairly nice, for Brockton. Only a few cracks around the sidewalk they couldn't do much about, you could barely tell where they'd had to repaint or powerwash graffiti off recently when actively looking for it, and all their windows were intact. Gram still gave a disdainful sniff as we walked up from the next block over, though. I tried harder to pick out problems. One of the windowsills had bird crap on it, there was some shmutz near the bottom of the doors, and maybe a cobweb or two along the sign above the door?
I thought it was fine.
Skipping ahead, I held the door open for Gram. "Look around, dear." She quietly instructed with a wave of her hand away from the main counter as she passed. I nodded and turned right while she headed left, walking up to inquire about catering options with a girl who, on closer inspection, looked about my age. It was possible she was a babyfaced older teen- Sabah, Madison, and a few of Kara's girls certainly hadn't looked as old as they were- but it was also possible she was out of school on an internship program, or had a 'family business' reasoning for an absence, like I was using.
Or, she could be skipping school for work. Honestly one of the better reasons to do so I'd come across over the past couple years.
I continued looking over the displays while keeping half an ear on their conversation. I had to admit, the cookies looked really good, and I could only blame some of that opinion on it being past noon and not having eaten lunch yet. I should have more than enough time to grab something before meeting up with Vicky, and we could always hit the food court at the mall after the patrol. Still might pick up a few bags of these on the way out, though.
Turning away from the long section of the 'L' counter display, I stepped around the blocky island case closer to the windows. It was set up to show wares to window shoppers, and a bit harder to see everything from this side of it. Unlike the other, nothing in there was already packaged up for sale, appearing to very much be simply display pieces. It still drove me to want to wander between the display and the window, though... With a low hum, I decided this must have been what Gram found her first problem with, spotting it from outside. The rest of the shop was clean, but felt fairly generic. It had light beige walls, black and white checkerboard flooring, and menu-style pricing boards.
By now, Gram had requested to speak to a manager. The girl had done a heck of a job, keeping up with Gram's picking at her. It was hardly a surprise when she called back through the shop for her dad, letting him take over dealing with this frustrating old woman. To her credit, she put on a chipper facade and came over to ask if I needed any help, or wanted a sample. I chuckled and honestly replied that I wasn't sure I could stop at just one, segueing into asking the names of a few of the pastries and cookies I was unfamiliar with.
I spent a bit of focus keeping track of the other conversation, too. Gram talking to the owner about large order options and catering, then the business itself. Something of a dream of his and his wife's, with him wanting to make things, and her being Italian coming together into this one goal. I could tell the daughter was suspicious of this line of questioning, but she was still busily engaged with me, while her father just seemed happy to ramble on.
Eventually, their conversation dwindled down, and Gram asked me if I had anything I'd decided I wanted. I decided on a few cannoli, and a wide selection of cookies that might last through next week if I didn't share. Though thinking about it, I'd probably leave some for dad and bring the rest to whatever we were doing Saturday.
As we were walking back to the car, my arms occupied with a rather nice-looking paper bag about half full of baked goods, I sighed. "We're not investing, are we?"
"No, dear. I'd like to hear your reasoning for coming to that conclusion, however."
"Everything looks fine, except the window display. It gives off more of a cafe feel, though. They'd do a lot better just replacing that with some tables and serving coffee or something to go with everything else." Gram nodded along. "And that girl should be in school. Helping out at the store is fine, she seems like a great employee, but it feels like they can't hire anyone to cover school hours."
"The business is going to collapse around him, and there is little we could do to prevent it." She agreed.
"Still wish we could do more." I muttered.
Gram snorted, feeling amused and affectionate. "If wishes were fishes... our time and energy is best spent aiding those who can save themselves, instead of projects we'd need to manage directly."
Something tickled in the back of my mind, and I wondered where I'd heard something like that before. After a moment, I gave a tiny shrug and shook myself from my musing. "I suppose."
We took the car to a fancy deli, where Gram got sandwiches for the three of us. I wasn't sure if this was normal for her, or if something I'd said earlier prompted her to include Carol. She still sat at a different table nearby, but she was getting an overpriced sandwich included for work. Don't get me wrong, the sandwich was good, but it still felt like more than it was worth.
In the end I still had more than enough time to drop off at home, change out of my suit, and head out to find a place to get changed into my costume before meeting Vicky. I sent her a text asking if she minded stashing my bag in her locker, or at her house, before we met up with the patrol. Her response said she didn't mind, and that her house might work better for secrecy and not needing to head back to the school to grab it when we were done. Satisfied with her reasoning, I told her where I was waiting, and she swung by to grab my bag and fly it back to her place, telling me to meet her at the PRT building for our patrol with the Wards.