Bright City, Nevada has two sides: the city where millions of tourists flock to gamble and party to their hearts’ content and the city where superpowered individuals called Talents find their place to belong. The Talents of Bright City, possessing a wide variety of abilities from pyrokinesis to super-strength, struggle to live normal lives despite their powers. While things are moving towards change, the disadvantages they face are hidden from the passing tourists coming through on vacation.
Power Payback is a trilogy that follows two of these Talents, Daisy “Sprout” Marotto and Magni Quinn. These two detectives with wildly different Talents go from promising upstarts in the world of private investigation to getting in bed with the city’s newest Talent crime boss. Are they in over their head?
Who are Sprout and Magni?
Sprout Marotto and Magni Quinn are childhood best friends turned partners in crime - crime-solving, that is. The two run Quinn and Marotto Investigative Services, trying their best to help Talents that ordinary justice has missed.
Daisy “Sprout” Marotto is a botanokinetic whose connection to plants has gone from benevolent to potentially dangerous. Despite that, she puts her heart into her work. She strives to do good in a world that has wronged her in the past.
Magni Quinn is a technopath attempting to live a quiet life in a noisy, noisy world. Even though he would be a recluse if he had his way, he is a softie at heart. He is not above skirting the law to make sure people get what they deserve - for better or for worse.
What’s the plan?
Power Payback is a planned trilogy. The first book, Silver Spade, focuses on Sprout as they try to figure out disappearances in a fight ring hosted underneath one of Neon Avenue’s newest resorts. The second, Arrington Acres, will focus on Magni and a an organization offering to help Talents live more “normal” lives on the outskirts of Bright City. And for the third book, well, that’s a surprise. ;)
How can I read it?
Currently, the first book is still a work in progress. While I work on the second draft of Silver Spade, this blog is a place to space to share my ideas (and a few memes while I’m at it!). I also hope to post a few smaller stories that aren’t too spoiler and focus more on the characters here as well. Hopefully if this story sounds intriguing to you, you’ll give this blog a follow and stick around to see what’s to come!
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Meeting with Ms. Eld on a Monday was something Red rarely did.
Usually, Red didn’t even work Mondays. After five days of fights, they wanted to use their Monday to catch up on sleep and housework - though the latter was more of a hope than a guarantee.
But after getting harassed by a pair of Talent detectives, they had to hightail it to her office anyways.
Ms. Eld’s office was a minimalist wet dream, gleaming white and silver in the trickle of sunlight through thin curtains. She seemed undisturbed by the late night before, her blonde hair pinned up into a meticulous updo. Her blouse was ivory on cream, the thin stripes blending into each other.
As they stepped inside, Ms. Eld gave them a small smile. From her, it was like a warm hug. “Vanya. So sorry to make you come in on your day off.”
They grinned, clasping their hands behind their back. “It’s fine, Ms. Eld.”
“Come, sit.”
Red did so, taking the seat across from her. They always felt nervous in her office when they were the ones talking with her. It felt… wrong. Like they were about to be chided on something.
“I told you to be attentive to our missing persons situation,” Ms. Eld said, picking up the steaming mug on her desk. It couldn’t be coffee - she wouldn’t risk the stain. Maybe it was tea. They didn’t often meet before noon, either. “Both Ms. Valiente and Mr. Gori were prime assets. Now that both of them have gone missing, from our premises nonetheless - I don’t have to tell you how that looks, does it?”
She really didn’t. They tried to keep their face a mask of restrained worry, but not too much worry. Too much gave away that their feelings about Emery Gori’s disappearance were way beyond his possible value to their organization.
“No, you do not.” They folded their hands in their lap. “Listen, Ms. Eld-”
She looked at them pointedly. “I know you tried your best, Vanya.”
“There’s these detectives,” they said hurriedly. It was best she knew about it now and, if she kept talking about Misty and Emery like they were just assets, they thought they’d hurl. “Marotto and Quinn. Quinn and Marotto, really. Two Talents. They were here, trying to investigate Gori’s disappearance.”
Ms. Eld looked intrigued. “Quinn, you say.”
“You’ve heard of them?” Red asked.
“It’s vaguely familiar,” she answered. ‘Where did they go?”
“They left. I told them what they needed to hear - nothing about the ring.”
“Good.” Ms. Eld fell quiet, deep in thought. “Now, Marotto - that’s a well known Talent family. Botanokinetics, mostly. They run a nursery in Westside. Which one did you run into?”
“Sprout. Tall. Green hair. Pretty butch.” She was plenty handsome, but that wouldn’t help Ms. Eld much. “Affinity for gloves.”
“Gloves. Probably a sign of a burnout in the past.” She took a sip of tea. “Very interesting. Dig deeper on that angle. Confirm my suspicions. I think you could use her to our advantage.”
“Use to our advantage, Ms. Eld?” Red asked. “Like blackmail?”
“In a sense.” Ms. Eld looked at them seriously. “You’re clever, Vanya. You’ll figure it out.”
Usually, they got annoyed when she played these sorts of games. Ms. Eld was the only one in the Silver Spade who could truly keep her secrets. Meanwhile, if she asked Red anything and dropped their full name, they had no choice but to spill it all. But the compliment got to them.
“Right. I’ll figure it out,” they said.
“Though, Vanya - be careful,” she told them. “If you rope them in, keep them on a leash. One word-”
“And we’re donezo. I got it,” Red told her. “Really, I’m surprised you don’t want me to just ice them.”
“Detectives can come in handy,” Ms. Eld said. “As long as they don’t get too nosy for their own good.”
They already had, in Red’s opinion. But they only nodded.
“Go home and get some rest,” she said. “You’ll want to be at the Spade tonight.”
Red resisted the urge to roll their eyes. Instead, they said, “Yes, Ms. Eld.”
It wasn’t until about the third time that they hooked up that Red stopped feeling guilty.
They didn’t even make it out of the parking lot of the Spade, making out in their Benz in the staff lot. Straddling Emery’s thick hips in the cramped backseat wasn’t romantic, but it was hot as hell.
Red gripped the back of his curls, the sharp edges of his lip scar pressing into their mouth so tantalizingly. They wanted to take things further, to have him fuck them right now. There just wasn’t enough room to do things there.
“Wanna take this back to your place?” they asked, breaking away reluctantly.
The last few times they’d hooked up, they’d gotten a cheap room at the Velvet to keep it quick and easy. Red knew their place was a mess, despite its glitz and glamour. It wasn’t the type of thing someone ought to be ashamed of, but they didn’t want Emery to know they lived like that. They didn’t want him to know he lived on Ms. Eld’s dime, fully and completely. Even the car they made out in now didn’t belong to Vanya Wolanski proper.
“Can’t,” Emery said.
“What? You’ve got a place, don’t you?” Red asked. They sat up, no mercy in how they rocked their hips against his as they did.
“I do. But- why don’t we go back to the Velvet?” He pushed himself up as much as he could.
“It’s probably full,” they said. They didn’t really know. Even the hotel side of the Silver Spade was way out of their purview.
He groaned. “You’re so difficult.”
Red grinned. “I thought you liked that.”
In the dim light of the backseat, they could barely make out his eye roll. “C’mon. We’ve done this before and it didn’t have to get complicated then. Going to my place- complicates things.” He tilted his head. “What about yours?”
“Oh, going to my place doesn’t complicate things?” they asked. “What’s the logic in that?”
“I bet you have some nice digs,” Emery said. “Much nicer than mine.”
Scowling, they said, “So?”
“I won’t snoop through your underwear drawer in the morning,” he promised.
The threat of him snooping through their stuff didn’t wear them anymore. As daunting as Emery finding out how they lived on Ms. Eld’s leash, they were scared of the opposite. They’d brought him to 32. That was enough of a mask-off moment. In their bougie ass condo, Vanya Wolanski was allowed to roam free.
“That’s amateur stuff, hiding things in my underwear drawer.” Red sighed. “I don’t really- have people over.”
“Oh. So it’s a mess.”
They laughed. “You got me. It is.”
“I promise I won’t judge you for your messes.”
Red sighed dramatically. It really wasn’t what they worried about the most. “So, your place must be an absolute pigsty to not want me to come over.”
He closed his eyes. “Nope. Just no privacy.”
“Roommates?”
“Just one.” Emery leveled a glance at him that made things clear: that was all they’d be getting. It didn’t seem fair.
Red attempted to detangle themself from him. “Fine. I don’t have any.”
He grinned. “So you can scream as loud as you want and nobody’s gonna call management.”
Their face flushed, though the color didn’t really rise to their cheeks. “Okay, that was one time. And technically, our neighbors only threatened to call management.”
Emery reached up, threading his fingers through their red hair. “It was hot, don’t worry.”
Though Red knew it was bad to catch feelings when they weren’t even supposed to be hooking up, it was hard not to when he did things like that. So what if they were bringing back a fighter to fuck in the condo Ms. Eld paid the mortgage on? So what if he could find out more about them than anyone got to see?
Haley laid awake in bed, worry tangled all up in her thoughts. Any moment, Sheriff Gardner could come knocking on their door looking for him. Her parents had sworn to protect him, right?
She was startled at the sound of actual knocking at her door. She opened the door to her room cautiously, wondering if it was Hugo or someone else.
Instead, it was Julia. Her little sister was wearing one of their mom’s old hoodies, dark hair braided in two pigtails over her shoulders. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
This was new. Julia was rarely the kind to come to her when she needed a shoulder to lean on. Sometimes, she wondered if she should have tried to make up on the years of sisterly bonding they’d supposedly missed out on. But it wasn’t like Haley hadn’t played dolls with her or let her try to braid her short hair before she came out.
“Nah. Come in.”
Opening the door wider, she did so. Julia sat on the edge of her bed, pulling her feet up under her.
“What’s up?” she asked her.
She glanced back towards the door. “You know what happened with Hugo, don’t you?”
“Yeah. His dad shot him. In the leg,” Haley explained. She knew Julia wouldn’t tell. Their parents whispered, though, as if they couldn’t figure it out.
She messed with the hem of the hoodie. “Why would he do that? He’s- I know things over there weren’t perfect, but- he’s his dad.”
As much as Hugo had endeared himself to the Coello-Sterling household, Haley knew him best. Slowly, through biology tutoring and escaping from his house to theirs, she had peeled back the layers of exactly what went on in the house across the street.
“Yeah. And an asshole.” She sat beside her. “We’re lucky. Or, really, I’m lucky, unless you start glowing like a light bulb too.”
“Jesus, no.” Julia shrank deeper into the depths of her hoodie.
Haley laughed. “Mom and Dad- they’ve always been there for us. Obviously, Mom understands all that, being a talantologist. But, even when I came out as trans, they did everything they could to make me feel comfortable.” She rested a hand on her shoulder. “Hugh Gardner is not like that.”
She sighed. “Do you think they’ll let him- go back?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, fear tinging her words.
Haley wished they wouldn’t. She wished Hugo could stay here, safe, forever. She wished someone would take that badge from Sheriff Gardner and kick him out of town.
But those were only wishes. That man was a control freak. The moment he sensed that leash on Hugo slipping, he snapped it taut. No matter what bruises it left behind.
“Hugo freaked when Mom wanted to call CPS. And it’s not going to be long until his dad starts trying to find him.”
“It’s not fair,” Julia said.
She hummed. “It really isn’t.”
Crossing her arms, her sister said, “I don’t wanna go back to bed. Do you think Hugo’s awake downstairs?”
Haley grinned. “What were you thinking?”
She shrugged. “Maybe we can watch a movie. It’ll get our mind off of things.”
Their parents probably wouldn’t be too stoked they were keeping their patient up. But Haley stood anyways. “We should let him pick. That’d be polite.”
“Unless it’s something gory,” Julia said.
She scrunched her nose. “I don’t think he’s gonna be in the mood for anything gory in a long time.”
That cast a shadow over her face, making her regret bringing it up. But she stood up as well. “Let’s make popcorn too. Unless the microwave would wake Mom and Dad up.”
“I think we can play it safe.” She put her hand on Julia’s shoulder again, steering her towards the door.
Grinning, she said, “Okay.”
Hopefully, they could make the best of a very odd situation.
“Just be honest. How bad does it look?” Hugo dropped his hand from where it was pressed against his face.
Haley knew that Hugo’s burnout was… unusual. She’d seen glimpses of the injuries to his leg, the gnarly mass of metal and scar tissue. She had figured it was maybe a fluke. Burnout could wipe a person’s Talent, and she figured his regenerative flame had spent itself trying to try and undo the damage.
But on his face, a metal gash glinted against dull brown skin. It was embedded in there, the hint of silver poking out from the mark.
“Oh, God,” Haley said. “What happened?”
“So it’s bad.” He sighed, sitting back down on the bench. Hugo had insisted they needed to talk, coming around the back gate. Before, he’d climb into her bedroom window, though her parents didn’t care if he came over. That was harder with his leg now.
“It’s- not as bad as it could be,” she told him. Which was her being honest. “Tell me, Hugo.”
“My dad threw a glass at me.” He didn’t meet her eyes. “We were arguing and so he - threw it at me. But he felt terrible about it.” When he finally did look up, his eyes were pleading. “He patched me up with the first-aid kit and bandaged it all up. It just - when I took it off to see how it was healing, I found this.”
Haley didn’t believe for a moment that Hugh Gardner actually felt terrible about it. He’d come down to drag Hugo back to their house after he’d shot him in the leg, for God’s sake. She hadn’t been supposed to hear that conversation, but she’d crept down the stairs anyway. Her father had been in a hushed argument with Hugh, a dangerous game to play with the fucking sheriff.
“I’m telling my parents,” she declared.
“No, Haley.” He took her wrist, squeezing it gently. “If this is what he does to me after an argument, imagine if they call CPS. And his cop buddies aren’t going to be sympathetic to his pathetic, burnout of a son.”
She hated hearing him talk about himself like that. Haley hated his father’s guts for treating his son like a punching bag who ought to regret his whole existence. But she knew it was true of the Nye County Sheriff’s Department. That was what you got when you had a prick like Hugh Gardner at its head.
“Do you think he’s going to stop?” she argued.
Hugo closed his eyes and shook his head. “The thing about my regen powers was that no one had to know he beat his kid. Bruises didn’t last. Everything bounced back.” His hand went out to clasp his face. “This doesn’t seem like it’ll be going away.”
She sighed. “Can you at least let my mom take a look at it?” Her mom had been the first he’d turned to after his burnout, when the pain in his leg had been so bad he’d had to hobble across the street to their house.
“I’m not going to the clinic,” he said in a surly voice.
Haley knew that had been a stretch. Knowing her mom, she’d ask questions. But if her mother chose to do something about it, that wouldn’t be on her.
“Just a look,” she conceded. “And then my dad will probably make you stay for dinner.”
She waited to see if he’d drag his feet. If Hugh was going to make him head home for a plain dinner of baked chicken breast and salad. But Hugo dropped his hand. “What’s he making?”
Maybe if this went well, Haley could convince him to stay. But that was a far-fetched hope.
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Red knew it was far beyond bad form to be drinking with fighters.
Other than wellness checks for Ms. Eld, they didn’t patronize with them outside of the Silver Ring. Afternoon tea with Sarah Kimura was one thing, though now her daughter knew that when “Mx. Vanya” was over, she was to let the adults talk. Taking Emery to their old haunt was entirely different.
Cynthia had eyed them when the two of them rolled into 32°, but she hadn’t made a comment aside from the employee discount she still slipped them. In a snug corner, where the unnatural chill gave them an excuse to sit thigh to thigh, Emery sipped his Irish coffee next to them and their Polar Bear.
He’d swapped his fighting ensemble for a bulky navy hoodie and jeans, keeping his right hand tucked away in the warm pocket. The cool lights were unforgiving on the bruise healing quickly on the left side of his face. Against them and their constant chill, he was still hot, hot, hot from the rush of a closing fight.
Even if he’d lost.
Red brushed their arm against his to get his attention. “You’ll get him next time, tiger.”
With a chuckle, Emery turned to them. “Yeah, right. Kent would rather kill me in the ring than let me win.”
“Well, then he’d be barred from fighting. And arrested. So you’re safe for now,” Red told him.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he retorted. “I thought this was supposed to be a ‘sorry you got your ass kicked for the fifth time against Brasher’ drink.”
“It is.” They shrugged. “But really, you don’t seem so upset.”
“I still get my pay for the night,” Emery said.
“Aw, but we both know you don’t just do it for the money.” Red lifted the straw out of their drink, licking ice cream off of it. Most of the actual drink was gone, but the ice cream would refuse to really melt as long as they were holding the glass. They should’ve asked Cynthia for a spoon. “So, really, does this help you? Getting your ass kicked in front of hundreds of people every other week?”
He frowned at them. “What do you mean, help me?”
“I don’t know. With your Talent. Or whatever else fucked you up,” Red said.
Emery shook his head. “I see. You’re waiting for me to tell you, yes, I’m uber-traumatized and getting beat up helps me cope with all that.”
“So, am I right?” they asked.
“You’re such a dick, you know.” He took a sip of his drink. “You’re also cooling down my Irish coffee.”
“You’ll survive.” Red leaned in. “And me being a dick is common knowledge. That ain’t an answer, Gori.”
“You got me. Uber-traumatized,” Emery deadpanned.
Red knew they shouldn’t push. Because, okay, it was kinda rude. But also it was so crossing the lines between manager and fighter. They weren’t supposed to be friends. They weren’t supposed to be sharing the same side of a booth with the flimsy excuse of staying warm in a place designed to be the exact opposite.
“You into humiliation? Or something else?” they asked, voice low.
He bit his lip, the sharp gleam of metal intersecting it reflecting the light as he did. “Not humiliation. That’s not my game.”
“It’s being thrown around, then,” Red offered.
“I’m not popping a boner in the Ring, if that’s what you’re suggesting. But when your whole existence is that nothing really hurts you, pain isn’t as scary. It’s a part of life,” Emery explained. He took another sip of lukewarm Irish coffee, despite his complaining. “It’s like this place.”
When they tilted their head in confusion, he grinned. Taking his free hand out of his pocket, he tucked back a few long strands of their red hair. His fingertips nearly burned against their cheek as he brushed it slightly.
“You hate the cold. I’ve seen you wear sweaters when it’s the dead of a Bright City summer. But you took me here to a place where it’s colder than a meat locker.” He flexed his fingers. “My hand is killing me right now, Red.”
“Why?” they asked.
“I smashed it with a hammer when I was seventeen. On purpose.” Emery tucked it away. “I used to be mostly right-handed. Now the most action it sees is the Ring.”
Red couldn’t help themself. “So, I guess that means you jack off with your left hand.”
“Yeah,” he answered casually. “But don’t worry. I’m ambidextrous.”
“Good to know,” they said.
Emery set his drink down and cupped their cheek. It was like hot brick on a warm day, before he pulled them into a kiss. Now that felt like an inferno.
Red’s only regret is that they were still holding their drink, the frost forming under their fingers spreading to their glass. They tried to set it down, but it stayed stuck to their hand.
“Fuck, Emery, hold on.”
He broke the kiss, looking at them in confusion. “I thought- we should’ve waited, I’m sorry-”
They turned their attention to the glass frozen to their hand. “Can you just-”
Emery glanced over to their hand, then cackled. “Oh, that’s why.”
“Shut up and help me!”
He grabbed a napkin and wrapped it around the glass. While their cyrokinesis didn’t exactly ease up, it was enough that he could pry it free.
Red was so glad they didn’t blush, closing their eyes. Way to ruin a very inappropriate kiss.
“Wanna get out of here?” Emery asked them, taking their hand between his.
“God, yeah.” They pulled him out of the booth with a grin. “As long as we agree to never talk about that ever again.”
He laughed. “I don’t know. It’ll be kinda hard to forget.”
This was probably going to get them fired. But it’d be worth it.
Sprout knew from the slamming of the door that the date had gone badly.
Although their coworkers assumed Sprout was the ladykiller, fuckboy lesbian of the duo, she didn’t go out on many dates. Magni fuming as he came in with a pan of something, though, definitely made her thankful for that.
She had been expecting a few more hours of solitude. Magni rarely stayed the night with any of his dates, but he tended not to come home this early. Especially when he’d headed out happily with a bag of groceries and that same metal pan he toted in now.
“Oh. Leftovers?” Sprout asked, closing her book.
“Yeah. There’s plenty,” he said, voice cold as steel. When Magni turned back to face her, he had a deep frown on his face. “Remind me why I keep hooking up with gym bros?”
She shrugged. “Listen, I don’t even understand why you do it,” Sprout said. “What was wrong with this one?”
He came over to the couch, plopping down beside her. As he did, he pulled his dreads free from the low pony he’d pulled them in. “Joshua let me come over to make him dinner and didn’t point out he was keto until I’d finished making a whole ass lasagna. He didn’t even touch it! All that work put in and he didn’t think to ask if I was using - keto-friendly lasagna noodles or something.”
“Do they make keto-friendly lasagna noodles?”
“Do I look like I would know that?” Magni asked her, distress creeping into his voice. “And then it gets worse.”
Sprout groaned. “Oh, boy.”
“He said, ‘Forget the lasagna. I’ll give you your dessert right now.’” He rolled his eyes. “Guess what that suggestion was.”
Grimacing, she asked, “Was it a cannoli?”
Magni turned to shove his face into the back of the couch. “Yes,” he answered, voice muffled.
Sprout shut her eyes. “This is why I don’t date guys,” she said. “You need to find someone who gets that food is your love language not - giving blowjobs.”
“And I hate blowjobs,” he mumbled.
She patted him consolingly. “Can I have some of your lasagna?”
“Please. There’s so much.” He lifted his head. “When we were talking last, he told me he was bulking. So I made a lot.”
“Maggie.” Sprout stood. “I’m surprised you didn’t make garlic bread.”
“I did. But I stormed out so quickly I forgot it,” he admitted.
She sighed heavily. “Did you get to eat any of your lasagna that you slaved so hard over?”
“No.”
She flicked him behind the ear. Gently, but it was still enough to make him hiss and pull back. Sometimes, he really pisses her off. “Why do you keep going on dates with such assholes?”
“He was nice when we met. And hot,” Magni told her. “I don’t know why I thought this guy would be different. I think every guy is gonna be different, but they’re all the same.”
“You can be self-deprecating after you get some lasagna,” Sprout told him.
Striding off to the kitchen, she took down plates and served them both a slice. She hadn’t gotten around to ordering dinner yet; with Magni gone, she would have had full dominion over the kitchen without him acting like she’d slice her thumb off. And sure, she wouldn’t be making anything more complicated than eggs or ramen, but it would have been enough.
Yeah, she would take his cooking.
The lasagna had cooled during the drive, so she nuked the first slice in the microwave and set it in front of him. “Eat.”
He sighed, taking a forkful of pasta. Sprout knew that tasted better than his face justified. When her own slice was warmed up again (and almost too hot to eat), she joined him on the couch.
“First off, let me say I get your type. You like sporty, outdoorsy guys because you’re- kinda jocky and don’t like being stuck inside with a whole load of technochatter,” she told him. “But you act like there’s gonna be the one guy to sweep you off your feet and save you. Then it’s just a guy you flirted with at the gym while getting smoothies once.”
As Magni sliced off another piece of lasagna, he muttered, “Actually, it was while I was at the pool.”
“Either way,” Sprout said. “You need a break from guys who treat you like shit.”
He still had a sulky look on his face as his eyes met hers. But he sighed, bringing his plate closer to him. “I do. But- I don’t know. I’m worried if I wait too long I’m gonna end up alone.”
“Hey. You got me,” she reminded him. “I’ll always be here to nag you to eat while finishing your delicious lasagna. Is this a new recipe? It’s great.”
“It is. It’s higher in protein,” Magni said.
“Ugh. Keto Josh should’ve eaten it anyways,” Sprout said. “But not really. Because now I can.”
He kicked her leg. But when she glanced over to pout at him, he was grinning. “You’ll probably appreciate it much more.”
She leaned back against the couch, smiling. “Gladly.”
Hugo adjusted his tie in the bathroom mirror. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t be dressed up tonight. He would be staying home, or going to the Coello-Sterlings to read over Haley’s latest story.
Instead, he was forced to go to another event with his father.
Hugh Gardner’s bid for re-election as sheriff meant that somehow he had to be the perfect son. If he couldn’t raise a good, respectable man, how was he supposed to protect his town?
He sneered into the mirror. The fluorescents caught the glint of his metal tooth, still sensitive to the gum. That was a new development. It was another long list of scars and mishaps that his burnout had bestowed on him.
“No smiling tonight. You went and got your tooth knocked out right before this event - are you trying to fucking spite me? Do you know how it looks that my son is getting into fights?”
Really, he hadn’t gotten into a fight. Some guys had been giving Haley a hard time, and fists had been thrown. He’d lost a tooth, but the other guy looked worse off than he did.
After all, that was what happened when metal met flesh.
Hugo turned off the bathroom light and stepped out into the living room. His father was waiting impatiently, already dressed up. The dark brown suit flattered his tall, lean frame. Much to his chagrin, Hugo had taken after his mother. His own suit pinched, purposefully too small. Motivation, his father said.
“Finally. What took you so long?” he asked.
“I was fixing my tie.” Smashing his hand made him have to relearn his muscle memory for some things. He still couldn’t pick up a pencil without his grip being too loose - thank God he was ambidextrous. “Are you ready to go?”
“I have been,” his father said. “We’re going to be late.”
“Sorry, sir,” Hugo mumbled.
“What was that?”
“I said sorry, sir,” he said louder. Ever since his burnout, his father had been more strict, more authoritative. He thought it might be the reminder of what was so abnormal about his son right on his face.
He could avoid smiling all night, hide his teeth, but it was hard to do anything about the split scar that showed metal inside of scar tissue on his cheek. That had been inflicted by Hugh himself.
“That’s what I thought.” His father stepped up to him. “You’ll have to try harder than this at the gala. My position is on the line if you can’t shape up, Hugo.”
“Then why do I have to go?” he asked.
Before he could brace himself for it, his father backhanded him. He reeled, but kept his footing. In actuality, it was Hugh who said, “Aw, shit, fuck.”
He cradled his hand as he stepped back, blood trickling from the gaps of his fingers. He’d gone for the side with the scar, he realized. Had he done that?
Hugo raised a hand to his face. The skin was tender, but the bruise would heal quickly. The metal of his scar had never felt sharp to him. Maybe it was the impact?
“What the hell are you standing there for? Get the first aid kid!” his father barked at him.
“Yes, sir,” Hugo said, before running back off to the bathroom. His leg hurt as he forced himself not to limp down the hall.
But as he dug through the cabinet under the sink, the darkness underneath hid his smug grin.
Sprout laid on the couch, staring at the TV playing another episode of Murder She Wrote. With her hands bandaged up, there wasn’t much else she could do.
Under different circumstances, getting to miss months of school might be kinda fun. But three weeks in, she was fucking bored. She couldn’t read or play video games. Magni was too busy with actually being in class to keep her company. Murder She Wrote was the only thing keeping her from losing her mind. Maybe if she watched it enough, she’d have dreams of Angela Lansbury instead of thorny vines piercing her hands and Kent’s throat.
Over in the dining room, Primrose sighed heavily. “Can we watch something else? This is annoying.”
She lifted her head to look at her sister. Primrose had taken over the dining room to do her schoolwork when she’d moved back in. She supposed she should have been lucky that she didn’t take up any more of their room.
That really made this whole thing worse. She was stuck being babysat by her older sister like she wasn’t basically a fucking adult.
“How can you find cozy mystery annoying? You’re just lucky I’m not watching Degrassi,” Sprout said. “I know you want to know what’s going on with Clare and Eli.”
Primrose frowned at her. “You know I don’t. Can you at least - do something more quiet?”
Raising her hand, she said, “Kinda hard now. I’m stuck being a couch potato. Unless you want to play soccer?” She grinned. “You know. No hands.”
She turned back to her laptop. “You need to rest.”
Sprout laid back down on the couch. “I think I’ve rested enough.”
She heard another heavy sigh, then the laptop closing. “Fine. Wanna go on a drive?”
That got her attention. “You’re going to let me drive?”
“No,” Primrose said firmly. She came around to the living room, turning off the TV. Damnit. Sprout had thought she’d figured out the murderer for this episode. Now she’d never know.
Or maybe she’d catch it in another rerun. That was always a possibility
“You need to get out of the house.”
“Hasn’t really been my choice to stay in the house,” Sprout muttered. “But I’ll take the chance to drive. One thing though, we’re taking my truck.”
Primrose put her hand on her hips. “Do you really want me to adjust everything in your truck so I can reach things?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Okay, nevermind.” She missed her girl, but she considered herself lucky that her parents hadn’t sold her truck for the trouble she’d gotten herself in.
Sprout stood up, suddenly feeling more self-conscious of the sweats and old Marotto Nursery tee she’d been hanging around the house in. Hopefully, this wasn’t a trick by Primrose to get her to go to that burnout recovery group her talantologist had told her to check out.
“Where are we going?” she asked dubiously, trying to figure out what shoes to wear. There wasn’t much choice of things that didn’t have straps or laces, leaving her to slip on a pair of flip flops. Great. As if she wasn’t already atrociously dressed.
“I could do with a coffee,” Primrose said. “You can stay in the car.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She followed her sister out to her car. The short walk brought her past their well-manicured lawn and with that, silence. Sure, she could hear the sounds of the neighborhood - cars driving past, dogs barking, the hits of a baseball game from the radio on their neighbor’s porch as she smoked on the front step. But the familiar greeting of her mom’s rose bushes was no longer audible to her. She’d forgotten how eerie that silence was.
Sprout had tried to open the passenger side door herself, but Primrose just huffed and opened it for her. The worn out sedan was achingly familiar, its floral air freshener the closest she’d gotten to nature in weeks.
She closed her eyes, trying to keep back the prick of tears. If her sister caught her crying, it would be over for her. She had spent the last few weeks not letting anything slip.
“Buckle your seatbelt, Daisy.”
Sniffling quietly, she did.
Primrose reached over and brushed something off her shirt. “I’ll get you a pastry or something if you promise not to make a mess in my car.”
Sprout gave her a small smile. “I’ll try my best.”
She patted her wrist. It was the closest thing to sisterly affection she’d give her. But right now, that was all she needed.
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going to someones blog and they have their pronouns listed as "dey/dem" and youre like "oh ok neopronouns i havent heard of before" but then you start scrolling through deir blog and dey exclusively post in an exaggerated mafia goon voice and now you're genuinely unsure if dey use they/them but spelled it funny as part of the bit or if dey use neopronouns which are an extension of the bit
since i've released the profiles for the secondary characters, it feels right i also drop the more condensed profiles i made for sprout and magni
i intended to add them to my character profile page but i'm feuding with the tumblr custom theme controls and making a nice looking page, if i keep suffering i might just have to make a post and link to it instead
For those who follow my Fictober entries, you may not be surprised that Emery comes into his own as a secondary character. Of course, that's after he stops getting trauma heaped onto him (whoops). He is also the last of my first OCs for Power Payback, which may explain the heaps of heavy backstory.
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Our favorite slightly sketchy cryokinetic and the newest addition to this line-up, the role Red plays is not as straightforward as it seems. One thing is certain... they will have their time in the spotlight during this series...
