Valiant

[Valiant #38: Tic Toc (Timestop)]

Log Date: 12/22/12764

Data Sources: Feroce Acceso, Kiwi

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Hale’ohe: Aquarius Regilis Estate

9:11am SGT

“The others are getting breakfast right now. Honestly, I’m just a little… I don’t know.” I say, looking up at the walls of the conference room I’m in. “I mean, this place is pretty okay, but the amount of staff that’s needed to run it… cooks, servants, groundskeeping staff, a butler… it just seems like it’s a lot of money, Legaci.”

“Money that could be going towards other things? Yeah, I know. I felt the same way when I was looking over the Valiant’s finance sheet.” Legaci’s hologram says from the head of the table, where she’s been projected by the room’s holoarrays.

“How big is the drain?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s not something you’ll see on the finance sheet. Drill considers it a ‘personal’ expense, a private residence, so it doesn’t go on our books. And since he’s paying the lease on it out of his own fortune…”

“A fortune that doesn’t belong to him.” I mutter.

“Because it was made off of selling the stories of people that are dead and gone, or that can’t speak up for themselves, yes, I know.” Legaci says. “I’m not gonna get into it. I know how thorny a topic that is and I’ve got too much on my hands to be picking fights over who the funding money really belongs to.”

“There’s no discussion there; the money doesn’t belong to him.” I grumble. “He isn’t even here most of the time, and it’s not like we use this place all that often. We shouldn’t be leasing a luxe estate that sits empty for ninety-five percent of the year. Do you realize how many staff we could add to the Valiant’s roster with that kind of money?”

“I’m the angelnet, Songbird. Of course I know. As far as usage, Drill says that it’s a location we can use to host high-value guests and potential donors, like the funding conference that’s supposed to be happening today. You know how the obscenely rich like to be treated. Razzle and dazzle ‘em, away from the public eye and far removed from any whiff of poverty or hard work.”

“Don’t remind me.” I huff. “Why can’t we just have the funding conference at Sunthorn? It’s more secure, the donors would actually be able to get a look at what they’re donating to, and it doesn’t cost us anything but the price of flying the donors to the location.”

“Drill says he doesn’t want to expose the donors to the Bastion until we’ve got more personnel to fill the place up. At the moment the place looks like a ghost town because we still have a small workforce, and he doesn’t want donors to get the impression that we don’t have enough staff to run the Bastion, or go on multiple missions, or something like that.” Legaci explains. “It’s image management stuff.”

“Well, I think it’s a waste of money and we should just be doing the funding conference at Sunthorn.” I mutter. “How’s the rest of the galaxy looking? Any big threats on the horizon? Anything we can or should respond to?”

“Well, there’s Mokasha, but that’s been bubbling in the background for months now. The COS doesn’t want to give up on the system, even though support for staying in the system is waning, at least where the other major nations are concerned. We’re long past the point where any Mokashans could be saved from assimilation, so most of the Colloquium doesn’t see the point in staying and fighting for it.” Legaci says, her head turning as if she was reading off a screen to the side. “Nothing we can do there, and I’m pretty sure the COS doesn’t want us horning in on that and telling them to give up and go home. Outside of that, I’ve got a whole laundry list of minor conflicts and crises across the frontier worlds, the ones that are way out on the edges of their nations’ borders, and don’t get as much micromanagement from the central governing body of the nations they belong to. Pretty standard stuff, the sort of brushfires that spring up and get stamped out pretty regularly. Mmm… I caught some whispers on the dark ‘net the other day about the Gang of Four Ravens.”

I squint a little at that. “The what?”

“Crime barons that oversee the arcane black market. Rumor on the forums is that one of them got zeroed out, along with a good chunk of his top staff. Interesting stuff, hasn’t been fully confirmed, and if it’s true, no one’s ‘fessed up to it yet. Nothing we need to worry about, but if it turns out to be true, I’d like to know who knocked him off. Might be someone worth recruiting.”

“That’s assuming he didn’t get knocked off by a competitor. Most often, the biggest danger to crime barons isn’t the law or security forces. It’s an ambitious underling, or the baron’s market rivals.” I point out. “Keep an eye on it. If it does turn out to be someone that’s recruitable, we can put them on our list of people to track down and talk to. Anything else?”

“Not really. Things have been quiet recently. That’s usually the case leading into the holidays; Krysmis is coming up in a few days, and then new year celebrations after that.” Legaci says, swiping a hand through an unseen screen. “There’s the usual stuff… terrorist attacks here and there, border skirmishes in distant disputed areas, protests against some planetary dictator or another. Typical news cycles reporting on all that stuff. But nothing that would shift the current dynamics in the galaxy. Once you all are off that current series of missions, we can probably send some of you to handle some of these smaller affairs. Foil an assassination plot, disrupt a terrorist attack, break up a trafficking ring, the sort of thing that CURSE rarely does because they don’t intercede until they’re asked to.”

I snort at that. “And probably piss off some local governments while we’re at it.”

Legaci shrugs. “Only a fool complains about competent help. I wouldn’t be sending you guys to take care of something that was already being taken care of by local law and security forces. Our policy is that we only intervene where we’re needed.”

I tilt my head at that. “And how would you know if the local enforcement wasn’t aware of a pending crisis? Do you have visibility into that sort of stuff?”

Legaci grins. “Ohoho, Songbird. You have no idea. I’ve had so many new toys to play with ever since I got fifth-level access. I’ve got eyes in the cyber infrastructure of every major nation in Myrrdicato, and eyes in most of the smaller ones.” She reaches up, touching another screen out of view. “Some of the pathways have atrophied over the years since the Challengers were shuttered, and are dead ends now — to be expected as various departments and agencies patch holes and security gaps in their systems. But most of those pathways are still active, and I’ve been working on finding new access points into the cyber ecosystems where access has decayed due to overhauls and security patches. Trust me, whenever there’s an impending crisis, I will know whether or not the local government is aware of it. I’ll only be lining up missions where our help has been asked, or where the local government is unaware or unable to stop a crisis.”

“Fair enough. I’ll trust you to it, then.” I say, checking my phone. “I should probably go check in with the others. If our last mission was any indication, Drill’s gonna want to parade me or Jetfire or someone else around in front of the donors that are supposed to be showing for this conference. I’ll need to figure out if he just wants us to stand there and look pretty, or if he’s got a script for any of us.”

“Good luck with that. Personally, I’d be tempted to hack their accounts and drain every last credit out of their coffers, but that’s probably why Drill hasn’t asked me to attend.”

I chuckle at that. “Trust me, I’m right there with you. Ain’t no sense in a person having that much money, no matter what their job is. But hey, what do I know. I’m just a poor boy from the beach.” Lifting a hand, I give her a quick, lazy salute. “See you later, Legaci.”

“See you later, Songbird. Don’t have too much fun out there.”

Event Log: Kiwi

Hale’ohe: Aquarius Regilis Estate

12:54pm SGT

“I just can’t imagine having that much money.” Tarocco remarks as I complete another curl-up. “It’s not even that I wouldn’t want to be a quintillionaire. I just have no idea what I would do with all those credits.”

“It’s literally… more money… than you could spend in a lifetime… even if you were… dropping hundreds of thousands… of credits a day.” I grunt in between curls, touching my elbow to my opposite knee each time.

“That’s the part that’s just wild to me, because most normal people make less than half a hundred thousand credits in a year.” Tarocco says, shifting her knees to keep the tips of my boots pinned down while I do my curls. “You could throw away the equivalent of a person’s yearly salary every single day for a hundred years and still not spend even a fraction of the money that a trillionaire or a quadrillionaire or a quintillionaire has. That’s just insane. What could you even buy every day that costs a hundred thousand credits?”

I snort at that. “You’re askin’ me… that question… like I’ve ever had… more than three hundred credits in my checking account.”

“A personal starship, maybe? Those are expensive…” Tarocco muses. “With money like that, you could buy a small moon, or an asteroid. Purchases that are usually reserved for governments or nations. Imagine having your own moon.”

“Anyone… that’s rich enough… to turn a celestial body… into their private property… is too damn rich.” I huff, lying flat on my back as I finish my set. “I’m not always a fan of our government, but at least Masklings have reasonable tax rates for the rich.”

“That’s another thing. Do we know where these moneybags are from?” Tarocco says, taking her knees off my boots. “I haven’t seen a list of names or anything.”

“They’re anonymous. Drill said the guest list for the last funding conference was leaked, and the donors got harassed and called out once the list made the rounds online.” I say, taking a moment to catch my breath. “It resulted in some of those donors withdrawing their commitments after the fact. This time, they’re keeping the guest list on lockdown, and only core personnel will be part of the pitch meeting. Being associated with the Valiant is a sensitive topic, what with all the CURSE propaganda, and some of the donors are scared their reputations will take a hit if they’re caught donating to us.”

“Pity. I know we’ve been making inroads with the other big players in the galaxy. Nations and whatnot.” Tarocco says. “But I guess gigacorps are different. Different set of priorities and all that.”

“ ‘Maximizing shareholder value’ isn’t a priority, it’s the product of a sick mind that’s lost all touch with reality.” I say, rolling over on the mat so I can start on a set of push-ups. “I’ll never understand people like that. The self-absorption needed for that kind of greed is just sickening.”

Tarocco scoffs at that. “Oh, like you have any room to talk about being self-absorbed.”

“My self-absorption… doesn’t keep other people… in poverty.” I say as I start on my push-ups.

“No, it just puts other people in danger when you bite off more than you can chew.” Tarocco says, pushing herself to her feet and wandering around the exercise room to check out some of the equipment. “You have been a little bit better about being self-centered ever since you tangled with Songbird. Might even say he’s a good influence on you.”

“He’s too sweet… for his own good.” I grunt. “Wish they’d stop… throwing him in front of… the cameras. Hates it… when they do that.”

“He’s the face of the Valiant, along with Jackrabbit. Dunno what he was expecting.” Tarocco remarks. “They’re gonna be using him for events, announcements, promotions, press conferences… the list goes on and on.”

“Yeah but… most of the galaxy hates him… because of the Nova thing.” I point out. “They should… use Jackrabbit instead… she’s less polarizing… and we won’t catch shit… for Songbird’s past.”

“Kiwi, it doesn’t matter how many announcements or press conferences we have Jackrabbit do.” Tarocco says, rolling her eyes. “You can’t change the fact that most of the attention that the Valiant get is because the galaxy’s most notorious Challenger is at the heart of the organization. Why do you think Drill’s been trying to do so much image rehab for Songbird? It’s because he knows the spotlight’s never gonna come off him. And if that’s the case, you might as well try to clean up his image and make the most of it.”

“Well… he never asked for… the attention.” I grunt, working on keeping my back straight on each push-up.

“Yeah, well, he’s got it. Whether he likes it or not.” Tarocco says, folding her arms. “So he needs to get used to the idea of being in the public eye. And you can’t be coddling him and trying to shield him from that.”

I stop and give her an indignant look. “I’m not trying to coddle him! Or shield him from anything!”

Tarocco raises her eyebrows and pops her hip to one side. “Really? Because from the way you chewed out Jetfire, it seemed like you were really rocking the protective girlfriend vibe.”

I wrinkle my nose at that. “This is ridiculous. I don’t have to sit and take this from you.” I grumble, resting my knees on the mat and sitting up.

She must sense an opening, because she grins. “So you are coddling him! Does this mean you’re actually getting attached?”

I snatch my towel off the weights rack as I stand up. “No! I’m not… getting attached.” I say, furiously toweling off some of the sweat I’ve worked up.

“Yeah? So you don’t want to cozy up to him and snuggle him to death and give him little kisses and nuzzles and doze off in his lap?” Tarocco teases, leaning in a little.

“Ugh! No!” I say, snapping my towel at her, causing her to jump back with a giggle. “I’m a Mask Knight, not some ditzy schoolgirl, you punk!”

“Really? Sounds to me like you’re in luuuuuuvvv~”

“No shit, genius. I’ve been tangled with him for almost a year.”

“Yeah, but you were never this protective of your other handlers.”

“Because he’s better than my past handlers! He actually knows how to handle me!”

“Oh, does he, now?”

“Oh shut up, you know what I meant!”

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Hale’ohe: Aquarius Regilis Estate

4:40pm SGT

“There are seven guests within, all of them from major gigacorps.” Calcytris says as he tidies up my Agent uniform. “Drill is leading the pitch presentation, with an emphasis on showcasing the material outcomes of Valiant actions over the past year.”

“So things like the rescue on Mokasha, or the recovery of the Cradle for the Masklings.” I say, holding still while his mechanical claws tweak the cufflinks on my cuffs.

“Just the rescue on Mokasha. Perhaps reference your successful missions in the Halomorian System.” Calcytris recommends. “Drill wants to keep the Maskling angle to a minimum during this conference, as he is concerned that it may unsettle the donors. No offense intended.” he says, nodding to Kiwi.

She folds her arms. “Masklings can save lives and be heroes too, y’know.”

“Surely they can. But the Maskling Republic and its agents are better known for a different array of activities, and that reputation is not easily dispelled.” he says, straightening up and examining the both of us. “The chevron highlights on your uniforms are mismatched. Let us synchronize those so you two are matching — it will help strengthen the visual association between the two of you.”

I glance at my uniform’s highlights — blue in my case, and green in Kiwi’s. “What color should we change them to?” I ask, tapping the touchfabric portion of my sleeve.

“Pink.” Kiwi responds, grinning evilly as she does the same.

“Black and pink would be stylish, but perhaps not appropriate for the gravity of this meeting.” Calcytris says, folding his hands behind his back. “May I recommend Hex 3ed0be? It should be a nice, brighter bluish-green that seems like it would be a good compromise between your current highlight colors.”

Kiwi gives Calcytris a look. “What?”

“It’s a colorwheel hex code.” I explain, tapping my way over to the color settings on the sleeve of my uniform. “Each color on a colorwheel is assigned a hex code that’s a combination of letters and numbers, which makes for a very large number of possible hues and shades across the visible light spectrum. It’s typically used in professional and business settings — color swatches for paint companies, choosing specific colors for logo design, or by digital artists.”

“Ah. Well that would explain why you know about it.” Kiwi says, poking at her sleeve.

“Are you an artist, Songbird?” Calcytris says, turning his head towards me.

I shrug. “In my spare time. I’m not exactly the best, but I like honing skills other than the ones related to combat. 3ed0be, right?” I finish setting the color hex code for my uniform’s highlights, then turn to help Kiwi with hers. “So you’ll go to this setting right over here—”

“Oh, this big color wheel?”

“Not quite, it’ll be the tab with the sliders. Right there. Then you’ll enter the hex code in this field right under them, and… there you go.”

Kiwi checks her uniform’s highlights, and grins when she sees the color is matching mine. “Fancy that. You could use this to set colors for certain squads and units, or use it to set rank colors! All without having to print different uniforms for different ranks or squads. Fashionista might be a maniac, but he’s genius when it comes to clothes.”

“Something we can give some thought to once our Agent roster is a bit larger.” I say, turning my attention back to Calcytris. “Is there anything else we should know before we head in there?” I ask, nodding to the door of the conference room just past him.

“I don’t imagine I can offer much in the way or substance or advice, considering I have been the organization less than two weeks.” Calcytris says. “If I were to say anything, it would be to remind you that the donor serves the organization, not the other way around. Do not cede ground on what you consider to be the core principles of this project. The galaxy is full of donors; we can always get others. But there is only one Valiant.”

Kiwi mulls that over, then looks at me. “I like him. He’s cool.”

I smile at her. “I agree. He’s a quality addition to our roster.”

“I’m glad to know you think so.” Calcytris asys, turning to take hold of the doorknob. “Now if you two are ready, it’s your turn in the presentation.”

I square my shoulders. “Let’s do it.”

Calcytris opens the the heavy wooden door, and Kiwi moves ahead of me, stepping into the conference room before I do. Inside, Drill is standing at the head of the long table, with Valkyrie sitting in the chair closest to him, while the donors are sitting along the table, four on the far side and three on the side that Valkyrie’s on. Though most of them are human, I can spot a Cyber and a dwarf sitting in a couple of the chairs, indicating that we’ve got a mixed audience to pitch to. The holoarray has graphics projected above the table, a series of slides from a presentation, each one with talking point and little graphs and charts to go along with them.

“…which brings us to the all-important topic of asset development.” Drill says, turning and motioning to Kiwi and myself as we enter the room. “I’m sure all of you are familiar with Songbird, our most recognizable asset. With him, we have Kiwi, one of our newer and powerful assets. This pair operates as a team — not just on the battlefield, but in the arena of public opinion.”

I raise a hand and give a small wave as we come to a stop at the corner of the table near Valkyrie, who swivels her chair a little to face us. Based on her posture, she intends to give us our cues during our portion of the presentation. Looking beyond her, I can see that the donors all have their poker faces on — if any of them are uncomfortable or fearful, they aren’t showing it on the surface.

“Now, we are not here to litigate the past. We all understand that Songbird has a history, and nothing will ever change that.” Drill says, resting his knuckles on the table as he leans forward. “What the Valiant can attest to is Songbird’s commitment to the mission and the values of the organization. A better galaxy for everyone — and the defense and protection of those that do not have the resources or the means to defend themselves. That is why our media office has been hard at work, showcasing this side of him. Our public relations goal, at least where it pertains to this Agent, is to tell the story of Songbird — not just the single chapter from sixteen years ago that everyone already knows.”

“You may have seen the news reports from Kasvei, and the clips of Kiwi dragging him off the stage while declaring their relationship status.” Valkyrie says at this point. “Soundbites and short-form videos like that play exceedingly well on the galactic media landscape. Not only do they raise the profile of the Valiant and keep us in the public consciousness, but they help redefine Songbird’s image.” She reaches up, making a swiping motion, with the holoarray slides cycling forward. “As you can see on the next slide up here, clips of that moment that were disseminated on the galaxynet have exploded in popularity and gone viral within seventy-two hours. It did not take long for younger, online demographics to co-opt these clips, and start using them for humorous reinterpretations of their own ‘relationship goals’ or how women should take the initiative with their partners. These two have become an online meme, and that transformation has helped refocus the narrative around Songbird in the context of his relationship, rather than the Songbird Incident.”

Kiwi grins and elbows me. “Hey, looka that! People think we’re top-tier relationship goals!” she whispers.

“I’m not sure how I feel about that.” I murmur back to her.

“This has had the effect of helping sanitize Songbird’s image in the public consciousness.” Drill adds, taking back over at this point. “And this is just one example of the efforts we have been making to rehabilitate Songbird’s image so he can be an effective asset both on the battlefield, and in the public realm.”

“One thing I’d like to know.” one of the donors says — a man in a business suit and a blue tie, holding a stylus that he points up at the holographic slides. “Was this event choreographed? Did you orchestrate and execute this viral moment?”

“Oh, the part where I went out there and dragged him backstage?” Kiwi speaks up at this point. “No, that was spontaneous. I came back from the bathroom and found that Jetfire’s staff had pulled him onstage without warning, so I went back out there and retrieved him.”

The attention of the donors shifts from Drill and Valkyrie, and towards Kiwi. Based on how Valkyrie turns in her chair and stares daggers at Kiwi, “spontaneous” was very much not the impression that she and Drill wanted to convey for this presentation. I glance at Drill to see if he’s likewise perturbed, but I see only a brief flash of unreadable emotion on his face before he smoothly rolls on.

“And that’s something else that we have been making use of in our media efforts: capturing candid, honest moments.” he says, pushing off the table. “Candor resonates with the online audience right now, especially among the younger demographic. People find themselves disenchanted with the cold, sterile image that CURSE has cultivated for their public Peacekeepers and operative corps. People want honesty after the fall of the Challenger program, and CURSE’s tightly controlled media regime does not offer authenticity. In our service to the galactic public, the Valiant aim to connect to the common people, to the masses, to help show them that we are like them — and we are there for them.”

“That’s understandable, but you cannot erase the Songbird Incident. It cannot be done.” another one of the donors says. This one is an older woman in a sharply cut dress, wearing a set of half-rimmed glasses and a generally severe expression. “That incident is part of galactic history. Its effects are still felt on the galactic order today. A few cutesy thirty-second videos of his girlfriend dragging him around by the sleeve aren’t going to undo all the damage he did fifteen years ago.”

Though I keep my expression neutral, my temper shoots up a notch or two. Valkyrie answers before I can say anything, though. “We are not relying on short-form videos alone to rehabilitate his image. We have made a point of emphasizing his material contributions as well, such as the rescue of refugees on Mokasha. There is substance to go with the sweet tooth — we are taking a multipronged approach to…”

I blink as Valkyrie’s words start to grow hazy and distant, muffled as if I was hearing them through a layer of cotton padding. I don’t want to shake my head or try to clear my ears in front of the donors, but there’s a strange sensation creeping over me. At the other end of the conference room, one of the doors opens so one of the house staff can bring in refreshments, and at that point a blue haze starts seeping in at the edges of my vision.

My heart drops when I realize that my Spark is going active.

There’s danger somewhere, but I don’t know what it is or where to look for it. The world around me starts to slow down, words and sounds starting to get drawn out and sounding slurred, but I still don’t know what the threat is — until the donor at the end of the table on the right side suddenly has a stab wound in his chest.

Things keep slowing down even further, but they’re not slowing down fast enough. The donor next to him also develops an unexplained stab wound in his chest; the colors in the world around me start to drain away as everything slows even more, and it’s only as the third donor gets a stab wound in the chest that a blurry, fast-moving smudge starts to resolve into view. It comes into focus when it stops next to the chair of the fourth donor and shoves something into their chest, and the details become clearer as the knife comes out of the donor’s chest.

It’s a woman with short blonde hair, dressed in casual clothes and a jacket, bouncing on her toes a little as she makes her way around the head of the table to the donors on the other side.

“Mmm, tempting.” she says as she walks around behind Drill, tapping the tip of her knife against the back of his neck. She gives a glance to me and Kiwi as she walks by in front of us; I try to move, but I feel like I’m stuck in a vat of chilled molasses. “Also tempting, but orders are orders… still, nobody said I couldn’t touch up that pretty face.” She lifts her knife, grazing the tip along Kiwi’s cheek and leaving a line that hasn’t yet started bleeding, then turns towards the left side of the table and starts towards Valkyrie.

My temper flares up again, even hotter than before, and I no longer feel like I’m stuck in ice as I start moving towards her, slow at first but quickly gaining speed.

“Mmm. Tits. Always makes it so hard to get at the heart.” the blonde says, sizing up Valkyrie, and moving her knife around like she was trying to figure out good angle to shove it into her chest. “I don’t really wanna settle for a punctured lung, but with a rack like this, you really ain’t giving me much of a choice—”

She’s so caught up in her ruminations that she doesn’t notice me looming up behind her, so when I reach over and grab her wrist, it startles her badly. She lets out a little shriek, hunching down on instinct and twisting around, gasping when she sees me. In that instant, I can see she has mismatched eyes — her right eye has a blue iris, but the left iris looks like a golden-faced clock, and instead of a pupil at the center of it, she has black numbers dotted around its edges.

“You can timeskip?!” she gasps, the horror evident in her voice.

“You should’ve left my girlfriend alone.” I growl, baring my fangs at her.

She looks terrified, but blinks — and suddenly the world is back in color, time is moving at its normal pace, and the donors along the right side of the table are rocking in their chairs as they clutch at the sudden wounds in their chest. Valkyrie is midsentence, but abruptly cuts off when me and the timeskipper materialize in front of her, and she takes a sharp breath, leaning back when she sees the knife inches from her. I tighten my grip on the intruder’s wrist, squeezing and twisting; she grimaces, trying to resist, but eventually she’s forced to let go of the blade, dropping it on the table with a loud clatter as the shouting and screams in the room start up.

“I’ll only ask once: who sent you?” I rumble.

She grits her teeth, blinks again, and then she’s just gone — and I’m left holding empty air.

Pushing away from the table, I twist around to see that the door that Kiwi and I came through has been shoved wide open, giving me an idea of the route she took. “There’s a timeskipper in the mansion! Valkyrie, triage the donors! Drill, lock down the building! Kiwi, call triple zero, we’re going to need emergency services out here for the injured! I’m gonna go hunt her down!”

I don’t wait for confirmations; I immediately bolt for the door, the color bleeding out of the world around me as I go. When I see Calcytris frozen in place in the room we just came from, it’s a confirmation that I’ve ramped back up to timeskipping speed; I charge straight through the nearest open door I see, skidding into the hall beyond and seeing a flash of color turning the corner into the stairwell beyond. Sprinting in that direction, I arrive to the stairwell to see that the intruder is loping down the stairs to the first floor.

After the briefest second to judge the height, I plant a hand on the guardrail and jump over it, dropping three stories to land on the first floor right as the intruder comes off the stairs. I make sure to bend my knees into a crouch when I land; even so, absorbing that shock still hurts, and the only reason I don’t fall over is because I use a hand to steady myself against the ground. I use that same hand to push myself back upright as the intruder skids to a halt when she sees me blocking the way to the main hallway.

“Surrender. I am not going to be gentle if you make me run you down.” I order, snatching my ninjato hilts off my beltline and igniting them as I snap them to either side.

The intruder stares at me, then at one of my hilts. I realize after a second that something feels wrong; glancing at the hilt in my right hand, I see that the starglass blade hasn’t formed yet. I give it a little shake, but nothing happens; tilting it so I can look at it, I can see the beginnings of liquid starlight slowly, ever so slowly, starting to flow out of the hilt, moving like a particularly viscous tar. In that instant, I remember we’re both timeskipping — and even things that would happen in a single second may take a minute or more when we’re accelerated to this degree.

“Well shit.” I mutter, then look up just in time to catch a shoulder ram from the intruder.

It knocks me on my back, with the intruder staggering over me on her way to the main hall; I throw an arm out, blocking her ankle and tripping her up. It gives me enough time to hook my hilts back on my beltline, and roll over, pushing myself back to my feet as the intruder scrambles to get back up and keep running. Pelting after her, I snatch a plate off the tray of a servant she dodges around; winding up, I throw it at her, aiming to nail her in the back with it. It starts to lose color about halfway towards her, slowing down until it’s frozen in midair, and I find myself having to duck under my own projectile as I chase her towards the front doors.

Despite the setbacks, I’m able to close the gap and tackle her before she reaches the front doors, bringing both of us down on the rug. She immediately starts throwing elbows and kicking, trying to dislodge me, and though I’m able to block the hits from her thrashing, she manages to wriggle free. I quickly shove myself to my feet as she scrambles upright, and I’m about to lunge after her when she looks over her shoulder and blinks.

The world immediately snaps back into color as we decelerate to normal speed. I find myself tripping and stumbling over my starglass blades, which have finished igniting and are now hanging from my belt. I’ve barely regained my balance when I feel a ping at the back of my head, like a directional sense of danger, and twist around at speed, bringing up hand up to catch a ceramic plate just before it slams into my face — the same plate I’d thrown at her and then ran past while we were timeskipped.

I decide, in that moment, that I really do not like timeskippers.

Setting the plate down in the crook of a marble statue’s arm, I twist back around just in time to see the intruder shove the main doors open, and disappear into thin air. Snatching my starglass ninjato off my belt again, I lunge in that direction, the world losing color once more as I hurtle out onto the porch, casting around for her. I spot her pelting across the cultivated grounds, on a beeline towards the landing pad, and I take off after her in a dead run, knowing that she’s probably got an extraction team waiting for her. I start gaining on her again, and when she looks over her shoulder and sees me bearing down on her, she reaches into her jacket, pulling out an old-fashioned grenade. Pulling the pin, she drops it on the ground behind her, then looks over her shoulder and blinks.

The world snaps back into color, and I’m left charging towards a live grenade.

Rather than veering off course, I put on burst of speed, bringing one of my arms around for a swing. I lash out once I reach the grenade, whacking it with the flat of my ninjato like I’m playing a round of golf, and sending it flying straight for the landing pad and the skipper that’s starting to pull away from its landing spot. It explodes just before reaching the hull, and the skipper jukes sideways a few feet, shifted by either the explosion or a startled pilot. The shrapnel leaves the side of the skipper cratered and pocked with holes, but doesn’t bring it down — the intruder’s able to grab hold of the open door and pull herself in, and the thrusters flare as it starts to pick up speed and gain altitude.

“Oh no you don’t.” I snarl, running to the nearest skipper and leaping up on it, then jumping from there towards the extraction skipper. I grunt as I end up plastered against the curved windshield, and through the glass, I can see that Onslaught’s in the pilot chair, shouting something indistinct at me while the timeskipper fumbles with the strap, trying to get herself buckled in. Raising an arm, I slash at the windshield with one of my ninjato, leaving a long scrape along it — but I don’t have the leverage or the positioning to get a better hit in, and besides, it’s probably impact-resistant and rated to withstand the void of space, to say nothing of a sword.

Onslaught’s rejoinder is to twist the rotary thrusters in opposite directions, putting the skipper into a spin. I hang on for a few seconds, but on the windshield I don’t really have anything I can cling onto, and I quickly get flung off and sent flying. Slamming into one of the luxury skippers parked on the landing pad, I slide to the ground with the breath knocked out of me, and the blue haze starting to fade from the edges of my vision. I just lie there for a moment, blood starting to flow to the microfractures in my bones, and feeling the beginnings of the headache that always follows after I Spark off.

I roll over on my side once I have my bearings back, and look up to see that the skipper is already well out of reach, flying low and fast over the local foliage. It’s not long before it disappears from view; gritting my teeth, I push myself back to my feet, pick up my ninjato, and glance back to the mansion. I can’t help but remember my conversation with Legaci this morning, and the point I’d made about the Bastions being more secure.

Next time we have a funding conference, we’re going to have it at Sunthorn, whether Drill likes it or not. 

Encyclopedia Galactica

Timeskipper

A timeskipper is an individual that is able to experience time on a decelerated scale, usually through arcane means, but sometimes through technological avenues as well. The term derives from the fact that the individual appears to ‘skip’ through time — in one moment they are in one location, and in the next moment they are somewhere else entirely, engaged in an entirely different activity, or having completed any number of actions or tasks that would otherwise be impossible to accomplish in less than a second.

Despite the name, timeskippers do not manipulate the flow of spacetime in any measurable sense beyond the sense of perception. In the vast majority of cases, timeskippers are making use of acceleratory dilation; that is to say that they accelerate themselves to such a degree that they experience and perceive time differently than everyone else around them. When a timeskipper experiences acceleratory dilation, every second becomes a minute; every minute becomes an hour. The world seems to slow to a standstill, and time seems to expand; but in truth, the only thing that has changed is the speed at which the timeskipper is moving relative to everyone else around them.

For obvious reasons, timeskipping is an exceedingly versatile and dangerous skill; it has applications ranging from pickpocketing to defense to combat to assassination to espionage and more. This versatility comes at a cost; timeskipping is also an exceptionally difficult and demanding arcane discipline to learn. The complexity involved automatically places it out of reach of anyone that does not have a master’s degree in certain fields of study, and the physical costs that it exacts on the body makes it difficult for any timeskipper to maintain acceleratory dilation for more than a few seconds at a time. The rare few that are able to timeskip on demand are highly coveted by agencies and organizations that have a use for such skills, and are willing to pay for them at a rate that is commensurate with their rarity. The best timeskippers are usually snatched up by major nations or the most powerful gigacorps, while the less proficient timeskippers are often employed by smaller nations or companies further down the chain.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Hale’ohe: Aquarius Regilis Estate

10:50pm SGT

The room’s quiet when I push through the double doors of Drill’s subterranean man cave beneath the mansion. Despite being this late at night, there’s still some lingering police presence upstairs, with the local authorities treating the conference room and parts of the mansion as crime scenes. Dealing with the aftermath of the attack has been a complete mess, and it’s thrown everything we’ve had planned into complete disarray.

“Detectives finally got done interrogating me. Thought it was never gonna end.” I announce, making my way over to the u-shaped desk where Drill is sitting in his bathrobe, staring up at the dozens of screens in front of it. “I know they needed to take a statement, but they had me in there for hours. Must’ve asked me three hundred questions.”

“You get a chance to interview the most notorious person in the galaxy, you’re prolly gonna make the most of it.” Drill replies without looking away from the screens, most of which are playing footage from the mansion’s security cameras. “I figure they were nosy with everyone. That’s what detectives are paid to do.”

“What is there to be nosy about? CURSE sent a timeskipper to interrupt our conference and kill our donors.” I say as I arrive next to his chair, watching the screens.

“You and I know that. But the local authorities, and the rest of the galaxy, are going to need proof.” Drill says, tapping his steepled fingers together. “And we both know the moment we raise the accusation, CURSE is gonna deny it.”

“We have the recordings, though, right?” I say, motioning to the screens before us. “Evidence?”

“Of certain things, yes. That’s something I’ll be making copies of and handing over to the police.” Drill says. “But we don’t have the proof where it matters the most. Donors generally want to protect their privacy; they don’t like recordings at funding conferences and pitch meetings.”

I realize where Drill is going with this, and squeeze my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose. “…the cameras in the conference room were turned off.”

“Yup. That was one of the core guarantees that most of the donors demanded in exchange for attending.”

I blow out a long breath. “So we don’t have any footage of what happened in the conference room. That’s why the detectives were asking so many questions.”

“Yup. All they have for that part of their investigation is eyewitness accounts, so they’re speaking with everyone that was in the room to try and build a complete picture of what happened.” Drill says, reaching forward and tapping his keyboard. “I’m not sure if it would’ve made a difference. I compiled the footage that had you and the timeskipper in it. It’s really not much to go on, so maybe a recording of the conference room wouldn’t have made much of a difference.”

He points out the screen where the cut-together footage is playing, and I understand what he’s saying. On the few cameras that did catch the pursuit through the rest of the mansion, myself and the intruder suddenly appear, only stay on the camera for a few seconds at a time, then disappear, before suddenly reappearing on the feed from another camera. The most time we spend on screen is when we’re out on the mansion’s lawn, and only because there was no more need for timeskipping after the intruder escaped. If you don’t know that you’re watching a timeskipper, then this footage looks like a video game with two players that have a really bad connection, lagging in and out at random intervals.

“We’re not planning on releasing any of this footage to the public, are we?” I ask. “They wouldn’t be able to make heads or tail of this.”

“Gods, no.” Drill scoffs. “We release this to the public, the conspiracy nutters are gonna go wild. Won’t matter if we explain that it’s footage of a timeskipper fight; they’ll come up with their own explanations, or accuse us of doctoring the footage. No, we’re only going to give this to the authorities, and keep it for our own records. Maybe use it in court later if things head in that direction.”

“Court?” I repeat, glancing at him. “Do you think we’re gonna get sued or charged?”

“You never know, Songbird, and I’m not rulin’ it out.” Drill says. “Seems pretty obvious to me that you saved some lives in that conference room and kept things from ending up a lot worse than they would’ve been. But I’m not sure everyone else will see it that way, and people have been sued for far less before.”

“Well, here’s to hoping the donors will be reasonable, considering we saved their lives.” I mutter, then glancing down at Drill. “…we did save at least some of them, right?”

“Valkyrie did her best, but she’s just one person. Out of the four that were attacked, she was able to get three of them stabilized with help from the Masklings. One died before emergency services could get on site.” Drill says, swiveling his chair slightly to stare towards the massive glass wall that sits beneath the ocean’s waterline. “She accompanied all three to the hospital to provide her expertise on the way there. The emergency room doctors took over once they reached the hospital. With privacy laws and all that, we don’t know the status of the three that Valkyrie stabilized. We probably won’t know for another day or so.”

I purse my lips at that. “I suppose, after this little fiasco, we aren’t going to be getting any funding out of this batch of donors.”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Drill grunts, pushing out of his chair and sauntering over to the fridge to pull out a drink. “The organizations that sent them here are gonna be pissed off that this happened. The reps themselves are gonna be traumatized by the whole thing. It might end up scaring off other potential donors. No one will want to donate to an organization if it means they’ll be targeted for assassination. And that’s probably exactly what CURSE was goin’ for.”

That causes me to think back to earlier today, and some of the things I’d heard the intruder say before I started chasing her. “Is that why they did it?… so that’s why she skipped over us…”

“You havin’ an epiphany over there or something?” Drill says, glancing over his shoulder.

“In the conference room — when my Spark was ramping up, and I could see the timeskipper, but couldn’t move yet — she stabbed all the donors on the right side of the table, then came around the head of the table, where you, me, and Kiwi were.” I explain. “She was talking to herself while she was doing that, and she said something that made it sound like she wanted to kill us, but couldn’t because she’d been ordered not to. But she hadn’t been told she couldn’t rough us up a bit, and that’s why she marked up Kiwi’s face on her way past.”

“Did she now?” Drill says, twisting the cap off his beer. “Now that’s interesting. When you caught her, she was going for Valkyrie, though.”

“She was, but I think it was because Valkyrie was sitting at the table. The rest of us were standing.” I say, folding my arms as I mull it over. “She may have assumed that everyone sitting at the table were donors, Valkyrie included.”

Drill bobs his head a little. “Checks out, I suppose.” He lifts his beer towards me. “It’s a good thing you were able to step in and protect Valkyrie — you didn’t just save everyone on the left side of the table. Keeping Valkyrie safe means you probably saved a couple lives on the right side of the table as well. She wouldn’t have been able to triage anyone if there was a knife in her chest.”

“Oh yeah… I hadn’t really thought about that.” I say, furrowing my brow. “I suppose it was good I stopped it there, wasn’t it.”

“Damn straight.” he says, motioning back to the fridge. “You want anything to drink?”

I start to turn him down on reflex, but after the day I’ve had, I think I deserve a little treat. “You got any fizzwater?”

“Canned stuff, yeah. In the fridge. Higher shelves.” Drill says, throwing a thumb over his shoulder as he returns to his desk and leans back against it. “I won’t lie to you, Songbird; today’s been a real bitch. This is gonna set us back. But it would’ve been worse if you hadn’t been here; there’s absolutely no question about that.”

I’ve reached the fridge by this point, but I glance back at Drill. “Perhaps. But there were some things we could’ve done to make sure this didn’t happen at all.” I tug the door open, peering into the fridge. “Next time, we do this at Sunthorn, Drill. I know it’s not as fancy as a luxe mansion; I know you’re worried about what donors will think when they see our staffing. But it’s secure, and it’s defensible, and an unimpressed donor is better than a dead donor.”

Drill snorts. “I’d argue that there’s not much difference between a dead donor and a donor that doesn’t donate, but I see your point. This wouldn’t have happened if we held the conference at Sunthorn. I won’t deny that. And it’s probably a good idea to start having the important meetings there, where we know they will be secure. I’ll discuss it with Legaci, Kaiser, and Valkyrie once things have settled down.”

The omission of Sierra doesn’t escape my notice. “You’re not gonna involve Sierra in those talks?”

He gives me a flat look. “Do you seriously think Sierra wants to be part of that meeting or any other meeting on something as dry as secure conference locations?”

I pick out a can of blackberry pear fizzwater, and close the fridge. “I don’t think she’d want to, but isn’t that secondary to whether she needs to?”

“Look, Songbird, don’t get me wrong. Sierra has her uses.” Drill says, taking a swig of his beer. “Having her deal with administrative minutiae is not one of ‘em. She hasn’t got the patience or temperament for it. I think we’d all agree she’s more useful on the battlefield, and at batting her eyelashes at potential new contacts. And that’s where she likes to be, so I see no reason not to oblige her, and keep her out of stuff that she hates attending anyway.”

“Mm.” I say, cracking open the can. “Much as I hate to say it, Sierra is a lot more clever than she lets on. It’s true that she doesn’t like being in those meetings. Doesn’t mean that she shouldn’t be there, though.”

Drill doesn’t exactly look thrilled at that. “I’ll consider it. She has a tendency to make every meeting that she’s in harder than it needs to be. And seems to take delight in derailing important discussions.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with that. That said, having her in the loop is better than having her out of it.” I say, taking a sip from the can. “Anyhow, I don’t mean to drink and duck, but is there anything else we need to cover? I’m bushed, and I’ve got a lingering headache from Sparking off earlier today.”

Drill furrows his brow. “That gives you a headache?”

“Oh yeah. Every time, without fail.” I confirm without hesitation. “The longer you use it, the worse the headache. I’m gonna pop a couple of painkillers before I go to bed tonight; that usually sorts it out by the morning.”

“Interesting. I hadn’t realized.” he says, waving me off. “Go on, I’m sure you need your rest. Next few days are probably gonna be a pain in the ass, and we may as well be well-rested for it.”

“Much appreciated.” I say, nodding to him as I head to the doors. Taking another sip from my fizzwater, I slip back outside, and head back upstairs to the room where Kiwi and I are bunking in during our stay.

Event Log: Kiwi

Hale’ohe: Aquarius Regilis Estate

11:18pm SGT

“So it was some bish named Tic Toc Timestop?” I say, leaning towards the mirror in the bathroom as I poke at the partially-healed cut on my face. “That’s a stupid name.”

“The alliterative name is obviously the callsign that CURSE assigned her.” Forecast says from where I’ve got my phone on speaker, lying on the counter next to the sink. “We do not know her real name. But based on the description that Songbird provided, and the fact that Onslaught was the getaway pilot, our source within CURSE is pretty certain that the timeskipper at the mansion was Tic Toc.”

“Well, if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll put some lightyears between us and her.” I say,  grimacing as I touch the ends of the cut. “If she shows her face around me, I’m going to mess hers up the way she tried to mess mine up.”

“You should be thankful she only left you with a superficial injury and not something more serious. Timeskippers are nothing to be trifled with; she could’ve very easily killed you if she wanted to.”

“For all the good it would’ve done to kill a Maskling.” I mutter, tearing another sheet of toilet paper off the roll and using it to dab at the cut on my face where blood has started to bead on it again.

“Death may not have as much of a hold on us, but that does not mean it is not without a cost.” Forecast reminds me. “Tony, Legaci, and the other intelligence officers at Sunthorn have been digging up what they can on Tic Toc. What we are finding is rather surprising; she has a public presence, and CURSE uses her as a… I wouldn’t say she’s a spokesperson, but a mascot, perhaps.”

“What, like a library cat or a team dog or something?”

“More like a… cheerleader, in my estimation. She’s energetic, charismatic, cute. She features in a lot of CURSE’s promotional materials, but mostly to convey a certain type of vibe or mood. CURSE uses her to communicate the aspirational dimension of their organization — it doesn’t looks like they use her for representing the more serious dimensions, like policy and principles.”

I ball up the bloodied sheet of toilet paper, tossing it in the recycler. “They use an assassin as their company cheerleader? Doesn’t seem like the brightest public relations strategy to me.”

“I was thinking the same thing, but looking through the publicly available information on this Peacekeeper, it doesn’t look like she’s an assassin full-time.” Forecast says, faint clicking coming over the line as if he was scanning through a set of documents. “It looks like CURSE utilizes her for standard Peacekeeper activities. Busting crime rings, rescuing people, foiling assassination plots, so on and so forth. Things that they’re more than happy to publicize. If CURSE is regularly using her as an assassin, they’re building an alibi for her with the other assignments they send her on.”

“I suppose timeskippers do make good assassins, so long as they don’t get caught.” I say, washing my hands in the sink again. “When they’re timeskipped, they move too fast for most camera systems to catch them. If Songbird hadn’t been here, she probably would’ve been able to get in, kill all the donors, and get back out without any of us ever knowing who did it or how they did it.”

“In that light, it makes more sense why they sent her. I don’t think CURSE would’ve dispatched her on this assignment if they thought there was a high chance she would be caught and exposed.” Forecast says. “She’s one of their public assets; they wouldn’t have wanted to risk the reputational damage that comes with the accusation that their mascot is out and about killing civilian donors.”

“Well, they done goofed. Songbird caught her, and I figure the Valiant media office is going to use that information to spin this fiasco as much as they can.” I say, using my pinky to poke at the center of the cut along my cheek. In the room itself, I can hear the door open and close again; Feroce is probably back from his talk with Drill. “It’s prolly the only good we’re gonna get out of this; I figure the donors that were in that meeting aren’t going to want to touch Valiant with a ten-foot pole now.”

“If needed, I can see if the Republic is willing to fund the Valiant in lieu of private donors. More than we currently are, at any rate. I believe I could make a compelling case, given the aid they have rendered to the Masklings over the past year.”

“The Valiant aren’t dumb, Dad. The more funding the Republic gives them, the more strings are tied to them. It’s why they’ve declined taking more funding than what the Republic is already providing them.” I say as Songbird appears in the mirror, stepping into the bathroom behind me and noticing I’m poking at the cut on my face.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Kiwi — you need to stop messing with that.” he says, moving over and snagging my wrist. “It’s never gonna heal at that rate—”

“I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” I say, yanking my hand out of his grip and glaring at him. He raises his eyebrows, folding his arms and taking a step back.

“We’ll catch up later, Kiwi. I have a meeting with Kaiser and Tony in fifteen minutes so I need to prepare for that.” Forecast says, the call ending a few seconds later. Perhaps he sensed there was a little friction and didn’t want to be in the middle of it.

“So, are you going to take care of it?” Songbird says, his arms still folded as I turn around to face him. “You didn’t strike me as the type to practice recuperative magic.”

“It’s just a cut; it’ll be fine.” I say, making a show of shaking my wristmarks to life and starting to pick through the runes, hoping he’ll head off with that. But he doesn’t, just standing there and watching as I scroll through my runes, and I realize, with some irritation, that he knows me well enough to call my bluff. After a few more seconds of scrolling, I scowl at him. “What, are you hoping for a show or something?”

He just stares. “Less talk, more healing.”

I purse my lips, going back to poking at my runes, then fold a few seconds later. “…fine. I can’t really do healing magic. Not really trained for it. You happy now?”

“Not really.” he says, arms still folded. “Are you going to let me help you, or are you gonna swat me again?”

I start chewing up a comeback to spit at him, but I know picking a fight doesn’t help anyone here, least of all me. “Fine.” I mutter, folding my arms and letting my runemarks fade.

He pulls out his phone, unlocking the screen and opening up his music app. I watch as he sets it on the counter, and can see he’s gone to his lo-fi playlist, putting it on shuffle as he turns up the volume a few notches. The calm, low-energy music starts playing the bathroom as his eyes change, the sclera turning black and the iris turning a luminescent blue, and he steps forward, rubbing his hands together before pulling them apart with a thin, ripply bubble of blue between them.

“So you can actually use music to heal people?” I ask, grudgingly curious.

“Sonic sorcery can do almost anything. It’s just a matter of finding the right song that produces the right feeling, which you can then harness to produce an effect.” he says, shaping the bubble, twisting and rolling it out, then flattening it. “If you’re wondering if I’ve used music to heal people before, the answer is yes. Mostly minor injuries. I wouldn’t be confident using it for major injuries unless I was feeling particularly inspired by whatever I was listening to at the time.”

I hold still as he applies the thin webbing of blue light to my cheek, his thumb steadily pressing it along the cut, all the way to the end. I can feel a cool tingling there; it’s not unpleasant, but it’s not particularly comfortable either. It’s not until he’s started to form a second bubble that I speak again. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just frustrated with myself.”

He glances up at me as he rolls and shapes the next bubble. “Well, that makes me feel a little bit better.” he says. “Is it something you want to talk about?”

“I just felt… useless today.” I mumble, leaning back against the bathroom counter. “We got attacked by an assassin and I couldn’t do jack shit. I couldn’t even defend myself.” I motion to the cut on my face. “If I’d gotten this from a fight, fair and square, then I wouldn’t have minded it so much. But she just walked by and marked me up while I couldn’t do anything, and that just… it made me so angry. The feeling of being helpless. Knowing that I couldn’t have stopped her even if I wanted to.”

“And it’s been bothering you ever since.” he says, pinching the next bubble flat.

“Yeah. And I was resentful of you, a little.” I keep mumbling. “You actually got to do something. Fight back. And I wish I would’ve had something that would’ve let me do that. It’s not your fault, but I just don’t like being in situations where I can’t do anything. Can’t contribute anything. I hate feeling useless, and that’s what I felt like today.”

“You and everyone else that can’t timeskip.” he says, applying the next layer of webbing to my cut. “And you weren’t useless. You helped Valkyrie with triage, which helped keep some of the donors alive. It may not seem like much, but that’s important. Operating in a support capacity is just as important as being a frontliner or a fighter.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” I mutter.

Songbird’s hands shift to cup my face, turning it towards him. “No. I’m saying it because it’s true. I’m saying that as someone that used to work support, and knew their job was important, but wished that someone would actually say it, would actually tell me it was important. Not everyone can be out there fighting and holding the line. There are people that have to treat the injuries, or back up the fighters, or resupply the front line. Those things are important. Without support, the rest of the unit falls apart. You were not useless today. You did something. You made a difference. It’s just not the kind of difference you’re used to making, but it still matters.”

He says it with such conviction, such certainty, that I can’t pull my eyes away from him. The way he looks at me — black eyes, blue irises, full of determination — is beyond mesmerizing. I can tell he’s saying it it because he believes it, and not just to make me feel better. I can feel it in the way he holds my face, and how he stares at me.

I bite my lip, then slowly lean forward, wrapping my arms around him as I rest my forehead against his shoulder. “Thank you.” I say quietly.

He folds his arms around me as he lets go of my face. “Just tellin’ the truth.” he says, pressing a small kiss to the side of my head. “And I’ve got something else you can help with, if you still want to feel useful. You remember last time we were here? Out in the statue garden, when you helped my headache go away?”

“I do, yeah.” I murmur. Even if it was just a year, that memory feels like it was so long ago. And when I realize what he’s about to ask, I lift my head, glancing at him. “Oh, that’s right, you Sparked off today… and your head still hurts, even all these hours later?”

“It’s a lingering headache. It’s not severe, it’s just… it’s been wearing me down all evening.” he says picking up his phone and turning off the music, his eyes returning to their normal colors. “Could you…?”

“Absolutely.” I say, giving him a quick kiss before taking his hand. “I’m not really good with healing magic, but a headache…” I smile over my shoulder as I lead him back out into the bedroom.

“…that’s something I can fix.”