“This is such a bad idea,” Taylor said. She reached up to adjust the mask over her face, then stopped and ran a hand over her jacket instead. She was practically floating in it. She never thought that she would go out in public wearing one of her mom’s suits and for good reason. Annette Hebert was a whole lot more... more than Taylor was and it showed in the looseness of her jacket, blouse and pencil skirt.

Still, between her mom’s old clothes and the costume Crochet had revealed...

She shook her head and looked around. People were clearing out of their way with alacrity, none of them daring to stick around as her troop of little sisters moved around her like the strangest little bodyguards.

Cheshire was in the lead, stomping along in her cat onesie, hood pulled back and cat ears on full display as they stuck out of a mess of bushy black hair. She had a domino mask on, one decorated with wiry whiskers that bobbed with every motion she made.

Tattletail was to Taylor’s left, tail sticking out of the back of her trench coat and waving around in an open display of happiness. She was almost skipping. Almost. Still, her little shit-eating grin told anyone looking her way that they had better not mess with her. That and her domino mask that screamed ‘cape.’

Then there was Remedy who was staying close to Taylor’s right. The sisters had drawn straws to decide who would hold Taylor’s hand as they walked and Remedy was the proud winner. Taylor almost couldn’t see the smile hidden by the big, poofy white scarf wrapped around Remedy’s lower face and shoulders, but it was there.

Behind her were two shambling shapes. Miss Cottontail, the murderous cloth rabbit, and Mister Buttons, a fat brown bear made mostly from one of her dad’s old leather jackets and, of course, Crochet herself. When the girl found the time to make a victorian costume, one that bore more than a passing similarity to Parian’s, Taylor didn’t know.

What she did know was that Crochet still needed to work on her colour theory. Gothic dresses should not have contained so many neon colors.

Last but certainly not least came Pop. The girl appeared before them in a low crouch, always between the group and the nearest tourists or Brocktonites too slow to move. She was wrapped from head to toe in black bandage-like material except for poofy sleeves and thigh wraps, all of that hidden by her purple-ish yukata.

And of course, her sword was always out when she appeared. It didn’t seem to matter how many times Taylor told her to stow the weapon away. She was beginning to think that orders only applied to the ‘current’ Pop, and not to any future clones. Or maybe Pop was stealthy enough that Taylor had only ever told a clone and it didn’t carry over to the real Pop.

More headaches for later. Right then, her focus had to be on what she was doing, which was mostly walking towards Brockton Bay’s busiest bank, in broad daylight, with what seemed to the layman like at least five other capes.

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As they made it to the front steps, an overweight security guard stepped out, one hand shaking on his taser while his eyes flicked over the group as if counting them over and over again. “Uh, you can’t enter here?” he tried.

“Yes we can,” Tattletail said. “We’re customers.”

“We have a no mask policy,” the guard said.

“He’s lying,” Tattletail told Taylor, loud enough that the guard heard. “They want heroes in their banks as often as possible, so they don’t have any rules like that. Also there are laws that protect the identities of capes that those rules would go against. Now give me pats.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to give you pats just because you’re a smug little rules-lawyer.”

“Pats need to be earned,” Crochet said from her place on Mister Buttons. She had been visibly self-satisfied all morning.

Tattletail stuck her tongue out at Crochet. Taylor chose to ignore that, even though she could see that they were all on camera. It would be worse if her reprimanding the girls were caught on film.

At least, that’s what Tattletail had said; she still suspected that was a lie to avoid punishment.

“We’re really just here to help,” Taylor said to the guard. “Really.”

“Uh,” he said.

“Get out of our way, fatso,” Cheshire growled. “We’s got stuff to do in there and y’er in the way.” As impolite as Cheshire was being (and she was going to get a stern talking to about it later) she did get the guard to move aside.

If they had been watched outside, it was nothing compared to the number of people looking at them once they entered the bank. Tellers stared wide-eyed and some of the customers ran out of the bank, abandoning whatever they had come for. Those last were probably the sort to live long, healthy lives, Taylor figured. It must be nice to have proper survival instincts.

“Okay, so now what?” she asked.

Tattletail reached into one pocket of her trench coat and pulled out a smartphone. “Now I need to make a call.”

“Where did you get that?” Taylor asked.

“Don’t ask and I’ll tell no lies,” Tattletail said with a smirk.

“I’m asking,” Taylor said flatly. “And if you lie I will tan your hide to match the colour of your fluffy little tail.”

All the blood drained from Tattletail’s face. “Pop got it for me.”

“Baka kitsune, you said you would not speak to Onee-sama,” Pop said.

“Your Onee-sama is scarier than you are,” Tattletail defended herself.

Pop’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded. “She is more scary, yes. But you are still a baka kitsune.”

Taylor idly pondered the course of her life that left her eager for bank robbers to arrive.