Chapter 27 β Taxonomy of Monsters & Ocean Chickens | +18
α―β‘ fandom: The Batman (Reevesverse) | STRAYS
α―β‘ word count: 2,400
α―β‘ synopsis: In the loft, a lesson on how to spot monsters shifts into sharing crackers and debating whether about βocean chicken.β
α―β‘ warnings: Food as love language β’ Trauma β’ Manipulation β’ mild language β’ Grief
β Previous Chapter | Fanfics Masterlist | Next Chapter β
Elara sat curled on the couch, the glow from the television a cool undercurrent beneath the gray, rainy light from the window. Wrapped in a unicorn onesie, white fur trimmed with pink, a small horn and embroidered eyes on the hood, she huddled against the chill. Her focus was on the coloring book in her lap, a birthday gift she gave to herself, and she didnβt notice the cartoon on screen, probably Woody Woodpecker, cut to the news. It was the familiar face that made her glance up, blinking.
The reporter spoke quickly in English about the mayoral campaigns, infrastructure problems, and the persistent blackouts in parts of the city. Then the image shifted to a man; the same man Mama Sofia and Aunt Cat had been searching for. The one they called the Penguin, so the regressor studied him, taking in the weathered features, the facial scars that mapped a history of survival. He spoke about βthe people.β She wondered who he had been before he became the new kingpin, but maybe it didnβt matter now.
Her eyes scanned the cushions for the remote before drifting back to her coloring page, but unable to find it. The device had probably slipped between the couch cushions again, or perhaps one of the cats had swatted it beneath the furniture, gone and regardless as the news played on.
The Penguinβs voice filled the room, gravelly, performative and carrying the practiced cadence of someone who had learned to sound like βthe peopleβ without ever truly being one of them.
β-Crown Point deserves better, these families deserve power, light, safety, and Iβm gonna make sure they get it-β
Elara's marker, a periwinkle blue meant for a cartoon sky, hovered above the paper.
Her gaze was pulled back to the screen despite herself.
The manβs face was weathered, asymmetrical; the scar tissue told stories she could half-read even from here of violence endured and pain worn like armor. The camera loved him in that way it loved a tragedy, lingering on the scars, the working-class affect, the rumpled suit that cost more than it appeared.
He was good at this performance, the Iβm one of you routine.
But Elara's mind, young as it was, recognized patterns.
She remembered the way Mama Sofiaβs jaw tightened whenever his name arose, and how Aunt Cat (Selina) spat his name like poison. βThat little shit.β
The way they both fell into a sharp and heavy silence whenever the news mentioned Crown Pointβs blackouts mysteriously ending right after he βnegotiatedβ with the city.
She tilted her head, studying him the way she might study a sick animal. Not malice, but a clinical curiosity. What were you before?
The scars said survivor and the eyes said climber, while his words said hero, but the spaces between them whispered something else entirely.
She had seen men like this in her fatherβs world, the ones who spoke of βthe peopleβ while stepping on their backs to reach higher ground.
The news cut to footage of Crown Point residents cheering, like children playing under newly restored streetlights and an elderly woman weeping with gratitude.
The girl's stomach twisted with something complicated.
Because those people were helped, as the lights were on, the children were safer, but Mama Sofiaβs face when she spoke of himβ¦
The door behind her opened with a soft creak, after the sound of measured and familar steps, deliberately carrying weight.
Sofiaβs voice, low and carefully neutral. βWhat are you watching, tesoro?β
Elara didnβt turn immediately. Her marker resumed its path as shade the sky, staying on the page even as her peripheral vision tracked Sofiaβs approach.
βNews,β she said quietly, her voice caught in that in-between register, not fully regressed, but not quite big either. βCouldnβt find the βmote.β
Sofia moved into view, and even without looking directly, Elara sensed the shift in her energy as the rigid set of her shoulders, breath rhythm slightly altered.
On screen, the Penguin was still speaking. β-because I remember what it was like. I remember being forgotten. And I swore, when I got the chance, Iβd make sure no one else-β
The reporterβs voice shifted, losing some of its polish, with words like βdisplacementβ and βpending investigationsβ crept in beneath the applause footage, a line of text crawled along the bottom of the screen, families still waiting for answers.
Elara didnβt understand what it meant.
The television went black.
Sofia had found the remote, which had been on the side table, half-hidden beneath a dish towel. Sofia clocks it immediately and shuts the TV off a beat too fast, remembering the bomb she sent to those neighborhood.
This way, silence fell like a curtain.
Elara kept coloring, trading the periwinkle blue deepened from a cerulean to paint the clouds, which looked so soft and safe.
Sofia didnβt move for a long moment. Then, slowly, she came around the couch and sat beside the Brazilian girl, not quite touching, but present.
Her voice, when it came, was carefully controlled. βDid he say anythingβ¦ specific?β
βJust about lights, and families.β Elara paused, marker still. βAnd being forgotten.β
She risked a glance upward. Sofiaβs face was unreadable and sharp, but her hands, resting on her knees, were clenched just slightly.
βHeβs good at that,β Sofia said quietly. βMaking himself the hero of other peopleβs suffering.β
The regressor processed this, then looked back at her coloring book. βThe lights are really on, though. In Crown Point.β
βSoβ¦ he did help, even if-β She stopped, unsure how to shape this thought.
βEven if heβs a monster?β Sofiaβs tone was flat, matter-of-fact. βYes, monsters can flip switches, too. It doesnβt make them less monstrous.β
Elara trade the marker again, now color a tree now with a florest green. It was rooted, solid.
βWere you scared,β she asked, very small, βwhen heβ¦ when he sent you back?β
Sofiaβs hand lifted to her own throat as a brief unconscious gesture, then she caught herself and let it fall.
βYes,β she said simply. βI was terrified.β
The girl set the marker down, turning fully to face Sofia fully, the unicorn onesie rustling softly. βIβm glad youβre here,β she whispered. βNot there.β
Something in Sofiaβs expression cracked, just for a second.
She reached out and pulled Elara close. Not rough, but firm. Needing the contact as much as offering it.
βMe too, piccolina,β she murmured into the unicorn hood. βMe too.β
They sat like that for a while as the rain continued outside, television and coloring book lay forgotten.
And Elara thought. The Penguin might have turned the lights on in Crown Point, but Mama Sofia is the reason Iβm not afraid of the dark.
She blinked, still turning over Oz in her mind, searching for a pattern. She considered the monsters she knew, then looked up to ask.
βUh... In Naruto, Sasuke isnβt all bad. He lost his family and got utterly fixed on revenge, but he tried to understand the world and kept some kindness. He changed in the end.β She explained, trying to make the pattern clearer to the Falcone. βBut in Berserk, Griffith was horrifyingly tortured for a year, but that didnβt make it right to kill his friends. He was mean doing it.β She added, then asked, βThe Penguin man, which one is he?β Elara tilted her head a little, unsure where he fit in the taxonomy sheβd constructed. In the end, it didnβt matter if it was Oz, Griffith, or the witch from Hansel and Gretel, because they could hand out candies, but the house was still bad, so donβt approach.
Not the dangerous sort of stillness, but the thinking kind. The kind where her sharp mind caught an unexpected idea and flipped it over like a coin.
She looked down at her little one, at the earnest confusion on the girl's face and the way she was trying to organize the world into categories that made sense: Sasuke versus Griffith, redeemable versus irredeemable. Monsters with reasons versus monsters who became so by choice.
Sofiaβs hand, which had been resting on Elaraβs shoulder, rose to cup her cheek gently. βThatβs a good question, tesoro,β she said quietly. βA very good question.β
She was quiet a moment longer, choosing her words with care.
βOswald Cobblepotβ¦β She paused on the name, as if it tasted bitter. βHe lost things, his mother-β Her jaw tightened. βHis mother wasβ¦ complicated. He grew up poor, mocked, beaten down by people like my father.β
Elara listened, head still tilted, trying to map this onto her framework. βSoβ¦ Sasuke?β she asked tentatively.
βNo.β Sofiaβs voice was firm. βBecause Sasuke, even at his worst, had lines he wouldnβt cross, people he wouldnβt sacrifice. When it mattered, when he had to choose between his revenge and the people who loved him, he chose them, eventually.β
She shifted, pulling Elara a little closer, grounding them both.
βOswald had people who loved him, too. Who trusted him. Victor, the boy who worked for him, looked at Oswald the wayβ¦β Her voice caught slightly. ββ¦the way you look at me, like he was safety, like he was family.β
The regressor's eyes widened a little, as she knew where this was going.
βAnd Oz killed him,β Sofia said flatly. βNot in a fight, not in self-defense. He strangled him with his own hands and threw him away, because Victor was a liability, because he loved Oswald, and love was a weakness Oswald couldnβt afford.β
The rain intensified outside, drumming against the windows.
Elara processed this and her hand came up, fingers curling into Sofiaβs sleeve. Not pulling, just holding.
βSoβ¦ Griffith,β she whispered.
βYes.β Sofiaβs voice was quiet, heavy. βGriffith.β She stroked the other woman's hair gently, the unicorn hood soft beneath her palm.
βHe was tortured, he suffered, those things are real, but when he had the choice, when he could have stopped, could have found another way, he chose power over everything else. Over his friends, over the people who would have died for him.β she remembered when the regressor explained to her this anime story.
Elara was quiet for a long moment, absorbing this.
βAnd the candies?β she asked, very small. βThe lights in Crown Point? The helping?β
Sofia let out a slow breath. βThe witch gives candies,β she said softly, βbecause she needs you to come inside, the house is already bad, the cage is already waiting, candies are just the lure.β
She tilted Elara's face up gently, making sure she was listening. βOswald turned the lights on in Crown Point, but he also controls the drugs that poison those same streets." she says. "He helps them just enough to make them dependent, to make them grateful, so them forget that heβs the reason they needed help in the first place.β
Elara's brow furrowed, trying to reconcile this. βSo even when monsters do good things-β
βTheyβre still monsters,β Sofia finished. βBecause the good is a tool, not a choice, itβs strategy, itβs control.β She paused, then added more gently. βSasuke chose differently when it mattered; Griffith didnβt. And Oswald?β Her voice hardened. βOswald chose power, every single time.β
The little one nodded slowly, the taxonomy settling into place:
Sasuke = trauma + revenge + eventual redemption.
Griffith = trauma + ambition + irredeemable choice.
Oz = trauma + survival + weaponized kindness.
The pattern was clear now. No matter that witchβs house was made of candy, it was still a trap. βDonβt approach,β she murmured, almost to herself.
βExactly.β Sofiaβs grip tightened slightly, protective. βDonβt approach, and if he ever comes near you, if you ever see him in person, you run, you find me, you donβt try to understand him, you donβt try to fix him, you just run." she continues. "Do you understand?β
Elara looked up and saw the fear beneath Sofiaβs control, real, raw, and nodded. βI understand.β
βGood.β Sofia pulled her fully into her lap, wrapping both arms around her, and the unicorn onesie rustled softly. βBecause youβre mine, and I donβt share, I donβt lose whatβs mine to men like him, not ever again.β
The vet student burrowed into her, feeling the fierce protectiveness radiating from Sofia like heat. βMamaβs scary when she talks like that,β she mumbled into Sofiaβs shoulder.
βGood,β Sofia said, with the ghost of a dark amusement in her voice. βMama should be scary; thatβs how I keep you safe.β
They sat like that for a while, Elara thinking. The world has monsters in it. Some wear green parkas, some wear crowns, some give candies and turn on lights, and smile while they strangle the people who love them, but Mommy is a different kind of scary. The kind that protects, that doesnβt let witches take you, no matter how sweet the house smells. And thatβs the kind of monster I want on my side.
She leaned further into Sofia, resting, safe within the comforting scent of her caregiver. After a few moments, the regressor shifted on the couch to reach her black backpack and unzipped it to pull out a pack of Nongshim shrimp crackers.
ββBout penguins,β she said, opening it before placing it in the arms of Tikuri, her otter plushie, the toyβs arms were arranged as if holding the item. βMama want shrimp crackers?β she offered, letting the woman decide. βI didnβt see you two eat today, Iβm allergic to it, but you, Tikuri, and Aunt Cat can have it. So tell me, howβs shrimp? Brother said it tastes like ocean chicken.β
Sofia blinked at the sudden shift, from taxonomy of monsters to shrimp crackers in under ten seconds. It was so perfectly, innocently Elara-coded that something in the Falcone chest got warmth. She looked down at Tikuri, propped against the couch's brown cushions, his plush arms carefully arranged around the cracker packet as if presenting an offering. The otterβs button eyes stared solemnly forward, taking his job seriously.
Sofiaβs lips twitched despite herself. βOcean chicken,β she repeated, her voice flat but threaded with the barest amusement. βYour brother said shrimp tastes like ocean chicken.β
Elara nodded earnestly, settling back into Sofiaβs side, the onesie making her look impossibly small and soft. βUh-huh, he said itβsβ¦ like if chicken swam? And got salty? And smaller?β She paused, clearly trying to recall the exact phrasing. βHe also said lobster is fancy ocean chicken, and crab is grumpy ocean chicken.β
Sofia made a sound that might have been a laugh, a sigh, or both. βYour brother has a very specific taxonomy for seafood.β
βHeβs a chemist,β Elara explained, as if this clarified everything. βHe likes categories.β
Sofia reached out and carefully took the cracker packet from Tikuriβs βhandsβ with the solemnity of receiving a diplomatic gift. βThank you, Tikuri,β she said gravely to the otter. βVery thoughtful of you.β
The student giggled softly before wiggling closer.
Sofia opened the packet, so the smell of shrimp, salt, and something vaguely sweet wafted out. She extracted one cracker, studied it as if performing a forensic analysis, then took a small bite.
Elara watched with wide-eyed attention, awaiting the verdict.
Sofia chewed thoughtfully, swallowed. βIt tastes,β she said carefully, βlike if someone took a shrimp, dehydrated it, ground it into dust, mixed it with MSG and sadness, then baked it into a crispy little lie.β
The regressorβs eyes widened further. βIs thatβ¦ bad?β
βNo.β Sofia took another cracker. βItβs oddly compelling, I hate that I want another one.β
She offered the packet to Elara, then remembered.
βWait, you said youβre allergic?β
Elara nodded. βShellfishes, makes me itchy, and my throat gets tight, so no shrimp, no crab, no lobster.β
βNo ocean chicken of any variety,β Sofia finished, her voice dropping into something more serious. βGood, Iβm glad you know that, and youβre sure you didnβt touch these?β
The girl shook her head. βUsed a napkin to open, and Tikuri held them.β
Sofia nodded, satisfied, then deliberately wiped her hands on her pants before touching Elara again as a small gesture that said, Iβm careful with you, I pay attention.
She took another cracker, chewing thoughtfully. βYour brother isnβt wrong, actually. Thereβs a textural similarity to chicken, but itβsβ¦β She paused, searching for words. ββ¦brinier, more oceanic, obviously. Lessβ¦ substantial; chicken has weight, shrimp is delicate, easy to overcook, easy to ruin.β
She said this last part with the air of someone who held strong opinions about seafood preparation.
Elara absorbed this, head tilted. βDid Mama cook shrimp before?β
βMy mother did.β Sofiaβs voice shifted to a quieter, more distant tone. βShe made scampi sometimes; garlic, white wine, butter, lemon. Simple, elegant.β A pause. βMy father preferred steak; Red meat, power foods, but when he was awayβ¦β Her voice softened. ββ¦sheβd make shrimp.β
The Brazilian girl didnβt push, just listened, like she always did when Sofiaβs voice took on that particular tone, as if speaking from somewhere far away.
Sofia took another cracker, staring at it as though it held secrets. βThese taste nothing like her scampi,β she said finally, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. βBut theyβre not terrible, MSG does a lot of heavy lifting.β
She glanced down at Elara, curled into her side, safe in the unicorn onesie, maintaining an allergy-safe distance from the shrimp crackers.
βYou havenβt eaten either, have you?β Sofiaβs voice shifted back into caregiver-mode; gentle, but firm. βWhenβs the last time you had something?β
The silence was answer enough.
Sofia sighed, set the crackers aside, and carefully shifted to stand, so as not to jostle the girl.
βCome on, piccolina, you gave Tikuri and me a snack, now itβs Mamaβs turn to make sure you eat something that wonβt kill you.β
She held out her hand and Elara took it, letting herself be pulled up with Tikuri tucked under one arm.
βCan we make okonomiyaki?β she asked hopefully.
βWe can make whatever you want,β Sofia said, βas long as you promise to actually eat it this time instead of just pushing it around your plate while you explain Digimon theology.β
Elara flushed slightly, but nodded.
As they headed toward the kitchen, Sofia paused, glanced back at the crackers still on the couch. βOcean chicken,β she muttered, shaking her head. βYour brotherβs a lunatic.β
But she was smiling, and Elara watched it as though; This is better than any cartoon. Mama smiling, mama eating crackers, mama safe and here and not thinking about monsters for a few minutes, thatβs the best channel I could ask for.
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