Vic Opener

"- herself as Sadie Ann. Sadie Ann! Who does that? It makes her sound like she's from Virginia or something."

Vic hummed noncommittally and nudged the man on the floor with her foot. As the toe of her boot grazed his chest, he let out a low, agonized groan. "I think I broke this guy's rib."

Ivy made a face from where she was bent over what looked like a massive beige boulder. "He'll get better."

The boulder shivered gently as its sole occupant struggled to get free. Vic shuddered and turned away, but Ivy's voice drifted over all the same. "Do you think this is actually him?"

"Unlikely." Vic thought back to a thread she'd recently clicked through on PHO. "He's probably just a clone. If he'd been the real deal, we'd have had to call in backup." Most people thought that the real Mr Skeltal was probably based elsewhere. It was only rational.

"Yeah, a clone. Meaning: expendable." Like most of her creations, the thing beneath Ivy's palm had been created with only one purpose in mind: containing Mr Skeltal. "You hear that, asshole? She says you're expendable." She made a fist and grinned as the cocoon contracted, soft adipose and hard muscle tensing in tandem. A muffled shriek was faintly audible from within. Vic winced.

"I'm going to call the PRT," she said, and received a grunt in reply.

The floor of the warehouse was strewn with groaning and unconscious men, their faces covered by skull-masks. Phone pressed to her ear, Vic rattled off their rough location as she did a slow circuit of the building. When she came back, one of Skeltal's mooks slung over her shoulder, Ivy had dragged over a stool and plonked herself on it to maintain her vigil. She looked up as Vic hefted the man over and laid her free hand on his cheek, her other hand still pressed to her cocoon. "How long are they going to be?"

"Fifteen minutes." Vic made sure that her charge was out for the count before dumping him unceremoniously on the floor and trussing him up with one of the lengths of rope scattered around the warehouse.

"Fifteen." Ivy checked her phone. "Damn! I'm going to be late. Can you fetch me to Alaura's place?"

"Wasn't that the original plan?" Neither of them were dressed for combat. Ivy had thrown on an ultra-tight black dress that showed off her calves; she couldn't even squat properly in that getup, and she didn't even have pockets. She'd had to bring a purse. "If we hadn't taken that shortcut -"

"You're the one who decided to respond to that mugging," Ivy snapped. The silence stretched for a few beats as Vic finished tying up her fifth mook. She didn't look up when Ivy took a deep breath and continued. "Anyway, we managed to bust these assholes, so it's fine. Alaura'll understand."

Vic hummed. Straightening up, she tied her hair into a loose ponytail and planted her hands on her hips. Her blouse was plastered to her back with sweat, and her jeans were starting to cut into her waist. She had more freedom of movement than Ivy, but that didn't mean she was comfortable. She hadn't even wanted to go to tonight's party, but Dean had responded to her tentative mirror selfie with the 💦 emoji. Sometimes, she forgot how lucky she was.

After Ivy had finished tranquilizing up the remaining mooks and after Vic had finished tying them up, she ambled over to the crates in the back of the building and took a peek. Ivy was still tending to her cocoon when she got back. "Find anything interesting?"

"There's a small box at the bottom of one of the crates. It's labeled DO NOT TOUCH."

"What's inside?"

"Well, uh, it's definitely not booby-trapped, so there's that. There's a crystal ball, a rubber chicken, a snowglobe, a wristwatch, some old Polaroids..."

"Oh. Boring."

"Yeah."

They were both distracted by the arrival of the PRT. They were early this time; it had only been ten minutes. Things moved much quicker after that. Vic had only just finished giving her statement when a PRT officer materialized at her elbow.

"Tell your sister that we can't cover for her forever." The officer's visor hid his face, but he didn't sound happy. "She has no idea how much we've done to downplay her biokinesis. If the public knew what she'd done here, today..." He trailed off.

Vic winced. "Right. I'll do that."

Ivy was outside, smoking a cigarette. Wordlessly, they picked a random direction and started walking away from the warehouse. It was getting late, and they weren't exactly in the safest part of town, but they were parahumans. They'd live.

"What did you make that thing out of?"

"Couple of stray cats." Ivy flicked away a hint of ash from the tip of her cigarette and looked away. "I put them back together once I was done. Don't worry."

"In front of the PRT?"

"Who else?" Ivy shrugged and flicked her cigarette to the floor, then looped her arms around Vic's neck. Once she was secured, Vic rose up into the air and set a course for Alaura's place. She'd been there once or twice - nowhere near as often as Ivy - but she knew roughly where it was. The wind howled as Ivy tucked her face into Vic's shoulder. She got cold much easier than Vic. Probably because she was skinnier.

"You do know tonight is a costume party, right?"

"What?"

Ivy groaned. "I told you last Friday when you picked me up from the hospital."

"And who're you supposed to be?"

"Manhattan socialite." Vic felt her sister grin into her neck. "And you're a Midwestern farmgirl."

"Oh, come on."

"No, it makes sense. You can fly. And you have super-strength. You're basically Clark Kent."

"Clark Kent has black hair."

"I'm claiming artistic license." Ivy glanced over her shoulder and squealed. "Wait, wait, wait! That's not Alaura's place. Go lower, and - do you see that house at the end of the street?"

"The mansion?"

"Whatever." She started to fumble with her purse. "We need to make an entrance. I'm going to call Alaura."

Vic rolled her eyes and descended. Kids scattered, gawking and pointing, as she landed on the enormous lawn in front of Alaura's house. Ivy hopped down and surveyed her kingdom, one eyebrow raised, chin tilted. Vic tagged along after Ivy, a half-step behind, as she stalked up to the house. She watched as her sister threw her arms around Alaura Fynch. While the two of them chattered at one another, Vic glanced around, looking for her boyfriend, and was surprised to feel him appear at her back.

"You're looking good enough to eat."

Vic laughed. "Stop it, you." Shrugging out of Dean's arms, she turned and kissed him. When they broke apart for breath, she apologized: "Ivy and I caught one of Skeltal's clones just now. That's why we were late."

"Wow. Just the two of you?"

"Well, Ivy did most of the fighting. I just mopped up the henchmen."

Dean tutted softly. "There you go, shortchanging yourself again." Taking her hand in his, he led the way into the mansion, the two of them trailing after Ivy and Alaura. The entrance hall was filled with people, most of whom Vic didn't know, and most of whom Dean did. "If it'd just been Ivy, there'd have been collateral damage out the wazoo. We both know that."

Vic laughed and changed the subject. They mingled for a while, which meant in practice that Dean mingled and Vic spoke only when spoken to. She still wasn't all that comfortable in crowds, but she was getting there. And Dean looping her in on conversations helped. It was easy to space out, though, especially when it came to Alaura's immense, brightly-lit mansion. There was just so very much going on.

Later, she asked him: "Did you know tonight was supposed to be a costume party?"

Dean furrowed his brow. "It was? I didn't get the memo." He was wearing a sweatshirt and khakis. He looked good in them. But then again, he looked good in everything.

"Yeah. Ivy was probably just trying to be funny. She said she dressed me up as a Midwestern farmgirl."

Dean gave her a once-over, eyes smouldering. Vic felt her face warm. "You don't look like a Midwestern farmgirl," he remarked eventually. "You look like you. But I can see where she was coming from."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really." A waiter passed by, toting a plate of hors d'oeuvres; Dean lifted one and placed it in her mouth. Vic closed her eyes and made an appreciative noise as it burst on her tongue in a riot of flavor. "You're blonde. Corn-fed. Sturdy. You'd fit right in."

"You're so goofy."

In response, he pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were warm and soft. When she regained her bearings, she found that he'd whisked her down a dark corridor. The party was still in full swing, but downstairs. Not here.

"Dean?" she whispered.

It took a while for him to respond. His hands were all over her. "Yes?"

"Let's go somewhere more private."