Testing, Testing, 1, 2, 3

Lark’s grasp could only charitably have been called a handshake. Their hand darted out, made as little contact as possible, applied just enough force to move Fate’s hand in a vaguely downward direction, and then retreated, slinking back to brush against their skirt. They rubbed their hand, as though Fate may have been coated in a toxic substance that needed to be removed as quickly as possible before it burned them.

Fair enough. She’d burned them before. If Fate took offense to this reaction, she didn’t show it. She simply grabbed her can of Monster, took a sip, and watched Lark make their decision. She watched them with blatant interest in her eyes, drifting along the cards as though she could see what each one held. When they finally drew their card, Fate was already almost leaning over the table to see what they’d drawn. In her eagerness, she nearly missed their question.

The spokes and beasts that greeted her caused Fate’s eyes to flick back up to Lark’s, searching for something, anything, any sign of understanding of the card’s meaning or significance. But alas, there was nothing to be found. Nothing but wariness, a bored mask, and someone who wanted to be angry but was just too damn tired.

“Oh, simple. I cut you off.”
Another flicker of red power as the cards shifted away from them, forming two neat stacks off to the side in the air. After all, it would be rude to have them floating in her guest’s face! The Wheel of Fortune remained separated, floating out of Lark’s grasp and into the air, hovering gently near Fate, slowly spinning. The card had an odd depth to it, almost lenticular, as if the card itself was a window into something else.

“The High Priestess, when reversed, is all about isolation from your peers, a disconnect from yourself. And, well, when you are your peers, that tends to make things a little messier.”
All this was said with the intensity and eagerness of someone who had been waiting ever so patiently to explain how they’d solved a problem.

“Simply put, you’re it. You’ll never see any versions of your younger self, and they’ll never see you. No more time travel for Lark.”
An oddly chipper note to end on, a sweet smile with a head tilt. She was enjoying this. With a movement of her hand, the Wheel of Fortune shifted so it was perpendicular to the table, slamming down into the wood as Fate dropped her hand. The card evaporated, the design burning itself into the wood with a sickly sweet smell on her right, their left. Fate’s gaze lingered on it for a few moments before returning to Lark’s, peeking out from behind the line of tarot cards that moved back in to take their place.

“Your turn.”
 
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Himiko didn’t fail to notice that the receptionist needed to look twice at Masami’s ID, while hers simply needed a single glance. No doubt because she actually looked the part of someone who belonged in DDC, whereas Masami should be dozing in the back of a classroom somewhere. She beamed at the receptionist as she stood and led them down the hallway to their training room.

"Thank you!" Himiko bubbled, eagerly stepping inside the training room, only slightly annoyed that she had to go after Masami. “I will, if you don’t mind.”

Himiko untucked the prism necklace from her shirt and brought it to her lips before letting it fall back down. Small splashes of rainbow clung to her lips and fingertips, spreading out from where the necklace fell against her chest. She ran her hands up over her face, bright blue skin trailing in their wake. They ran through her hair, shortening it and filling it with color before flicking the rest out.

“Iris.” she introduced herself with a little bow, basking in the glow of her transformation. She didn’t have the wings out yet, those would come later.

“Go ahead,” Iris gestured towards Masami. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
 

Janis was mortified. She felt a flush creep into her cheeks as her wife’s familiar made a giant robotic heart and blew her a kiss. Fortunately she didn’t have a ton of time to be embarrassed as the Circle was cast, the swirling fog of the Nightmare solidifying into a thick sludge that coalesced further into gross shapes. She registered the Salamanders and winced as the piercing crow of the Cockatrice reached her ears.

The others were already springing into action, and Janis wasn’t going to let herself be caught gawking. She pressed a few buttons on her console and grinned to herself as music started filtering in through some speakers she’d put up. They weren’t exactly regulation, but if they thought she’d be able to kick Nightmare ass without something playing, they were sorely mistaken.

As she felt the drums and guitar fill the space, a grin crept on Janis’s face as she pushed Medusa forward. Aphrodite and Brig appeared to be handling the Salamanders, with her wife providing backup. That was good, as long as Meena was safe things would be a lot easier.

“I’ve got the other leg!” Medusa surged forward, skirting the edge of the fight before abruptly shifting focus, darting in to mirror Echo, slashing at the Cockatrice’s other ankle. Any of her hair snakes that got in range lashed out too, intent on making this thing sluggish and slow. They’d show this fucking overgrown chicken not to mess with them.
 


“Hey.” Mari replied, eyes still moving smoothly across the pages, absorbed in the adventures of Jack and Annie. She knew it was Spork, since anyone else would probably have insulted her in the same breath as their greeting.

Mari didn’t respond, even when they tapped their cane against her sneaker. She considered ignoring them completely, but knew that would make any reading during the rest of the free time impossible. So Mari instead finished her page, made a mental note of which one it was, then set down the library’s copy of Winter of the Ice Wizard before finally looking up at Spork.

That wasn’t right. Spork was supposed to be all smiley and loose, not super serious and talking to her in hushed whispers. They were never quiet.

“I mean, kinda.” Mari shrugged her shoulders. “Gary ripped Summer of the Sea Serpent last week, so Mom had to pay for a new copy.” She glanced at the doorway behind Spork, one hand on her book in case Gary decided to continue his bloody rampage.

“Why?” Why the sudden interest? It wasn’t like they’d cared much about her before. They had their arranged playdates and dinners and ignored each other at school. Why would they reach out now?

 
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On a quiet street in downtown Pittsburgh, deep in the heart of the shopping district, there lies an unassuming store. Above the doors to the store, as with all of the other shops around it, there is a sign. “Dual Flame Outfitters,” the sign proclaims, clarifying in smaller text, “Handcrafted Weapons & Apparel.” As if to emphasize this point, a smaller sign hangs down beneath it, depicting a sewing needle and a hammer crossed in front of a flame.

The inside is comfortable, with wooden beams, high ceilings, and a couple of small stained glass windows casting rainbow light along the floor. Half of the store is lined with colorful clothing and accessories, the other half with glinting weaponry. The two seem to mix in some areas, with chainmail accessories arrayed beside colorful weapon wraps in bins by the counter.

There is one central counter, behind which sits an old, matronly woman, humming to herself as she sews, knits, or crochets. From somewhere behind her, beyond the half door and curtain demarcating the employees only area, the faint ringing of a hammer against metal emerges, keeping time like an unorthodox clock.

The store itself seems normal enough, if a bit eccentric in its offerings. The woman tending the counter certainly seems to treat customers with the cheerful hospitality of any shopkeep. But there are whispers of a different side to the store. Rumors about how the light stays on long past dark, after the other shops on the lane have locked their doors and turned their cameras inwards. Rumors about cloaked figures, masked figures, people with strange silhouettes coming and going at odd hours.

The Seamstress does her best to fuel these rumors, saving pages in her sketchbook and room in her schedule for any metahumans who may require a more specialized outfit. She does love to see her designs out on the streets, be that fighting crime, causing it, or simply existing. And she’s well aware that the Blacksmith enjoys swaying the younger generation towards blades and blunt objects rather than bullets, when she can be pried from her forge.

Alas, attitudes towards metahumans change with the tides of popular opinion, and so the rumors remain relatively quiet. But with any luck, they’ll reach the right ears. The proprietors of Dual Flame are always willing to strike a deal with a young meta who needs equipment. They may even offer a heavy discount in exchange for help with the materials and labor.

 
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div snatched 1

golly gee i sure do love crime

 
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div snatched 2

gah, i'm too old for this kind of thing

 
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