Antebellum 2.3

2000, June 6: Phoenix, AZ, USA

I sat in the Wards common room sofa with my books spread out on the coffee table. I had two sets of textbooks, one in braille and one in plain English. I took the braille books to school but relied on the Oracle's Elixir to breeze through my homework. With the Wards being my "after school program," I kept my English textbooks here in HQ.

I heard the "masks on" buzzer go off. I reached into my pocket, but relaxed. Behind the door, through a haze of pink mist, I could see Yasmine tapping her foot impatiently.

"What's up, shortstack?" she said as she marched in. Even in her civilian guise, Jazz liked to wear a heavily customized baseball cap with a flat bill. Hip or chic or something like that. She dropped her backpack next to the table. "You doing homework?"

"Yup."

"Need some help?"

"Nope."

"Mind if I join you?"

I waved to the seat across from me. "Be my guest. How was school?"

She snorted. "You sound like mi papi."

"Good man. Still, really, how was your day?"

"Fuck Mr. Wilson, that's all I'll say."

"Fuck Mr. Wilson," I said in solemn solidarity.

"Fuck Mr. Wilson," she repeated. We stared at each other for two seconds before chuckling. "How 'bout you, shorty?"

"Miserable. Ever try to pretend to be blind? Because that's what school is like for me. Without the Oracle's Elixir, I'm stuck tapping away with a stick. Doesn't help that there's a fucking gang war going on in the background that I'm not allowed to help with."

"Shit, yeah, that sucks. They can't homeschool you?" She put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "And dude, relax. Even I'm not doing a whole lot. I've been riding along with paramedics, but the real fighting? Yeah, no way in hell is Director Lyons letting me get anywhere near that. Trust me, you've saved lives."

"I know," I sighed. "I'm just frustrated. I know why, but that doesn't mean I like it."

"Life sucks."

"Amen."

We fell into companionable silence as we tried to knock out our homework before the others arrived. Jazz was a bit of a paradoxical character, I found. She typically dressed like a skater, though I heard she was a fan of costume design in general and liked to cosplay as other capes on occasion. She was definitely at the teenage rebellion stage, especially regarding teachers, but also tried to give off the image of a "chill" big sister to me by doing things like letting me swear.

I quickly wrapped up my homework and opened up my phone to browse the burgeoning internet.

"You're done already?"

"Yup."

"I miss elementary school."

"I've been working at this longer than you."

"Still sucks."

A while later, the buzzer sounded again, revealing Penelope and David. The two walked in holding hands and I noticed Jazz look wistfully towards the older boy.

'Nope, not dealing with another Vista-Gallant situation,' I promised myself. 'I didn't see anything. Fuck that.' "Hey, David, Penelope," I called.

"It's weird how you can know we're here without even turning around," David said. He winced at his girlfriend's probing elbow.

"What he means to say is, 'Hey, Andy, hope you had a good day.'" Penelope made her way to the kitchenette to pour herself some water. "And I think that's cool."

"Yeah, that's what I meant. No offense."

"None taken. I either have super-vision or none at all. It's honestly pretty weird for me too."

Soon enough, the buzzer rang for the third and final time, letting in Raquel, still dressed in her leotard from gymnastics.

"Hey everyone," she chirped. "¿Qué pasa?"

"Hey, Raquel," Penelope greeted her back. The older girl gave her a once over then frowned.

"Oh no, what's wrong?" Raquel started to pat herself down.

"I could be wrong, but I don't think you've ever been a big fan of Eidolon," she pointed out, gesturing to the emerald-green water bottle Raquel had attached to her backpack. It was shaped like the hero, with his billowing cape twisted into a handle and the hood attaching a cap to the hero's head.

She frowned and unclipped the bottle. "No, I mean, he's cool and all, but this definitely isn't mine. I'll return it tomorrow," she said with a sigh. "I know who it belongs to."

"It's okay, chica," Jazz said. "It just makes our days interesting, ya know? Keeps us on our toes."

"My friends shouldn't have to be on guard around me," she sulked, good mood ruined.

"We're not," our leader assured her. "But friends should look out for each other."

I clapped my hands. "On that note, good news!"

"Yeah? You finally figured out girls don't have cooties?"

"Shut up, Jazz."

"What's the good news?" David said, leaning back. "Anyone mind if I turn on the TV? Like a little background noise."

Penny led the shorter girl to the sofas and sat between Raquel and David. "Sure, why not? What's up, Andy?"

"I was talking to the director the other day and I got permission to give you all an Elixir of Iron. You know, a holdout power in a bottle for emergencies. I've already made one each for the Protectorate and some of the field officers so it's your turn."

"Seriously? Sweet! It's the one that makes you a brute, right?"

"Yeah, it'll make you about twenty percent larger and turn your skin into steel. You'll also gain a bit of extra physical strength to make sure you can run and support your own weight and whatnot." I placed four bottles on the coffee table. They were made of plexiglass, nonreactive and durable without being heavy. The silver liquid swirling inside looked like liquid mercury. "Go ahead and take one each. Keep them in your lockers and take them when you go out on patrol."

"Thank you, we appreciate this. I've read reports about the cost of tinkertech and…" she let out a low whistle.

"Yeah, for real, little dude," David smiled. "Now I can be a brute without a herd of bulls."

"Last resort only," his girlfriend scolded.

"I know, I know. I'm just saying."

"I'm gonna add this to my FUBAR hat," Yasmine said as she whipped out a military helmet. She promptly stuffed the potion inside the helmet and stuffed the helmet back inside her cap. At my questioning glance, she shrugged and shot me a devious smirk. "'Hat' is pretty flexible. Bandanas count. So do helmets. Really, it's headwear. This one came from a retired Navy SEAL who gave his stuff to military surplus. It doesn't make me any more athletic, but it does make me an expert in everything a SEAL should know. Throw in the potion and…"

"Ah, damn. Your power's a lot more versatile than I thought."

"Most capes have something like that," Raquel added. One of the bottles teleported across the room to appear in her hand. "We usually have a few holdout abilities or some unique aspect of our powers we keep for a rainy day."

"What's yours?" I couldn't help but ask. "Your power is just moving things, right?"

"I don't have one. If I do, I haven't thought of it yet. It's a part of why I'm a rescue-cape. Even when I graduate to the Protectorate, I don't think that'll change."

"Right, anyway, I just wanted to get the elixirs out to you guys before I holed myself up in my lab. Before I go, any updates about the gangs?" I asked the elder Wards. The two had been patrolling with two older Wards from the other teams, Wildshot and Diamondback.

David and Penelope glanced meaningfully at each other. "Not much," David said. "It's died down a bunch in the last two weeks."

I looked at Yasmine. From the look on her face, even she wasn't buying it. "Yeah, pull the other one," I scoffed. "We're young, not stupid."

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"I've been on patrol with Diamondback and Dave's not wrong," Penelope said. "We've responded to some cases of arson, but I've only dealt with a single violent crime in two weeks. I'm sure a part of it is that the Protectorate leaves us the safe routes, but still. It's been remarkably quiet."

"Same for me with Wildshot," David added. "We broke up two street fights, but one of them was just a pair of drunks, no affiliation at all."

"That's… good, right?" Raquel said tentatively.

"I sure hope so, Raquel."

X

I poured the last of this week's quota into its vial and leaned back in my chair. The dehydrator rang just in time, making me smile with hope. Pulling out the tray, I poked the goopy pink puddle.

"Not long enough," I muttered and shoved the tray back in. "Let's see if another overnight will dry it out completely."

This was my pet project, my first attempt at something original. If I could make magic potions, there was nothing to say I couldn't make magic pills. After all, pills were just medicine in powder form. I was hoping that if I could dehydrate the Oracle's Elixir completely, I could scrape it off, grind it down into a fine powder, and then stuff it inside a gelatin casing. The pills would be both easier to carry and less likely to break or spill in a fight. It would also make long-term storage more viable. The vials weren't overly large or anything, but they quickly added up. If this worked, I planned to make all my potions into pill form so my teammates could pop them like Tic Tacs.

It'd take a while longer though. I'd already ruined a tray when my first dehydrated mess stuck to the tray and couldn't be scraped off at all. This time, I'd layered a sheet of rice paper underneath so I could just remove the rice paper and grind it up alongside the dried elixir.

X

2000, June 7: Phoenix, AZ, USA

The day after found me at my first official PR event, discounting my debut of course. I was once again left impressed by how much thought went into planning an event like this. It was Wednesday and even that was chosen with the goal in mind. It was a fact that most PR events were held during the weekend so as to draw as big a crowd as possible. My first event was midweek specifically so that wouldn't happen.

Following my debut and the news that I was being sued, I'd quickly built a reputation as a serious, determined boy who just wanted to make potions and help people and wasn't afraid to go against my bosses. I looked genuine in other words, and that meant attending obviously scripted events should be done in moderation.

'Did Contessa plan the lawsuit so it'd help my image?' I wondered. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. There was no use in trying to guess at her special brand of bullshit. Even if she did, it was certain to bite me in the ass if I dove down that rabbit hole.

So what was my first event? How could they make a cape's appearance look "real" if I wasn't allowed to be at the hospital? Simple. They planned a playdate.

"Ready to go, guys?" Stingray called.

"Joy." I could see Hat Trick rolling her eyes even through her mask.

Ranchero grinned and put an arm around both girls. "Cheer up, Hats. It's free food on the boss' dime."

The five of us started walking down the street towards El Jefe's, a popular Mexican restaurant seven blocks away from HQ. It was chosen because it was conceivably within walking distance, popular, and was the least disagreeable choice among the team. Basically, Ms. Youngston approached Stingray and told her to treat ourselves and make it look natural, humanize the heroes. I suspected she wanted to make me a known quantity for the coming smear campaigns. Of course, this wasn't just about me. This was also Ms. Youngston's way of taking the elder Wards away from the more conflict-prone patrol routes, at least for a night.

"Yeah, Hat Trick, I thought you liked Tex-Mex."

"I like mi abuela's food, not what gringos call Mexican food."

"Don't mind her, Sting. She's a food snob," Masked Bandit sniffed. "Her abuela does make amazing tamales though."

"I'm not a food snob. You just have no respect for your heritage, chica."

"I do too! So what if I mix ketchup with my hot sauce?"

"Blasphemy, that's what."

"Ladies, can't we all get along?" Ranchero tried to play peacekeeper. "Isn't one burrito as good as another?"

Both girls turned to him, judgment in their eyes. "Absolutely not," they echoed each other.

"Maybe us white kids should stay out of this," our illustrious leader said with a laugh.

I tuned out their friendly bickering in favor of looking over the people. We were just walking down the street and people still insisted on snapping pictures. With the Oracle's Elixir active, I was aware of absolutely everything around me: every eye, every camera, and every pointed finger. It was an unnerving feeling. During my debut, I was largely sheltered from it through the knowledge that it was a stage. The stares were expected then. Here, I was "in the wild" and I'd be lying if I said the attention wasn't getting to me a little.

"Relax, tune it out," Stingray said. She'd stalled so she could walk in step with me. "It's always weird for the first time."

"Oracle's," I explained. "I see everything and I can't not see everything."

"Ouch. Yeah, that sounds bad."

Just then, I noticed, felt as much as saw, a phone land in Masked Bandit's kangaroo-like pouch. I gave her onesie costume a small tug. "Pocket. Phone."

"Oh, thanks!" she beamed at me and fished the expensive looking phone out of her pocket. She held it in the air. "Hello! Anyone? Does this belong to anyone?"

The way she waved that phone in the air drew all the attention to herself. She even nailed the apologetic smile and skipped over to the person who'd lost the phone.

"The Masked Bandit strikes again," someone in the crowd whispered.

"Seriously, she's adorable."

"Yeah, I can't be mad at that."

The person she'd taken the phone form, a college student it looked like, smiled as he shook her fuzzy paw gloves. "No worries, Bandit."

"Thank you, and I'm really sorry," she said again, bowing at the waist. As she skipped back, she shot me a knowing wink.

"Did she do that on purpose?" I whispered to Stingray.

"Maybe? Once you get past the cutesy act she puts on for PR, she's surprisingly perceptive. She probably didn't want you to feel too singled out because you're the new Ward."

The rest of our trip to El Jefe's went without incident. It was clear from the reactions of the public that Masked Bandit was bar none the crowd favorite. Ranchero, Stingray, and Hat Trick all had their fans, especially when Ranchero decided to summon a hardlight bull and ride it for a block, but the sheer enthusiasm, feigned or not, on her part made her overwhelmingly popular. People seemed to take it as a badge of pride to have something stolen by her.

We were seated in the corner booth and a waitress came by with five glasses of water and menus. I frowned as I looked down at the cheap coloring book. "¡La fiesta esta ahora!" it read. A cheeseburger with a smiley face burned onto the bun stared up at me. There was a little maze in the shape of a sombrero on the next page.

"Let me see that menu when you're done, Hats," I said, shoving the coloring book away with disgust.

"Ey, someone spent a lot of time designing that." I could hear the mirth just dripping from her tone.

Ranchero slid his menu over to me. "Here, Rubedo. I know what I want already. They have a great chimichanga and I'm feeling the queso dip today."

I nodded in thanks as a little girl came over to take a picture with Masked Bandit.

"You sure are popular," I said as I browsed the menu.

"Jealous?" she replied teasingly. The raccoon hood really made her mischievous side stand out. "You'll get your share of fans soon enough."

"Yeah, don't worry 'bout it. Hat Trick's really popular with the performing arts crowds, I have my whole cowboy shtick, and Stingray's actually competed in exhibition matches for boxing and stuff." Ranchero said. "We all have a niche. PR's pretty devious like that."

"Not looking forward to having a fanbase honestly. It seems like it'd be troublesome. Should we be talking about PR like this though? This is still technically a PR function."

"It's fine. This booth is far enough away to avoid being overheard. It's why we always eat at this spot," Stingray chimed in.

"Alright then, what's good here?"

"Ooh! Can I order for him?"

"Bandit," Stingray chided tiredly. "Not everyone likes spicy food."

"But la muerte is tradition," she whined.

"She's right you know," Ranchero said with a shit-eating grin.

"What is it?" I asked. "I don't see it on the menu."

"Secret menu. Habanero and Sonora arcana pepper blended into a mole sauce poured over two enchiladas stuffed with spicy, slow-roasted pork. It's actually really good in small doses."

"Okay, so why is it called 'the dead?'"

He shrugged. "No idea. It is a lot of habanero though."

"I'll take it."

"Yes!" Masked Bandit pumped her fist.

"You like spicy food?"

"I'm Korean, so yes."

"Oh, right, don't you guys eat spicy cabbages?"

I nodded. "Kimchi. And yes. It's fermented vegetables. Cabbages are the most common, but you can make kimchi out of turnips, cucumbers, and a few other stuff. And it's not always spicy."

Ranchero scrunched up his nose. "Not gonna lie, fermented cabbage sounds weird."

"Sauerkraut is basically that. Pickles are fermented cucumbers. A lot of cultures have them," I pointed out.

"True. Not a fan of pickles either."

When my order came, the waitress placed a steaming plate of two enchiladas completely smothered in a spicy mole. Three lumps of pico de gallo, guacamole, and sour cream jutted out like islands in a pool of lava. Seeing how the PRT was paying, I also grabbed myself a glass of horchata, a sweet rice and cinnamon drink.

"Have you ever had horchata before, Rubedo?" Hat Trick asked. "Didn't expect you to know it."

"Yeah, it's good. It reminds me of a Korean rice drink called sikhye. The cinnamon is definitely a nice touch. What'd you get?" I asked as I put a bite of enchilada in my mouth. It was almost bitter from the unsweetened chocolate and I got a nice hit of spice that coated the tongue. Perfect.

"Tacos. Carnitas, al pastor, and carne asada. Want one?" She gestured to her plate.

"Sure, trade you a bite of pastor for some enchiladas?"

"Deal."

As we traded food, Ranchero grumbled. "How do you eat that? It's too spicy."

"Because you're white," the two Latinas and I chorused as one. A moment of ethnic solidarity was had.

"Sting, they're ganging up on me," he whined with an exaggerated pout.

"There, there, cowboy." She rolled her eyes but couldn't fully suppress a smile. "Just enjoy your fried affront to cooking."

"Hey, chimichangas are great!"

"I don't understand how you never gain weight."

"What can I say? Punching bad guys really works up a sweat."

"We don't punch bad guys though," I pointed out. "We're Wards."

"You don't punch bad guys. The rest of us have all had fights. Not anything crazy dangerous, but we do handle some of the smaller stuff."

As we were talking, I felt the Oracle's Elixir wear off, darkness encroaching at the edges of my senses. I fumbled with the waterskin attached to my belt, still not used to the costume, and brought it to my lips. The by now familiar taste flooded my mouth, overwhelming the heat of the mole. A moment later, my world expanded again.

Bandit noticed and asked. "How often do you need to do that?"

"Hour and a half. My potions last longer when I'm the one using them."

"Wait, how does that work?"

"Dunno, guess they're tailor-made for me or something," I shrugged.

"Any of you want dessert?" Stingray asked. "Now's the time to pig out you know, while we're not paying for our own dinner."

Bandit scrunched her nose in protest. "I wish. I'm going to be paying for this tomorrow in gymnastics as it is."

Ranchero and I ordered fried ice cream and Hat Trick grabbed a slice of cheesecake. When the food came, Stingray took several bites of her boyfriend's dessert, much to his consternation. Hat Trick rolled her eyes with poorly hidden annoyance and I resolved once again to stay away from that awkward love triangle.

I turned my attention back to my own ice cream and cracked the fried exterior with a spoon. I raised it to my lips and took a bite, only to hit solid steel.

"Thanks, this stuff is pretty good," Bandit said with a cheeky grin. A fried corn chip, dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon instead of salt, disappeared from my bowl.

"I thought you didn't want one?" I grouched.

"I'm weak, what can I say?"

"Thief."

"Brat."

"Midget."

"Drug dealer."

"Trash panda."

"You didn't!" she gasped.

The two of us glared at each other for several seconds before we burst into laughter. I took a bite then pushed the bowl in her direction. For a single evening, we forgot about the city at large and became children again.

Author's Note

I speak very rudimentary Spanish. I had a teacher who insisted on calling himself el Jefe, which is the only reason I know what that means. I figured it'd be a nice, inoffensive name for a Mexican place. And yes, I do mix ketchup with my Tabasco. Fight me.

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.