Season 1, Episode 6 - The Tree Plot XXXVIII - "The Clothing Aisle"
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“Ice Beam, Go!”
The ice ray exploded out Ice’s hand, the overhead lights bouncing off the beam to create a kaleidoscope of reflections. Coleridge saw his own - he had a few new bruises on his face - as he peered out from behind the crate. He kept both hands pressed to the floor of the warehouse - yep, that’s concrete, baby! And within the metaphysical realm of the Rddhi, concrete counted as earth.
The plan was simple. After Coleridge judo-chopped the lone guard remaining outside the warehouse (which actually went off surprisingly well), Coleridge and Ice would slip in through ground-level windows. There, they’d separate, with Coleridge moving up one side and Ice on the other. That way, they could trap whoever was inside between them. Having been forewarned by that helpful shantytown dweller named Rab, they knew that a Rddhi user would be inside; ideally, he (or she!) would be the one caught in their pincer movement.
Once inside, Coleridge located the user due to the user conveniently activating their flaming sword which sent ripples in the Rddhi grid. Admittedly, Clayton’s screams also did a good job of helping them locate the user. Ice had her in her sights first - unfortunately, she was Ice and missed her wide open shot, resulting in the subsequent battle.
While Rab went to free Clayton, Coleridge and Ice fought off guards while keeping the swordswoman in-between them. Coleridge expected the user to go for Ice first (he didn’t particularly mind that), but only a well-time roll kept him from losing his head from a sword slice. His heart pounding, Coleridge quickly threw up a wall; the flaming slash of a sword broke it clean in two, but he succeeded in creating some distance for himself first.
She’s not able to launch any waves of fire off her sword, Coleridge realized. She’s limited to close-range melee attacks. All we need to do is keep her between us at a good distance.
Hopefully Ice got the same message. She seemed to, since she kept herself covered by crates on the far side of the warehouse, well out of harm's way from the sword. Maybe Ice was smarter than she (or Coleridge) gave her credit for.
Coleridge backpedaled, throwing up more walls as the enemy advanced. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and retreated deeper into the rows of crates - the enemy was too enraged to conceal herself in the Rddhi, enabling Coleridge to plant his hands on the ground and send waves of earth in her direction. Not only did she brush them all off, she knocked away any Ice Beams heading in her direction as well (and many of them were well wide of the mark anyway).
The battle knocked several crates and boxes off their piles and onto the ground, sending a booming percussion that rattled in Coleridge’s ears. He could smell the acrid scent of burning wood from where crates and pallets caught fire from the enemy’s sword. With Shannen moving closer, Coleridge retreated further back, ending up in an open row with crates on either side of him.
Before he could look through the Rddhi, he detected movement to his left and sent a cascade of earth that way. Crates collapsed into his walkway; Coleridge saw the outline of a body and increased his assault. Only when the crates came to a standstill did he realize that the figure was nothing more than the unconscious body of a fallen guard tossed that way.
Coleridge gasped and immediately spun around; the woman had tossed that guard on one end of the row, then emerged on the other side.
That’s alright. I still have some space, I can just put up a wall-
With her free hand, the woman aimed squarely at Coleridge’s head with the guard’s pistol.
Only one thought entered Coleridge’s mind.
I’m gonna need a new set of pants after this.
The woman squeezed the trigger; Coleridge felt the bullet go by him, taking strands of hair with it. A gust of wind rushed into the open row, slamming into the woman and knocking her bullets off-target. The wind continued, making Coleridge’s jacket ripple in the breeze, and then it picked up, nearly making Coleridge close his eyes from the intensity.
When the wind died down, Clayton stood in front of him. One arm rested around Rab’s shoulder; the other was raised. Coleridge joined them and grinned. Clayton had blown Shannen through several rows of crates until the solid wall of the warehouse brought her to a painful halt. Next to cracked windows, the impact in the wall created a female-shaped indent; the enemy was now sitting on the ground, staring defiantly up at her enemies through matted hair.
“Shannen,” Clayton huffed out, sounding awfully tired. “You’re going to tell us where Alcyone went and what she’s planning.”
Despite the situation, Shannen smirked. “I’m surprised you’re not asking about Eos.”
Clayton narrowed his eyes. “Her associate didn’t torture me.”
Shannen chuckled. “You got a point. But why would I tell you anything?”
“Because we’ll kick your ass, that’s why.” Ice joined her three comrades; she aimed her palm at Shannen, Rddhi crackling through it.
Coleridge planted his hands on the ground. “You’re right on the money, Ice.”
To add to the intimidating display, Rab flicked open his switchblade.
Shannen closed his eyes and tilted her head back, letting it rest against the wall. Then she fired the gun still in her hand; since she was sitting down, the gun was aimed at the kneeling Coleridge.
Coleridge squealed and rolled out of the way; Clayton and Ice activated their powers. More gunshots interrupted their attacks, forcing them slightly off the mark; Coleridge cursed as Shannen dove through the window, shattering the glass. He and Ice immediately sprinted towards the window; they saw Shannen running for the darkness of the shantytown.
“I got her!” Ice yelled. She tried to replicate Shannen’s dive, but only succeeding in slamming her torso against the bottom of the window, knocking the wind out of her. When she slid to the ground, a shard of glass tore through her new skirt. That skirt, too, fell around her ankles.
Outside the humming of the overhead lights, all was quiet in the warehouse. The four peered through the window; Shannen was long gone.
Coleridge looked up at Clayton. “Well, at least we got you - Jesus, what happened to you! You really did get tortured!”
Bile arose in Coleridge’s throat and he couldn’t help but look away from Clayton’s wounds.
Wait, when you think about it…isn’t that kind of cool? I know for sure I’d crack immediately under torture. I’d do anything to get out of it. So for him to go through it and survive…maybe I should try to be more like him. Should I try to do my hair like his? Ah, but my curls don’t really align with the waviness he has going on…I wonder what sort of conditioner he uses…
The sound of a zipper brought Coleridge out of his thoughts. He glanced back; Clayton held his pants in his hand, extended in offer to Ice.
“Here, take mine.”
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Earlier that night.
After going their separate ways from Clayton and Hanai, Coleridge and Ice stood in a downtown department store, the carriage driver Vic waiting outside for them. It was lucky for them to run across him since they needed a lift across town; it was doubly lucky that they had only lost their pants, which meant the “no shirt, no shoes” rules of stores didn’t apply to them (right?).
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It felt odd - going from a battle under a cold, clear night to a clean, washed-out department store. Idle shoppers roamed the aisles, many buying last minute outfits for their upcoming Thanksgiving gatherers.
“You got a problem?” Coleridge spat out when a group of women eyed his pants-less body in disgust. They quickly scurried off; Coleridge felt like the man. When Ice looked to her ex-boyfriend for aid while a man leered at her, Coleridge was too busy eyeing the female mannequins.
But Ice was a little bundle of positivity. After the two put on replacement pants in the changing rooms and regrouped to see how they looked, they gave each other affirmative nods.
“Hey, Lionel,” Ice offered, twiddling her thumbs. “You said back there that you weren’t a hero. But I think you’re selling yourself short.”
“I’m no hero,” Coleridge repeated. “I’m just some guy who can move earth around with his hands. That might technically make me a superhero or something, but I’m no hero.”
Ice smiled at him. “But a hero can be anyone, even a guy doing something as simple and reassuring as offering a pair of pants to a girl to let her know that the world hadn’t ended.”
Everything seemed to come to a complete halt. Coleridge felt something rush through him, out from his heart, all the way to his fingertips. The realization came slowly - he didn’t want to believe it at first. But the look in her eyes suggested she was telling the honest truth.
“You’re right,” he realized. “I am a hero. I’m a goddamn saint! You know what? Let’s go help Clayton!”
“W-wait!” Ice interrupted. “I only said that because I was trying to get you to take me to the movies. I’m…I’m taking this break-up really hard.”
“Goddamn, how desperate for a boyfriend are you?”
“Extremely.”
Coleridge sighed, then smiled back at her. “You know…maybe you’re not so bad after all. Let’s start over. Saving Clayton will be our first date.”
The two gave each other a slight tilt of the head, their smiles growing wider. Then Ice kissed him. Her lips felt warm; so did her cheeks as he placed his hands on them. He only did that just to free himself, though.
“Jesus! Wh-what? I wasn’t going for a kiss!”
Ice raised her hands as Coleridge wiped his mouth. “Th-that’s not what you were going for? Wow, I read that one wrong. I really thought we had the right atmosphere and everything!”
“Take me to dinner first,” Coleridge replied. “The Coleridge doesn’t just kiss anybody. You don’t exactly have the best reputation at school.”
Ice looked at the floor. “My…reputation? Is it really that bad? Do people not like me that much? So what if I cause problems? So what if my mother likes my sister more than me? So what if I’m a klutz who messes up everything? Would it really cause issues if people see us together at school? ”
Coleridge stared at her blankly. “No, I mean that you have no reputation at school. I literally have no idea who you are. I don’t even know your real first name.”
“Oh, well it’s-”
“No time!” Coleridge interrupted. “I’m still hopped up on this hero adrenaline, so let’s go save Clayton before the self-doubt returns!”
Ice looked at him for a moment, then let out the kind of sigh that indicates “well, that’s life”.
The two sprinted through the store, passing by the registers towards the front door without any thought.
“Hey, aren’t you going to pay?” a cashier called out after them.
“Heroes don’t pay for collateral damage!” came Coleridge’s answer as they escaped into the night.
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“You’re right, they really don’t,” Clayton realized as the group of four headed back towards the hidden shantytown exit through the fence. “But anyway, I get it now. Vic said he knew a way to get into the shantytown and took you to that fence and he's waiting to pick us up from there."
Clayton could walk on his own power now; he rubbed his wrists, which were still bruised from the bindings. "Feels good to be free. I'm glad you guys came back for me."
As the night continued on, the constant background noise formed by huddled masses of people had given way to a gradual silence, especially as they reached the outskirts of the shantytown. People retreated back into their shacks or fell asleep as close to barrel fires as they could. Even the laughter of the children had disappeared from the night; presumably, they wore themselves out from what little entertainment they could get from a shantytown and were now asleep.
For the people who were still awake, their silent eyes followed the group of four. Fortunately, being with Rab meant that nobody tried anything.
“I’ll bring you guys back to the fence,” he offered. “But what are you guys going to do after that?”
Coleridge and Ice looked up at Clayton, the natural leader in this kind of situation. “Hanai is probably gone for Salem Slot by now,” he admitted. “So maybe we should let your dad know about this, Coleridge. I heard that there were dirty MPs working for Alcyone. They helped bring in shipments to the shantytown."
“What kind of shipments?” Ice asked. She gave Clayton his pants back in favor of (permanently) borrowing a pair off an unconscious guard. She had to roll up the ankles.
“Lots of New York goods,” Clayton recalled. “Staten Suihankis, New York Minutes…oh. Oh, that might not be good.”
“A New York Minute!” Ice exclaimed, little excited breaths escaping from her lips. “They can make a two minute burrito...in one minute!”
Everybody knew that line by this point, so Clayton just continued his explanation. “What people don’t know is that, when a material called corinthiacum is placed inside a Minute and Rddhi comes into contact with it, it can turn into a Rddhi golem. And these golems pack a mean punch.”
“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Coleridge said.
Clayton chuckled. Any info about the Audrey Adzinoki New York Minute incident was classified and all the destruction caused by it was blamed on the State Police raid. Perhaps he shouldn’t be revealing information like this, but the three came and saved him - they deserved to know what Clayton had walked into.
“You don’t know the half of it. But anyway, Alcyone left in a convoy full of New York Minutes. It’s possible she’s going to use them as a golem army. She mentioned an ambush spot and a highway.”
“Could she be ambushing someone on a highway?” Ice proposed, feeling very proud of her detective work.
“There’s one more thing,” Clayton added. “She also mentioned the State Police taking the spur line from Androscoggin to Machigonne. There’s a highway that runs alongside it. I think she’s hiding out near the highway and planning to ambush a State Police train tomorrow at dawn.”
The four let that sink in. The cold felt bitter on their skin, especially on Clayton’s - after finishing his theory, he was going to propose a quick trip to the hospital, but Rab spoke first.
“Maybe it’s not my place to say, and I don’t got a lick of sense of what’s going on, but do you guys really need to do anything about it? I mean, this sounds like a revolutionary versus State Police fight. Why would you put yourself in harm’s way by intervening?”
Their new companion made a good point. Ice ducked her eyes away - having had her first taste of combat and heroism, it sent shivers down her spine, but also made it stand up straight. The same went for Coleridge; he puffed his chest out in pride. “Intervening when others wouldn’t - that’s exactly what heroes do. That’s why we’re going to follow Alycone and put a stop to whatever’s going on.”
Clayton gave an embarrassed smile and curled a strand of hair around his finger. “Well…I was really just thinking capturing Alcyone might give us more information on other Second Restorationist plans, but heroism works too.”
Coleridge went a little red and shoved his face into the collar of his jacket. He mumbled something that sounded like, “Maybe I don’t need his conditioner after all.”
The four arrived near the fence. Through the darkness and metal, they could make out Vic and his carriage on the other side. The four sighed in relief; then ghillie-suit-wearing MPs emerged out hastily constructed burrows in the ground and started beating them with clubs. Coleridge violently coughed after a billy club struck his ribs. More MPs emerged from behind Vic’s carriage pointing guns at them.
Having been tortured less than half an hour ago, Clayton more or less immediately passed out after receiving a club strike to the burned half of his face. Ice had a strong fear of surprises after an incident at her sixth birthday and also immediately passed out. That left Coleridge, who tried to plant his hands on the earth, but the MPs got to him first and immobilized his powers with handcuffs. Rab swung with his switchblade, but he was outnumbered and was ultimately pinned down as well.
“Sorry, fellas,” Vic called out. “But I got a tip from a big client of mine that people were snooping around the shantytown warehouse.”
“You bastard,” Coleridge muttered. “I wasted the brain cells on actually sort of remembering you from earlier.”
The ghillie-suited MPs started hauling the four into Vic’s carriage. “Should we just ice them and dump their bodies?” one asked.
Another one shook his head. “One of them is a Coleridge. Can’t just ice the son of a sergeant like that without raising questions.”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Coleridge barked out. “My dad’s gonna come kick your ass!”
“The only thing your dad’s gonna kick is the bucket once the alcoholism gets to him,” the MP answered.
“...dude, c'mon.” Coleridge went quiet.
The lead MP looked off into the night sky. “We’ll just dump them in a holding cell at the station until morning.”
“But they know about the ambush.”
The lead MP shrugged. “The operation will take place at dawn. We’ll just keep them until a little after that. Once we ambush the ambush, it won’t matter what they know.”