PWP: 5.16 Scale (Patreon)

Scale 5.16

Bryce Kiley2010, December 26: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

I tugged insistently at my tie until I felt it loosen somewhat in my grip. Sabah heard about the Christmas party/ banquet I was being drafted for and decided it was the perfect opportunity to use me as a dress up doll again. I ended up with a navy suit and tie that was, admittedly, fitted to perfection.

I’d visited the Dallon home briefly once before, back when Amy conned me into going to homecoming with her. It was as white picket fence-y as I remembered. Manicured lawns, perfectly trimmed hedges, and neatly demarcated property lines lent the entire neighborhood a picturesque feel that seemed alien to Brockton Bay. I wondered if Carol Dallon was also an active part of her HOA. 

Everything I knew about her suggested she’d be the type to be anal over the “community atmosphere” of her block. Then again, she was a semi-retired heroine and a famous lawyer. She didn’t have the hours in the day to hound her neighbors about the paint color of fences and whatnot.

The Dallons were waiting in their driveway, dressed to the nines in formalwear. So was Dean, who was obviously here as Vicky’s plus one. I got out of the car and waved goodbye to my sister.

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Amy said, with what I assumed was supposed to be a winning smile. She tried, but she looked like she was trying to politely tell a Jehovah’s Witness to fuck off.

“Yup. I can’t pass up free food, can I?” I said with an easygoing smile. Then, because at least one of us had to pretend we had manners, I held out a hand to Carol. “Hello and Merry Christmas. Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Dallon.”

She weighed me against some unknown metric before taking my hand with a polite smile. “Merry Christmas to you, too. Both Vicky and Amy speak well of you. I hope you enjoy yourself tonight.”

“Nice suit, Bryce,” Dean said with an approving nod.

“Thanks, a friend of my sister’s is really into fashion. I let her use me as a dress up doll for a bit and vola, perfectly formalwear.”

We spent several precious minutes making smalltalk. The parents asked me how I did in school and I pretended I gave a damn about Huck Finn. We weren’t even there yet and I already felt like I was at a networking event.

Eventually, we got in two cars and headed for Carol’s law firm. The parents drove in their own car while Dean, being the only one of us kids with a vehicle of his own, drove his Lexus.

X

The law firm had a name, but I forgot it seconds after I heard it the first time and was too embarrassed to ask again. It was located in the downtown business district and occupied three whole floors of one of the larger commercial buildings. It was also within walking distance of pretty much every major employer in the city, half of which were no doubt their clients.

The five of us were greeted by a valet and one of Carol’s coworkers who happened to arrive at about the same time. The balding, middle-aged man with a snowman-themed tie introduced himself as David, head of their healthcare regulatory practice.

“Yes, we’ve been talking with Medhall’s legal team for a while now,” he was telling a barely interested Mark. Even Carol looked bored. “For whatever reason, they just won’t give us the time of day. The quotes I gave them were more than reasonable. I wonder if someone annoyed Max Anders.”

“You’ll get there, David. You’ve got all the right qualifications to represent them,” Carol said placatingly. I didn’t need to be a lawyer to know that was professional-speak for “Please stop talking.”

I could guess what was going on.

Max Anders was the CEO of Medhall, the largest healthcare company in the state. They had their own network of pharmacies, clinics, and even an R&D subsidiary, with a gross revenue of over four billion last year. The company, privately owned by the Anders family and select friends, rivaled Stansfield Enterprises as the largest single employer in Brockton Bay. 

He was also Kaiser, leader of the Empire 88. Seeing how he almost certainly used Medhall to fund the E88, it was no wonder he didn’t want Carol’s firm anywhere near his civilian empire.

Had he retained Carol’s firm, he’d have had to allow Carol’s colleagues to learn privileged information about his company. And though confidentiality laws made her finding out over the water cooler unlikely, he obviously wouldn’t want to trust in professionalism alone.

Then again, there had to be a part of him that wanted to employ this firm, just for the kick he’d get from knowing Kaiser was indirectly employing Brandish. He was certainly enough of an egomaniac for it.

Unfortunately, Max was a rare breed, a Nazi who wasn’t a complete moron. He probably blacklisted Carol’s firm long before this David fellow approached Medhall as a potential client. Medhall’s counsel would continue to give him the runaround so long as he was part of Brandish’s firm.

As the only person here who understood what was going on, I found this situation a lot more amusing than I perhaps should have.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked as he leaned in.

“Hmm? Sorry, I just thought of a book I’d read,” I deflected with an easygoing smile. It was true; I’d read Worm.

“Cool, what was it about?”

“A bullied schoolgirl who obtains powers, tries to do the right thing, and ends up becoming the biggest villain her city has ever seen, all through a series of well-intentioned but objectively stupid decisions.”

“That doesn’t sound like a comedy.”

“It’s not. The author’s an anti-establishment nihilist. The main character tries and fails, partially because the system fails her at every turn. There are good people in the system, but its overarching design is built to make life exceedingly difficult for solo actors like her.”

“Why do you find this funny again?”

“It has its moments.”

Dean, one of those good people in the system, shook his head in confusion. “Alright, man. Come on, let’s go inside.”

We were led into a large conference hall maintained by the building’s management company. It was really two conference rooms, with a wall between them that could be taken apart as required. The whole space, paved with marble flooring and lined with tactful paintings, looked thoroughly inoffensive. 

One side of the hall was lined with a row of buffet-style serving stations. Everything I’d come to expect of a Christmas feast was available, including a carving station with a ribeye roast. The buffet was capped on either side by a free bar and dessert station.

“Victoria, take everyone to the back and grab a table. I think I see some of your friends,” Carol said. She looped her arm with her husband’s and led him towards a table of her colleagues. Judging by their average ages and receding hairlines, these were the bigshots in the firm.

“Yay… Come on, everyone, we’ve been exiled to the kiddie corner,” Victoria drawled dryly.

“Would you like to continue hearing from David? I’m sure he’d be delighted to know you find healthcare practice development so interesting.”

“Good point, that sounds miserable. Let’s go, sis, boyfriend, Bryce.”

The back of the hall had several of those large, circular tables clustered together. Two were occupied already. From the snippets of conversation I could overhear, two were full of young associates while the other two were for college students. That left the final two for the rest of us, the minors.

Vicky happily took the lead. She made a beeline towards a group of overdressed teens. Annoyingly, they were all older than me, the curse of being a freshman again. Given that she and Dean greeted most of them by name, I gathered that this was a regular thing, maybe not this Christmas party exactly, but social functions between them were a usual enough occurrence.

Really, it was like I was looking at a younger copy of the table in front. I probably was. These were the children of hotshot lawyers and their clients, people who regularly billed in the multi-millions. They weren’t exactly nobility, but they were as uppercrust as this city had.

Vicky swept through like a whirlwind of holiday spirit. She introduced everyone to each other. What was really impressive was that she remembered details about their lives that seemed laughably trivial to me: One boy’s little sister’s piano recital. A girl’s interest in studying abroad in Spain.

I tried to remember their names as best I could. I’d likely never see these people again, but it couldn’t hurt to be engaged in the conversation. It was, admittedly, a losing proposition.

One person in particular stood out.

“Hi, Bryce. It’s always nice to meet another of Vicky and Amy’s friends,” she said. She was a pretty redhead who kept her hair in an elegant bun that probably took longer than it should. At a guess I placed her a year or so older than me. “I’m Emma. Dad’s a lawyer here too, so I know Vicky pretty well. Amy, well, you know how she is.”

“My sister is what, Emma?” Vicky asked with a serene smile. It was the calm before the storm, a warning as clear as a traffic light.

“Nothing, I mean she’s very reserved. I wish I could be as above it all as she is. I was just going to say that it’s really interesting how she came with a boyfriend tonight.”

“We’re not dating,” Amy replied hastily.

Emma let out a dainty little gasp and winced. She shot me what I assumed was supposed to be a sympathetic look. “Ooh, sorry, Bryce. More fish in the sea and all that.”

“It’s cool,” I shrugged ambivalently. Her name niggled something at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t tell what exactly.

I eyed the redhead curiously. It was like looking at a strange animal. I was confused. We’d just sat down and this random girl started taking potshots at Amy.

Was I not dressed spiffy enough to sit at this table? That couldn’t be it; my suit fit me better than the one I wore to my hospital director’s wedding in the past.

Did she have some kind of juvenile rivalry with Victoria? That sounded more likely, but Vicky was the queen bee by default. Her passive aura and hero status made her really hard to dislike.

I couldn’t figure it out so I looked to the incognito empath for some guidance. Dean was… He was sipping at his glass of ginger ale, trying not to stand out. He may have been Gallant, but he was also a seventeen year old boy. When two pretty girls started sniping at each other, our instinct wasn’t to get involved, it was to play possum.

Still, I managed to coax something out of him. He glanced at Amy, then at Emma with a furrowed brow. It wasn’t much of a hint, but it was what I had to work with.

I leaned towards Amy and nudged her shoulder with my own. I whispered, “What’d you do to piss her off?”

“What makes you think I did anything?” Amy grouched. Her whisper was a bit louder than mine.

“I know a Mexican standoff when I see one. Or, close enough anyway.”

“I didn’t do anything. I barely know her.”

“Oh, I get it,” I nodded. Then, louder than Amy so a few of the people closer to us could hear, I said, “Did you refuse to zap away a zit for her or something? Not gonna lie, it’s kinda petty to hold a grudge this long.”

“I don’t have zits!” Emma gasped, scandalized. “How old are you, anyway? Aren’t you a little young to be here?”

“I didn’t realize there was an age limit to mooching food off your rich daddy. But if you must know, I’m fifteen.”

“Well–”

“Lay off, Emma,” one of the older girls said from another table. She looked to be about Sierra’s age, give or take a year, and was a dead ringer for Emma’s older sister, just as pretty, without the mean-spirited sneer. She’d been enjoying a quiet chat with some of her own friends but must have heard the bickering here. “It’s Christmas. Can you avoid being a brat for more than ten minutes tonight? Please?”

“Oh, buzz off, Anne,” Emma scoffed. “I was just going to congratulate Amy on her new date but it’s not my fault she wants to lead around a freshie.”

“Then do it without being a brat,” her sister scoffed. She turned to us. “Sorry about that, Emma’s been in a catty mood for a few weeks now. It’s not your fault. You look lovely by the way, Amy.”

A beautiful but bitchy redhead named Emma. A father who worked at Carol’s firm. An older sister named Anne…

That did it; the pieces clicked. I was reasonably sure that this was Emma Barnes, Taylor’s childhood friend and chief bully. This explained all the backhanded… whatever the fuck she thought that was.

The bickering came to a pause when we were allowed to go get food. Everyone else went up to stand in line but I tugged Amy down by her sleeve with the excuse of waiting for the line to dwindle.

“So, that was Barnes, right?” I asked quietly, mostly for confirmation.

She looked at me with surprise. “Huh? Yeah, how did you–”

“What can I say? Her bitchiness transcends the fabric of reality.”

“Huh? Oh…” She leaned forward and whispered, “Wait, she’s a–”

“Pft, of course not. As far as normies go though, she just might be the most important person in the world.”

She was. From a certain point of view, anyway. She herself had no idea of course, but she made Taylor. Skitter. Weaver. And eventually, Khepri. It wouldn’t be wrong to say that she helped save the world.

And what a disgusting thought that was. Immortal monkeys with typewriters did not a Shakespeare make, not even if they did write Hamlet.

“Anything I should know about?” Amy asked.

“No, just… I have some things to think about,” I replied.

 “If you say so… You’ll tell me if I need to know, right?”

“Right. Come on, let’s go get some food.”

X

Dinner was delicious. The prime rib was juicy, the mashed potatoes probably had enough butter to wring dry a cow, and the gravy was silky and warm, with a peppercorn finish that made my mouth water. Even the brussel sprouts were great. And, with Vicky taking up the limelight, Amy and I were free to fade into the background.

After the dinner, the chairman of the firm stood and thanked all the guests for coming. He talked about record profits, accolades certain lawyers had earned in the past year, and how everyone in the firm was like one, big family to him.

It was honestly a little gross. I’d worked in a hospital for most of my professional life, but I’d heard plenty of horror stories from friends who were stuck in firms with “family values.”

He then opened the floor for the entertainment portion of the Christmas party, or as Amy put it, “stupid holiday shit.” One of the partners tried his hand at standup comedy, badly. The funniest part of this was watching his son sink beneath the tablecloth out of vicarious embarrassment.

Eventually, the dance floor was opened and Vicky dragged everyone out. I shoved Amy into her arms and found a quiet corner to think.

I found myself glancing at the redhead. Emma was gorgeous; she really pulled off the prom queen vibe. It was easy to see how she got signed on as an amateur model. That said, she was as vapid and catty as I’d expected. But it wasn’t Emma I was really fixated on.

Taylor Hebert. I hadn’t expected to be reminded of her today. Truth be told, I didn’t think much of her at all. Before I received the Tinker of Fiction, I’d resolved myself to simply survive. When Leviathan came, I planned to not join the Merchants, and maybe, just maybe, not be a headache for Sierra before ditching the city altogether when Taylor got outed.

After I triggered, and I had my suspicions that I didn’t have a conventional Shard, I’d had so much to do that Taylor became an academic question. For the first few months, I’d felt I was too weak to make a difference. My priority had been getting stronger, mastering the technologies and skills I learned.

When I did feel strong enough, there were other demands on my time: There was Damascus, which was a shitshow all its own. Coil, who had to die if I wanted a modicum of peace and sanity in this city. And of course, there was Sabah and Amy, who honestly meant a lot more to me than some girl I only knew from a story.

I… I wasn’t too late. This was the winter break before Taylor’s trigger. Her school started up in a little over a week. Emma and her friends would probably fill her locker with used tampons sometime this week. I could prevent it, prevent the birth of the Queen.

It’d be simple, too. I didn’t even have to get involved in Taylor’s life. I could drop by the night before the first day of school and clean out Taylor’s locker. All Emma would know would be that the janitor did his job for once.

The question wasn’t whether I could, but whether I should. I’d been tongue-in-cheek with Amy when I called Emma the most important normie in the world, but I hadn’t exactly been lying. Could the local multiverse survive without Khepri? Could I beat Scion in her stead?

No, that wasn’t the right question. I was the Tinker of Fiction, of course I’d outgrow Scion eventually. The right question wasn’t whether I could, but whether I’d have the time.

I was reminded of a thought experiment I’d heard in my past life. It presented the reader with a utopia of infinite bliss, where absolutely nothing could go wrong.

Except, there was an innocent child in the basement who took on all the suffering and misfortune of the city. This child underwent untold agony every second of his existence so that those who lived above could live in eternal bliss. The idea was that no one knew about this child, this sacrificial lamb.

The circumstances weren’t the same of course. Even so, I couldn’t help but feel that if I didn’t prevent her trigger, I’d be consigning her to a similar fate.

I was drawn out of my inner thoughts by someone sitting next to me. Dean set down two glasses of ginger ale between us. I’d drained my own glass without realizing it. “You look like you’re thinking heavy thoughts.”

“Dean? Shouldn’t you be out with Vicky?” I asked as I took the offered drink. I’d probably drawn him in with my melancholy.

“I was, but she’s too much energy for me. Besides, this is the most fun I’ve seen Amy have in… ever,” he said with a wry grin.

I looked over. Sure enough, Vicky was spinning her sister in the air, laughing like a lunatic. Amy did her best to scowl through it all like a grumpy cat, but she wasn’t fooling anyone.

I let out a snort of laughter. “Yeah, she’s totally enjoying it.”

“So? What’s up?”

“Nothing, I’m just… thinking.”

“Can I ask what about? It’s Christmas, cheer up, Bryce.”

“I’m not sad,” I told him. “Still, I appreciate the sentiment.”

“No problem. I know this isn’t really your scene, but if you ever want to talk, I’m here, man.”

“Thanks, Dean,” I said sincerely. He wasn’t really good at this whole “superpowered psychologist” thing, but he tried. He genuinely wanted everyone around him to enjoy themselves and that kind of authentic consideration was hard to be mad at. “Say, are you religious?”

“Hmm? I’m… Yes and no? I’m not sure how to explain, but I guess I do think that there is something out there. I mean, it’s kinda hard not to. Superpowers are real, and there’s so much we can’t explain. Who’s to say there isn’t something more? Something bigger than us?”

“Right. So spiritual, but not necessarily dogmatic.”

“I guess you could say that. Is that what you were thinking about? Jesus’ birthday?”

“The birth of Christ… the birth of a savior… I suppose so, in a manner of speaking.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said with a small laugh. “I guess the holiday spirit’s getting to me.”

“Most people get drunk and dance like fools.”

“I get contemplative and think way too hard about moral philosophy.”

“You’re an old soul, Bryce. Never change,” Dean said, chuckling. I saw him glance at the other end of the room, towards a familiar redhead. He shook his head with a disapproving frown. “Sorry about her, by the way.”

“Emma, right? What’s her deal anyway? She seemed like she had a bone to pick with Amy, or maybe Vicky.”

“Mostly Vicky. We met a few times at semi-formal functions like this one. I think Vicky mentioned running into her at a photoshoot, too. She, uh, flirted with me once when she didn’t know Vicky and I were together and… yeah…”

“Teenage drama I don’t care about, got it, sorry I asked. So those two don’t get along and the ginger decided to take shots at me instead.”

“Sorry about that…”

“Not your fault. Don’t apologize for things you didn’t do, Dean. That’s a bad habit of yours.”

“Sorry.”

“For fuck’s sake…”

“Hehe, that just came out,” he said with a sheepish chuckle.

As we bantered goodnaturedly, I saw his attention drifting towards Emma more and more. He perceived emotions in terms of colored auras. I didn’t know what he saw when he looked at Emma, but I doubted it matched the cheerful, upbeat smile she wore.

She’d found her way towards one of the girls I hadn’t bothered to remember the name of. By the way Dean was scowling, I could guess that she wasn’t exactly there to make friends.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed. Amy, who was a bit closer, must have overheard something because I saw her begin to walk over.

“Good talk, Bryce,” Dean said, standing. “I’m gonna go…”

I looked at him, then at the two girls whispering in the corner. I waved him off with an easy smile. “Go be a white knight, yes? Go on, then, hero.”

“Ah, yeah…”

“You know, I think I’m going to go keep Amy’s mom distracted. Try not to draw too much attention, yeah?” I said, standing.

“Thanks, Bryce.”

Author’s Note

Believe it or not, this chapter’s been in my head since the very beginning of this story. I hadn’t written anything out yet, but when I first began to brainstorm, I thought about how I’d introduce certain canon characters.

Bryce, being an Arcadia student, had few reasons to meet anyone from Winslow, especially once I accounted for the unwritten rules. Then, I remembered that Emma actually knew Vicky in passing.

In canon, the trio met Vicky at a photoshoot. They got along at first, until Vicky overheard Emma make fun of a disabled girl. I decided that dragging them together via their parents was as good a reason as any.

The thought experiment Bryce is referring to is from a short story by Ursula Le Guin called “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.” It’s a classic in philosophy classes that presents a direct challenge to utilitarianism.

Animal Fact: King cobra venom is tailored to be more effective on other reptiles because they mostly eat other snakes. That’s what the “king” means. When a snake, even if it’s not of the kingsnake family, has “king” in the name, it usually means that this snake feeds predominantly on other snakes.

Up to 90% of a king cobra’s diet can be made up of other snakes, fellow king cobras included. In fact, just about the only time they will not eat each other is during mating season, when two males will engage in a duel for dominance. The loser, usually, gets to walk away.