Mary watched Bea think, watched the gears turn in the other woman’s head. It was absolutely fascinating. For Bea to even entertain what Mary was leading toward, for her to not think of calling the police- these things were profound. They spoke of someone who thought outside the box, Mary liked that. Grinning, she latched onto something Bea said,
“A sample of they’d blood? Now that ain’t somethin’ I’d expect to be asked for.” Mary leaned in and spoke in a low, sultry whisper, “What could you’s do with a lil’ blood bae?”
Bea considered for a moment, weighing her options. Thinking. She could be honest with Mary about creating a cure…
A cure. Up until a few days ago Beatrice had convinced herself it would be a pipe dream. Things like her didn’t get fixed. But after a month in Pittsburg and she was faced with the reality, she wasn’t the only one who needed fixing. Between bank robbers and psychos, metas were dangerous.
Beatrice looked at Mary, “Keep this discreet but…I’m working on a weapon. I need biological samples. That’s all I can say. If you cant get them to me-“
God help me.
“-I won’t ask how you got them. Just…don’t kill anyone.”
Beatrice fiddled with her mothers medal around her neck. This felt wrong- very wrong- but so very right. People like Marys bothers didn’t need to die. She wanted to live without hurting people.
Smiling still, Mary reached and sipped at her own coffee. She didn't react, at least not outwardly, to Bea's words. Not outside of a wink at 'Keep this discreet.' Mary was the pinnacle of 'discretion.'
“Don't kill 'em? Be discreet? Helpin' everybody now? What big and grand plans...” Mary's voice was low, quiet, and altogether devious. She slid her coffee mug out of the way and leaned in toward Bea's ear, whispering, “If those are the terms, you should come with me. I can keep you safe, promise~" And Mary wasn't lying, she really could keep Bea safe.
But more than that, Mary really wanted to see Bea's reaction to the 'darker' side of metas. Would to strengthen her resolve, or weaken it?
"What if there was a way to stop metas..." Beatrice said quietly. "I've been trying to find a way to neutralize their powers. But I need...samples." Bea made sure not to clarify if that neutralization was temporary or permanent. She didn't even know why she was saying such things to a woman she just met.
Beatrice was about to refuse the offer to come with when she paused. She would certainly slow the woman down, but...she was realizing more and more that she wanted to go with. She wanted to see these lowlife asshole gangsters crushed and punished. It was justice, wasn't it? Making sure they didn't hurt anyone else. Blood samples were just a bonus.
Bea might come to regret those words. They were all the acknowledgment that Mary needed to snatch Bea’s hand and pull her right out the door. Mary didn’t know if Bea had even paid or not- she didn’t care. They were going on an adventure- together.
The West-Side Redbloods weren’t a particularity large gang, but they were powerful. Their leader was a former Jackal by the name of Marius ‘Redblood’ Martinez. No relation to Mary, it was a common last name. They called him ‘Redblood’ because of a little quirk of his biology that caused his major blood vessels to run outside his skin instead of inside it. Of course, he could also whip his blood out like blades and throw it with almost the speed of bullets.
Naturally, having the ability to ‘shoot’ a man without a gun proved more than a useful skill among the drug smugglers and gun runners of west Pittsburgh. But additionally to that, Redblood could spread his blood out along his skin to soften the blows of weapons and bullets. Effectively, he made himself out to be one a man army. He could’ve taken over more of Pittsburgh too, if he wasn’t a narcissistic moron.
Standing outside of a ten story apartment block, Mary crossed her arms in the cold winter air. Mary probably should’ve dressed warmer than her sleeveless tee and jeans, but she didn’t. She didn’t look cold though, just, angry. Looking over at Bea, she lit a cigarette and asked,
“You’s want one?” Mary didn't wait for a response before adding, “Redblood and his bitches ain’t the nice type. Stay behind me, I’ll keep ya safe bae.”
Mary took her hand, and didn't let go. Beatrice didn't know where they were headed, but the experience felt reminiscent of the time she was kidnapped just two weeks prior. She didn't want to lump Mary in with them though.
Beatrice shook her head at the offer of a cig. It might have calmed her nerves, but she didn't know what her powers would do on any drug, including nicotine. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, a bit confused, "You want me to come inside with you, while you confront a gangster?"
Bea didn't know if she had quite signed up for that much. She had never claimed to be a brave, either.
Shaking her head, Mary continued, “You’s can leave if you’s want. I ain’t gonna force you’s to do anythin’. But-”
Mary took another long drag of her cigarette before tossing it to the ground and stomping it out.
”If’n you’s is gonna do what needs to be done, you’s needs to see how shitty these fuckers are.”
Without another word, Mary headed up to the double doors of the apartment block and pushed her way in. The lobby was empty and lit by a single flickering fluorescent bulb. Without skipping a beat, Mary headed for the stairwell in the back of the nearby hallway, bypassing the elevator. As she pulled open the heavy steel door, deep voices laughing could be heard echoing from above.
If Bea had kept following, Mary would hold open the door for her and add, ”After you’s~ But when we get up there, lemme do the talkin’.”
"Don't call me that. " Bea protested the nickname.
Beatrice didn't want to follow, but morbid curiosity, and cowardice, overtook her. She had the feeling Mary had...something up her sleeve. Powers. A gun? Something. And, after losing her brothers she wasn't the most mentally stable. Who knew what she would do if Bea backed out now. So Beatrice followed Mary through the door, meeting her eyes, before brushing past.
But Beatrice also wanted to know. She had tried to convince her the bank robbers and the Mustache Man had been outliers. That metas werent that bad...but if Mary wasnt lying, there were more of them out there- murderers and extortionists. Like she was. She couldn't promote this cure without evidence, or reason to.
She nodded at Mary's words. Bea didn't think she'd have much to say in this circumstance anyway.
There was an ugly sound that echoed through the stairwell as the pair walked up the concrete stairs. A crack, followed by one voice coughing and others laughing. Mary hummed something quietly as she walked, a strange little tune as they came closer and closer toward the voices.
”Whatcha think bout the new deal?”
”Ain’t no use arguin’ bout it. Rebdlood ain’t been the same since he manifested them powers. Jackals ain’t good enough for him anymore.”
CRACK!
A scream this time, someone begging.
”He’s got his eyes on joining Slate, and we ain’t got a say. I just hope we get more green man, I’m tired of this shitty buildin’.”
Mary finally rounded the corner to the two voices. Two men, each at least six feet tall, stopped to stare at the two women. One leered, the other looked apprehensive. Mary grinned wide and spoke,
“We’s here to see Redblood, think you’s boys could step aside?”
More confused than anything, the pair exchanged a look and stepped aside. Opening the steel door, the pair were shown to a hallway-
Or, what should’ve been a hallway. The walls had been ripped out of quite a few of the apartments, exposing nearly the whole floor as one large party room. Roughly seven men and four women milled about, watching tv, cutting drugs, or organizing weapons. One man, nearly seven feet tall and built like a refrigerator, stood beside two steel chairs. In one chair, a tied up man slumped over, blood pouring from his mouth and eyes. In the other, a tied woman sobbed softly.
”We’ll give him a minute to come to, until then-“
He turned, looking at Mary and Bea. His skin was covered in bulging red blood vessels, his hands dripped red, and his eyes were blood shot. A grin slid over his face, ”Now who are you two fuckmeats?”
Beatrice hadn't expected there to be so many people...much less two of them tied up and injured- or in the womans case, distressed. Her first instinct was to rush to the man to see if he was ok, but she tempered herself. It would be a fucking dumb move with the giant man behind them, probably the one called Redblood. It made her sick, seeing the truth of what Mary talked about. This asshole was hurting people, and with a tacky nickname no less.
Beatrice also resented his rude comment. Dressed in a thick sweater and slacks, she hardly looked like a hooker. Maybe it was the thick makeup?
She swept her eyes over the room, stiffening as she noticed the guns, drugs, and even more goons. It had been fucking stupid coming here, but if worse came to worse, she could always turn invisible. Bea took a breath, and like Mary instructed, waited for her to make the opening statements of whatever exchange this was gonna be. She prayed it was a parlay they would all walk away from, including Rebloods two victims.
With a flowing, mocking movement, Mary made a show of bowing before responding,
“Oh great and mighty Redblood, we’s come to ask of you’s a boon!” There was a wink and a giggle from Mary as the face of the bigger man twisted into surprise, “My dearest Bae here requires a lil’ bit of your precious blood. Mind slippin’ lil’ ol’ me a vial?"
There were a few seconds of complete silence, broken only by the heaving, quiet sobs of the woman behind Redblood. Then, with a booming laugh, Redblood roared, ”What the fuck is this? Did someone put you to fuckmeats up to this? You know what happens to people who fuck with me?” He strode over, clearing the distance in less than a half dozen steps. He bloody hand shot out, grabbing Mary’s hair and yanking hard to force her to look at him.
”I’m mother fuckin’ Redblood. I run the West Side, and soon I’m gonna run a whole lot more. So either ya’ll got a death wish, or you wanna get used and abused.”
Looking at Bea, he yanked around Mary’s head by her hair a bit more and asked, ”Well fuckmeat? Am I gettin’ fucked with? Or do you really want some of my blood?”
Something shifted in Beatrice. This was a business deal, and every man like Redblood wanted something. She understood that much, and if she wanted to save Mary, she'd have to be smart.
Beatrice didn't know why she was going to try to save Mary, she didn't know the girl. But she did know revenge. Anger. Mary wanted to get back at this motherfucker the way she wanted to kill Mustache Man. And she'd feel guilty if she let Mary die here without at least trying. Except, unlike the bank, she wasn't going to rely on her powers to do so.
"I'd appreciate it if you'd unhand my assosciate," Beatrice said coldly, keeping her face place placid, unbothered by the violent outburst. In her chest, her heart pounded. "If you hadn't noticed, she's a fucking moron...Although you should update your lexicon, Blood is becoming the new street slang for heroin. Red like poppies, and all that...so no, you're not getting fucked." She didn't bother to hide her irritation on the last syllable.
Bea stepped forward, wrinkling her nose at the couple tied to chairs. She could make this work. She managed idiots in boardrooms all day long. And she remembered what the gangster said at the door...it was a dangerous gamble.
"We're representatives of Slate. We were supposed to move a load of heroin last week but ended up getting jumped," Bea said, and gestured to her injured arm. "Got stabbed for my trouble. Any help finding the assholes that messed with us, would cause my superiors to look favorably on you...especially if it was one of your own that attacked us. You could have a traitor in your midst."
Bea stepped up and spoke with the confidence befitting someone far more intimidating than the frame of the woman she appeared to be. For a moment, Redblood seemed completely convinced as he released Mary. The skinny woman let out a little gasp of pain as she grinned through the tears streaming down her face. Not angry or scared tears, just the unbidden tears the body produced at pain.
Looking Bea up and down, Redblood grinned and flicked his hands down toward the floor. The blood on them wicked about before being replaced by more that flowed freely from open veins on his wrists. He pointed a meaty finger at Bea, shaking it as blood congealed and formed into a little sharp point at the end of his fingertip. ”You know,” he started saying with a chuckle, ”That’s almost believable! Almost. But I’ve met Obsidian, seen a few of the Slate boys and gals. Ain’t never seen you two around though. How about this- you prove to me you’re with Slate.”
Then, his smile disappeared, and Redblood sneered, “And I won’t kill you and fuck your corpse.”
Mary, walking around behind Bea and gently running her hands over Bea’s shoulders, whispered, “Do we get violent now?”
Bea froze, her face white, and the muscles in her neck tensing.
The blood. The way it shaped itself as it drained from his wrists. The lewd threats. Everything about it reminded her of him. Down to his boot between her shoulders and the taste of gravel in her mouth. When she was safe it was easier to ignore the pain, and feelings of helplessness. Here she had no such luxury, where a few deep breaths might get her through the moment. This fucker was exactly like the Mustache Man.
The large room filled with the scent of soft vanilla and sharp citrus.
Beatrice usually kept a firm control over her emotional state, but being reminded of her attacker, and seeing Mary in tears from the way Redblood had hurt her, she no longer felt scared.
She was fucking pissed.
And pissed wasn't an emotion she wore often. She met Redbloods gaze, but spoke to Mary, keeping herself from smiling. "Now we get violent."
And as if someone flicked the lightswitch off, Redbloods world would go black as Bea willed him to become blind.
It happened so fast, yet everyone moved in slow motion. Redblood waited for a second, blinking, before screaming, "I can't see! The bitch did something to my eyes! I can't see! I can't-!" His hands flung out in front of him as he screamed, swinging vaguely in Mary and Bea's direction.
Blood, sharp as needles and fast as bullets, spiraled off his fingers in all directions. Most flung and embedded themselves into nearby walls, a few hit some of the other gangsters in the room -eliciting screams from them as well- and a few came directly for Bea and Mary. At such a close range, moving out of the way should've been impossible. The blood bullets should've cut straight through the two women, killing them.
But they didn't.
Words, nasty to the ear and spoken with more voices that Mary had within her throat, slipped forth from the skinny woman, "Skut! Kuthaus maprog." and a shimmering shield manifested between Bea and the blood missiles. They mashed into the shimmer, some splattering, some shattering like glass, but not a drop would reach Bea.
However, the shield did not protect Mary. It had not been made to. The blood bullets ripped through the small woman, tearing flesh and ripping her body apart. Her shoulder had been blasted to the bone, and at least two had hit her in the gut. Doubling over, Mary started half coughing, half laughing as she looked over at Bea. While Redblood still screamed and flung about, Mary asked,
Beatrice froze, staring with wide eyes as bit of sharpened blood flew at her with the speed of a bullet. She was barely able to close her eyes before it would kill her.
But the blow never came. Beatrice cringed, opening her eyes, gasping as some form of energy shield had placed itself between her and Redbloods attack. She was amazed, and grateful, for the protection. Mary hadn't let her down. Beatrice turned to-
Mary.
Oh God no.
Beatrice flinched again, at the screams of the gangsters that had been hit, but pushed them from her mind, as well as any other enemies present. She threw caution to her own safety, and rushed to Mary, pressing her available hand against the bloody wound in Mary's gut, praying. Begging. She couldn't let Mary die here.
"We should go while we can- you need a hospital," Bea said, trying to stay composed, running through all the medical knowledge she remembered. She mostly needed to stop the bleeding- like Dr Walsh had done for her. Yes, she could get Mary to Dr. Walsh.
Bea came to Mary's side, wincing as Bea's hand came to the wound and pressed to stop the bleeding. Mary laughed again, a harsh, painful laugh. The kind that came out halfway as a coping mechanism and halfway as a chest wracking sob. Reaching out, Mary placed a hand against Bea's cheek. A soft caress for half a second, before Mary gripped Bea and pushed the other woman behind her.
Whipping around, Mary spread out her arms and fingers, shouting with a dozen voices, "Ghash vadok! Plasi! PLASI PLASI PLASI!" and with every word that came from her mouth, bright streaks of light sprung from her fingers. The light streaked across the room until it landed on a point that Mary had pointed to. Then, with the low roar of an explosion, the lights blossomed into a great flower of flame and destruction.
Mary could practically hear the roll of dice in the back of her head, D6s rolling over and over and over across a table. The shouts of her brothers echoed in her ears, their annoyance and jubilation as Mary's sorcerer character performed their signature 'move.'
Fireball.
Fireball.
Fireball.
She was protecting Bea with her body as best as she could, the pain from the screaming men and her own body flowing through her into power. The shield wasn't enough to protect Mary fully from the heat, but hopefully the combination of shield and body would be enough.
As the room sang with heat and Mary's exposed skin burned with the heat, Mary shouted, “I DIDN'T ASK HOW BIG THE ROOM WAS! I SAID! PLASI! I CAST FIREBALL! HAHAHAHA!”
Beatrice felt Mary's hand against her face. It was so different than Sam's touch. Much colder. Emptier. Still, Bea looked in to Marys eyes, but before she could speak, Mary roughly forced Bea behind her.
And the room engulfed in flames. Heat scorched Beatrice's exposed skin, and her eyes squeezed shut painfully, even with her sunglasses, from the intense brightness. She stayed close to Mary, gripping the other woman's shirt, not wanting to lose herself in such a hostile place.
Rationally, she knew Mary was the likely source of the shield. And fire. But that was odd, most metas didn't have contradicting abilities like that. It made no sense.
Why was Bea worried about that now? Right in the middle of a fire- literal fire- fight. Then a maniacal laugh echoed through the room, over the crackling flames and helpless screams.
Mary didn't seem to hear Bea at first. Her hands flew to the sides of her head, gripping herself as tears streamed down her singed face. She was saying something, repeating it over and over again.
"I can't- I can't hear it. It's quiet, it's finally so quiet, so quiet."
Then, suddenly, Mary jolted. Bea's hands on her shirt pulled her back to reality, and Bea's words processed in Mary's head. Looking around at the flames, Mary turned and attempted to help Bea stand. Her skin practically sang with beautiful pain and a thin layer of cold sweat had begun to form over Mary's forehead. These things helped keep her strong.
Pain is power. Mary's pain is power. Everyone else's pain is power. Mary's pain is power. Pain is power.
Looking into Bea's eyes, Mary smiled and told her in a small voice, barely audible over the crackling of flames and the screams of those engulfed in them
"Bea, bae, bae Bea bae, lovely little darling. I's never been better. Thank you. Let me help you's get outta here."
Even as Mary spoke those words, one of her knees buckled. She barely caught herself with a chuckle, avoiding spilling onto the ground.
Beatrice used her good arm to help Mary from falling to the ground completely, supporting her. She was stronger than she expected herself to be and kept Mary upright. "You need help...come on. We gotta get out of here." She took a few steps toward the exit, ignoring the chaos and flames behind her. A few simple thoughts kept her focused and in control. Panic would do them no good, and if there was one thing Beatrice was good at, it was staying composed.
Mary was hurt. Mary needed a doctor. They needed to leave.
"Keep moving, one foot in front of the other...you're gonna be okay," Beatrice encouraged her gently, guiding her toward the door.
