Preface

Here's a recap of things Cherie's been doing for the past few days. Felt kinda necessary all things considered. Pretty much a "meanwhile…"

This is 3/4 of what I owe this month, or should it be 2.5? Whatever. You'll see me again before the 31st.

Chapter 26.5: Cherie Vasil

Brockton Bay, NH, USA

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Finding Menagerie had been simpler than I'd expected.

Powerful figures often tended to stick out like beacons in the night. They inspired songs in people's hearts, changed the melodies in the daily lives of those around them. They were like a solo act suddenly thrust into an orchestra, only for the orchestra around them to collectively shrug and begin harmonizing to their melody.

In a way, that's how I defined "S-class." Most capes, most people, were like leaves in whatever local stream they lived in, floating along with the current. Both heroes and villains tended to follow this trend. Truly powerful figures? The ones PHO nerds called"S-class?" They were like boulders in the river. They made the current flow around them, shaping their cities as they pleased, sometimes without even knowing.

Of course, each melody was different. Daddy's song was a subtle, ominous melody found in horror movies overlaid atop cheesy, romantic jazz from his brainwashed worshipers. Armsmaster's was the steady drumline of determination, even as he inspired admiration, grudging respect, and contempt in those who saw him drive by.

And Menagerie? He was a delight to listen to.

As in he literally inspired delight. Joy. Carefree cheer and hope. It was genuinely impressive how effortless he made it look.

I saw him race across the power lines as some kind of surfing rat, so disgustingly cute that even I wanted to squish his little, yellow cheeks. In his wake, all who caught sight of him felt a stirring of hope. A rising symphony of woodwinds and cymbals drowned out the chaos of the city. People truly felt that, with a hero like him, perhaps their miserable lives could get better.

I wanted that power for myself. I wanted to never worry again.

With him by my side, my siblings would be forced to run with their tails between their legs. For the first time in my life, I could truly be free.

So, I followed him, always at a distance. I used the wake of emotions he left behind to keep tabs on him. I watched from afar as he read people's futures and had his sweet, heart-to-heart moment with some blonde girl. I considered enthralling her for myself, she obviously mattered to him in some way, then shelved the thought. I could revisit the option if my first plan didn't pan out the way I'd hoped.

I followed him as he headed to the Palanquin. They definitely knew each other, Faultline's Crew and Menagerie. The mutual warmth and familiarity in their melodies was impossible to ignore for me. I wondered what their relationship was, especially Labyrinth.

Everyone respected Menagerie, as a hero, as a figure of immense power in the city. Even the gang members I'd run into regarded him with a healthy dose of awe. But Labyrinth's emotions went far beyond that.

What should I call it? Calling it a crush didn't capture the blazing passion she felt. An obsession? Idolization? Worship?

Perhaps not in the way those Fallen worshiped the endbringers, or the way daddy's broken toys treated his words like gospel, but yes, worship wasn't a bad word for it. She hung on his every word, her heart bursting with a grand symphony of love and admiration that threatened to consume the rest of the club in her music.

She was probably close to my age. Sixteen? Twenty? Something between. And yet, her mind rang with childlike adoration. It was the same kind of delusion that made little boys in the playground brag about their big brothers as if they were Eidolon. It was gratitude, a passionate, overwhelming loyalty that even I might struggle to inspire in others.

She'd literally turned the dance floor into the interior of the Taj Mahal. She couldn't be more blatant if she stripped and bent over the bar then and there.

Menagerie himself was interesting. I didn't know if he understood the kind of loyalty he'd inspired in the shaker. There was love on his end too, but it was the love of a treasured friend.

As I watched her drag him out of the club for a pony ride of all things, a part of me had to admit: I was jealous. I'd never had anyone feel that way about me before, at least not authentically.

I graciously allowed some frat boy to buy me a drink while I waited for them to return. He and Labyrinth's songs reappeared again somewhere upstairs. Menagerie's song mixed with the more disciplined hum from Faultline. I didn't know what they talked about, but it seemed serious judging by the mood involved.

Then, it was a simple matter to follow him to the orphanage where he lived. That was enough for tonight. I could see about ingratiating myself to the staff there tomorrow.

X

Thursday, February 3, 2011

There was no need to charm him first thing in the morning, most capes tended to be especially paranoid about strangers who approached them in their civilian lives. No, if I wanted him to let his guard down around me, I needed to be introduced by someone he trusted. And who better than the matron of the orphanage he lived in?

Seeing how Menagerie slept in the orphanage, and given he was dating Panacea, I could make a reasonable guess that he was Wards-age, which meant he went to high school. There was the possibility that he was a recent graduate who'd yet to move out of the orphanage for whatever reason, but I didn't think that was likely. So if I wanted to meet the matron without Menagerie, the best thing to do was to show up during regular business hours when he was in school.

If there was a higher power, I'd clearly charmed him without knowing it. Not only was the matron alone while everyone was off at school, she was busy unloading a minivan full of groceries, enough that she'd clearly need more than one trip.

I pulled my jacket closed to ward off the chill and picked up one of the bags. Manual labor was hardly my first choice, but needs must. "Please, allow me."

"Oh, you don't have to, dear," she tried to decline.

"I want to," I replied with a dazzling smile that could make people weak at the knees. I heard a twang of suspicion in her heart, as was so common in Brockton Bay, but I drowned it out in favor of gratitude. "Isn't it natural to want to help others?"

"Thank you, dear. That's very kind of you."

"It's nothing, ma'am. How is your morning?"

"Oh, I'm doing fine. The mornings are quiet once the kids go off to school."

When we finished, I tugged insistently on her gratitude. Sure enough, she looked at me with kind eyes. "Would you like to come in? We don't have much but a cup of tea wouldn't be any trouble."

I held a hand to my chest in feigned surprise. I then looked down at my feet, shuffling a little with clear apprehension. "W-Would it be okay? I… A cup of tea would be terrific right about now."

"Then come on, dear. What's your name?"

"Cherrie, ma'am. Please call me Cherie."

X

By god, Carrie Wells was so damn easy. How did someone live all her life in a city like Brockton Bay and still end up being so damn gullible?

To be fair, I was cheating, but it never failed to amuse me how easy it was to wear down people's walls. Faux tears welled in my eyes as I unloaded my baggage onto her over a steaming mug of earl gray.

As far as she was concerned, I was Cherie Lecroix, a poor transfer student who was unable to find housing before the semester began. I'd had one lined up, only to find that someone had made the landlord a better offer. And, the asshole, didn't tell me until I'd gotten to the city. I was currently staying at a cheap Motel 6 until I could find something better but I was quickly burning through my savings.

My plan was therefore to find a job, maybe apply at a grocery store or McDonald's, I wasn't choosy at the moment, and hopefully get an advance so I could keep renting a room at the motel. Otherwise, I'd have to check out by Saturday. It was either that or sleeping out in the park.

I made myself look even more vulnerable, tugging the hem of my skirt down and pulling my jacket closed in a clear show of discomfort. Pretty girls didn't exactly do well at night in a city like brockton. I didn't say I was afraid of being assaulted, but it wasn't exactly hard to imply.

It was sweet almost, how upset she was at this imaginary landlord on my behalf. The surge of indignant wrath almost made me burst into laughter. She cared, really cared. It was almost sweet.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

She eyed me with a look full of compassion. "Cherie, dear, you said you studied what again?"

"Civil services and social psychology," I said with an exaggerated sigh. "I know it's not really a marketable field, but I just… I want to do some good in the world, you know? I had a friend who was in the system when I was growing up and I thought it might be really cool to help people like her…"

"Maybe there is a god," Wells said with a warm smile. "Sweetheart, do you know where this is?"

"It's an orphanage; I saw the sign." Then I let out a gasp of faux surprise. "Oh, I know how tight the budget is at places like this. I'm not looking for a job with you, ma'am."

"Normally, that would be the case. I'd be hard pressed to assist you since you're not a minor. How much do you know about Menagerie?"

"The hero?" I scrunched my nose in confusion at the random segway. "I heard he's like a changer-Eidolon."

"He is. He also made a game that really raised a lot of awareness for some charities. We have a lot more wiggle room in our budget this year than we usually would."

"Oh…" One word, a single syllable full of unexpressed hope, and I had her.

"And this happened only a week ago, too!" she said. She made the sign of the cross over her heart.

That was… convenient. At this rate, I might have to show up at one of those masses. "S-So…"

"We have four older kids," she continued, "Leah, Mark, Derek, and Blake. Mark and Blake share a room, but Derek and Leah have their own. And, and I think we can help each other. I know bunking with a girl several years younger than you might not sound very fun, but-"

"No! That's perfect!" I gasped in delight. I did my level best to look like the desperate, hopeful girl who just found out she won the fucking lottery. "I-If I could stay here, just for a week or two until I find a job, then-"

"I'll pay you, dear. You can help out an old biddy like me around the orphanage and I'll detract some of your wages for room and board. And if you find something that pays better, you can do that later."

"T-Thank you, Mrs. Wells. R-Really," I said, putting just the smallest sobbing hitch in my voice. Overcome with emotion, I hugged her and tugged on her heartstrings.

She rubbed my back comfortingly. "You're very welcome. A little kindness can go a long way. Leah's a sweet girl, you'll see."

"You don't know what this means to me."

X

I made sure to avoid the orphanage as a whole for the rest of Thursday. I told her I'd stay at the motel for one more night so she could break the news to this Leah girl. Not that I cared about her feelings, but I figured I'd raise less suspicion if I didn't randomly show up without any warning whatsoever. Letting Wells soften them up for me was the right move.

I sipped a glass of wine in my room at the Marriott and enjoyed my last night of sleeping alone, at least for the foreseeable future. Roommates were a pain in the ass, but whoever this Leah girl was, we'd be the best of friends in no time.

I didn't even need to leave my room to keep tabs on Menagerie. Really, he was so easy to track that I almost felt like memorizing his symphony was a waste of time. He was off being some kind of flying meme as a red, white, and blue eagle. He'd even roped Miss Militia into riding on his back for an admittedly hilarious series of PHO pictures. He then flew around as a… a crow who was also some kind of mob boss before calling it quits for the day.

The appearance of Mouse Protector was a little concerning, not because she herself was a problem, but because she was proof that capes other than myself were taking notice of him. Still, that was future-Cherie's problem. For tonight, I sipped my drink and relaxed.

X

Friday, February 4, 2011

"Everyone, please welcome our new assistant caretaker," Wells said over dinner. "She studies at the college and will be living with us for a bit while helping me on a part-time basis."

I looked around to find that reactions were generally positive, even without my nudging. The younger children, nine total, were for the most part dismissive of me. They seemed busy in their own, insignificant world. To them, I was just another adult, not nearly as interesting as whatever fad swept through their cliques at school.

The older boys, Mark and Derek, were checking me out and failing to be subtle about it, something I subtly encouraged. I took a drink of water and tilted my head back. The singular, crimson highlight in my hair bounced down over my front, drawing their attention to my pale neck, and inevitably down a little further. I wasn't dressed to impress, Wells seemed like a conservative sort, but it wasn't exactly difficult to entrance two teenage boys.

Leah, a Jamaican girl who rocked the grunge chic look, was the only one who looked a little annoyed by my presence. That was to be expected; to her, I was an intruder in her private sanctum. I marked her as the one I'd need to win over next.

"Wait, where's she gonna sleep then?" Derek, the overweight white boy asked. He had a long mullet, probably to distinguish himself from the local skinheads, and a prominent acne scar on his right cheek. He also had a tattoo on his neck, like a fucking idiot. He probably thought it made him look tough when it really just made him easier to identify for the cops.

"With me," Leah replied. She tried to sound casual about it but I heard her frustration loud and clear. I gently smoothed that down, not enough for it to vanish, that would be too noticeable, just enough for me to begin to win her over.

"Thank you for that," I said with a sincere smile. "I know it's not ideal. If it makes you feel better, I'll probably be away a lot for classes and such. You'll only have to put up with me when I'm sleeping or doing work for my professors."

"Whatever. It's cool. Heard about you yesterday anyway."

"You can sleep with me," Derek said, eyebrow waggling.

"Derek!" Wells snapped.

"What? It's a joke."

I pretended to look bashful as Wells took him to task for his uncouth humor. I tilted my head down just a tad, so the hint of rosy blush I wore could catch the light, all the better to make him think he was having an effect on me. Compared to the shit that happened in daddy's compound, his attempt at being sexually aggressive was laughable, like a puppy growling at its own reflection.

I ate a mediocre dinner of reheated canned corn, mushy peas, and what I thought was supposed to be meatloaf but probably had more bread crumbs than meat. I pretended to love it and told stories about my many siblings, how I used to care for them. That much wasn't even a lie; there was a time when I gave a damn about my younger siblings, back before daddy showed me how cruel the world could be.

I flirted lightly with Derek and Mark, strumming at their lust and gratitude. I was a hot, older girl who was volunteering to help out poor orphans. It wasn't hard to get them to like me.

Usually, I'd have flashed some skin and had them at each other's throats, but I didn't go that far here. As hilarious and ego-stroking as it was to see two boys fight over me, I needed Wells to like me. I didn't want her to think of me as a divisive element in her orphanage. Even so, teenagers were teenagers; I had them both wrapped around my finger within the first minute.

The highlight of the dinner was a mixed berry cobbler made from the garden out back. The quality of the berries, fresh, plump, and sweet, made up for Wells' mediocre cooking. Dessert also gave me a chance to bring up the subject.

"Mmm! This is delicious, Mrs. Wells," I said with a delighted moan. "Are the berries all from the garden in the back?"

"It is," she said proudly. "Menagerie visited and gave us a berry patch a while back."

"Wow, first the donations and then the berry patch? Did he used to live here or something?" I asked idly.

"Nah, he made a bunch of these gardens around the city. You know, community gardens, parks, and stuff," Mark said with a shrug.

"Yeah, if Menagerie lived here, we wouldn't be broke as shit half the time," Derek scoffed.

As Wells chided him for his language, I listened carefully to the songs of those around me. The older kids were interesting in their own ways.

Derek had been flirting with me all evening, poorly. He said something about "showing me around town" and "hooking me up with a good time." I was pretty sure he was a Merchant, one of the low-level peddlers who thought I'd spread my legs for him over a line of coke. If he wasn't such an oblivious font of information, I'd have been offended. Still, I made a note to make him suffer later for treating me like a crack-whore.

Mark, a skinny, Asian boy with blue hair, talked a lot about "running with the crew." He was a breakdancer apparently, and pretty good from what Leah and the younger kids said. He was learning "power moves," whatever those were. He was cute, in an adorable puppy sort of way. A hot, older girl showing interest in his hobby made him unreasonably happy.

What was really interesting about him was the twinge of unease when I joked around about Menagerie having lived here. He played it off well, not a sign on his face, but he had his doubts.

And, why wouldn't he? His roommate suddenly started staying out for the full day. Blake was the goody two-shoes, the one that got a scholarship to Arcadia. Even if he got a girlfriend or something, it was probably enough to raise an eyebrow. I could tell that he wasn't sure himself, but asking about Blake made him clam up more than strictly appropriate.

"So, this Blake guy, I shouldn't worry even when he stays out?" I asked, strictly for professional reasons of course.

"No, he's fine," Wells said. "He's a great boy; you'll like him. Smart as a whip, you know. He has a work-study program with a local animal shelter."

"Yeah, 'cause he's a pussy," Derek scoffed. "Watch, he's just out dicking around because he's too cool for us now."

"Shut up, Derek," Mark snapped. Loyal, enough to defend a secret identity he himself wasn't clear on. I approved. He would make for a great minion. "Blake's just doing his own shit, yeah? Let him live his life."

"Keep sucking that dick, poser."

"Enough," Wells cut in before they could begin arguing again. "Blake has earned a lot of trust over the years. If he gets into trouble, we'll deal with it then."

"Whatever."

"That's fine," I said, projecting calming chords throughout the room. "I'm glad he's doing well. I was a little worried because you told me there were four older kids and I see three, Mrs. Wells."

"Oh, don't mind him, dear. He'll be fine, wherever he is. He'll give you no reason to fret."

"Yes, ma'am."

I glanced around and locked eyes with Leah. She'd been suspiciously silent, especially for the girl who seemed to have an opinion about everything. Her heart rang with the same uncertainty Mark's did, though not about Menagerie.

For whatever reason, Leah harbored some suspicions about Blake, her foster brother. When Wells praised him as the golden boy of the orphanage, a flare of skepticism interrupted her melody, like a sudden clang of cymbals.

Perhaps Blake Isley wasn't as perfect as he portrayed himself? And with a secret only she knew?

Curious. And exciting. Perfect heroes were dreadfully boring after all.

I made sure to turn her around over the course of the dinner, gradually smoothing out her irritation and changing it to cautious optimism. How great was it to have another girl near her age? It wasn't as if the boys understood, right?

She was interested in stereotypical teen girl things: dancing at clubs, sneaking booze when she could, and generally enjoying life. I doubted I'd ever go clubbing with her, Menagerie's dance card seemed quite full at the Palanquin, but I wouldn't mind sneaking her a bottle of whiskey under the table if it got her to spill the beans.

Slowly but surely, I was painting a picture of Blake Isley. He was friendly, cheerful, and liked to be of use to others. He didn't seem like a people-pleaser despite that, if Derek's constant badmouthing was any indication.

He liked to write and apparently told the best bedtime stories, enough to get him that scholarship to Arcadia through some writing competition he entered in middle school. He liked animals, and was good enough to have earned commendations from the vet he worked with.

And yet, for how long he'd lived here, none of them knew much about him beyond the surface details. I could tell they weren't hiding things from me; they just didn't know. It was as if Blake kept people at an arm's length without they themselves feeling like he was keeping his distance.

Either he was a truly shallow and boring person, or he had secrets worth hiding, even from his "family."

Yes, Brockton Bay was turning out to be very interesting.

Author's Note

No, not a live. I'm counting this interlude as part of my quota though. You'll definitely get at least one more live, if only to get started with the prison convoy.

Cherie's interesting to write. I don't think I've ever written such a blatantly manipulative character before. Maybe Camille back in LT.

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.