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The Chronicles of Cityopolis [Mr.MasterxAkumaTsuki]

She winced as the hobo removed her boot, the temptation of kicking him in the face ever pressing. Why the hell she even consented to allowing him to look was beyond her comprehension, but there was no use yelling over it now. She draped an arm across her face as she tilted at back to rest against the wall. “You know I am considered a class A sidekick right? Why the hell would I have a any of those things when I serve the Madd Scientist. Seriously for a cape you’re not very bright are you?”

She closed and eyes and huffed out of frustration. Work was going to be hell in the morning, that was if she made it in. She had no time or her cell to even phone for a temp, not that a temp could handle her job. She really didn’t want to think about Eli or her foot for a moment so she did the next most annoying thing…talked to the hobo.

“So the sixties, eh? You must have been what five or ten when you started your Hobo brand of justice.” She lifts her arm slightly to try and decipher what he was doing down at her feet. She didn’t find him the type, but it was best to be wary lest he try and take advantage of his positioning. Her face glowed a dull blue color from the light in her hand, making her eye color illuminate. “Are you sure you didn’t just make up that story or better yet, steal some other masked avenger.” Her ankle throbbed, but the cool air in the tunnels did feel blessedly better than the confines of her boot, though she doubted she’d be able to get it back on without too much pain once it was off.

“Speaking of medics…shouldn’t you tend to your own wounds…since you’re not gnawing at my head I know you’re not a zombie, but that was a nasty fall.”
 
He knew she didn’t want to let him look at it, but she was in pain, and he knew that would motivate her better than any niceness on his part. He still tried to be nice, though.

They took the boot off, and he murmured “I bet that feels better already, doesn’t it?” As she sat, he knelt in front of her and lifted the leg up reasonably high, at least higher than her chest, and used the glowstick to examine it. The swelling was pretty impressive, but the color was good. He probed gently but deftly with his fingers, flexing it slightly and making note of her reactions; he really was pretty good at the field-treatment, so his manner was efficient and reassuring. While she talked, he made sure the ankle was largely undamaged, just sprained, and he did what he could to help the swelling abate a little bit (which, given he had no supplies, wasn’t much).

“Oh, don’t worry about my injuries; my headache has cleared up, and while I’m still going to be limping a while, I’ll move a damn sight faster than you will in the near future. Still, I appreciate your concern.” His voice was calm, almost distracted, and friendly. He finished his examination, and then, lacking anything else to prop her foot up with, he turned a little away from her, so he wouldn’t be facing in toward her crotch, and he put her foot against his shoulder, acting as her temporary footrest. He fished in the pockets of his coat while he kept talking.

“Yeah, I heal fast, in general. That and my mixed luck are pretty much my only powers, which is why you’ve most likely not heard of me much, even though you and I have crossed paths in the past, believe it or not. But yeah, my healing factor keeps me looking young, though, or at least young enough. I’m a lot older than you think.” He smiled and half-shrugged, and left it at that. No need to get into his life history with someone he just met, much less someone on the other side. Not like there was much of anything she could do with it, but even still, they had other things to talk about.

He fished out his Swiss Army knife, and then gathered up the hem of his trenchcoat. “You wouldn’t happen to have a coldpack or something in that utility belt of yours, would you? The treatment of your ankle requires elevation, like I’m doing, and if we could ice it down, that would help with the swelling. We’re going to want some compression bandages, too; your boot was a bit too much compression, we need something with more give than that, but still tight enough to immobilize the joint.” He clicked the little blade open, and started sawing off his lower coat in a long strip. “See, this is one reason I don’t spend a lot of money on clothes or costumes; not only do they get trashed all to hell, I might hesitate before cutting my cape up into bandages.”

As he worked, he chuckled to himself. “And for a sidekick, you were working solo pretty well; I thought you might have moved up from sidekick to cohort. What, the Evil Henchperson’s Union Local 238 would get on your case if you had some personalized equipment? Best not tell Skylad he has to turn in his Skycycle, then; I hear he’s got a real short temper about that kind of thing.”
 
“You’re an idiot aren’t you?” She lifts her arm up a little more and drapes it atop her head, rather than across her eyes. “For starts a Class A is like a cohort, or a second in command, a Class B is a lackey or almost a servant, and a class C is better man than a glorified goon. I am a class A, Captain fucktard Man’s little boy toy is a class B and well…you get the idea of it. I don’t need equipment that will clash with the Doctor’s. It just…asinine to even think about it. If I wanted to be solo…” She pauses and twitches her foot.

She let out an exasperated sigh as she looked at the human foot rest. “You’re not putting your dirty and bloody clothes on me, so you can stop tearing up what remaining shambles of it you have left.” She knew she must be sounding close to the haughty bitches she mocked so openly, but the words seemed have a mind of their own at the moment, and while not usually one to shift the blame about it she did blame the pain and of course the cause of said pain. “The pounces are pretty much empty. I didn’t think I needed to fill an arsenal for such a tiny job.” Rolling her head to the side to keep a better eye on the man, “It’s not like you’ve contributed to our ever dwindling supplies. “

The only thing left on her person that she could remember was the three mice, only two of which she had any real intention of using and the gem which she was loathe parting with. The whole operation depended upon it at the moment. It wasn’t something she could discard or replicate. Something about the composition of naturally occurring diamonds kept them from shattering like their man-made counterparts. She recalled one such experiment grimly; the scar that marked just under the rim of her right glove was proof enough.

She huffed again then, not sure what else she was supposed to do in this situation. “So you always a Hobo or are you sometimes a bum?”
 
"Ah, see, we don't generally have that rigid of an organization, at least, not that I'm aware of," he said, continuing to cut thick strips out of the hem of his coat. "I suppose there's some groups who subscribe to a gradation like that, but it's not universal. Besides, I've never been much of a joiner. I predate all the current active organizations, anyway."

"This coat's a write-off, anyway, so it's better to render it into something I might be able to work with. Even if you don't want your ankle bound, I'm sure there's something I can do with it." He chuckled. "and as for supplies, turns out you're about as equipped as I am, anyway. Difference is, I'm usually like this, you've got all those pouches and pockets. I can tell you, you wouldn't catch the Nightstalker going out without a full complement of toys in his utility belt."

He kept her foot up on his shoulder, so that she didn't have to put any sort of strain on her leg. They'd have to move out eventually, but until then, her ankle needed as much rest as it could get. She was a villain, yes, and a thief, provably, but she was clever and she bantered well under stress, and she was pretty bitingly funny. Those were great qualities, and they endeared her to him. Plus, the costume, while having an edge of silly, nonetheless was flattering, and he certainly didn't mind spending time with her. Mind you, the spiders were a bit much, but even they were manageable.

"Oh, I've been a hobo, a bum, a transient, a tramp, and a gypsy, but right now, I'm well supplied with homes. Got a place in the country, a split-level in the burbs, and a couple of different safe-houses in the city. I even got a small condo in NoBel." He intentionally name-dropped the exclusive North Belden neighborhood, judging from her accent and speech patterns she was the type to put some value on that. "Don't mistake the pragmatism for a lack of other options. I don't HAVE to dress like this, but it doesn't make sense to me to waste money unnecessarily."

He sighed, and looked around the space. "Okay. We're going to have to poke around here, to see if there's any other way out. You're gonna have to stay off this, and keep it elevated, for as long as we can before we hit the road. Can you lie back a little, and, like, put your foot up on your bent knee or something? Or should I look for something to rest your foot on?"
 
Mouse resisted the urge to remind Baker that Squatter’s Laws had been repealed in the late seventies and simply said nothing for the moment. This man was an idiot and she’s had enough of his company and that of the spiders, the pain, and tunnels.

She moved her leg from his shoulder and stood, the act sending a jolt of pain through her leg, but with a strange sense of accomplishment. “It’s fine. I don’t need to be coddled, let’s hurry this up, find a way out and do so. All this lounging around is doing absolutely pointless.” She stepped away from him, turning her back in the process as she moved to grab her boot. “Start scouting while I take care of this.” She of course eyed the boot warily for a moment. It was going to be hell sliding the pleather all the way back up her thigh and getting her ankle to take the beating these things could normally do getting on. It wasn’t even the options she had that made the situation much better, suck it up, go without it, or…

She reached her hand back without looking at him. “Give me your knife.” She had another pair of these boots somewhere in the lab, although the waste of it hurt. She put her glow stick in her mouth so as to not have to juggle it, the boot and the knife while she hacked away at making the boot more pain friendly. Worst comes to worst she could always try wrapping her foot with what she cut off. Had to cleaner than what ever things he was carrying on his body.
 
He watched her get up with an arched eyebrow. "The lounging is supposed to be helping your foot," he said softly, but didn't stop her. He even offered a hand to help her up; since she was determined to do it, he might as well be polite. He stood with her, already moving a bit better on his leg. Handing over his knife, he winced at the thought of her a) trying to walk on that ankle, and b) cutting up that fine boot. But he didn't object; he knew better than to try and stop her. He sighed, and moved out into the chamber space, holding the glowstick aloft.

As he moved into the chamber, he caught the glimmerings of something farther inward.. Large, and upright, and... it was pipes, Huge, water-main-style pipes, a big knot like they used to have in the old days. "I think we might be in part of the old sewer system. Got some heavy-duty plumbing, here, like a pumping station. Doesn't smell like we're anywhere near any active sewer tunnels, either." He got up close, noting the dust, the rust, the general sense of disuse. "The wall back behind here is brick, not like the walls over there. Might be some access to other tunnels. If we can get to more regular tunnels away from these spider warrens, that's progress, right?"

He hadn't been down in the sewers for a few years, but he still remembered some of the layout. Was at least one time he had to memorize whole sections of the tunnels, but that was years ago. Still, the big tunnels didn't change much; too much trouble to reroute something so large. If they could make it to a larger tunnel, his memory might help. He began to search around for a trap door, a hatchway, whatever. He'd let Mouse catch up as she could.
 
Did he expect her to sit in the tunnel for the next four days waiting for the blasted ankle to heal?! She kept quiet and she sawed away at the white pleather, cutting away the material. Once finished shortening the boot to a manageable height, she tore into the excess ripping off a thin strip. She draped the piece around her neck for a moment as she sat once more and began the painful tasking of tightly binding her ankle. While the pain from stuffing her battered foot into the confines of her boot was intense, she was grateful for not having to navigate it through the two feet of shoe. Taking the excess from her neck she tied it around the top of the short boot to secure it in place, lest it slide off while she was running.

She could only see the glow indicated where the transient had disappeared into the pitch to explore. A slightly unnerving feeling about it cause Mouse to shiver as she stood and made her way towards the glow, one again replacing her hand in her stick, the dampness of it completely unwelcomed. “It wouldn’t be unheard of. That’s how the tunnels were originally formed before expanding upon.” She limped her way over, feeling proud of her make shift wrap, even if it was the cost of a boot and it was a slight smile that she made her way to her unwanted partner. “You know your way? I know sewer people live in sewers, but I don’t know if hobos go visiting?” She smirked and subconsciously touched the edges of her mask, something she did often. A slight paranoid tick if you would, not overly noticeable, but still there. The fear of being caught was long ago pushed back in her mind for the thrill and the cockiness she developed as Mouse.

She placed her hand against the brick wall before looking back at him. “So which way? I always say left, but I haven’t a clue. I think the sentries are only in the tunnels Widow controls, so we might be ok…” She stopped for a second before quickly adding, “And don’t hold me to that last statement.” She huffed wishing for pain killers and a bath with all her might.
Without thinking she kicked out her bad foot in frustration, catching something metal with a loud resounding metallic clang, shortly followed by her hopping up and down and screaming. She set her leg gingerly back down and held out her stick as far as her arm could reach. A pipe had been the culprit, and sub sequentially become her current most hate enemy, but more importantly just beyond it lay a metal door.
 
He waited until she hopped out of the way, then leaned in and looked at what she'd discovered. "Excellent! Access grate!" He tried to ignore her howling; she hadn't been wanting to accept any help, she could deal with her consequences.

He knelt next to the door, examining it. "Locked, but... do you have a..." He turned and saw her still hopping. "Never mind." He took out his knife, unfolded the small blade and used the big pipe nearby to snap it cleanly off. Unfolding another blade, he got to work.

"There was a time back in the forties when I was hanging out with Fast-Fingered Freddie. I kept him out of trouble, er, sorta. And he taught me a few things. Like lockpicking. And more..." In a few moments, there was a screech of rusty metal, and a clank, and the lock came away. "Success!"

With a horrible shriek, the door opened to reveal... a ladder of rebar loops embedded in the brick. The ladder went further down, not up. "This is also going to be hard on your foot." He looked down the shaft. "Doesn't look too deep. Let me head down first, and then I'll be there to catch you if something happens while you're climbing down." He looked at her, arching an eyebrow. "Unless you've got a better idea?"
 
“No one cares about your dementia stories of your poor disease ridden brain,” Mouse called out as she stopped her hopping and glared. God she hated him, the temptation to push him down the hole suddenly seeming brilliant. Generally not prone to violence, she sorely considered an exception for the Hobo.

“If I did, you think I’d still be here?” She pushed past him, her anger having flared to dangerous levels with the introduction of more pain. Any pain she felt, she pushed to the side allowing it to simmer into anger instead of doing something purely out of character- crying. She looked down the ladder with her glow stick, the bottom shadowed and unable to be seen and shrugged. Mouse jumped once more activating her ability, slowing her fall enough to land gently on the damp concrete below, a soft slash echoing down the tunnel. Looking back up towards where she just came, she couldn’t see his face. “I swear this has got to be counterproductive. Heading lower to go higher...geeze.” She took a few steps forward holding out her glow stick as she limped, not even bothering to wait for Baker. There were two ways to go, left and right and she always chose left. If he said anything to the contrary of her choice he can stuff it. Not like his crazy ass knew where they were going. She kicked at the water frustratedly, before stopping thinking she heard a rumbling just up ahead. “I need to get out of here, his crazy is spreading.”
 
She pushed him into the pipes, and he lost his balance a bit. By the time he pulled himself up, she was in the shaft, and he rushed to the edge to look down. He tracked her by her glowstick, and realized she wasn't falling at gravity's normal rate. "Interesting," he murmured to himself. The girl had surprises up her sleeve-length opera gloves.

He was long past taking anything people said to him personally, but he was tickled by her stubborn refusal to change her first impressions. She was determined to keep her opinion of him, no matter what, and that kind of intractability was... kind of unique. It meant she wasn't a pushover, and that was good. He was beginning to like her more and more. Pity she played for the other team... in one sense. He had a horrible thought that she might play for another team in another sense, as well, and that would have crushed him. Then he realized his reaction, and mentally kicked himself. Now was not a good time.

Once she landed, she complained, but he had a reasonable explanation. "All the big tunnels are deep. Yet they're the ones with the surface access. Go figure." He started to clamber down the ladder as she wandered off. "Don't go too fast, there's things around down here. Waterfalls, sunken pits... even urban legends." He didn't specify, because she'd just have told him he was crazy. He splashed in the water at the bottom of the ladder, and turned to follow her.
 
She growled, not even realizing she did so in the process. “Right urban legends…” She huffed annoyed and brushed the same errant lock of hair behind her ear again. She began mumbling “…wish you were an urban legend..” when a sudden hissing noise from up ahead made her pause. Something in her brain licked enough for her mouth to stop with the annoyed offhanded childish comments enough to try and listen.

Ok, hissing meant…a line was broken and leaking…something. She didn’t smell gas so her brain went toward steam, but if it was loud enough to be heard, it was close enough to be felt… Her brain kept mulling over the idea, almost blocking out her surroundings in the process. She glanced over her shoulder for a moment back towards the approaching light. She opened her mouth to ask him his opinion when her mind screamed to turn back around and that it didn’t care what a hobo thought. He’d probably say sewer goblins or some nonsense from years of street living and drug usage. Maybe he had syphilis like Mien Fuhrer did in the 1950’s.

Mouse was in her own little world when from the shadows a large reptilian tail swatted out from a tunnel catching her in mid-drift and sending her skittering backwards a few feet, her only response an “oof” that escaped involuntarily.
 
The hissing happened again, amid a sliding, splashing, and shuffling, and in the dim glow of her glowstick, pebbly skin glistened and ivory teeth glittered as the alligator opened its mouth. It was bigger than the ones at the zoo, large but lean, this one no lazy kept pet, but a hunter in this lightless underworld. And clearly, it had spotted its prey.

An alligator doesn't usually move with much speed, but when hunting, they can charge their prey faster than a human can run, even without a sprained ankle. And this beast didn't give her a chance to flee; it lunged at her, all pink maw and white teeth. She didn't even have time to notice Baker's arms snaking around her waist and snatching her to the side. The hard, leathery muzzle of the alligator brushed her thigh as Baker spun them away, almost dancing past the side of the reptile, carrying Mouse along with a grip on her utility belt, avoiding getting too inappropriately handsy.

They continued to spin, his feet splashing lightly in the tunnel, almost unnoticeable among the thrashing of the alligator, and he stepped over the clawed feet as they scrabbled, trying to turn, and most strangely, almost frighteningly, he was laughing. He almost made it past the thrashing tail, as well, but it caught one of his feet just as they had almost made it to clear tunnel. He let her go, fingers trailing on her pouches as he almost flung her to safety, pushing her to stagger against the wall a little ways ahead while he fell to his belly in the water.

He looked up at her as, behind him, the alligator finally turned, nearly filling the passage as it doubled around. He looked up at her, the light from her glowstick and his shining in his face, and ... he grinned. And winked. And rolled to the side, just as the alligator lunged and snapped where his body had just been.

There wasn't much space in the tunnel, so it's not like he could roll far. As the alligator's jaws snapped shut, he rolled back. He kind of had to; his one remaining sleeve was snagged in the edge of the creature's teeth. He rolled back on top of it, and his hands grabbed the closed jaws and held them tight. The giant monster began to thrash, tossing its head, trying to slam Baker into the walls, ripping free his sleeve in the process, but he hugged his arms around its muzzle. He kept grinning, and in fact, Mouse could hear him singing in a falsetto: "Laaaaaaaaaaaaa, la la la la laaaaaaaa, la la la la laaaaaaaa, la la la la laaaaaaaa..."

When the alligator paused a moment to catch its breath, Baker's hand flashed to his pocket. He was hard-pressed to keep its muzzle closed with one hand while he fished something out, but shortly thereafter, he did something fast, and then let himself get thrown clear. He bounced off the ceiling of the tunnel, ricocheted forward, splashed down and skidded to a stop almost next to Mouse. He sighed happily, rolled onto his back, and levered himself up on his elbows to look back at the gator.

It was tossing its head, its jaws tied shut with a couple of lengths of cut trenchcoat. It kept backing away, trying to rub the bindings away; it would succeed, eventually, but for the near future, it was muzzled, and it knew it. It backed away, down the tunnel, and Baker chuckled after it. "That's right, get outta here before someone turns you into a handbag and a pair of pumps!" He looked up at Mouse. "Hey, if you ever decide you wanna be Gator Girl, we can get your new costume materials down here!"

He scrambled wearily to his feet, still chuckling. "Good news is, a gator this big means we're not too far from a large tunnel, and we follow one of those long enough, we get to an access ladder. Come on, before that thing gets loose. Let's hit the road." He picked up his glowstick, offered an elbow like he was a prom date or something, and grinned at her.
 
She sat watching the entire spectacle, her mind reeling a million miles a minute, and while she saw the events unfold in front of her eyes, her brain wasn’t actually processing the images it was fed. Her mouth stood partially gaped, her mask slightly skewed. “That totally trumps a fucking spider.” Wide-eyed Mouse watched as the gator disappeared from view. Not a hard task considering how dark the tunnels were. She looked up a Baker for a moment before wrinkling her nose at him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she just had gotten her ass knocked down in tunnel water, that she had been rescued and the thing did want to eat her. “Gator Girl? You think too low of me…I’d be the Gator Queen and it would be glorious. Oh no more Mousey comments…anyone opens their mouth and they will open theirs …”

She slapped a hand down in the water and was revised from her temporary lapse in...well what could be perceived as sanity. She clutched her glow stick tighter and her smile faded to disdain. “Wipe that damn smirk off your face.” She warily accepted the arm to be helped to her feet, but refused to rest her hand in the crook of his arm. He was suddenly acting far too cocky for her comfort… as soon as they got topside his ass was getting knocked down a peg, or back into the sewer. “You sing off key you know.” She moved her hand away shaking it off as if it were dirty and moved ahead of him, her limp preventing her perfect image. “So we’re looking for a ladder and a manhole…there should be light coming from above which will help make this all the more easier.” She pushed onward, hoping his theory was right. “You know…they have housing for the homeless in the South District. You don’t have to live on alleyways. If you go there you don’t have to skulk on buildings and injure women…” She moved her free hand to once more fix the white leather mask.
 
Baker raised an eyebrow when she went all "Gator Queen" on him, and smiled even wider when she snapped out of it, even in spite of her disdain. "I like when you think big," he murmured as he helped her up, but accepted when she ignored him to push on ahead. He honestly didn't expect any less.

"My singing is the least of my faults," he admitted, keeping close pace with her, as much as he could in the relatively narrow tunnel. "And yes, light is a good indicator; in the big tunnels, they even have sodium lamps going, for maintenance and such, so we won't need to worry quite as much about these glowsticks."

When she started in on his homelessness again, he had to smile. He'd been homeless, sure; traveling sometimes did that, particularly when you traveled in the times and regions he had. But he hadn't been lying when he said he was pretty flush with places to stay right now. "I appreciate the advice; I'll look into it. But I assure you, I do my best not to injure women without permission. Didn't you land wrong or something on that ankle? Pinning it on me doesn't seem fair..."

"Look, let's get off the subject of me; I get the impression I've talked enough about myself already, wouldn't want to bore you any longer. Let's talk about your hobbies. You never did get around to telling me what kind of research that diamond was going to finance. Solving cancer, was it?" He reached into his pocket and stroked a finger along the hard cut planes of the diamond he'd lifted while spinning her away from the alligator. He hadn't been kidding about Fast-Fingered Freddie, or the various and sundry skills he'd learned. In a field full of super-powers, his skills were just about his only advantage.

"Why don't you tell me about it? I used to hang with WoMachine, before she moved to Detroit; you don't spend much time around 'The Real Pneumatic Blonde' without being able to hold your own with the science. I promise I'll ask only the minimum number of stupid questions..."
 
“You know we’re-“ Mouse stopped halfway through he next comment then, thinking better than to try and argue with this brick wall. If he wanted to believe he hung out with influential people by living outside their alley or the same with upscale neighborhoods. She sighed defeatedly at that point not feeling the urge since her mood deflated once more with her trip back to cold stark reality.

She huffed then at having to try and explain Madd’s process, something she was sure she didn’t even fully understand sometimes, despite it being her major in college. “All right, let me tone this down then. Not all abilities manifest in pretty and magical ways. Some are quite detrimental to the host, er person they appear in. Take Gillium Ringwald for example, born with gills and webbed hands, has spent the last twenty seven years in a fish tank, or Johnny Rocket who since age nineteen bursts into flames burning off the epidermis anytime he is exposed to oxygen. They permanently keep him in an unconscious state in an air-tight container And Kath-“ She stops then taking a breath and trying to stop her little tirade. She had talking at length; it always seemed like a super-villain cliché to do so. Talk, talk, talk, instead of finishing off your nemesis and give them not only the time to escape, but the means to foil you…bullshit.

Feeling to need to finish up her spiel she hurries through her explanation, “Anyways, We…um I want to control, manipulate and hopefully reverse such items. It doesn’t matter which house of thinking you cater to, the mutations, evolutions, genetically engineered babies by our government, aliens, and etcetera, there is an immediate issue capes just don’t seem to care about. Not everyone gets to run around in tights and be a fashion model. Fucking media.” She huffs, digressing again.

“I need the diamond for testing since there’s just something technology can’t replicate with lab created gems. They shatter and cause all sorts of nasty destruction. Ever had to pull a carat of shiny sparkly hell fury out of a person…it is not pleasant.” She kicks at the water, making a splashing sound to distract herself from reflexively rubbing at her left arm as she always does when thinking upon it. She stopped for a second thinking her tired mind spotted the glimmer of light from up ahead.
 
Baker nodded as he listened, even though she couldn't really see him. His eyes were sharp enough to note her arm rub as she spoke of injury. He thought of the time he was trapped inside Ali Baba's treasure trove by a battle between Bedouins and French Foreign Legionnaires, back in the freewheeling 1920s. "Oh, I know how that is. Shrapnel injuries like that are devastating."

He sighed with pleasure as he glimpsed the same glimmer. "There we go. The echo says we're coming up to a larger area, and that light tells me it's a major passage. Never thought I'd be so happy to see sodium-yellow streetlights."

Indeed, the tunnel ended about four feet above a narrow walkway in a much larger tunnel with a huge smelly river flowing barely an inch below the slick brick surface of the walk. When Lab Mouse paused, looking down at the drop, Baker slipped past and nimbly dropped down. His hand was in his other pocket, palming the cellphone. It was a modern cellphone, prepaid and anonymous to most corporations, but the Coalition had the number and GPS ID registered in their network. Baker carried one for personal use and to give to the occasional newbie vigilante he might meet; the phone had the Coalition safe number (staffed 24/7 by Cyber-Dave the Computerized Man) and Baker's personal number (to his phone accidentally left on the charger back home) programmed in, but that was it. He palmed it before reaching up to help her. "Here, it'll save time. We pick a direction, and it's only a matter of scuffling along and ignoring the rats and gator nests until we find a ladder."

As he helped her down, Fast-Fingered Freddie's skills came in handy once more in slipping the cellphone into one of her unoccupied pouches. Once her feet were securely on the ledge, he let her go and gestured to let her lead, as he knew she preferred to do. "Despite what you think, I know a number of capes have been interested in the problem of maladapted metahuman manifestations. There's a few been working on the biological aspect, trying to shut off the genes or whatever, but if I recall, the problem is there's such a variety of things that can cause triple-M, it's hard to find a single cure. And like you said, the problem isn't very widely recognized by the media."

"I do happen to know the Melpomene Foundation tries to help such victims find things they can do. If that Ringwald person were to get in touch, for example, there's a lot of opportunities for search and rescue, underwater welding, dam inspections, or simply marine exploration and research. I don't know what could be done for Johnny Rocket, but then I'm not on the research staff." He was merely on the Board of Trustees as a co-founder.

In fact, Cyber-Dave was one of his personal recruits from the Melpomene Foundation; unable to move due to a more conventional problem of advanced muscular dystrophy, David Gallant's exceptionally cybernetically-adaptive mind was given free reign with some Melpomene-donated technology, and out of thanks, a few percentages of his millions of operations per second were devoted to support work for the Coalition, managing their electronic systems and personally handling their communications. His physical form was housed in an armored bunker designed to his own specifications, on Coalition-managed property, and he was as happy as he'd ever been.

"But anyway. No, I see what you're trying to do. I just wonder why you can't propose this sort of research as a public health issue, above-board. You know, get some grant funding, maybe some collaboration going. It seems like the kind of thing that would go far to rehabilitate ol' Madd's image, if it came to that." Her hedging as to who was doing the research was disingenuous to someone who was familiar with her file and her past operations.
 
She scoffed. While she had been somewhat impressed that he actually knew about maladapted metahuman manifestations, his mention of the organization lost what little respect he had gained just seconds prior. “I wouldn’t trust Melpomene to spit on me if my hair was on fire, why refer people there to be little more than guinea pigs. Oh progress, fuck their progress. Ask about patient file number 5619043 and you’ll see what a crock of shit that place is. Helping people my foot.” She clenched her hand tight trying to fight back the annoyance. Everyone always quickly pointed out Melpomene whenever she mentioned MMM…it was disgusting.
She hastened her paces a few steps along the slippery path, before her bound ankle and wits forced her to slow once more. She had little want of slipping into whatever happened to be floating next to them at that very moment.

“You’re an idiot you know,” She began. “You know who I am and yet you propose I should go to the City. ‘Oh sorry I’ve been causing mayhem and what not for the past few years want to help my cause?’ I’m sure that will go over big. Might even give me the star treatment and give me a double wide cell.” Mouse shook her head, her patience having run out. It wasn’t a lack of trying to get the matter out there; it was getting anyone to care. Her motto had always been any means to an end, and it had come back to bite her hard when she dated a few journalists and a member of the city health board, all of which refused to do much about the issue. Funding Capes to chase masks was always more interesting and important. God, she hated capes.

She was about to once again speak when the welcomed sight of dull yellow light shone from above. He heart stopped for a second and a smile plastered across her face. While not scared of the dark, the light was always a much more welcomed sight. She rushed towards it spotting the long dark shadows of the ladder, and her foot forgotten she began her ascension. Hobo could be damned if he didn’t hurry. She was getting the hell out of here.
 
Baker shrugged at her venom toward Melpomene. "I'm not saying it's perfect. Any organization makes mistakes, just like people do. But at least they're trying, and they help more then they hinder." He resolved to look at the file she mentioned, quickly committing the number to memory. The foundation was usually very careful and considered in their assistance, and in fact, many of the people running it were Melpomene beneficiaries whose talents were suited to furthering the foundation's goals. But even still, there were mistakes, and for the right kind of mindset, it only took one error or failure to sour the entire enterprise.

At being called an idiot, he shrugged, even though her back was to him. He listened to her diatribe, and sighed. "Now you're the one who's not thinking creatively. That's why you keep a secret identity, for one thing, so you have room to maneuver around problems like that. And that's also why you can drop an A.I. and pick up a new one. Plus, it's not like there's not a precedent for criminals going straight. Look at the Red Queen, or Tommy Knockers..." he winced at the name, as he always did; why someone would choose an alt identity based on a Stephen King book, of all things, he had no idea, especially when it wasn't even one of King's best. "I mean, there were some consequences to be dealt with, but they did become valuable heroes in their own rights."

He, too, spied the light filtering down from above, and knew what it meant. He hurried after her. An alligator hiss sounded from the far bank of the muck they were moving beside, but he merely glowered into the darkness as if daring another gator to try something, and no further challenge was heard. Mouse was at the ladder, thick rebar rungs sprouting from the concrete wall in big horizontal U shapes, and already trying to climb it, her progress awkward with her injured ankle. He was already feeling like he had full mobility, although his calf muscles did feel a little tight, like he'd recently had a Charley Horse or something. He let her take the ladder first, resolving to follow up behind so if she slipped, he might be able to catch her.

Also, he didn't intend to mind the view, either.
 
With each step Mouse made up the rungs of the ladder, the better she felt. The light was getting brighter casting a dull yellow glow about her, causing her blue eyes to appear green and parts of her white costume a more golden color, and she could care less. While normally not a fan of the color yellow her, she would concede and buy a yellow dress just for the joy of getting out of this damn hell hole.

She cast a quick glance over her shoulder as gloved hands made contact with rusting rungs, the cape was still following and she was sure if this was a good thing or bad anymore. “So which alley way you heading home to tonight?” She turned her yellow hued face forward once more. “I’m sure the shelters might have a bed if you promise to bathe and I’m sure the Church on Seventh Street might still have cast offs from the drive that ended on the fifteenth. Soup kitchens are closed at this hour, but either one of the aforementioned might have something.”

She trailed off, and at that moment the sight of the dank metal circle with the backwards letters of “Cityopolis Municipal Water District” became the most welcomed sight in the world. While normally she’d question her sanity at finding such joy in such a miserable item, she was tired of trying to blame the pain and darkness. Her mind told her to shush and press on as she balanced on the ladder, her thighs pressing hard into the rusted metal as she braced her hands above her. It would be her luck that she’d fall this close to freedom, but it didn’t matter. She levered her body and pushed up, straining slightly as the thirty pound piece of metal moved up and began to shift with a harsh grating noise on the concrete above.

She quickly scampered above and collapsed on the sidewalk above. The street was deserted at this time of night and with a rust colored palm she ran her gloved hand through her hair gasping at the cool clean night air.
 
On the ladder, she asked him about his plans for the rest of the night. He chuckled as she listed his options, at least the ones he had in her mind. "I'll look into those, thanks. I think I got my night buttoned up, though." He paused and looked up at her, enjoying the angle for a moment before saying, "It's nice of you to be concerned. Lots of people in your position and profession would tell me to go to hell and then try to send me there."

About then is when she levered open the manhole cover. At first, Baker was afraid she might be hit by a car, remembering the scene in "Darkman" when the titular character took out Ted Raimi's character. But she opened it up and got out just fine. He followed her out, and as she staggered to the sidewalk to collapse, he dragged the manhole cover back closed. The street was deserted, so he paused there and leaned back, hands at the small of his back, trying to pop his vertebrae back into place. It had been that kind of night. The big scrape he'd gotten at the very beginning of this misadventure barely twinged, already scabbed over and starting to heal.

"Looks like... Twenty-first and Vincent. The Kettle." This neighborhood had gotten its name around the turn of the century, when it was all Chinese tea-houses and textiles, and the biggest ironmonger in the city cranked out teakettles and vast laundry-washing pots and cloth-dying cauldrons. Nowadays it was gentrified lofts and left-over shabby storefronts, quiet and residential. "I know what I'm doing, but how about you?"

Before she could answer, he snapped his fingers. "Oh, right, before I forget..." He dug into his pocket and fished out something. "I believe you dropped this when we were dealing with the gator. I hadn't intended to give it back to you, honestly, but after hearing about how you want to use it to fight Triple-M, it seems like it'll have more of a practical purpose with you than with the jeweler's." He walked over and placed the diamond in her hands.

"Oh, and I feel bad about the boots," he added, digging into his other pocket. "I know custom jobs are expensive, so here, put this toward a replacement pair." He dropped his cash roll into her hands as well. He'd started off that day with an even thousand, but between a couple of cups of coffee and a few good deeds earlier on, he was down to something like $850, $875 or so. But she wouldn't know that until she unrolled the bills.
 
She rubbed at her throbbing ankle seriously cursing the fact that he just said they were in the Kettle. He might have said they were out by Brubaker’s for all the good it was going to do her at this point. While the over exaggeration seemed implausible, she might as well have to swim for all the good getting back to the South district. Her leg reminded her ruefully of the hazards of not having a getaway car or flight. Mouse huffed as she blew an errant lock from her face, while she never had a want of such a thing, Madd’s jet boots sounded wonderful right now.

She was only paying half attention when he pulled the gem from the tattered remains of his clothing. Mouse quickly jumped to her feet, past pain once against forgotten in her quickly flared fury. “You fucking thief!” She pointed at him accusatory while the other hand quickly snatched away the gem whipping it at her dirty leotard, as if to rid it of some of the vagrant’s germs that lurked upon the shiny surface.

It was adding insult to injury when he also tossed the roll of cash in her hands as she worked on sanitizing the stone. She waved it in his face, “What the hell kind of cape are you to rob people. Grah!” Frustratedly she stomped her bad foot on the ground, a point meant to emphasize her point, only to have that fail miserably. Capes protected people, not stole from them. Villain or masks as they were at times called did that. Heroes were supposed to be well, heroic, and yet here this hobo was stealing her shit, other people’s shit and not even wearing appropriate cape attire. It didn’t matter that he had saved her neck tonight, or that he claimed to have ‘found’ the gem. She never once saw him bend down to grab at anything, not that she could see it if he did. Her mind was set- he robbed her when they were climbing the ladder. She growled, her piercing blue eyes shooting death glares at the man in front of her. God help her, she was ready to kill him after everything that happened tonight.
 
Baker's lips quirked up when she called him a thief, and then when she started waving the money in his face and yelling at him, his eyes actually widened in surprise, and he couldn't keep back his grin. He started to chuckle, and that snowballed into a full belly laugh. "All right, fine, fine," he finally got out. "I thieved your stolen property. Yes, I stole from the stealer, and I'm sorry. But I didn't steal that money, that's... you know what, that represents days of hard panhandling! You think it's easy to hit up people on the subway all day for a dollar a pop and then fight crime at night?"

He started getting into the fable he was weaving as he began stalking off up street, as if ranting to himself. "All those hours of 'hey buddy, got a dollar, hey, buddy, got a dollar, hey buddy, got a dollar,' and she accuses me of stealing! The nerve! And after I kept those spiders off her pert little ass..." He descended into muttering as he drew away, not turning around but listening behind him to hear if she'd call after him or anything. He didn't expect her to, but just in case...

As soon as he was far enough away that he was sure she'd wished him good riddance, he fished out his comlink. "Cyber-Dave, how you doing tonight? Good, good. Oh, the usual. No, nothing broken this time, but another outfit trashed. Yeah, I know. Listen, I got three favors I'd like you to do for me. First, can you get a cab sent to Twenty-first street, north of Vincent? Get one of those JohnnyCabs if you can, but if not, tell 'em to look for a woman from a costume party limping around all angry. Yeah, charge it to my credit card, if you please."

"Second, I'd like you to access the GPS for that disposable phone I had, I think it was number 487? Should be in that general area right now. Yeah, access it and keep me posted on where it goes. I'm heading home to get my own phone so I'll be able to track it directly. Much obliged."

"Third... I'd like you to get into the Melpomene records, and dig out patient file... what was it... 5619043. Everything ought to be scanned, just pull a copy of the file and send it to my phone, will you? I'll be able to review it from there."

"Well, I could explain, but I'm not sure what it all means yet, myself. I'm just following some leads on a mystery. No, nobody's dead. Not yet, at any rate." He glanced up, and saw a cab turning onto the deserted street from the more populous one he was walking toward. It was indeed one of the JohnnyCabs, robotic electric/hybrid vehicles using WoMachine's limited A.I. software and her automatic navigation system to get people going efficiently. The prices were higher, and they didn't do things like run lights or cut people off in traffic, but they were anonymous and efficient and asked no questions and made no judgments. So far, it had been a profitable investment. And it ought to see Lab Mouse home reasonably quickly, wherever that home might be.
 
She let a frustrated scream and she quickly turned on her heal and limped her way down the street still clutching both the money and the gem in her hand. Her common sense, if she wasn’t so furious, would have quickly slapped her hard enough to put away the items. It wasn’t until the approaching headlights began to blind her as she rounded the corner heading down Vincent that logic began to slowly erode at the anger and frustration that seemed to have gripped her for a large portion of the evening. Mouse shielded her eyes as the lights became brighter, trying to make out the source as it began to slow on its approach. Fuck me with my luck it’s the damn cops. How convenient… Just as she was about to turn and hot foot, or as much as her injured and body could hot foot, the brunette noticed the bright yellow and blue markings of the auto-taxi. Shoving the gem into one of the empty pouches she hobbled to the cab, quickly throwing open the rear door and collapsing onto the dark navy leather bench seat. The smell of disinfectant assaulted her senses as she lay sprawled for a moment not even caring the car wasn’t moving.

“Riverton and 51st…please.” The manners had been a conditioned after thought, but while it didn’t matter to her that the computer could careless if she was polite she felt the need to be to her mechanized savior. Sanity wasn’t even the issue here, as her brain equated the car as such. A savior.

The streets blurred by as it had u-turned and began heading back in the direction it had once come, a streak of luminescent glowing yellow lights and late night shops with their brightly colored neons. She reached up and pulled the white strip of leather from her face, rubbing tenderly at the area beneath. Softly toned high cheek bones came into view accented softly nicely by the soft blue of Elizabeth ’s eyes. She sat up in the back seat and ran a gloved hand through her hair as she realized there was money clenched in the other. Seeing the high steeple of the St. Paul ’s she informed the cab to stop. Gingerly she stepped from the vehicle before making her way up the seven steps to slam her fist into the large wooden door. She knew the priest lived there, but she wasn’t even certain to his hearing her as she set the money on the door and scampered back to the awaiting cab. It took off as soon as the door closed and she didn’t bother to look back. It wasn’t religion that motivated her actions it was a lack of a better idea…

After yet another defeat for the night, this time in an argument with the automated taxi over accepting payment, her frustration level was nearly catastrophic when she found herself creeping up to her door in the apartment building. The white wood being a welcoming sight as the key turned the tumblers allowing entrance. “Aly, I’m home,” she called, not expecting a response as the clock on the wall chimed off a quarter past two. The distant sound of metal scraping on metal somewhere inside abruptly stopped as she threw the deadbolt. She passed by the small dining room and kitchen before stopping at a locked door to type in the code on the security lock.

With a slight hiss, the door swung inward to reveal test tubes, and beakers filled with colored liquids, a large glass door specimen refrigerator a dual screen computer. It was the fridge that held her interest though at the moment as she cross the room to it removing a small chilled bottle and syringe.

Stripping her boots she looked examined the dark swollen ankle and grimmaced. For some reason seeing the injury made the pain so much worse. A white object came darting through the “lab” door then, stopping just short of El’s leg. “Aly, you might not want to watch this…” She trailed off as she looked down at the rat and pulled off the syringe’s cap with her teeth. The rat twitched at the sound of the cap and quickly disappeared behind one of the cabinets. She sook her head and quickly filled, tapped and squirted the needle, before deftly injecting the injured area. The cocktail of painkiller and anti-inflamitaory was always a life saver, and hopefully it would remain so.

Setting down the medical supplies, she rose wobbly and exited the rat trailing behind her. Algernon had been one of the few things she stole for her own. He had been an experiment of Madd's, a quest for immortality or some rubbish he had been fixated on at the time. Elizabeth had taken a liking to the little imp and delcared him dead to steal him out from lab...not that Madd probably would have denied her the rodent if she had asked...

She removed her leotard and gloves as she limped her way across the hall to her bed room, she worry about the discarded incriminating articles later. Casting a sideways glace towards the washroom, she shrugged and collapsed on her bed. A shower could wait for the morning she mused, too tired to cringe at the sewer filth that probably clung to her. Aly using the small ramp at the foot of the bed, crawled up beside his mistress, before settling in to sleep on his pillow.
 
"...and I had CyberDave call her a JohnnyCab to send her home."

"Wait, you let her go with the diamond? Scott free? Are you sure you're Baker? Put the real Baker on the phone!"

"Funny. But I did plant the phone, right? I had Dave track it. It's been more or less stationary for almost an hour now, I'm on my way there to check it out, get some location data for Dave to run a background check, you know the deal."

"Basic detective work. It's the 1930s all over again."

"That was your 1930s. I was in Africa most of that decade, letting my stocks mature."

"Whatever, man. So, what's got you hooked about this Mouse girl?"

"Well, she's cute..."

"They're all cute. You can't be involved in the capes-and-criminals game without being notable. Nobody's plain."

"I'm plain."

"You're worse than plain, daddy-o. But you're not quite ugly enough to be notable. And nobody believes you're a cape, do they?"

"SO, ANYWAY! I dunno, there's just something I see there. She felt guilty when she thought I bought it coming down to the alley, I saw her hesitate."

"Okay. Conscience, that's good. But what about Deb?"

"Oh, shit, I didn't tell you? Deb broke up with me."

"Wow. I'm sorry, man. Did she tell you why?"

"Ah, we just wanted different things. We'd been kind of drifting a bit, going through the motions, really. You know the signs as well as I do. I think she was trying to revitalize us when she started talking about kids, and I had to tell her, that's one thing I'd never be able to give her."

"Oh, that. Yeah, that's why I don't stick with anybody regular."

"You just like being the libertine rake, good sir."

"Hey, it's got me through more than a buck and a half; better than your serial monogamy."

"Yeah, your age buys you nothing with me, Seth."

"Fine, fine, old timer. Well, that sucks, but it always does. You'd think at our age we'd kind of get used to it.

"You'd think we'd be bored of falling in love, too, but every time is different, at both ends of the relationship."

"How'd Deb take the news?"

"Besides breaking up with me? Pretty damn good. She's already got a new boyfriend."

"Already? Somebody in the community?"

"Of course. Those wings of hers aren't detachable."

"Do I know this new boyfriend?"

"Kinda. You seen those ads for Falcon Deliveries? Door to door airmail?"

"Holy shit, she's dating Tommy Falcon?"

"The cat's real name is Tom Patterson. Guess that didn't look as good on the business card."

"Well, he's got wings, too. 'Patterson' doesn't exactly inspire aerial imagery."

"I dunno, there was this pilot named Patterson back in WW2..."

"I heard that one already. So Deb hooked up with a civilian?"

"Yeah, he doesn't play the game, even though he's a freak like the rest of us."

"At least he's not working for the other side. Ahem."

"... Okay, point."

"Look, I'm not trying to tell you what to do. That never works anyway."

"Look who's talking."

"This isn't about me. Not tonight, at least. But this girl, Lab Mouse. You want to turn her into a recruitment case? Turn her away from the dark side?"

"Maybe. Look, it's just a curiosity right now. I'm investigating a villain sidekick. Mouse and the Madd Scientist, that'd be notable if they got brought down, right?"

"If you bring her down. Madd, I definitely want him down; his electro zapper whatsit cooked a few of the flock of me last year, and I felt the pain in my legs for weeks."

"You know, you turning into a flock of distinct and separate birds? Never gets less creepy."

"Hush, distraction. Mouse, now, if you can turn her like ForceFemme, that'd be great; we can always use fresh help. Just don't let her turn out like The Green Knight."

"Oh, man, the Green Knight. I haven't thought about her in years. You know, that contoured breastplate actually wasn't even as big as what she was packing, she was all squished in there..."

"Baker. Don't try to distract me. Besides, I already knew that. My point is, your judgment can get cloudy when there's a pretty girl or a noble cause involved. This sounds like it's trying to be both, and I don't want you fooling yourself."

"I appreciate that, my man. But you don't have to worry; I'm being careful."

"Sure you are. So I'd have thought you'd be there already; why weren't you following her right away? Why the delay?"

"Well, I had to go home to the Randolph Street place and pick up my phone, and shower. I was in the sewers, man!"

"Yeah, okay. So you could have just grabbed a hoverpack from the garage and popped after her."

"Well, I had to go uptown first. And it wasn't good to use a jetpack after that."

"Uptown? Why would... Oh, hell, you went to put on your suit, didn't you?"

"Hey, she's only seen me in my working clothes! That's hardly a fair impression!"

"The damn thing's thirty years old, Baker!"

"And it still fits! That's saying something, right?"

"You're just lucky you've got classic taste. It'll be a little outdated, but possibly she might mistake it for some intentional retro; that's popular these days. It shouldn't stand out too badly, long as there's no moth holes in it. You have it bad already!"

"I do not have it bad."

"You totally do! You spent an hour or two crawling through tunnels with the woman, and you're already pulling out your suit!"

"No! Well... maybe a little. But you know, the thing is..."

"What? What is it? Can't just be looks, we're both past that sort of thing, so what?"

"She's a challenge."

"..."

"Seth?"

"I'm here."

"So..."

"So."

"So what do you think?"

"I think it's probably a mistake. But you've made mistakes before that turned out great, in the end. So I say good luck."

"Thanks, buddy."

"No problem. So does this mean we're gonna have to put band practice on hold?"

"I'll call you once I know what's going on with this. First I'm gonna work with CyberDave, figure out who she is and do a check on her, workplace, et cetera."

"Oh, that's not creepy and stalkeriffic at all."

"No, that part is the investigation of a possible costumed criminal. We'd do that for anyone we suspected. The creepy and stalkeriffic part is what I decide to do with the information after we gather it."

"Okay, so at the rate CyberDave works, you'll have that by, what, 5 am? What then?"

"Well, I have some Melpomene files to read while I wait for Dave to track the stuff down, then I do a bit of renewal meditation to make up for the lost sleep, and then I see about making contact again. If she tries to kill me next time she sees me, I think we can probably go on with our practice schedule as planned; if she doesn't, I could need the night free."

"Fair enough."

"Seth... thanks."

"For what?"

"You give me good advice. Between all the insults."

"Don't look at me, Baker. You're the one with the morals and the sense of duty. I just like hanging out with my friends and doing something interesting every so often."

"Yeah, whatever. You old softie."

"That makes you an ancient softie, then."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll keep you posted."

"Please do. Your love life can be better than any soap opera on TV. With the possible exception of Bonanza."

"Heh. Later."

"Bye."
 
It wasn’t the cell phone in the other room or the alarm clock that finally roused the woman from drug induced sleep; it was the twitching of whiskers against the cartilage of her ear. Rolling over with a groan, the costume’s ears were pulled from her hair, courtesy of the rat sitting on the large pink and white piece.

Flailing out an arm, clear polished nails make contact with the alarm clock, causing the incessant buzzing to stop and instead for it to speak in s digitalized woman’s voice, “The time is 6:52 am Frid-“ The hand made contact once more with the button silencing it again for another day. Groggily, Eli swung her legs over the side of the bed and began her zombie like trudge to shower and ready for the office, which was tedious at best, but a necessity given her activities the night before. Stretching, the temptation of calling in sick struck her hard as she turned on the shower to max to help kill whatever nasties were breeding on her body courtesy of her night time excursion into the under world. While the thought of traversing the real of Hades seemed ridiculous she wished for it considering she was considering burning her sheets. Brimstone had to be far, far cleaner than the pipe system.

Taking the hard brush to her skin she begins to scrub meticulously, having sworn the last time she needed to do this that it would have been her last. Pausing Elizabeth smirks wondering if it would be possible to train an attack gator to eat spiders…or if it would be a natural instinct.

* * *

Stepping from the shower she looks down to see Algernon looking up at her, his head half cocked, and while the action would have been cute any other morning she found it mildly annoying today. Huffing, “I’ll feed you, your breakfast in a moment. You could go eat actual rat food for once you know.” She stepped past him and back into her bedroom to quickly throw on a button down white shirt and a high waisted skirt. Stockings and heals could wait for a moment as she wrapped her hair into a towel and walked into the kitchen, her little white shadow following close behind.

* * *

It was with a heavy heart that she ran down the street, toast clenched between her teeth, the smell of eggs lingering in her brain. She fucking spoiled that rat too much. She almost dropped her toast when her brain likened her to a crazy cat lady garnering her a strange look from passersby as she ran down into the subway tunnel. She disliked cats…she couldn’t possibly…

Her brain didn’t complete the thought as she dropped the toll coins into the turn style and made her way to the platform.

Of course the subway was a few minuets early and already boarding as she rushed on to it, squeezing in between an overly large woman and the divider on the bench. She had no intention, despite however many milligrams of painkillers she had shot up with this morning to stand on her ankle. It was bad enough the fucking heels were going to make today a veritable hell.

The soft beep beeping from within her bag jogged her from her near descent into fuming once more over the hobo from the night before. Seven missed calls and two voice mails…perfect. Scrolling through the calls, Damien was for five of them and two were from an unknown number…even more perfect.

The distinctly British voice of her employer’s nephew was on the other end of the phone then, “Eli, you really should learn to answer when I call.” The sounds of laughter and glass clinking could be made out in the background. “Anyways, I’m afraid the negotiations on mining rights haven’t been going well and I won’t be making it back in time for the Gala this weekend. Don’t worry love, thought ahead. Already have a dress waiting for you at the office. Anyways must run, you know how tiring these talks are. Bye.”

Eli was ready to chunk her phone across the subway car, and scream when the stares of those around her made her snap back to reality. Quickly drawing back in her phone, she tucked it in her bag and half heartedly smiled. “Sorry bad break up.” That earned her several murming comments about her and then once again silence. Once again she was the crazy chick on the subway. The perfect start to a perfect day from a perfect night.

* * *

As promised there was a dress sitting on her desk that morning, along with a bouquet of “don’t kill me irises”. The only reason she tolerated that man was for his uncle. Putting the dress in Dr. Maddox’s coat closet, she quickly rushed to her desk, throwing her stuff inside the draw and got to business. Thank god it was Friday.
 
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