Capes 'Verse: A Really Long Introduction to Almost Everything (2/3)
Part 1
~~
“If you’re going to cut class, at least bother getting off school property.”
Mal doesn’t even look up at the sound of Coach Alexander’s voice, just stays sitting back to back with the stone gargoyle and looking at his feet. Footsteps approach, and bright orange sneakers enter Mal’s peripheral vision. The coach crouches down and tilts his head at an awkward angle so he can look at Mal properly. “You’re not sick, right? Is it family problems?”
Mal sighs and hates Coach Alexander for being well-meaning. “Urahara sent you, didn’t he.”
“Professor Urahara to you, kid.” Coach Alexander leans against the next gargoyle over. “Seriously, he was worried about you.”
“Professor Urahara doesn’t do worried, coach. Like, at all.” Mal has yet to see anything more than the vaguest of emotions on the history professor’s face, and worried has never been one of them. This morning was the closest to pissed Mal had ever seen, and likely no one else noticed. They never had a reticent psychic for a partner.
Coach Alexander grins at him. “So you think. Moving along. What’s the matter, kid?”
Mal goes back to looking at his feet. “I don’t like who I’ve been,” he admits. There’s no way he’s bringing up the problem with Evan/Psyon. He might as well be a little honest, though, since the coach is almost as perceptive as a telepath. “It’s… annoying. I’m looking back, and wondering how the hell no one has gone and killed me for being a jackass.”
“Superiority complexes are hard to maintain,” Coach Alexander sympathizes. “So, what? You’re gonna just change? Doesn’t sound like the easy route.”
Mal cracks a smile. “I’m a Donovan, coach. We don’t do easy.”
~~
After four hours of hiding in the music storeroom, Mal gets kicked out by Doctor Sharp, but at least by then he has a plan. Something of a plan. Okay, it’s not even that, but Mal feels better, at least. He doesn’t blame Psyon for not being too enthusiastic about sharing their secret identities. Mal admits to having been unbearable, and their partnership would definitely have suffered if they had done their big reveals before Eth and Kage got Mal thinking about the differences between his lives. Mal likes being Spectre better anyway, so he figures the road to getting Psyon comfortable with telling him starts with appealing to the part of him that is Evan.
Brandon, of course, notices Mal being more bearable. He’s the closest thing Mal has to a friend; these are the kinds of things he would notice. “You’re not dying, are you?” he asks as they run around the track that evening. They have a track meet in a few days and everyone expects the two of them to outshine everyone else. “You and Evan haven’t fought in a week. People are noticing. Is this some diabolical plot that involves getting him off his guard? It’s not working. He’s getting twitchy instead.”
Mal grins. “Not dying and not planning,” he promises. “I’ve just been feeling better this week, that’s all. Think I worked out my identity crisis.”
“Thank God,” Brandon grumbles. “Justice and I were wondering how long you could handle the disparity between you as you and you as Spectre.”
Mal trips over his feet and Brandon catches his arm, hauls him up easily, and keeps running. Mal shakes his head. “Okay, what tipped you off? Hair or eyes?”
“You tap that really annoying game theme on your leg whenever you’re restless.” Brandon winks at him. “Wouldn’t’ve figured it out except for that.”
“White hair and gold eyes weren’t enough of a tip-off?” They pass Coach Alexander, who yells at them to hurry the hell up because middle-school brats could beat them at the speed they’re going.
“Lots of capes use contacts and wigs. Or like that copy meta, can change what they look like.” Brandon holds out a hand. “Super-Smash Guy. Nice to meet you. Again.”
Mal cracks up and wonders how he never saw this coming.
~~
Psyon tilts his head. “You’re less conflicted.”
Mal grins at him. It’s another quiet night, and they’re sitting on their usual rooftop. Mal thinks Coach Alexander would pitch a fit if he knew capes were using his family business’s roof for a hangout. “Thought you wouldn’t read my mind unless I asked, Psy.”
A crease appears between Psyon’s eyebrows. “I didn’t. It’s…” he waves a hand in Mal’s general direction. “You’ve been projecting. You always do, unless there’s something really wrong. Not thoughts, just feelings. So you worked whatever it was out?”
“Something like that,” Mal allows. “My part, anyway. It kinda depends on the other person now. ‘Cept I feel bad ‘cause it feels like putting him on the spot, or he’ll think I’m doing it to achieve some end or other, but it’s not that. I don’t think it is, anyway. Think I’m being puppeteered again?”
“No. I would know.” Psyon looks off into the middle distance, and Mal knows there’s more on his mind than his partner’s issues. Mal realizes a little guiltily that he hasn’t given thought to how Psyon would handle the changes in Spectre, or Evan the changes in Mal. Psyon repeats, soft and sure. “I would know.”
“Hey.” Mal scoots a little closer. “You doing okay? I keep forgetting to ask, Psy, you have to tell me when I’m being a crappy partner. I’m really sor- “
“Spectre.” Psyon looks exasperated. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just been a long week is all.”
Mal tilts his head. “Want me to take you back to our meeting spot? I can go with the girls tonight-”
“Sophro and Lockpick would end you, Spectre, for being so damn weird tonight.” Psyon’s eyebrows draw together. “Seriously, Spectre. You’ve got strong mental shields and short of pulling a Puppeteer and going in, I can’t tell if the lack of conflict is a good or bad thing. It’s like-”
“Like he’s worked with psychics other than you?” a new voice queries. “Who saw that coming?”
Mal turns sharply; Psyon does not even bother. A man in a fire-emblazoned trench vest and yellow domino mask separates from the shadows. Mal stiffens as he looks at the newcomer. He knows this man, followed his career even when Mal pretended he had no ability because they are the same. “Yellow Flash. I’d been operating under the assumption that you had retired.”
Yellow Flash shrugs, a deliberately artless gesture. “Yes, well. I’d heard history was repeating for the capes and came to see for myself.”
“Repeating?” Psyon starts to demand but Mal overrides him.
“Just because you couldn’t stay on the same side as All-Seer for five minutes without defecting,” Mal snaps, and that’s as far as he gets before the air is driven from his lungs and the concrete wall bites into his back and head. He hears Psyon bite out something sharp and uncomplimentary, probably Mal’s alter-ego name, but ignores it in favor of grinning in the face of Yellow Flash’s barely restrained rage. “Oh, have I struck a nerve?”
“Spectre, stop baiting him. Yellow Flash, let him go.” Psyon ‘s tone brooks no argument.
A smile curves across Yellow Flash’s face. “Calling the cavalry, are you? What good will it do you when the person you seek to stop is gone?” His grin fades when he turns back to Mal, grip tightening on his shirt. “You’ll see I’m right. The world will burn because of you.”
“If history repeats,” Mal answers coolly, “then I’ll fail every bit as much as you.”
Giving Mal one last hard shove into the wall, Yellow Flash disappears in his customary flash of fire just as Libra and Super-Smash Guy appear on Libra’s trademark metal disks. “What’s the deal, Psyon?” Smash demands as he hops off the disk. “You call like something big is going down, and it’s just you two here. If this is you asking for a slumber party or so I’m gonna pitch you off the side of this building.”
“Yellow Flash was here,” Lockpick announces, striding out of the shadows. Contrary to every suggestion, she wears a floor-length skirt as part of her costume and heels Pythia had made and dubbed combat heels. Then again, she still kicks more ass than the rest of them present, so they don’t get to give her much grief over it.
“Dude, he retired along with the capes back in the day,” Libra objects.
Psyon goes to Mal while the others debate on whether the old capes have returned. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Mal gives him a reproachful look while checking for blood. There’s some, but not enough to worry about in Mal’s opinion. “I could’ve taken him.”
“Uh huh,” Psyon dismisses and waves a hand. “Turn around; I want to look.”
“It’s fine,” Mal insists and that’s about the time he pitches forward in a dead faint.
~~
“You’re an idiot,” greets Mal when he comes around. He blinks and Eth comes into focus. Rather, Lockpick comes into focus. She is still in costume, which means there are other capes still around. They’re in the usual meeting spot for their team, an abandoned coffee shop with all the furniture still in it. Whoever brought him here dumped him on the squishy couch that no one can get up from without a lot of wiggling and effort.
“Yeah?” he asks and winces when he turns his head. Psyon is sitting on the ottoman near the window, white-faced under his mask, and Mal feels really bad for making him worry. “I’m fine now-”
“Bullshit,” a number of voices assert and great. Just Mal’s luck.
He closes his eyes. “Everyone’s here, aren’t they.”
“Yes,” Sophro says from behind him and damn. He’s really in trouble now; Kage usually never bothers leaving home to be a cape unless it’s something needing a psychic better than Psyon. “Yes, we are.”
‘Everyone,’ of course, means his sisters and Psyon, means Libra and Super-Smash Guy, means Axe and Argos even though those two are weekend warriors at best and completely absent at worst, means Pythia and Mage Hand even if they don’t work with anyone else since Mage Hand won’t trust himself with anyone else yet. “Why?”
“Because Yellow Flash getting back in the business means other old capes and cowls might be, too,” Pythia says from where he settled primly on the couch next to Psyon’s ottoman. Mage Hand hovers on Pythia’s other side- literally. He has to be floating at least a few inches above the couch and doesn’t seem to realize it; Mage Hand only hovers when he’s tense. Mage Hand has no respect for the old crowd; he is likely edgy because most of the others in the room had been puppeteered by him or had a hand in taking him down or both. “As good as we all are, I think we can agree that we are not quite up to par with most of the old crowd.”
“I still don’t see why this is such a big problem,” Mage Hand says. “The Loophole is back in the business and no one cares. Besides, Yellow Flash isn’t something a good psychic couldn’t handle.”
“Not everyone is as comfortable with manipulating others as you,” Psyon snaps. “Caveat utilitor.” Let the user beware.
“Condemnant quod non intellegunt,” Mage Hand sneers. They condemn because they do not comprehend.
Mal covers his face with his hands and cannot believe he never figured out Psyon’s identity before. Of course he would use the school-taught Latin phrases to have a pissing contest with another cape. Even knowing who Mage Hand really is, Mal has no idea where the other cape picked it up.
“Ignoramus et ignorabimus.” We do not and will not know. The phrase originates from an understanding that there exist limits to scientific knowledge. Mal knows Psyon has never viewed mind-control as a skill he should ever have, but he does and Sophro will not let him go untrained, despite what he tells Mage Hand now. Mal is not supposed to know that, of course.
“Experientia docet.” Experience teaches.
“Abundans cautela non nocet.” Abundant caution does no harm.
“Mina-san, shizukani,” Lockpick breaks in with Japanese and the lights flicker. They shut up as directed. She throws a pointed glance to the window, to the rising sun in specific. “Whether this is problematic or not is yet to be seen. Meanwhile, I’m sure there are many things we all need to do today. We will discuss this further at another time.”
“Pull me outta bed for nothing,” Axe grumbles, stalking out with Argos following at a more sedate pace.
Pythia stands. “You will, of course, let us know when the next meeting will be.”
“Naturally,” Sophro answers because Lockpick and Pythia cannot be civil to each other for five minutes out of costume, and the trait carries to when they don their masks.
Pythia heads for the door and Mage Hand exchanges parting barbs with Psyon before going out a different way. Lockpick draws a sigil on the wall and Libra strolls through. Super-Smash Guy bothers to take off his mask before following suit, shaking his head as he goes. “Shit, y’all,” Brandon says. “Gotta pull all the dramatic crap just like the old crowd. Thought we had more pride than that.”
“You know me, Brandon,” Mal says lightly, pretending not to notice the poleaxed look on Psyon’s face. He supposes Psyon had not known before now about Brandon being Super-Smash Guy. “I like to keep things interesting.”
“Sure. We’ll call it that.” Brandon moseys off.
Lockpick waves away the sigil before drawing another. “We’ll be in touch,” she says, because she likes to pretend she does not know Mal out of costume.
“Dad’s gonna be pissed,” Sophro remarks cheerfully and follows Lockpick right before the sigil and portal disappear.
Mal rolls up into a seated position slowly. “Need me to take you any place?” he asks and looks towards Psyon- who has disappeared already. “Yeah, see you around.”
~~
Part 3
~~
“If you’re going to cut class, at least bother getting off school property.”
Mal doesn’t even look up at the sound of Coach Alexander’s voice, just stays sitting back to back with the stone gargoyle and looking at his feet. Footsteps approach, and bright orange sneakers enter Mal’s peripheral vision. The coach crouches down and tilts his head at an awkward angle so he can look at Mal properly. “You’re not sick, right? Is it family problems?”
Mal sighs and hates Coach Alexander for being well-meaning. “Urahara sent you, didn’t he.”
“Professor Urahara to you, kid.” Coach Alexander leans against the next gargoyle over. “Seriously, he was worried about you.”
“Professor Urahara doesn’t do worried, coach. Like, at all.” Mal has yet to see anything more than the vaguest of emotions on the history professor’s face, and worried has never been one of them. This morning was the closest to pissed Mal had ever seen, and likely no one else noticed. They never had a reticent psychic for a partner.
Coach Alexander grins at him. “So you think. Moving along. What’s the matter, kid?”
Mal goes back to looking at his feet. “I don’t like who I’ve been,” he admits. There’s no way he’s bringing up the problem with Evan/Psyon. He might as well be a little honest, though, since the coach is almost as perceptive as a telepath. “It’s… annoying. I’m looking back, and wondering how the hell no one has gone and killed me for being a jackass.”
“Superiority complexes are hard to maintain,” Coach Alexander sympathizes. “So, what? You’re gonna just change? Doesn’t sound like the easy route.”
Mal cracks a smile. “I’m a Donovan, coach. We don’t do easy.”
~~
After four hours of hiding in the music storeroom, Mal gets kicked out by Doctor Sharp, but at least by then he has a plan. Something of a plan. Okay, it’s not even that, but Mal feels better, at least. He doesn’t blame Psyon for not being too enthusiastic about sharing their secret identities. Mal admits to having been unbearable, and their partnership would definitely have suffered if they had done their big reveals before Eth and Kage got Mal thinking about the differences between his lives. Mal likes being Spectre better anyway, so he figures the road to getting Psyon comfortable with telling him starts with appealing to the part of him that is Evan.
Brandon, of course, notices Mal being more bearable. He’s the closest thing Mal has to a friend; these are the kinds of things he would notice. “You’re not dying, are you?” he asks as they run around the track that evening. They have a track meet in a few days and everyone expects the two of them to outshine everyone else. “You and Evan haven’t fought in a week. People are noticing. Is this some diabolical plot that involves getting him off his guard? It’s not working. He’s getting twitchy instead.”
Mal grins. “Not dying and not planning,” he promises. “I’ve just been feeling better this week, that’s all. Think I worked out my identity crisis.”
“Thank God,” Brandon grumbles. “Justice and I were wondering how long you could handle the disparity between you as you and you as Spectre.”
Mal trips over his feet and Brandon catches his arm, hauls him up easily, and keeps running. Mal shakes his head. “Okay, what tipped you off? Hair or eyes?”
“You tap that really annoying game theme on your leg whenever you’re restless.” Brandon winks at him. “Wouldn’t’ve figured it out except for that.”
“White hair and gold eyes weren’t enough of a tip-off?” They pass Coach Alexander, who yells at them to hurry the hell up because middle-school brats could beat them at the speed they’re going.
“Lots of capes use contacts and wigs. Or like that copy meta, can change what they look like.” Brandon holds out a hand. “Super-Smash Guy. Nice to meet you. Again.”
Mal cracks up and wonders how he never saw this coming.
~~
Psyon tilts his head. “You’re less conflicted.”
Mal grins at him. It’s another quiet night, and they’re sitting on their usual rooftop. Mal thinks Coach Alexander would pitch a fit if he knew capes were using his family business’s roof for a hangout. “Thought you wouldn’t read my mind unless I asked, Psy.”
A crease appears between Psyon’s eyebrows. “I didn’t. It’s…” he waves a hand in Mal’s general direction. “You’ve been projecting. You always do, unless there’s something really wrong. Not thoughts, just feelings. So you worked whatever it was out?”
“Something like that,” Mal allows. “My part, anyway. It kinda depends on the other person now. ‘Cept I feel bad ‘cause it feels like putting him on the spot, or he’ll think I’m doing it to achieve some end or other, but it’s not that. I don’t think it is, anyway. Think I’m being puppeteered again?”
“No. I would know.” Psyon looks off into the middle distance, and Mal knows there’s more on his mind than his partner’s issues. Mal realizes a little guiltily that he hasn’t given thought to how Psyon would handle the changes in Spectre, or Evan the changes in Mal. Psyon repeats, soft and sure. “I would know.”
“Hey.” Mal scoots a little closer. “You doing okay? I keep forgetting to ask, Psy, you have to tell me when I’m being a crappy partner. I’m really sor- “
“Spectre.” Psyon looks exasperated. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just been a long week is all.”
Mal tilts his head. “Want me to take you back to our meeting spot? I can go with the girls tonight-”
“Sophro and Lockpick would end you, Spectre, for being so damn weird tonight.” Psyon’s eyebrows draw together. “Seriously, Spectre. You’ve got strong mental shields and short of pulling a Puppeteer and going in, I can’t tell if the lack of conflict is a good or bad thing. It’s like-”
“Like he’s worked with psychics other than you?” a new voice queries. “Who saw that coming?”
Mal turns sharply; Psyon does not even bother. A man in a fire-emblazoned trench vest and yellow domino mask separates from the shadows. Mal stiffens as he looks at the newcomer. He knows this man, followed his career even when Mal pretended he had no ability because they are the same. “Yellow Flash. I’d been operating under the assumption that you had retired.”
Yellow Flash shrugs, a deliberately artless gesture. “Yes, well. I’d heard history was repeating for the capes and came to see for myself.”
“Repeating?” Psyon starts to demand but Mal overrides him.
“Just because you couldn’t stay on the same side as All-Seer for five minutes without defecting,” Mal snaps, and that’s as far as he gets before the air is driven from his lungs and the concrete wall bites into his back and head. He hears Psyon bite out something sharp and uncomplimentary, probably Mal’s alter-ego name, but ignores it in favor of grinning in the face of Yellow Flash’s barely restrained rage. “Oh, have I struck a nerve?”
“Spectre, stop baiting him. Yellow Flash, let him go.” Psyon ‘s tone brooks no argument.
A smile curves across Yellow Flash’s face. “Calling the cavalry, are you? What good will it do you when the person you seek to stop is gone?” His grin fades when he turns back to Mal, grip tightening on his shirt. “You’ll see I’m right. The world will burn because of you.”
“If history repeats,” Mal answers coolly, “then I’ll fail every bit as much as you.”
Giving Mal one last hard shove into the wall, Yellow Flash disappears in his customary flash of fire just as Libra and Super-Smash Guy appear on Libra’s trademark metal disks. “What’s the deal, Psyon?” Smash demands as he hops off the disk. “You call like something big is going down, and it’s just you two here. If this is you asking for a slumber party or so I’m gonna pitch you off the side of this building.”
“Yellow Flash was here,” Lockpick announces, striding out of the shadows. Contrary to every suggestion, she wears a floor-length skirt as part of her costume and heels Pythia had made and dubbed combat heels. Then again, she still kicks more ass than the rest of them present, so they don’t get to give her much grief over it.
“Dude, he retired along with the capes back in the day,” Libra objects.
Psyon goes to Mal while the others debate on whether the old capes have returned. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” Mal gives him a reproachful look while checking for blood. There’s some, but not enough to worry about in Mal’s opinion. “I could’ve taken him.”
“Uh huh,” Psyon dismisses and waves a hand. “Turn around; I want to look.”
“It’s fine,” Mal insists and that’s about the time he pitches forward in a dead faint.
~~
“You’re an idiot,” greets Mal when he comes around. He blinks and Eth comes into focus. Rather, Lockpick comes into focus. She is still in costume, which means there are other capes still around. They’re in the usual meeting spot for their team, an abandoned coffee shop with all the furniture still in it. Whoever brought him here dumped him on the squishy couch that no one can get up from without a lot of wiggling and effort.
“Yeah?” he asks and winces when he turns his head. Psyon is sitting on the ottoman near the window, white-faced under his mask, and Mal feels really bad for making him worry. “I’m fine now-”
“Bullshit,” a number of voices assert and great. Just Mal’s luck.
He closes his eyes. “Everyone’s here, aren’t they.”
“Yes,” Sophro says from behind him and damn. He’s really in trouble now; Kage usually never bothers leaving home to be a cape unless it’s something needing a psychic better than Psyon. “Yes, we are.”
‘Everyone,’ of course, means his sisters and Psyon, means Libra and Super-Smash Guy, means Axe and Argos even though those two are weekend warriors at best and completely absent at worst, means Pythia and Mage Hand even if they don’t work with anyone else since Mage Hand won’t trust himself with anyone else yet. “Why?”
“Because Yellow Flash getting back in the business means other old capes and cowls might be, too,” Pythia says from where he settled primly on the couch next to Psyon’s ottoman. Mage Hand hovers on Pythia’s other side- literally. He has to be floating at least a few inches above the couch and doesn’t seem to realize it; Mage Hand only hovers when he’s tense. Mage Hand has no respect for the old crowd; he is likely edgy because most of the others in the room had been puppeteered by him or had a hand in taking him down or both. “As good as we all are, I think we can agree that we are not quite up to par with most of the old crowd.”
“I still don’t see why this is such a big problem,” Mage Hand says. “The Loophole is back in the business and no one cares. Besides, Yellow Flash isn’t something a good psychic couldn’t handle.”
“Not everyone is as comfortable with manipulating others as you,” Psyon snaps. “Caveat utilitor.” Let the user beware.
“Condemnant quod non intellegunt,” Mage Hand sneers. They condemn because they do not comprehend.
Mal covers his face with his hands and cannot believe he never figured out Psyon’s identity before. Of course he would use the school-taught Latin phrases to have a pissing contest with another cape. Even knowing who Mage Hand really is, Mal has no idea where the other cape picked it up.
“Ignoramus et ignorabimus.” We do not and will not know. The phrase originates from an understanding that there exist limits to scientific knowledge. Mal knows Psyon has never viewed mind-control as a skill he should ever have, but he does and Sophro will not let him go untrained, despite what he tells Mage Hand now. Mal is not supposed to know that, of course.
“Experientia docet.” Experience teaches.
“Abundans cautela non nocet.” Abundant caution does no harm.
“Mina-san, shizukani,” Lockpick breaks in with Japanese and the lights flicker. They shut up as directed. She throws a pointed glance to the window, to the rising sun in specific. “Whether this is problematic or not is yet to be seen. Meanwhile, I’m sure there are many things we all need to do today. We will discuss this further at another time.”
“Pull me outta bed for nothing,” Axe grumbles, stalking out with Argos following at a more sedate pace.
Pythia stands. “You will, of course, let us know when the next meeting will be.”
“Naturally,” Sophro answers because Lockpick and Pythia cannot be civil to each other for five minutes out of costume, and the trait carries to when they don their masks.
Pythia heads for the door and Mage Hand exchanges parting barbs with Psyon before going out a different way. Lockpick draws a sigil on the wall and Libra strolls through. Super-Smash Guy bothers to take off his mask before following suit, shaking his head as he goes. “Shit, y’all,” Brandon says. “Gotta pull all the dramatic crap just like the old crowd. Thought we had more pride than that.”
“You know me, Brandon,” Mal says lightly, pretending not to notice the poleaxed look on Psyon’s face. He supposes Psyon had not known before now about Brandon being Super-Smash Guy. “I like to keep things interesting.”
“Sure. We’ll call it that.” Brandon moseys off.
Lockpick waves away the sigil before drawing another. “We’ll be in touch,” she says, because she likes to pretend she does not know Mal out of costume.
“Dad’s gonna be pissed,” Sophro remarks cheerfully and follows Lockpick right before the sigil and portal disappear.
Mal rolls up into a seated position slowly. “Need me to take you any place?” he asks and looks towards Psyon- who has disappeared already. “Yeah, see you around.”
~~
Part 3