Mary stood outside the little university coffee shop staring at the little menu written in chalk on a sign beside the entrance. Little flowers had been drawn up and down the sides of the board in half a dozen pretty colors. Trailing along the flowers, a little smiling bee had been drawn buzzing along. In its trail, the words 'Bee Nice!' were drawn in yellow, waving cursive lines.
It made Mary sick.
But Mary also hadn't eaten in a while, that could've been it as well. After the 'incident,' Mary hadn't felt like doing too much of anything. The hallucinations had started last night and, knowing why she was seeing them, Mary forced herself to shower and dress this morning. If she didn't get out of that apartment, do something then she was going to send a blast of energy straight up through her jaw and into her skull.
She wouldn't disrespect her brother's memories like that. So here she was, dressed in her nicest black band tee shirt and a pair of ratty skinny jeans, getting bougie coffee at a university. Probably a sandwich too, she could eat. Walking inside, Mary was greeted with the smell of coffee and the sound of laughter from a handful of carefree college students. It was the infectious joy of people whose lives were a rollercoaster of emotions and hormones. A wonderful experience that would put a smile on the face of anyone who walked through that door.
Except Mary.
Mary promptly threw up, loudly and violently, in the entranceway. A mixture of foul-smelling acid and whatever crappy vodka Mary had drunk an hour ago.
Then, as the entire cafe fell silent, Mary flipped them 'the bird' and walked out.
Everything still ached. It had been nearly a week since it happened, and everything was still sore. It was the first time Beatrice had returned to campus, textbooks in her backpack, and ready to go to class, but it seemed...empty now. What point was there to a business degree and a stupid company?
So the obvious solution was caffine. Caffine fixed everything.
It was the one drug Beatrice allowed herself to consume since she had been drinking soda before her powers manifested. She ordered her frappacino, and waited, trying not to feel antsy. She knew half these people. She had been here a dozen times. The blonde man wasn't here. As she waited for her order to be called, a woman started to come into the shop, threw up, and left. There were a few groans of "ew" but something moved Beatrice.
She dodged the puddle of sick, hastily donned her sunglasses, and jogged after the woman, limping as she went,"Hey, are you ok?"
The woman, if she turned around, would find a tall young woman with jet black hair, black lipstick and a nosering. Bea had chosen a grey college sweatshirt instead of her usual bright clothes. Her left arm was in a sling, and a heavy dose of foundation concealed a rainbow of bruises. "If you're sick I know where the clinic is..."
Mary hadn't stumbled far along the sidewalk before a voice behind her made the vaguely Asian woman turn around. Looking her up and down as she offered help, Mary scowled. It was the wrong reaction to someone offering help, but Mary wasn't sure what the right reaction was.
Relaxing her face, Mary waved her hand in the air and spoke softly, "Ah, no, no I'm not a student here." It was a simple answer, and far easier than 'I don't have health insurance.' Because that kind of response wouldn't actually finish the conversation, most students didn't have health insurance. Mary thought college clinics must've been more like high school nurse offices, some old bitch throwing tylenol at a black eye and sending everyone home.
Her face twisted back into a scowl again as Mary looked over the other woman. Her arm was in a sling and her gait seemed off, a limp? Lot of foundation on her too, Mary noticed things like that. Growing up in the hood Mary wasn't unfamiliar with using foundation to cover up bruises. Though in Mary's case, the foundation was often to conceal fights she won.
Pulling a cigarette from her pocket, Mary lit it up and took a drag before asking, "Somebody hurt you's? I break kneecaps for cheap if'n you need some broken."
“Oh…” Beatrice realized the woman probably thought she looked like crap. “I was in a biking accident…bikes don’t have kneecaps. My fault really…”
It was also for the best this woman didn’t go running after a violent meta. She’d only end up dead.
Beatrice approached the woman, “You don’t look to much better, honestly. It doesn’t matter if you’re not a student, there’s a good public clinic a couple streets down and your obviously sick, or very hungover.”
Mary looked the other woman up and down when she said ‘biking accident.’ Thinking, ‘Yeah, a biking accident, sure. Next you’s gonna tell me it happened while you’s was fallin’ down the stairs.’ Before rubbing her eyes. Mary thought the other woman must think Mary looked like crap as she offered to take her to a clinic again. Tear stained face, skinny as a rail and still smelling of vomit, Mary wasn’t the picture of health.
Taking another drag of the cig, Mary sighed and responded, “I’m Mary, nice ta meetcha lil’ Miss Bea. I ain’t hungover, ain’t sick neither- well, I don’t think I’m sick. Just had a rough go of it the past few days…”
Looking out, Mary spotted another little bougie cafe sign a few streets down. Maybe it was the same direction as the clinic Bea mentioned? Maybe not. Either way, Mary still wanted coffee and couldn’t go back inside that other place. Looking at Bea, Mary asked, “I’m gettin’ coffee one way or another, wanna come with?”
Regardless of the answer, Mary would start walking.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mary,” Beatrice said, cringing internally at her tone. She was using her business voice. After catching up, she walked side by side with Mary, adding, “Coffee sounds good. It’ll be my treat- and it’s not like we can go back to the other one after you…vomited.”
Beatrice hefted her bag over her good shoulder, “So, uh…you’re not a student Do you work anywhere?”
Work was usually a safe conversation topic. Though, looking at the smoking, wreck of a woman, Beatrice had a hard time placing what employment she might have
Another drag of the cigarette and Mary coughed. Although all her brothers have- had a smoking habit, they hated that Mary picked it up as well. As a result, Mary had taken to smoking as quickly as possible so that she wouldn't get scolded by Markus. It was going to be a hard habit to break.
The other woman asked about what Mary did for work and, without skipping a beat, she responded, "I run guns and rob banks with my magical powers."
Mary waited a few seconds for a reaction, then laughed mirthlessly. There wasn't any happiness in her, not right now, but Mary was trying to force it anyway. Even if the laughter ended up sounding bitter. If she could just pretend to be ok then maybe she would be ok. That's how that worked, right?
Continuing her walk with Bea, Mary asked with a joyless smile, "What do you's do for work? Ya do be lookin' the student age, maybe a lil' the type too. But ya don't be lookin' the type to spend her days pinin' away for some boy, you's a worker. Am I right?"
Another drag of the cigarette and, tasting it run down close to the filter, Mary tossed it to the ground and stomped on the butt.
Beatrice blanched at the womans answer- guns and robbery. She didn't need any more of that after the incident at the bank. But the woman laughed. It was a hollow laugh, empty of anything bright. It was how Bea felt the past week. Maybe they had more in common than she expected.
"Oh yeah I don't..I don't do relationships," Beatrice answered. That was a whole issue in itself. As long as she could force people to see and hear things, there was no way anyone would be able to trust her. Or she could put another soul in a psych ward.
"I'm a business major," She said, adjusting her sling "I uh...actually own a company and all- technically. I just enrolled here to get some education and be normal for a bit."
Mary cocked an eyebrow at the mention of not 'doing relationships.' That usually meant one of two things, a recent breakup from a bad situation or a less recent breakup from a very bard relationship. Either way, Mary wasn't going to pry. It wasn't out of some deep respect for this acquaintance. Mary just wasn't emotionally stable enough for someone else's problems.
Nodding at what the young woman did for work, the Warlock popped a knuckle with a finger on the same hand and responded, "Oh really? You's pretty young ta' be ownin' you's own company an' all that. How'd ya get into the business- if you's don't mind me askin'."
A little prickle echoed in the back of Mary's mind. A really young woman, owns her own company- not 'business,' company, there was a difference- going to college to feel normal? She was rich, she had to be, but she looked too roughed up to be rich. It was a paradox and, at least for now, paradoxes could make Mary feel something.
Anything was better than emotional pain, after all.
She shrugged, walking alongside Mary, "It's my parents...I just sort of own it now. It's a pharmaceutical thing. I'm not that involved in it yet..."
Beatrice looked behind her suddenly, just to be sure her Doe wasn't following her. It wasn't often she mentioned her parents, and she didn't know why she was now. Maybe she was just more aware of their absence given recent events, but that didn't matter. She needed to be more careful. She didn't want to end up in another dumpster.
"What about you? What's got you drunk in the morning and looking like crap?" Beatrice was eager to change the conversation
Mary wasn't stupid, she noticed the quick glance Bea made over her shoulder. Was someone following her? No, at least not right now. Mary would've known, or perhaps Mary should've known? Or-
Mary looked back as well. Not noticing anyone, she shrugged and turned back to look forward while Bea asked her questions. The moment she turned back to what was in front of her, Mary caught herself so that she wouldn't run into a lamppost. Stepping to the side and avoiding a collision, Mary chuckled.
Looking sideways at Bea, Mary responded with a smile, "Ah, guess the news ain't hit the media yet. All my fam's dead. Yeah, watched most of 'em die in front of me, found the last- the last..." Mary stopped, the joyless smile on her face fading as her voice caught in her throat. It was a pang of emotion she wasn't expecting and, as a result, hadn't shoved it down deeply enough.
Shaking her head, Mary continued, "Hard life for us both it seems ya? Mine's just gonna get harder, but what'cha gonna do? It is what it is! Ha!" Then, stopping outside of the coffee shop, Mary opened the door for Bea.
Beatrice almost grabbed Mary to keep her from hitting the pole, but the woman seemed to stop herself in time. She was shocked when Mary told her about her family…and for a second Beatrice thought she was joking due to the casual nature of how she said it, but Bea was familiar enough with what it was like to lose family.
“I’m so sorry…I didn’t know,” Beatrice mumbled. No wonder Mary was hungover and looking like she was hit by…a truck. She shook her head. Focus. Don’t let your thoughts run away on you.
Mary opened the shop and Beatrice walked inside, taking in the smell of coffee. That would fix her. “You know if you insist you life will get harder, it usually does. You might be going through a lot right now but…just don’t make it worse on yourself…What do you want to drink, Coffee is on me.”
Mary waved her hand at Bea’s mumbling apology. She didn’t know and it wasn’t her fault, so Mary didn’t blame her or take any offense. It wasn’t like Bea killed Mary’s brothers or anything.
Stepping into the coffee shop with Bea, Mary breathed deeply of the smell of coffee. This was one of those coffee shops. Ethically sourced beans, whole grain vegan muffins, overpriced ‘local’ honeys and syrups on the counter, the whole nine yards of bougie. Mary smiled, this kind of thing would usually entertain her. But the smile was more out of habit than anything else, there was no joy in it.
Bea’s wisdom and offer were taken as Mary pointed out one of the coffees on the menu. Some lavender honey bullshit latte, looked like it’d be sweet at least, then moved to take a seat at a nearby table. Once Bea sat back down, Mary would reply properly, “Yeah, you’s probably right bae, but what else can you’s do when you’s dealin’ with metas. Power made vigilante criminals, all of ‘em. It’s not like the police care, or can even stop ‘em.”
“Metas…” Beatrice’s stomach flipped like a pancake. Of course she was one herself, but Mary didn’t need to know that. What caused her the discomfort was that it has been metas that had robbed the bank. A meta who had stabbed her and left her for dead…and metas now killed this woman’s family.
The initial anxiety slowly changed to a underlaying anger. Mary was right. The police couldn’t do anything against superpowers. Normal people were at the mercy of metas. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
Beatrice adjusted one of her hair clips, which was difficult with one hand, “Um…I get it. A meta killed my parents…and it was a meta who attacked me.”
She was treading into dangerous waters, “I’m gonna do what I can do these people can’t hurt anyone else.”
Mary listened quietly as Bea spoke. Reaching out, Mary set a gentle hand on Bea's when she mentioned her own parents were killed by metas. They were alike in their pain, though Mary imagined that they were different in that at least this woman didn't see things that weren't real. Hallucinations and manifestations of demons that only Mary could see? Those sorts of things no one could understand, surely.
Then, Bea mentioned doing what she could to prevent metas from hurting anyone else. A smile spread across Mary's face. It wasn't the nicest look on her face, but it was the first genuine look she had in a while. Turning her head to the side slightly, Mary asked, "Do what you's gotta do, right? I gotta wonder though, how far is you's willin' to go?"
At that, Mary pulled away and looked back toward the counter. She could hear the barista start working on her drink. There weren't too many other people in this particular coffee shop, the two women could have a fairly private conversation if they wanted to.
Beatrice didn't withdraw her hand. She considered Mary's question. How far was she willing to go? She knew she wanted to feel some measure of justice, or control, over what had happened. She wanted to stop the Mustache Man so he couldn't terrorize any other meta's. Or normal people.
"I'd do whatever I could to stop people like the ones that killed your family..."
Mary's smile didn't fade at Bea's response, but her eyes fell to the wood grain of the 'reclaimed driftwood' table they sat at. She tapped on it, listening to the sound it made. When she tapped and scraped her fingernails on it, it almost sounded like a cicada...
Mary snapped her head back up and asked, "Bae! I like's you's, you's got conviction. That's hard to find these days, ya know that? Real hard to find, or, well, haha, hard to find conviction that ain't based in killin' innocent people! Hah! That's, haha, that's not funny. But it's true. So how's 'bout this, I got's a job comin' up I need some extra help on. You's got any useful skills?"
Beatrice excused herself for a moment and retrieved their drinks with the help of a tray. She sat back down, and handed Mary her drink, enjoying a sip of her own as Mary continued to talk. A job? Skills? The kind of skills she had weren't meant to be used, it didn't matter if she had the conviction to use them. She'd never use them again if she could help it.
Beatrice pursed her black lips together and took another sip of her coffee, "I mean, my arm is useless right now so...What kind of job?"
Mary smiled. Bea was interested, despite her current predicament. Tapping her fingers on the table, Mary spoke with the sort of voice someone who regularly made ‘schemes’ instead of ‘plans.’
“Ever heard of the West side redbloods? Lil’ gang over in the west projects- sorry, ‘housing assistance program.’” Mary snorted a laugh, “They’s a gang, dealin’ in drugs’n’guns. That sorta thing. Lotsa gangs in the pitts, but this one’s special. They’s lead by a meta.”
Mary smiled and watched Bea’s face, looking for her reaction before continuing.
Bea listened intently, and thought for a moment. Her first instinct was too suggest calling the police, but she knew how that would sound. The cops could do very little about metas with the resources they had, and now another superpowered freak was throwing their weight around and makeing life hell for others-
Weeds...In a Garden.
Beatrice blinked, hating those words, and yet...how reasonable they were. She took another long sip of coffee, and exhaled. "I can't fight. I'm not...I'm not like that. I went to a rich private school and grew up in a nice part of Brooklyn. I'm not sure I can help in the way you want but..."
An idea that Bea had been toying with for the past few days was slowly becoming possible. An opportunity. "I have...resources. If you know this meta well enough, and can stop them somehow...I might be able to help if you can get me a sample of their blood."
