ARC 2: OUT OF THE BIRDCAGE AND INTO...
CHAPTER 10: STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY AFTERNOON
Thump, thump, thump… Bouncing up with every sharp movement, only to come down chest first on armored shoulder.
I was starting to feel like a well travelled set of luggage by the time we landed in a snowy clearing among almost skeletal birch trees and golden aspens. An image sprang to mind of the glade in Autumn and how it would look like something out of that famous Robert Frost poem, the aspens and paper birches wreathed with yellow foliage, carpeting the grassy ground with a littering of yet untrod fallen leaves.
My imaginations were rudely interrupted when a pair of large hands wrapped themselves around my waist and with a slight jerk I felt Unbowed hoist me up off of his shoulder into the air, before gently setting me down. Talk about ruining a moment...
Snow crunched under my bare feet as I made fists with my toes, enjoying the sensation of something other than concrete for the first time in months.
Even though I wouldn’t complain given he had rescued me, being slung over someone’s shoulder while they dodge attacks and make aerial maneuvers is not pleasant. Though unable to check without sacrificing my modesty, I swore I was bruised from waist to boobs from being jostled around like a sack of grain.
You’d think having been the damsel in distress, I would have received more tender treatment. So much for chivalry.
I took the chance to once again inspect my rescuer and scowl up at him, this time in the cold light of the winter afternoon. Though now bearing wear and tear, in his black bodysuit with its silver armor plating and rich purple cape, he was every inch a hero or villain out of one of the classic comics.
A guilty grin slipped onto my face, it seemed my spikes had given his armor some payback for my bruised front. The armor plating was scored and scratched, and where my arms had hung, it looked like his cloak had been mauled. Impressively his bodysuit had suffered only minor abrasions, as though a sheet of sandpaper had been rubbed across it, despite the fact he had my spikes from the waist down passively doing their best to shred it.
Unbowed seemed to trace my gaze, to where I was admiring the damage I had wrought on his costume. “Sorry,” I mumbled at his boots, feeling a tiny flash of shame.
“You may have got me worse than the heroes, but it seems to have done its job and protected me and my identity, so no harm done. Actually this brings me to what we need to do next, we can’t have you walking around in those prison rags, even if you were going to hide indoors.”
He gave my blue prison jumpsuit and its holes, a glance over and a look of disdain. “Hold on-” I tried to interject, before I was again swept into his current.
“Have you perhaps ever visited a tailor? No? That settles it. I am going to take you there as soon as I make two phone calls, to organise a discreet private fitting and our transport.” Leaving me where I stood, mouth open in cut off protest, he pulled out a phone from behind one of his armor plates and began pacing the borders of the clearing as he made his calls in a sharp curt but polite business manner.
Minutes later, after hanging up for the second time, he strode back over to me,“Try not to jump when she arrives.”
“When who arrives?” I tried to ask, but before I could get an answer the air in front of me split like a torn curtain and an eyecatching woman stepped through.
I mean she was kinda breathtaking with her flaming red hair cut into a pixie cut, Irish upturned nose, impish smile, messy sprinkle of freckles and twinkling green eyes. She was dressed as if she was going to an underground concert with her heeled black leather boots, stressed skinny jeans, low cut band t-shirt and studded leather jacket.
Intimidatingly beautiful. Crap, crap, crap. I was staring.
“Hey Al! I was just watching you on the news!” The woman greeted my rescuer with a loud Bostonian accent. Al? Is that his name? I looked up and shot him a raised eyebrow as I mouthed what she called him.
She paused as if she had just realised I was here and gave me the once over.
“You’re hot stuff today Al, the news is swarming with pics of you from that prison break, every cop and hero in the city must be looking for you. And I see you’ve picked up a waif while you were there, a little young for you isn’t she Al?” as her tone filled with mock accusation she glanced my way and winked.
“Yes Miss Gingers, it had to be done. I hope I am not too hot as I will be needing your services tonight and over the next few days. The girl I believe is called Miss Wraith, a captive I rescued and I hope to talk to.”
I found myself smirking as I held back laughter at this contrast of personalities, it was like something out of a comedy sketch.
‘Al’ turned and nodding in my direction introduced us, “Miss Wraith, this is Miss Natalie Gingers. A rifter who goes by the nom de guerre Trafficker. Like you and me, she is an Emerged. She specialises in discreetly transporting individuals and their luggage and charges a high price for it, as such she can be trusted to protect her clients confidentiality.”
“I told you before Al to call me Nel. You don’t have to be all fancy pants around me. I trust you not to do anything foolish and drag me into trouble, so as long as you can vouch for the girl, I’m happy to take you where you need. So what can I do for ya pal?”
Nel seemed to enjoy teasing ‘Al’ for his formality and I wouldn’t have been surprised if when she said pal, had also slid over and slapped him on the back. What can I say? I liked her already.
“I can totally see why you prefer Nel, given you’re a ginger called Gingers, also…” smiling cheekily, “Yeah Al, what's the plan?” I asked joining in on the fun.
Behind the annoyed glare he sent me, I sensed a hidden smile. Mr prim and proper Dadneto has a sense of humor… I wonder how much of this is an act and how much is him?
“Well ladies, If Nel here would be so kind as to make us a rift to Tinker’s shop where I have arranged a private fitting, we can sort out your wardrobe problems. Afterwards I’ll call back Miss Gingers if she has left to make us a new rift from the shop to the bunker where you’ll be staying till the heat dies down, we get you back on your feet. Then you and I,” Unbowed glanced at me as if to say ‘later’, “-will have a long talk about that prison and other matters. If there are no other questions… Miss Gingers would you do the honors?”
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Chucking ‘Al’ a playful curtsey, Nel cut the air with a finger leaving behind a glowing line and dug her hands into it, only to rip it open with a gesture akin to drawing open a stage curtain.
“Ok Wraith, off you hop on through, it's perfectly safe,” Nel cheerfully encouraged.
Curious I tried to stare at the portal’s edge, expecting a paper thin boundary where it cut through reality. My vision blacked out as if I had stared directly into the Sun, but instead of my retinas burning, the rear of my brain screamed in pain as it attempted to comprehend the twisted reality she had broken.
“Unless you decide to try and look at the backside of reality. Don’t do that,” she teased and a pair of small hands gently gripped my head and directed my gaze to instead look through the portal.
The pain faded as my vision returned. Before me, through the rift was a bespoke tailors shop that looked like it had been pulled right out of a fifties drama.
“Cooool,” I cooed as I stood almost gaping like a farmgirl on her first trip to the big city. Honestly portals were far cooler than superheroes and villains. A gloved hand on my lower back pushed me sending me stumbling through, before Unbowed calmly strolled in behind me with Nel bring up the rear.
"Ahh the great liberator fresh from the fields of victory, maidens on either arm, graces my humble shop with muddy boots. Take them off quickly now!"
While the others scrambled to remove their shoes, I wriggled my toes and looked at the source of the voice. There before us, spindle figure, tall, thin and lanky, that gave me the impression of a stick insect or praying mantis, wearing an immaculate tailored white suit. Until they had spoken I had thought it was a thin store mannequin or an out of place scarecrow.
Looking at my bare feet the figure sighed and like a magician produced a long red silk handkerchief. Crossing the distance between us with one long step, grasped one of my hands and deposited the handkerchief in my hand before rolling my fingers closed around it.
“Wipe those feet dear and we can get you measured. You look a little bewildered, I figure he neglected to tell you about me? Hmm call me Tinker, Tinker Tailor.”
Measured? Am I getting tailored clothes? What kind of people have I fallen in with, that would think to start with tailored clothes and not stuff of the shelf from walmart or from a charity shop? Were these people aliens or are people with money that out of touch with the rest of us?
“Ummm Tinker? Al? This is expensive right?.. Sorry, but I can’t afford tailored stuff,” I said apprehensively, my anxiety scrunching the handkerchief further.
Placing a hand on my shoulder, Unbowed crouched down to look me in the eyes.
"Don't worry sweetie, I'll foot the bill. Tinker here will put it all on my tab and then I’ll take you somewhere to stay till you're back on your feet,” Al spoke almost fatherly as he smoothed away my fears. Where did the intense antihero from the breakout go?
"I have money hidden back at my foster parents home... I can pay you back later..." I offered.
He softly shook his head.
"No. Don't worry about paying me back, I can more than afford to help you out, but if you need a hand breaking in and stealing back your stuff, I am game if you are."
A moment of silence passed before Tinker spoke up.
“Al’s sentiment is good and all, but he has a tendency to not explain things properly. There is the issue of those captivating spikes, they seem unwilling to hide behind just any sort clothes. What our dear friend. Al has neglected to tell you is that I specialise in tailoring my products to individuals with interesting needs. Even if you don’t want a super suit like Unbowed, I can make you a few things customised for your unique features.”
“How about you follow me into the back for a fitting, while we discuss your wants and needs, so I can get started,” they directed kindly.
“Ah sure… You should have seen my cell, I had enough rags to build myself a nest from all my shredded blankets and jumpsuits. It would be nice to have some stuff that will last,” I voiced hopefully as I finished cleaning my feet and followed Tinker into the brightly lit, white backroom.
If not for the experiences of the last few months of my life, this next part would of had me running for the hills. Instead I was merely skin crawlingly creeped out when Tinker removed their gloves and from their fingers came a swarm of slithering threads, that quickly engulfed me, wriggling as they measured my dimensions to the nearest half inch.
I wasn’t expecting it, but afterwards they profusely apologised for the experience. After witnessing their banter with Unbowed I’d half expected them to tell me to stop being a baby. While we waited for my heart to stop thundering, Tinker sat me down and talked me through my preferences in colours, styles and fabrics for the new wardrobe.
In the end we settled for a wardrobe of mostly blacks, greys and reds, with one set of garments that would leave most of my spikes bare or only loosely cover them. A list of garments including tank tops, skirts, hoodies and other garments that either baggy or would leave my spikes uncovered. Another set of garments were planned that would not only cover and hide my spikes, but also help hide my identity. All of them were to be made with custom fabrics that mimicked more mundane fabrics such as cottons.
Tinker then did me an another unexpected act of kindness, while they were going to talk with Al and work on a set of outfits and bed sheets to go, they offered to let me use the store bathroom to shower and clean myself up. They hadn’t said anything, but I could see what they were hinting at. I had barely washed in days, I probably stunk of stale sweat and that was ignoring the covering of concrete dust and mud splatter.
I’d come to enjoy cold showers during my time in confinement, wasn’t hard when you don’t feel cold, but my first warm shower in months was a thing of comfort and luxury. They even had a set of pilfered mini hotel soaps, lotions, shampoo and conditioner for me to use. I ended up using two tiny bottles of the shampoo to clean the layers of filth from my hair.
A finished change of clothing had been slipped into the bathroom while I was showering and after I had managed to dry and wrangle my messy hair into a semblance of order, I dressed.
“Ah yes, a beautiful young lady was hiding under that filth-coated lass all along. Now you look worthy of my expertise,” Tinker appraised me as I emerged clean and dressed from the store bathroom. I may or may not have broken out blushing. Like Ms Clark before them, they weren’t wrong, I’d seen myself in the bathroom mirror. There I stood, a uniquely pretty teenage girl with entracing otherworldly features, dressed in a gothic tank top, skater skirt and black ankle boots.
“Al has what I could make in this short time for you, bagged and paid for. I’ll arrange for Nel to deliver the rest later. It has been a pleasure meeting a young beauty like yourself and I won’t keep you any longer, I am sure you want to see where Al has you staying and lay down after today’s exhaustion,” Tinker said as they bowed with a flourish.
I think I surprised the poor tailor when I lent over catching them mid bow with a kiss on their cheek.
“No Tinker, I’m the one who is grateful. Not only am I free of the last ugly reminder of my imprisonment, but you have made me clothes that I not only love, but I can wear without worrying about shredding them.”
Barely fifteen minutes later we’d again travelled through another of Nel’s rifts and I was being given a tour of what appeared to be a luxury penthouse devoid of windows.
“So what do you think of my bunker? It was originally built during the cold war to serve as a family dwelling in the event nuclear war broke out. Since then it has been renovated several times and mainly serves as a panic room,” Unbowed proudly explained. I no longer have any doubts, that he is some rich eccentric.
“You can stay in any of the ensuite bedrooms you will find through the doors on the right. You are also welcome to use any of the bunker’s amenities and entertainment, however the blast doors will remain locked to you and I ask that you do not try to break through them. If you wish to leave the bunker, either ask myself or call Miss Gingers, she is on the speed dial and will charge my tab.”
With the tour over, I quickly chose the first door on the right and scarcely had I fitted my sheets to the bed, stripped down and lay my head on my pillow, before was I asleep.