Model Citizens: Unmasked (WIP - Update March 11, 2022)

Lucy is feeling very sad, but the MC is here to help where they can.

Cuddles make everything a little less bad after all, don’t they?

What are you talking about?? That’s the best kinda person to have a romantic relationship with!

Mmmm… maybe. It would largely depend on how the MC is helping save or redeem the Ex, and whether or not the MC loved the Ex/was in love with the Ex still after what happened/maybe even still retains some feelings for the Ex. Obviously if all three of these are checked then Ricky would definitely feel at least somewhat jealous and insecure about the MC helping out the Ex.

You appear to have started something, my friend.

Tonight on: odd things I had no idea about and will now haunt me with unending questions.

Just remember the chant: Multiple playthroughs.

And remember- we haven’t even met everyone in-text nor have all of the ROs been given shorts yet! So there’s still more to come! :grin:

So, uh, have fun with that. I wish you lots of luck juggling everyone. I believe in you.

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Thank you, @RenaB! Though a bit late…
For well-wishing, compliments on my drawings and answering my questions. :blush:

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Don’t worry about it! Happy I could answer your questions, and always to happy to answer any more if you have them! :grin:

A jealous Ricky O: I definitely would like to see how that goes (even if it’s just 1/3 or 2/3 reasons you’ve mentioned earlier)

Okay now am curious O: what other job offers can we get? Is hero-ing an option?

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They are the cimarron rolls in this game. Anymore angst that we need to know? I do sure love Informant right about now.

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Becoming a hero themself might not work out so well for the MC considering just how many extremely powered heroes and villains alike are out there in Nickelport. (I mean, even Batman has to extend his money and technology about as far as it can go sometimes. MC… isn’t really as rich as Bruce Wayne.)

I can add it to the list of possible endings but it would definitely be a hard lifestyle for the MC.

However, what is already on the list is an ending in which you end up teaming up with one hero (if you choose to help them earlier) for their larger goal. So that’s… somewhat similar, I suppose?

The way I see it overall is that there’s a couple different facets to the ending (one of which I can’t list for them good ole spoiler reasons. Also I didn’t put all the possibilites down as I don’t want to give away all possible endings.):

  1. Where the MC ends up. (In Nickelport, somewhere else, or wandering the world with no specific goal or place in mind, etc.)

  2. What the MC ends up doing with The Rust. (Starting a new Rust-like paper with their own set of rules, fired, quits, continues as they are, takes over, etc.)

  3. If “fired” or “quits” to the above- what they end up doing instead. (Aiding the hero as stated above, returning to their old profession, etc.)

  4. And what happens to the characters the MC knows. (Are they friends? Lovers? Enemies? Dead?)

Like I said there’s one more I can’t state but it’s most directly tied in with the 5th and 2nd/3rd mini-facets to the ending.

All of these, the way I see it, will culminate into a kind of building epilogue, with each one being it’s own sorta warp-up vignettes that build off of each other. (Ex. If the MC knew someone who died during the course of the game, I might have a scene with them at a graveyard, and if they’re leaving then they might say goodbye or if they’re staying in Nickelport then they might be apologizing for what happened or something of the like. Then the next vignette for a leaving MC might be just that- them leaving Nickelport, while the staying MC’s vignette might cut to them entering whatever profession they’ve chosen.)

Yes, yes they are.

Besides the above hypothetical ending you can get that I stated? Well, I can add some angst to that I guess. You might be avenging the murder of someone close to you later on.

It was on my mind, so I went ahead and slapped that down. I guess it counts as a spoiler? But I didn’t say ‘who’ or ‘how’ or ‘why’ so… I’mma go ahead and say it’s vague enough to put up.

Have fun guessing!

Informant is great, he’s a man of many secrets- and not all his own.

Sadly I really can’t do a short for Informant since a solid 98% of the good stuff happens once you learn about him which, considering his whole character, even his eye color is a spoiler. (The 2% consists of getting to know him and then the final grand reveal of who he is.)

I can, however, do a short vignette-style extra on this one.

Also 1/3? 2/3? If I’m gonna give an example I’m gonna go all the way.

(I went with Raf as the divorcee considering most I assume that most of the people who romance Ricky will be playing MCs who are, at the very least, romantically attracted to men.)

Remember that you asked for this.

You’re getting sick of the silence. All you can hear is your foot tapping against the ground- the tapping of your own foot. You quell it to a stop, hands cradling your face as you stare Ricky down- but he seems not to notice. No, instead he’s much more interested in the world outside the small pane of glass. You sit back with a sigh, folding your arms over your chest. “Ricky.”

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look at you, simply cocking his head towards you ever so slightly as a signal that he heard.

Ricky.” A little more forceful this time around- obviously not enough, however, as his eyes remain stubbornly glued to the tree swaying in the breeze. Eventually, he releases a sigh of his own, and drags his gaze towards you.

“Is there a problem?”

You let out a brief, sarcastic snort. ‘Is there a problem?’ Why, no, it’s just that it’s already endlessly difficult to schedule any kind of date when you’re trying to keep your relationship under wraps and now that you finally have he won’t so much as look at you. No problem at all.

If Ricky catches your internal monologue from the look on your face he… doesn’t say anything. No, he doesn’t do much of anything at all, instead he looks away from you- again- and focuses on the coffee in front of him, fingers wrapping around it stiffly though he never takes a drink. Your eyes narrow, “What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing.” Curt, cold, his lips pressed into a thin line and his face frozen in a slightly-less-than-neutral expression. For an odd moment your mind leaps through time, back to when you first started ‘working with’ Ricky. It’s the very same uncomfortable expression he used to wear whenever you ‘asked’ him for something in a public place.

Seeing it now makes your chest ache some.

Your hands fall to the table, fingers clasped together until your knuckles turn white, “I know that’s not true…” Now he latches onto something, some tone in your voice that makes his head snap up- and his face relaxes into a smile.

Again, you recognize it. It’s his media smile- practiced, professional, near perfect, and not at all genuine.

“Everything is fine.” He reaches out towards your interlocked fingers, but you draw them away and tuck them beneath the table. Ricky’s smile twitches, but stays frozen on his face, and he goes back to uselessly cradling the cup.

He’s been getting like this more and more and you have a… theory, of sorts. Though you’ve never tested it out, “Is this about Raf?” by the look on his face, it seems to hold at least some truth.

Now, Ricky drinks, he says nothing but takes a long sip of coffee as his eyes lower in the calculating politician-way.

You don’t give him the chance to think of the words, “Ricky… are you… jealous?”

Ricky chokes, coughing into his cup as he sets it back down, wiping at his mouth with a balled-up napkin. “I…” He sighs, finally looking you straight on, “I suppose it’s obvious enough.”

“So… you are jealous?”

“Yes.”

“Ricky- You-” You shake your head, you can’t help the tiniest smile of relief, knowing what’s wrong and, even more than that, knowing it’s nothing too horrible, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Just as soon, you’re smile dissipates. A sour note of restrained… not-quite anger, not entirely. He doesn’t sound angry at you, at least, in fact, it doesn’t seem to be directed anywhere, or at anyone, in general. “Is it really so ridiculous?”

You square your shoulders, “Yes,” firmness solidifying your voice, “Ricky, I’m helping him redeem himself. I know it means I have to spend a lot of time with my Ex, but… we’re divorced, Ricky. We divorced a long time ago. All I’m doing now is because I think I can help him.”

“You care about him, then?”

“Of course,” Now it’s your turn to reach out and take his hand, “As a friend.” Ricky nods, and for a moment you wonder if he’s accepted your answer, and that all his silly worries are assuaged.

“And you loved him, once?”

“Once.”

“But do you still love him?” But then that moment passes.

“I-” You know, logically, that you should say ‘no’. It’d be the easiest answer, it’d be the best answer. ‘No’ would put all this to rest, because you know that Ricky trusts you enough to take you at your word, the same you would him. ‘No’ would ease his paranoia, it would let the two of you get on with your date and, hell, the rest of your lives with no other problems. ‘No’ would be easy. ‘No’ would be simple.

‘No’ is stuck on the tip of your tongue, trapped behind your teeth, and unable to come out.

Because you can’t lie to Ricky.

So you don’t say anything.

Ricky is silent for a long time, and with each passing second his hand seems to squeeze yours tighter and tighter. And then, all at once, it relaxes, and slips from your grip, letting your palm listlessly hit the table, his face falls as well and his eyes turn down to his coffee, “… I see.”

With a heavy breath, he draws the cup closer to him, “I… I want you to be happy…” Slowly, he stands, “But I… can’t quite bring myself to say what that means.”

A sarcastic chuckle slips from his lips, head hanging away from your sigh, “I suppose I’m far too selfish for that.”

“Ricky-”

“Goodbye,”

And with that, he’s gone.


(ft. the fact that I couldn’t think of a final line for this vignette since it would have to transfer to another scene in-text but, y’know, I did my best.)

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SLAMS APPROVAL BUTTON

GOOD SHIT RIGHT THERE

MC chase after him like for the love of everything. Or you better have a swoon worthy moment for this long suffering man

My bet is: Finley. Just as a gut feel

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I can’t believe we got to witness an insecure Ricky. (At the expense of his heartbreak, which is another story, but still!!)

Have fun guessing!

I have a gut feeling it’s probably going to be death of a reporter, but either Finley or Daisy, maybe more Daisy since she’s not a RO?

Sadly I really can’t do a short for Informant since a solid 98% of the good stuff happens once you learn about him which, considering his whole character, even his eye color is a spoiler. (The 2% consists of getting to know him and then the final grand reveal of who he is.)

Well, at least we know he’s not Finley haha, but not much else beyond that. I’m guessing it’d be too spoilery for you to answer but I’ll ask it anyway: will we have heard of the Informat’s real identity and/or have met him before the reveal?

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I wouldn’t call Vince a “hero” by any stretch though, cute, yes, crazy, definitely, hero, no. Still I suppose if it goes that way in for a penny in for a pound, right?

Awww…so cute those Ricky vignettes. :heart_eyes:

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Gotta love unresolved emotional issues coming into play in your current life even when you don’t want them to. :+1:

Can’t say what happens afterwards, of course! :grin: But I will say that there are definitely chances along this game where you might break up with someone- or they with you.
Making things work can be difficult, of course it’s not impossible. :wink:

So we got Finley: 2, Daisy: 1

Interesting guesses so far. :smile:

Can’t say anything on them, of course.

Even Ricky’s self confidence has it’s limits.

Unless Finley’s been hiding secret duplication powers from the MC for all these years.

… Or I’m messing with you.

Could be either.

Mmm, I’m debating with whether or not this is too spoilery.

I’ll… have to get back to you on this. Sorry.

Never said that the ‘hero’ would be V. :wink:

He can put the ‘heart’ in ‘heartbreak’.

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There’s this incredible plot going on with superpowers and I can’t stop thinking about our ex.

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@RenaB where is Lucy? Why no Lucy? We need moar Lucy! :sob:

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You probably get this a lot, but I LOVE THIS STORY AND THE DEMO SO MUCH!!!

I really do. I love me some Raf *hicks :cry:

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Well, to be entirely fair- the Ex is pretty connected to the plot. Heck, they’re kinda the catalyst for the MC being shoved into the whole mess they’re in now and why they’re in Nickelport.

So… I’d say it makes sense, haha.

Anything in specific you’d like to know about/see with her? I can search for a specific scene in my notes and write up a short if you have something in mind you’re curious about, and I’m always happy to answer any questions about her! :grin:

Awww, geez, thank you so much! :blush: I’m always happy to know that this makes someone else happy as well!

Raf’s a sweetheart, isn’t he?

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What about a scene where Lucy (who married the MC out of love) start remembering the time they were together? Does she miss the MC? Does she wants to get back with him? Does she kept an eye on him?
That would be an awesome scene to read.

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Hence why his role as an antagonist is heartbreaking <//3 I feel it’s unlikely but there is a part of me that hopes he’s a mole or in some way a hero (just undercover)

But then there might not be a story to talk about :))

Ugh. The angst for this is so real and I want it so badly. Imagine all the guilt the ex (possibly) has for this (and it is great)

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As long as I can get remarried to Lucy in the end I’ll be happy :grin:

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Same sentiment. Except it’s Raf for me (but tbh all the other RO’s are making this difficult)

I’m a sucker for rekindling romances especially when it’s very obvious the couple in question may have lingering feels

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Mmm, can’t say a lot (of course), but I guess one thing I can sorta talk about is this:

Raf definitely sees himself as a villain. So does Nickelport. Who’s a villain and who isn’t is usually determined not by the person themself, but how their actions are portrayed by the media. (In this way, the MC is given a lot of power. There will be chances for the MC, in their papers, to paint someone in a more positive or negative light, and maybe even sway how the public reacts not only to that person but to heroes/villains in general.)

So in this way, though Raf does see himself as a villain, he wasn’t the one who labeled himself as such. That was done by, most specifically, Triple N. (And other media outlets but Triple N has pretty much put a stranglehold on Nickelport News.)

How the MC sees what he does might differ from both what he and the common people think.

Especially once/if the MC learns his reasoning behind doing what he does.

So here’s a really fun side-fact: Though I obviously can’t predict the future and have no idea how it’ll go, the very, very loose, basic plan for Model Citizens was to have four main books. With Unmasked being the first, Underling (or Underground, I’m not sure which title I like better) being the second, and the third… Undercover (the fourth differed from the ‘Un’ theme but that’s kinda purposeful). And if the highly unlikely outcome occurs in that absolutely nothing deviates from my original plan for the series, the third would actually be about a cop infiltrating the underground criminal network of those criminals who feed off of the chaos of heroes and villains that distract the main police force. So… I guess, yeah, there is still a story to talk about there.
Just not this one. :wink:

There’s definitely some guilt about what happened…

Who knows what the future will bring? :grin:

Just keep the chant in mind, my friend: Multiple Playthroughs.

It can definitely make for some sweet scenes, can’t it?

Speaking of sweet scenes…

Here’s a funny thing: I’ve never actually written anything for this in a perspective other than that of the Reporter MC.

So this was actually a good exercise for me in Lucy’s voice. (Though by consequence means that it won’t appear in-text, but, ah well, you get to enjoy it here!)

((Also a fun thing you don’t get to see often- some of the villains and heroes of Nickelport actually do interact with each other (well, villains and villains interact and heroes and heroes interact, you wouldn’t usually be seeing a hero and villain chatting in their free time) in the sorta “off-time”. Of course this varies but there are some more social individuals who will actually converse and maybe even consider each other “friends” in an odd way. Especially since resources are so limited, there’s almost a kind of society that’s developed underneath Nickelport’s exterior. This will be explored a bit more later on- especially in Lucy’s story- but just as a heads up so you’re not walking into this short blindfolded.))

Lucy's POV Experiment (and also the early introduction of a semi-important character)

This sucks.

It’s a goddamn stupid thought but at least it keeps me from tearing apart the alcohol soaked cloth that I press to my side. The armor was ridiculously difficult to get off… but that probably had something to do with the fact that my shoulder still looks a little too sideways for my liking. Probably dislocated. Damn.

Now the shirt underneath is plastered to my side and soaked a deep red. Doesn’t matter. I’ll be there soon enough and I can change once I return home. I struggle to keep from crushing the doorknob to the discreet black building, Mambo wouldn’t be happy if I did that again and I’m sure loyal customer service can only cover so many ‘destruction of public property’ additions to my tab. Still, I can’t keep it from getting dented in the process.

Lucky for me the waiting room is nearly empty, Tango shoots me a cheery glance from her place guarding the door, lifting the rifle strapped across her chest in a kind of half-greeting. She’s holding it tightly- I wonder if there was some trouble earlier today?

“Vicky!” One of the three others in the waiting room stands up on her chair, waving to me enthusiastically. Oppenheimer’s left arm dangles by her side, the red hoodie she wears soaked an even darker color. Even with only two others in the room she makes it a point to sit as far away as possible, with her back to the wall, suspiciously eyeing the others. One of whom I recognize- Bugbite, cradling his carapace armor with nasty looking cuts dotting the few parts of his skin that poke out from a shattered mask.

I nearly collapse into the chair next to her, it takes all my strength- even enhanced as it is- to keep myself upright as the final shreds of adrenaline fade. Still, I grin widely at Oppenheimer’s enthusiasm, “Hey Op,” I nod to her arm, “Rare to see you in this dump.”

I can hear Tango scoff even across the room.

“Yeah,” Oppenheimer shifts nervously around in her seat, gloved fingers in her working hand drum her leg before reaching up to pull the handkerchief even further up her nose- it almost covers the dark tinted goggles that hide her eyes. “I… guess we all have our off days, huh?” She laughs, a squeaking sound that dies down soon as the one guy I don’t recognize turns his head towards us. Oppenheimer immediately quiets, pressing just slightly closer towards me.

I fix him with a scowl in return, locking eyes- or as much as we can with both our eyes covered- in a daring challenge. Would-be silence is filled with the ticking sound of the battery-powered head-bobbing turkey that Mambo keeps next to the orchids on the desk. Eventually, he grumbles, turning his head away and looking back at the palms of his hand.

Even still, I don’t turn away, “Who’s he?” I nudge Oppenheimer with my shoulder.

She takes one quick glance at the man across the room, the visible shadow of her eyes seem to stick to him, glued in a kind of slight awe. “Y’know… Not quite sure. I think he’s new in town, sauntered and demanded to see Mambo right this minute. Didn’t matter that he was in the middle of a surgery. Tango couldn’t talk him down… Hell, she even brought Foxtrot out to deal with ‘im.” Well, that explains her nervous grip.

“Really?” I glance around, “They still here?”

“Foxtrot?” Oppenheimer repeats slowly, shaking her head, “Nah, don’t think so, they scurried off a while ago.”

“Damn.”

Oppenheimer finally tears her eyes away from the new villain, even with the thick goggles that cover half her face I can tell she’s looking at me funny, “Something important? You could ask Tango if you really needed her to call ‘em…”

“No, no,” I wave my hand, wincing when the dislocated shoulder pops and cracks in protest, “It’s fine I’ll… catch up with them later.”

Oppenheimer shrugs, slumping back in her seat, “‘Kay, well, if it’s important I’m sure they’ll turn up sometime.”

Important…

Oppenheimer sounds hurt, and I guess I can sympathize. It’s always hard to keep friends when half of you are fighting for your life… against each other. Foxtrot is the rare exception to that rule, and sometimes I wonder if I’ve trusted them with too much but… it helps to have someone who knows how to keep a secret. It’s even better when they’re a friend of yours.

Besides, it’s like Oppenheimer says, it’s… important.

Especially considering what they helped me with last time. Even if I never asked ‘em to keep tabs on… them, Foxtrot did me a big favor by tipping me off that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to stake out Yolanda Waltz’s big event. I hate being indebted to them but…

I breathe in, a heavy, shuddering breath that makes Oppenheimer lay a hand on my back, a concerned “You okay?” Quietly rising up.

“Fine.” Snapping is a bit too much, and Oppenheimer winces, whipping her hand away and holding it to her chest as if it were injured as well. I mutter a quiet apology, digging my nails into my gloves in the kind of familiar frustration that makes my muscles feel tense and uneasy. I need to move. I need to get out of here. I stand up, Oppenheimer spares me little more than a glance.

“You can’t seriously be going for a walk now.” She shakes her head.

“I am.”

“Valkyrie-”

I brush past Tango, who quirks an eyebrow but is, like always, silent as I head towards the back door. The limp as my injured side drags across the ground only makes me want to sprint even more, as if I could run all these wounds off.

Wouldn’t that be the dream.

I tear the door open with a bit too much force, the top hinges go sideways as the nails clatter to the ground. Tango tilts her head and I sigh, letting the door hand crookedly when I look back at her, “I dented the door knob earlier, too.” Her eyebrows go up, “You really need to get an automatic.” She huffs, and I slip back into the nighttime alleyway. I don’t bother to close the door… not like that would work anymore, anyway.

My arm still pressed to the bleeding wound in my side I pace down the block and then back up, then down the side street and back up again. But it doesn’t help. No, my frustration only grows with each step that sends a searing, burning pain through my side. My legs start to wobble and my hand curls and uncurls from a fist against my side. But it’s good, at least, because the anger makes everything else a blur. It conceals any thoughts into under a haze. It keeps me from thinking about-

“Goddamnit!” I slam my hand against the boarded-up windows of the abandoned building next to Mambo’s practice, the fist goes through the wood and glass as if I were punching through water- but it still comes back with shards dug into my skin, painting the white glove red along with everything else. Fuck it, I’m already here, aren’t I?

“Getting stronger isn’t going to make it any easier to keep what’s left of our door on.” I snap around, instinctively raising my good arm defensively. But it lowers when I spot Foxtrot perched atop the dumpster filled with bloodied bandages and rusted suturing needles. They tilt their head in a funny, almost feline way, and like with every motion they make it seems to be followed by traces of red and rosy-peach mist the color of their hair and skin before fading away into oblivion. “Unless you plan on robbing another bank soon, I’d advise against it.”

“Foxtrot… Oppenheimer told me you had a busy day,” They shrug, sending another wave of mist fluttering into the air. They hop down from their perch, seeming to flicker in and out of existence for a moment when their feet touch the ground, no more than a blink of an eye and suddenly their hand rests comfortingly on my good shoulder.

“This is about earlier, isn’t it?” The touch is light and, like most things about Foxtrot, never really seems to be entirely ‘there’. Their consistently blurred face, as if they were trapped in an out-of-focus picture, twists into what I recognize as a frown. “You didn’t go, did you?”

I shake my head, “No… but you-”

“I did as you asked,” Foxtrot hums lightly, the hand doesn’t seem to fall away so much as it just… fades and ceases to be there, instead apparating at Foxtrot’s side. “Made sure they didn’t die as you asked,” They hum lightly, fading away and leaving their disembodied voice floating in the air before reappearing, back on the dumpster, sitting with their legs crossed.

“That’s…” I breathe in deeply, “Good.”

“Though they did try Waltz’s drinks,”

“They what?”

“Relax, nothing happened…” Foxtrot trails off, “Though… There was a moment when I thought I was gonna hafta haul your ex’s unconscious body outta there.” What little I can make out of a nose wrinkles, “Woulda been awkward.”

“You didn’t stop them?” I can feel my hand curling into a fist again, and before I know it I’ve stepped up to the dumpster. “Foxtrot I asked you to-”

“What was I supposed to do?” They run an incorporeal hand through misty auburn hair, “Appear at their side and say ‘Hiya! Nice to meet you! I’m Foxtrot, the friendly ghost who’s here to give you some advice- don’t do drugs, kiddo!’” They fix it with a wavering grin, a thumbs up across their chest, and a blurry-brown-eyed wink.

Immediately, the facade drops, and Foxtrot leans back on their hands, legs crossed as they shake their head, “Yeah, I… don’t think that would’ve worked.”

“I…” I sigh, kicking the dirt rumbling out something incomprehensible. Something rears it’s head in my mind, a brief flash of a memory. Little more than their face, twisted briefly into an expression of bright horror as they jumped back, nearly knocked me over. I can feel my heart squeeze at even the brief bitesized reverie but still…

I begin to laugh.

Foxtrot’s face contorts into about as much confusion and concern as their ethereal form will allow, “… Okay, now I’m worried. You alright, Val?”

“It’s just…” I turn my back to them briefly, lifting my mask just the slightest amount to wipe a tear that seems to have sprung up, unwanted to my eye, readjusting the piece, I look back at Foxtrot. “I remembered something. Something… stupid,” An inadvertent grin spreads across my face, “So stupid it was fun.”

Foxtrot glances back towards Mambo’s door, they shrug and kick their legs against the dumpster, making soft and oddly solid sounds from their otherwise immaterial legs. “We got time.”

“You want me to tell the story?”

Foxtrot scoots forward, patting the dumpster next to them as they cradle their head in their hands, a bright smile plastered across their face. “Might help more than punching a window.”

I eye the space next to them, biting my lip. The idea of talking about… them makes me heart ache even more than it did already, but… “Well, what the hell?” The stronger desire pulls me towards reminiscing- which is weird because I’ve never been one for taking strolls down memory lane but… I have always been one to go with the stronger side of me. So, I pull myself up next to them, “I… guess I could try this whole ‘talking about your past’ thing every once ‘n a while, right?”

Foxtrot claps their hands together, exclaiming excitedly, “Story time!” As they settle in.

It must have been sophmore year of college. I remember that because it was right when everybody who hadn’t declared a major yet was beginning to panic and scramble for any kind of semblance of a future job idea they could grasp. Stress was damn high and it drove us to do stupid things, drove us to believe in stupid things. For me, that was when I really got into boxing, and for my friend it was ghost stories. He would gather us all up and spew these tales about ghosts that appeared in the B-Hall parking lots at 1:15 in the morning, or houses down the street that a former headmaster had died in after one student threw a too-rowdy rave and how his ghost still haunted that place, punishing any kid who dared throw a party on the premises.

They were all a bunch of B.S. but most of them led to some pretty wild college parties. So we tended to go along, and those who didn’t were dragged in by those who did. There was one, though, that really got us curious. It was this never-finished construction project for some big mansion on a hill-style house. Supposedly, though, it was supposed to be a lair for a villain. Kinda the… mastermind’s getaway vacation house. Apparently this guy had a lot of henchmen as well, and none of them were quite happy with his reign. So the lot of them plan a revolt when he’s coming to visit and check in on the progress of the lair. He’d have none of his fancy defenses at the finished place so it was the perfect time.

Villain arrives, they revolt, yadda yadda- everyone in a 3-mile radius dies. Usual stuff. Now the place is haunted and abandoned- two factors which made it the perfect venue for one of my friend’s ghost parties.

Problem was getting everything set up, since it was pretty far away we had to arrive a solid two hours beforehand, I had volunteered to do some of the heavy lifting and…

“Your ex came along?” I don’t notice I’ve trailed off in the story until Foxtrot speaks up, supplying the detail that’s still stuck on my tongue.

I inhale deeply, “Yeah,” I nod, “Yeah that’s right, my… ex came along.” I smile, a bitterness tainting the gesture, “Always seemed like no matter what it was, they’d be there to help me. Even the small shit.”

I find myself running my good hand through my ponytail, tugging harshly at any knots still stuck from the battle, “It feels horrible now, stupidly, but if I’d known then about everything else I think that maybe I wouldn’t have been so… liberal when asking for their help, y’know?”

Foxtrot just shrugs, “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, as they say.”

“I hate being indebted…” The breath I’d taken in comes out as a whoosh, “But I can’t say I regret it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” I grin, quickly segueing back into the story.

‘Cause you see this place, even if it wasn’t haunted, was just about the freakiest pile of rubble I’d ever been in. The entire thing reeked of death, and I knew this even before I understood what that smell felt like. We’re talking the works- half finished rooms, padlocked doors, peeling paint, rotting food in abandoned worker lunchboxes- you name it, the house had it. Now this got the host all excited about the possibilities but it also meant we had to comb through the house and set things up in the creepiest possible places. I teamed up with them, of course, and we took the second floor which was… mostly complete, really.

But that only made it creepier.

There were these furnished rooms with unpainted walls, like someone had lived in there for a day before disappearing entirely. There were nails in the halls for family photos that had never been put up and bedposts with no mattresses… Hell, even I was feeling a bit unnerved by all this. I remember they were practically shaking and… this was before things got serious but they were basically clinging to me the entire time. It was… kinda nice, actually. So I didn’t mind.
What made me laugh, though, was when we were in one of those unfinished bedrooms, and, as if that wasn’t worse enough, it was a children’s bedroom-

“Oh god.” Foxtrot interjects briefly.

Yeah, really creepy. All these dolls were lined up on the wall, most of them just harmless animals but when you’re already waiting for Krueger to pop his head around the corner and wave at you with his knife-fingers it feels a helluva lot worse than it is. We were setting up a stereo and some skeleton-themed chips in that room when apparently the shelf we were putting the bowl up on decided that was a bit too much weight. They’d just stepped away when the entire thing came crashing down. I swear they moved faster than you do, knocked me over and by the time I’d gathered what was happening they’d dragged me all the way downstairs and out the door.

I start laughing again, a wild sound that bubbles in my chest, briefly lifting the heaviness that’d settled there before it breaks down into a groan of pain. Too much joy for too many injuries. I wince, and press my hand against my side once more, swallowing the building pain, “I… had to sit there in the woods and calm them down enough to convince ‘em that it wasn’t a ghost. We ended up going back to campus before the party had started that night.” A strained smile stretches on my lips, “I promised, then, that even if it was a ghost I’d fight it off. They laughed at me. But I swore they had nothing to be afraid of…” Another sigh finds it’s way through me, “As long as I was around.”

Foxtrot says nothing, and I don’t feel the need to fill the silence either. So we end up sitting there for… who knows how long. Long enough that I hear Mambo’s front door open and close, whatever poor sap was on his table beforehand limping away. Long enough that their footsteps fade into silence. Long enough that it lasts even after that. Foxtrot takes a deep breath, they lay a quiet hand on my shoulder, “You know, it might not hurt to talk to-”

“It would.” I snap, and like Oppenheimer feel some guilt well up in me with the harshness, but unlike Oppenheimer, Foxtrot doesn’t wince, doesn’t even blink. Instead I feel their fingers curl around my shoulder, a sternes settling into what little of their face I can make out.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” Not quite as harsh this time, but just as determined.

“No, Lucy, you don’t.” Now it’s my turn to jolt back, caught off-guard by Foxtrot using my real name. Instinctively I look behind them for any eavesdroppers- but I know Foxtrot wouldn’t risk something like that unless they were absolutely certain we’re alone. “You’ve assumed the worst for four years, now, and you’ve never even tried to contact them.” Foxtrot’s blurry eyes narrow, “Do you even want to see them again?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then go!” Foxtrot releases my shoulder, hands extending out beside them, “I never thought I’d say it but you, of all people, are overthinking it, Lucy! You! Overthinking something!” They shake their head, “What’s the worst that could possibly happen?”

“They could-” I cut myself off quickly.

I trust Foxtrot enough to share parts of my past. I trust Foxtrot enough to look after them when I can’t. I even trust Foxtrot with my real name… But I could never trust anyone with that. If I did, it would make these past four years for nothing.

That’s not a fight I’m willing to lose.

Foxtrot doesn’t press the issue, they don’t get the chance to when the door slams open once more. Both of our heads turning to the mouth of the alley as heavy footsteps stomp around the corner. The unknown man from inside stands bathed in weak streetlight. “Dammit, him again…?” Foxtrot wonders beside me.

“You!” He juts an accusing finger directly at me, “I knew I recognized you! You’re Valkyrie!”

Foxtrot leans my way, “Fan of yours?”

“You hack!” He continues to scream, “You don’t deserve your spot on Nickelport’s most wanted!”

“Apparently not.” I scoff.

“What have you ever done of consequence!” He continues to rave, “You fight for nothing! Nothing! Villains like you give the rest us a bad name! We’re not all mindless slaughter-machines.” He snarls.

Foxtrot sighs, fading into a clear mist before reappearing off of the dumpster. Muttering a quiet, “Here we go again.”

“Wait.” I land beside them, grabbing their shoulder and grinning widely, “Let me.”

Foxtrot’s eyes flicker down to my side, “You sure?”

“You worried about me, Foxy?”

“Worried about him.” They jut their head towards the still-ranting man, “Far as I see it… well, the glass had a better chance against you.”

I laugh, relishing in that familiar temporary lightness that comes with it, “I’ll pull my punches.”

Even through the mist, I can see Foxtrot’s disbelief. “You never pull your punches.”

“C’mon, please?” I pat their shoulder, “I’m in the mood for a fight.”

Finally, Foxtrot relents, “Fine. Just… try not to kill him, okay?”

My grin only grows wider, “I’ll do my best.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’ve got cleanup duty tonight.”


I feel like some of the MC’s cadence slipped in there instead of Lucy’s at times, whoops. :sweat_smile:

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All this time, I thought the redhead at the party was gonna be Likewise but I guess I’m gonna have rethink that theory

I love how heroes and villains interact with each other and have kind of their own underground society in Nickelport! Could you imagine the amount of chaos and property damage they could cause if any villains (or possibly even some heroes… (with each other, not with the villains probably)) could cause if they ever decided to team up though :joy:

Also, I could be wrong, but I vaguely remember you saying that the two potential exes aren’t aware that both of them are villains. Have they ever met as their villain personas? And if so, have they ever recognized the other (in like a “the way this person looks/sounds/acts like someone I know but I just can’t figure out who” kind of way)? Will they ever figure out each other’s identities? And they both seem to be at the party. Interesting…

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