ACL: 34. A Broken Heart

Chapter 34: A Broken Heart

Brockton Bay, NH, USA
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Type: Electric

We couldn’t practice for long. It was Tuesday and we both had school tomorrow. At the very least, Mrs. Dallon cared, which meant Amy cared. We’d just have to pick this up again on Saturday. For the moment, I was content with getting Amy used to the feeling of aura.

More to the point, I had something even more important to do than training Amy. I couldn’t leave Cherie alone. A part of me wanted to, I really did sympathize, but I’d put aside my feelings if it meant keeping my siblings safe.

‘Can’t you just tell me if she’s a good person or not?’ I asked Victini, more for the sake of it than because I expected a positive answer.

‘Not really, not unless I’m outside. And even then, would you really want me to tell you who you should and shouldn’t fight?’ she replied rhetorically. 

I shook my head tiredly. That wasn’t how I did things. The only one who gave me orders was the damn alpaca. ‘No, you’re right.’ 

‘Don’t put this off any longer than you have to.’

‘I know. I won’t. She’s too much of a wildcard right now.’

‘So what’s the plan?’

‘We play dumb until everyone goes to sleep. She’s an emotion manipulator, right? She doesn’t directly control bodies.’

‘She doesn’t directly control emotions either,’ Victini said. ‘As far as I know, there is no aura involved, remember? What she’s doing is manipulating hormones in the brain. Her power is both incredibly narrow yet precise.’

‘That’s perfect. Then her power should be much less effective on someone who’s already asleep. The worst that might happen is that they wake up with a nightmare. I’ll take that over emotionally induced suicide any day.’

‘Clever. So this is a shakedown?’

‘I guess it is.’

X

Cherie Vasil

I was running out of time. I wasn’t quite desperate yet, but I needed a way to spend more time around Blake. He was seldom at the orphanage during the day and it wasn't like I could follow him around while he was Menagerie.

Guillaume and Nicholas would be here soon, if they weren’t already in the city. I likely had a week, maybe ten days at most. They weren’t as good at finding people as they thought they were, but they weren’t complete idiots either; dad wouldn’t have sent them otherwise.

I’d intentionally kept a low profile. I was a girl who enjoyed the finer things in life. If nothing else, daddy dearest knew how to live in the lap of luxury. My darling siblings would never expect me to be roughing it at an orphanage of all places.

I smiled demurely as I helped Mrs. Wells set the table. All that just meant I’d have to charm him while I could. No matter what facade he put on, he was just a teenage boy in the end.

“Blake! You’re here!” one of the younger kids, Heather, shouted from the communal area. 

“Hey, guys,” I heard him respond. “Sorry I’m late, my work-study took longer than I expected.”

“Did you take pictures of all the cute bunny rabbits?”

“Yeah, I did. Come on, let me show you.”

“Sweet!”

“Welcome home, Blake. Dinner will be in fifteen minutes,” I said, poking my head out from behind the dining room. At the same time, I plucked at his heartstrings with notes of affection and companionship.

His music was always interesting to hear. It was constantly a few decibels louder than the rest. I could never figure out if that was because he felt emotions more passionately, or simply because my power passively highlighted the most powerful cape I’d ever personally met. Either way, that made his mental state stick out like the lead singer in an opera.

His was a messy cocktail of emotions. He laughed and played with the brats, and there was genuine affection there, but it was only surface-level, like an oil spill covering the ocean. Below, there was an undercurrent of trepidation. His uncertainty twanged back and forth like a single, taut string that hadn’t been turned properly.

“Yo,” Leah greeted him with a disinterested shrug. She’d just come downstairs, a dull drone of boredom accompanying my roommate. “Sup?”

“Hey, Leah,” he greeted back. “Tired.”

“The brat brigade want us to play video games with them. Want in?”

“You mean they asked you, and you don’t want to babysit alone.”

“Damn straight. Game night after dinner.”

“I don’t know. We’ll see. There was a lot to do at the animal clinic so I’m pretty tired. I might turn in early.”

They kept talking. I tried to gauge what I’d heard. What was Blake nervous about? He’d been this way since before he returned; his distinctive melody could be felt from blocks away.

Each time he looked at his foster siblings, I heard a discordant note. It was subtle, muted, but enough that I’d taken notice. Fear, not of them, for them.

What was he afraid of? It couldn’t be about me; my infiltration had been flawless and we’d had a nice chat this very morning. It wasn’t as though he would have figured me out while in school of all things.

No, that wasn’t right. Not everything was about me. Blake Isley was Menagerie, the single biggest hero to come out of Brockton Bay, ever. He’d just dismantled the Empire. A week before that, Coil. It was obvious he’d draw attention, and he’d created a sizable power vacuum in the city’s underworld.

Would Lung act? Would he be willing to target an orphanage if he found out Menagerie’s secret identity? Or perhaps the Teeth would visit? After all, if Mouse Protector and I could come from out of town, so could the gang that was founded within this very city.

Perhaps he’d noticed something while out today. Or maybe, someone had finally explained to him how gang geopolitics worked. He didn’t strike me as a politically astute person.

I watched and listened. All throughout dinner, he kept up a facade of a tired, but content student. He was attentive to the little ones, kept up conversation, and helped wash the dishes without complaint. His acting skills were impressive, but he couldn’t hide his own emotions.

There could be other organizations looking for Menagerie. The city could stabilize for the better, but it could also devolve into yet another Boston Games. Perhaps, I ought to speed up my own plans.

X

Blake Isley

I kept calm and behaved as I normally would. I could see Cherie glancing at me and it was a struggle not to stare her down. She’d quickly caught on that I wasn’t in my normal state of mind, but now that I knew she was an empath, I found myself brushing off the rust.

No matter how great she was at inspiring certain emotions, or how much experience she had as a human lie detector, I’d raised Titania, a gardevoir renowned as a peer to Diantha’s own. Compared to an empath who quite literally sustained herself off emotions, Cherie fell woefully short.

Or rather, her understanding fell short. 

It was something I’d noticed with another empath I knew: Gallant. Dean, despite having known me for years, literally sitting next to me in several of my classes, had yet to figure out my secret identity.

I knew that for a fact because had he known, he would have been obligated to inform the PRT and they would have come knocking by now. They would have won Mrs. Wells over with scholarships and other financial incentives geared at providing me “greater opportunities.” I would have turned them down anyway of course, but the emotional blackmail would have been annoying.

But he didn’t know. Dean wasn’t stupid, quite the opposite. No, the problem was that he didn’t have the advantages of a proper psychic type because he didn’t have aura. For that matter, his power wasn’t innately his.

A ralts had an intuitive understanding of their empathic abilities. They could, sometimes accidentally, supplement their understanding with subtle uses of surface-level telepathy. The very pokemon language had an element of aura that metaphysically conveyed intent. It was why completely different species, from completely different regions, could understand one another perfectly.

Aura was communion. With the self. With one another. With existence. Even with Arceus himself, when the old llama was in the mood.

Dean didn’t have any of this. Neither did Cherie. I didn’t know what exactly enabled their powers, but like all parahumans, their abilities were incredibly narrow and inflexible. If Titania and the psychics I knew were like master chefs who innovated new recipes, Dean and Cherie were like amateur cooks who desperately followed a written recipe to the letter. Their powers couldn’t deviate from an assigned script.

And that meant they could be misled. The trick wasn’t to empty the mind like some sort of Tibetan monk. Much like a forest, if there was ever true silence, there was something wrong. Instead, I’d found that the best way to deal with empaths like Cherie was to be honest, but obfuscate. 

I was frustrated. I was nervous. Truth be told, I was even a little fearful. If something went wrong, Cherie could potentially hold my siblings hostage. I allowed myself to feel all these emotions.

Yet, rather than allow them to simmer and concentrate into anger towards her specifically, I kept the source of my frustrations ambiguous. I meandered from topic to topic, allowing my siblings to drag me along. When someone annoyed me, I allowed that minor annoyance to become a momentary beacon that drew away some of my emotions.

It wouldn’t last. Cherie was already on guard and there was nothing I could do to truly hide my poor mood. But that was fine. All I’d needed was a single evening to buy time until my siblings were asleep.

X

It was time. The clock struck midnight over an hour ago. This time, I paid close attention to the way Arceus’ blessing shifted. The gear turned, my type affinity rotated at random once again, settling on steel. Was it Arceus’ way of acknowledging my iron resolve?

‘Pft, yeah right. Sorry, that thing’s completely random,’ Victini giggled in my mind. I’d already shifted, sharing the driver’s seat with the Legend.

‘I am the chosen one. Is it such a stretch to think Arceus might be paying attention?’

‘If by “chosen one,” you mean daddy’s favorite sitcom, then sure.’

‘You could let me be melodramatic once in a while,’ I pouted.

‘Your life is an action-comedy, not a soap opera. Stay in your genre, buster,’ she said. I could practically feel her smirking at me. Then, more seriously, ‘Are you still planning on borrowing my form? There are some decently strong psychic types who are also part steel.’

‘Only a Legend would call a metagross just “decently strong.”’

‘Yup, I’m pretty great.’

‘And humble.’

‘What’s that? Can you eat it?’

‘Victini… But yes, I’ll be relying on you. She’s too close. I don’t want to take any risks now that I know what she can do.’

‘Good. There is a time for goofing off and a time for being serious. This is serious-Victini time.’

‘So it is. Safeguard?’

‘It'll be the first thing I do when I'm out. Don’t worry, her power won’t work on you, or anyone else around. I seriously doubt her range beats mine.’

‘Then let’s go.’

‘Let’s.’

X

Cherie Vasil

I awoke abruptly. There was an uncomfortable chill in the air that was made worse by the wind. Which wasn’t possible. This was the middle of February in New England; thirty degrees wasn’t out of the question here. Leah and I slept with the windows closed and heater on like sensible people. I shivered. I could feel goosebumps rising over my arms in record time.

When I opened my eyes, I was greeted with pools of sapphire blue. The stars loomed overhead. It was so dark that I shouldn’t have even been able to see those eyes, but see them, I did. They pressed down on me and pinned me in place. I felt raw, like I’d been stripped bare, my very soul exposed to that gaze.

I lashed out. This wasn’t the first time I’d woken up in an unfamiliar environment. There was always the chance that one of my siblings would get ideas, or that daddy dearest would decide to “test” me. Once, when he found out I’d triggered, he allowed one of his “friends” into my room at three in the morning, to do anything he wanted with me at all.

My response to waking up with a grown man on top of me had been to make him deliriously happy, then swap that euphoric high with crippling depression. It was the equivalent of slamming every key on a piano at the same time. Such a discordant racket shook the person’s brain and was akin to a mental flashbang.

When he gathered himself, he’d do anything to chase that feeling again. I made that fucker choke down his own sausage with a smile on his face.

I tried to do the same here. Heavenly bliss into cold, unfeeling oblivion. Whoever this was would be catatonic for several minutes, long enough for me to take stock of my situation.

Except, that didn’t happen.

I reached out to pluck their heartstrings, but something blocked my power. It was hard to describe. It wasn’t like I normally envisioned my power as a metaphysical hand, but I couldn’t avoid the comparison now. My fingers rebounded harshly against that iron wall, the recoil sending rippling shocks of pain into my brain.

“No, we’re not doing that, Cherie,” they said. Female. Or, maybe not? A tuft of V-shaped fur glowed, shedding light on a familiar form.

“Menagerie,” I gasped. It could only be him. This was… V-something. I couldn’t remember the name, but it had launched a gout of flame so high into the sky that it set off the endbringer sirens when it appeared. My heart hammered in my chest. “If you kill me–”

“I’m not here to kill you, Cherie Lecroix. Or do you prefer Vasil? Is Cherie your real name?”

I forced myself to calm down and process. Menagerie was as goody two-shoes as a cape could get. If he wanted to cremate me, I doubted I would have woken up at all.

He found out about me, but how? My first thought was that my asshole siblings had gotten hold of him somehow, but neither of them were masters like dad. They sure as shit couldn’t force him to do anything; he’d twist them into pretzels before mailing them off to Dragon or something.

Did he even know they were here? If they made contact with him first, would Menagerie sell me out just to get us all out of his city as fast as possible?

No… I didn’t think so. My siblings weren’t this subtle. Had they found me, this wasn’t how they’d go about things. And this wasn’t Menagerie’s style either. He was goofy, well-meaning, and cared for people in a way very few “heroes” did.

From his perspective, I was unmistakably an abuse victim, one with a heart of gold whose stories about a “friend in the system” might have been a little more personal than advertised. I had to play on that. The situation wasn’t ideal, but this conversation would have happened one way or another.

“It is, actually. Thanks for asking. But you know, there are easier ways of getting a girl’s attention.” I glanced meaningfully down at myself. I slept in a pair of comfy sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, hardly suited for the weather outside. “It’s a mite chilly out.”

“Oh, sorry about that. Allow me.” The V-shaped crown on his head glowed brighter and I found myself encased in a corona of warmth that sank deep into my bones. “Is that more comfortable?”

“It is, thanks. Now, what could the city’s greatest hero want with little ol’ me?”

“That depends on you, Cherie. I thought we could talk, get to know each other.”

I sat up and took it all in. I thought we’d be atop a skyscraper, or maybe somewhere in the Boat Graveyard, somewhere he could put the screws to me without drawing attention. Instead, we were on the orphanage roof, inside of a little, dry patch he’d cleared of snow.

I eyed the beige rat-thing. It really was disgustingly cute. “I can scream. What would people think? The great Menagerie, assaulting a poor, orphanage caretaker.”

“You could, but you won’t, just like I won’t telekinetically clamp your mouth shut. I doubt your identity would hold up under much scrutiny and you don’t want your siblings to find you.”

“So you know that too. What’s this about? Is this the part where you offer me your protection? What do you want? A blowjob? Or do you have another girl in mind you want me to nudge your way, Blake?” I accused, allowing a little fear and genuine bitterness to shake my voice.

That was what everyone wanted. Men. Women. Heroes. They all tried to act noble, like their shit doesn't stink, but that was all it was, an act. Everyone had base urges and sex was the basest of them all.

Why else would he whisk me away in the dead of night? He probably thought he could get his dick wet before selling me out. If I was especially good, he’d keep me for a while, until protecting me got to be too much of a hassle. Then I’d be thrown out, discarded like dad discarded his toys.

I didn’t want this. I’d been ready to spread my legs for him if need be, but if my power didn’t work on him, that was a different story. There was no such thing as an altruist. The only loyalty I could trust was one shackled to my power. Without that…

“That’s not it, Cherie. I’m not trying to threaten you. This isn’t an interrogation. And I’m definitely not trying to extort favors from you, sexual or otherwise.”

“You expect me to believe that? Good people don’t get powers. You have to be a special kind of fucked up to trigger.”

“That’s not my experience, Cherie. I’m sorry if that’s what you’ve known, but that’s not how I do things. I really just want to talk with you.”

“And what? You’ll tell me to go make nice with my brothers? Shake hands and sing Kumbaya?”

“Fuck no. Isn’t one of them the guy who made a bunch of capes jump off a building?”

“That’d be Nicholas. Takes after dad,” I sneered. Had powers, but zero ambition, just like my worthless sperm donor. “That’s actually pretty tame; at least they all died quickly. Shall I tell you what happened to those he brought home?”

“And… And you thought I’d send you back with them?”

“Why wouldn’t you? You just got done taking out the trash. What’s one runaway compared to the Empire?”

He let out a sigh and floated down. He settled on my lap. I could feel the warmth, like holding a toasty, baked potato by the campfire. “I’m not going to send you back. I don’t know how bad things really were with Heartbreaker, but I wouldn’t wish that kind of life on my worst enemy.”

“Then what? What’s all this?”

“I told you, Cherie. I want to talk. I want to understand,” he stressed. Pools of blue peered into my soul. For a moment, I almost believed he could be genuine. “What was your plan? What do you want out of life?”

“I spent the better part of a month running from my ultra-rapist dad and you think I have a plan?” I scoffed. I could hardly tell him I wanted to keep him as my boytoy and beatstick. “What do I want out of life? Are you an idiot? I want my dad to leave me alone. I want to go to sleep without having to wonder if some bastard is going to kidnap me from bed!”

“Ah… I’m sorry about that, for what it’s worth,” the squeaky little rabbit-mouse chuckled ruefully. “That’s it? Safety? Nothing beyond that?”

“Yes,” I whispered, voice cracking. 

For once, I didn’t bother hiding my emotions. Why should I when they fit the scene so well? The tears in my eyes, the broken whimper that passed my lips, not one iota of it was feigned.

I wasn’t delusional enough to think dad wanted me back out of love or concern. There would be hell waiting for me, the kind of hell that made my trigger look like a warm, family dinner. I’d be lucky if I didn’t end up as someone’s mindbroken fuckpet.

How ironic, that my power would fail me the moment I needed it most. Or maybe it was poetic that when push came to shove, I found myself using sincerity as my weapon.

When was the last time I’d done that? Allowed someone else to see the pain and the hurt?

Time. I needed time. Menagerie could no-sell my power. That was unexpected but he’d overplayed his hand. Just because he was invulnerable didn’t mean everyone around him was the same.

I was already integrated into the orphanage. The longer I stayed, the better I could fit in, and the safer I’d be. It wasn’t lost on me that if he could no-sell my power so thoroughly, my siblings would be less than useless. Given their personalities, Nicholas and Guillaume would end up in jail or dead within ten minutes of meeting him.

Then, after that, who said I had to leave? People were influenced by the opinions of those dear to them. He could know it was all a facade, but so long as everyone important to him kept singing my praises, he’d warm up to me in time as well.

In the end, this wasn’t game over, far from it. I just had to wait it out. Menagerie was a hero; he wouldn’t, couldn’t, send me away. It’d eat away at his conscience, tear him apart inside and force him to shatter his own convictions.

And if all else failed, I had everyone that mattered to him in the palm of my hand. I could pluck at their heartstrings. What would he do to make sure they lived happy, fulfilling lives? What wouldn’t he do to prevent a soul-crushing heartbreak?

If I had to kill off one of the brats to send a message, then so be it. There were so many anywa–

“You really should have quit while you were ahead, Cherie,” he said quietly, like a disappointed father, not that I knew what that was like.

He spoke softly. He didn’t raise his voice like dad did when something didn’t go his way, but there was something unmistakably final in those words. Gone was the warmth of a campfire. He didn’t remind me of a baked potato in my lap.

That warmth was replaced by a scorching heat like nothing I’d felt before. I felt as though I would die, as if every cell in my body had been branded with molten metal. Cremation probably felt a lot like this.

The air shimmered. Blue flames encircled me. I gasped for air but my very breath scalded my lungs. The saliva in my mouth evaporated in an instant and my mouth felt bone-dry.

Yet, I did not burn. The pain did not cease and my mind remained fixated on those sapphire eyes. I couldn’t turn away no matter how hard I tried. They’d been so comforting before, but those eyes were hard now, blazing wrath tempered in icy discipline.

“I wanted to believe you. A part of me still does. You are unmistakably the victim here,” he whispered morosely. “But you are also deceitful and cruel, so determined to see the worst in humanity that even as you beg for shelter, you plot betrayal. Your words are poison. Your smiles are daggers. You use your personal tragedies to justify your actions, never reflecting to find that with every decision, you prove yourself to be your father’s daughter.”

There was real sorrow in his voice, the kind I sometimes strummed for fun. For once, I wasn’t laughing.

A cocktail of emotions flooded my mind. Agony at the burning that wasn’t burning. Seething rage and hate at being compared to him. But through it all, I couldn’t shake the acute feeling of loss, like I’d just lost something more important than a roof over my head, something irreplaceable.

Most of all, I felt hollow.

Author’s Note

Cherie sees Blake. That doesn’t mean she understands him however. Much like Dean, her empathy provides her information, but not necessarily concrete analysis. She naturally makes leaps in logic based on what she’s familiar with, in this case, cape politics.

She was really interesting to write, a strange mix of desperate, manipulative, genuine, and cruel. I hope I did that justice.

If it wasn’t clear, Victini’s straight up reading her mind. It’s written from Cherie’s perspective to make her inner monologue clear, but there was never any way she was going to hide a plan, not when Victini was fully materialized and specifically focused on her.

I know I had a poll, but I’m lost on what to do with Cherie now. Does Blake drop her off with the PRT? Kill her quietly? Trust no one else to watch a master like her and decide to keep her around on a leash? I can see justifications for all of these.