I stare at the floor-to-ceiling mirror, embarrassment and appreciation warring for victory within my mind. Granted, it’s aesthetically pleasing to the eyes. Sure, most of my skin is covered, which I was a little worried about. Just… jellyfish?
I know that first trip to the aquarium was a formative memory or something, but I’m not even that attached to them as an animal anymore. Mostly. I pat the jellyfish-esque beret on my head, expecting unpleasant sliminess or for it to flop around, but it's surprisingly secure and feels quite smooth to the touch. My hand finds the little button in its teal-colored middle, and I’m forced to admit I love it.
I turn my back to the mirror, craning my neck to see the back, and find that I can’t see past my hair. The black tendrils from my ascension have made a return—though thinner—and don’t go all the way up to my head. From my roots to about shoulder length, my hair is the same as normal, then smoothly transitions into the inky wires that float around like they’re submerged.
Like my hair, the dress itself feels cold and solid, though it doesn’t restrict my movement at all. Lines of tiny bioluminescent blue and green dots run up and down the dress, giving off a small glow. The dress itself ends around the middle of my thighs, where it expands outward into frills, the jellyfish-themed crinoline keeping it fluffed up. I press down on it, pleased as a peach at the way it poomfs back up. Superb.
One of my legs is covered in a tights-like material, though it is far more durable-looking. My other leg, however, is wrapped in a dangerous-looking armor, its chitinous plating ending in sharp points as it rises up my leg. I attempt to poke at one of the spikes with my foot, sighing in relief when I don’t feel any pain.
I jump a few times, not feeling any difference in weight despite the size difference between the greaves. In fact, I don’t feel much weight at all despite the amount I’m now wearing.
“You finally look the part, Vanguard.” Roosevelt says aloud, spinning around me. “Know that both I and Silo are incredibly proud of you”
I can sense that he’s telling the truth, and that he genuinely believes it too. I snatch him from the air and hold him, his irritation enhancing my good mood.
“Thanks, Roosevelt. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have even made it here to nearly die again.”
Both him and Catherine look a bit guilty at that, clearly blaming themselves for endangering me again.
“It’s a joke, people. I couldn’t just not Ascend after all; this had to happen eventually.” I say with a sigh, far too mentally exhausted for another emotional session. “I want to see if my pants survived; let's get to testing this outfit.”
I strut out the door, Roosevelt held loosely in my arms as I head to the main training room. Revision stands outside of it, so closely in fact that I almost run into him, squishing my companion. I watch as an eye generates and opens between his shoulder blades to look at me, my good will towards him evaporating in an instant.
“Huh? Oh— shit! Sorry about this. I wasn’t sure when you’d be in good enough shape to visit, so I bought myself a sub for lunch. Did you want one?” The suit of armor speaks, his voice far less intimidating than I expected. His question also makes me realize I’m actually pretty hungry, but the angry smell of some sort of pepper wafting off his sub causes me to politely refuse his offer.
Catherine's voice rings out from the room behind me, having spotted the large man towering over me. “Oh good, our resident target practice has volunteered himself willingly this time.”
“Ah, c’mon director, haven’t you forgiven me for breaking it yet?” He leans down to see through the doorway before he speaks, and I scoot past him—his sense of personal space clearly different from mine.
Catherine comes out of the side room, pointedly ignoring Revision as she turns to me. ”As I’m sure was clear from the two minutes you’ve been with him, his common sense is for a world that isn’t this one.” She gives him an annoyed look, “Nobody wants to be offered a sandwich that could actively injure them; now lose the helmet. You’re scary.”
The contrast between her treatment of him and her treatment of me leaves me without words for a moment, a silence that is extended as his helmet slides off. He is... attractive. frustratingly so, in fact. His eyes are a vibrant sky blue, precisely placed on his perfectly chiseled face.
A bit of my confidence from this morning wanes, finding it hard to compete with this level of natural attractiveness. I bet he manages it with some stupid three-in-one shampoo too, the bastard. He does look a little sad at the thought of offering me a sandwich I can’t eat, though, so I try to cheer him up.
“I wouldn’t worry about the sub; how about you show me the place you bought it from later?"
His face takes on a look like I asked him something life-changing before shifting to sorrowful regret.
“Melissa gets mad when I get food with girls other than her, so I don't think that's a great idea; I can write down the name though!”
Melissa? Shit.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“He’s referring to Vanguard Menagerie; the two of them are engaged.” Catherine says with a smirk.
Engaged? Shit.
The trash compactor within my soul begins to grind up the attraction and little bit of hope I had gathered up to this point as I respond blandly, “Yeah, the name is fine. Thanks.”
His face lights up as if my forgiveness had been the only issue in his world at the time, kind of like my last dog, Heimdall. I turn to look at Catherine, who, despite clearly enjoying my suffering, rescues me by calling us over to a new machine.
“Before we waste any more of your time in the ascendant state, let's get some of your specs measured.” She calls, patting a machine. “This is the F1zzl3 Mk3; no, I do not know what the acronym stands for. Yes, this is the model Revision broke last time, and I haven’t forgiven him for. Stand in front of it, if you—not you—would.”
The fizzle, or whatever it is, looked like two high-tech poles with a bunch of translucent taffy stretched between them. I can’t say I’ve ever wanted to touch anything of that description, but if there's anything being here has taught me, it's that literally nothing feels the way it should.
“Do... do I punch it?” I ask cautiously.
“A punch would be a good baseline, yes. Just try to avoid hitting the receptors on either side, please. I don’t want to replace another one.” Catherine says, nearly pleading.
Adjusting my stance to be a bit wider, I try to remember the lessons from the boxing class I took once upon a time. I raise my fists beneath my chin and tuck my thumbs under my fingers. Inhaling deeply, I twist my upper body as I lash out, embedding my fist in the taffy.
Blanching immediately, I try to pull my hand out of the sticky substance, its viscosity exactly what I feared it would be. The material clings to my skin, stretching as I pull it out until it separates with a wet pop. I whirl to the left, glaring daggers at Catherine for her betrayal.
She raises her hands placatingly, apparently prepared for my reaction. “It’s gross, I know, but if you had known beforehand, you definitely wouldn’t have hit it normally, right?”
Her completely logical and fair explanation does little to negate the disgust I’m still feeling.
“Is this the only way to test this? Theres got to be some metal thing with a spring, right?” I ask, having no idea what a spring has to do with testing punch strength.
“You probably haven't realized it yet, but that punch you did? That was something near five thousand newtons. Someone of your weight doing professional boxing will average about half of that. If we let you miscreants wail on some non fathom-tech machine constantly, we’d be replacing them every other week. That thing is also leagues more precise than anything mortal made.” She says, walking up and patting the machine gently. “But we have your baseline, so one or two of those and a couple other exercises, then we can break for lunch.”
I sag before turning back toward the fruzzer or whatever the hell it is and settling into a stance once again.
----------------------------------------
Apparently the sub-shop Revision mentioned was within the Vanguard building itself, and was somehow allowed to be named “Hoagies Horrors.” That said, I cannot disparage the food itself; this is one of the greatest sandwiches I’ve ever eaten. The meat tastes like real meat, the vegetables are crisp and fresh, and newcomers get an admittedly super cute shoggoth keychain.
Currently, I’m playing around with said shoggoth, and I’m pretty sure it was personally crocheted by the owner himself. The little eyes all over look so happy, and it feels very much like a personal touch.
“Brooke?” Catherine says, and I act like I haven’t been ignoring them to look at an Eldritch-themed stuffie.
“Sorry I missed that, what did you say?”
She gives me a dry look and I do my best to look innocent.
“Revision asked how your sub was, but I see you’re getting a head start on researching the fathom.”
I feel my cheeks flush, and I clip the shoggoth to my clutch.
“It was really good, actually. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a sandwich of that quality before; do you know if it’s real meat?”
Catherine looks me dead in the eyes and says, “I have no idea. Part of his contract is that he sources his own materials, and that I don't ask.”
I laugh a bit, thinking it was a joke, before freaking out a little and saying, “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope, I have no idea what he uses. I did make him promise it's neither human nor eldritch though, so I’m fine with it.”
My stomach turns a little, unnerved by the literal mystery meat. I just don’t understand why he would refuse to tell Catherine unless it was something unsavory. But then again, he’s also a gentle old man who crochets gifts personally for his customers! Augh!
“What does your shirt mean?” Revision asks, suddenly. We're both in our casual clothes, my Ascension thankfully not eating mine.
While I’m thankful for a topic change from hoagies dubious meat sourcing, I’m now forced to explain the appeal of trash-eating rodents and their ironic usage of the “Live, Laugh, Love” sign that people don’t even use anymore.
“It’s really just an aesthetic thing, to be honest.” I say as a total cop-out.
“Melis—Menagerie likes stuff like that too, though every time I try to get her something similar, she says that I don’t get it. She’s never upset about it, but I’d like to understand her a bit more.”
That’s exceptionally cute, and I feel a little jealous of Menagerie at this point. “If you’re okay with it, would you like me to go shopping with you next time? I might need to see the type of thing she likes specifically to pick something out. I can force my brother to come too, so it isn’t just us.”
“That would be a huge help! Her birthday is actually next mont—” He starts, but is interrupted by Catherine standing up.
“If I am to get anything actually done today, we’ll need to finish up your testing. Are you both ready?” She asks.
Revision looks like he wants to finish the conversation, but I don’t want him to get in any further trouble, so I say, “I’ll be here at least a day or two more. Text me at this number.” before writing my number down on a napkin. “I’m feeling pretty ready, though what else did we need to do?”
Her smile turns frightening, and she places both hands on the table.
“Sparring.”