psst, hey, any news on the sonar fic mayhaps? (Got me re-reading it like an addict, it’s so good ♥️ )
OH MY GOD ANON I'M SO SORRY AAAA
First of all thank you so so so much for your words, I really needed that 😭💖
I'm currently working on it and the Bill Dickey and Vox fics as well but life's been incredibly messy as of late (AO3 curse fell upon me AGAIN that's why Mexico lost the match yesterday actually lmao 😭😭😭) please have this sketch of our MC in a very specific outfit that will be describe in the future as an apology, I will try to update this week
i made an outline that was 2.5K words and a segment that was 300 words long is now almost 2K words lmao
So I thought, hey this is very obviously going to be a long one-shot, might as well show everyone that segment so uhhh enjoy and comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist
Chapter 3 - La Gloria Eres Tú by Los Tres Diamantes
“Dios dice que la gloria está en el cielo, que es de los mortales el consuelo al morir. Bendito Dios, porque al tenerte yo en vida no necesito ir al cielo tisú, si alma mía, la gloria eres tú.”
— Los Tres Diamantes
The year of 1952 was a memorable year, for starters, Princess Elizabeth was crowned Queen Elizabeth II, a worldwide pageantry named Miss Universe was held for the first time (although it surely was just a fad), but none of those events came as close in impact on your life as the release of the movie Singin’ In the Rain.
Truly a work of art.
You remembered it clearly, you had expressed your interest for it and Vincent had promised you two would see it, at first you believed he was going to get the tape for you and rent out the theatre in your building so that you two could watch it alone, it was not a difficult thing for him to do, he had the contacts after all, but your loving husband went above and beyond, he took you out to an actual theatre to go watch it, and on opening night too! He had been invited to the premiere at Radio City about a month ago, and yet he had chosen to wait for the nationwide release to spend that evening with you, whatever prompted him to do so was beyond your understanding, it went against your arrangement, the risk of being seen was high, but you wanted nothing more than to have one date at the movies with your husband, especially now that he was so busy.
Being the host of many shows at all times of day and on top of that being the leader and center of a movement required lots of work, especially with how vague said movement was, obviously it was meant to revolve completely around him but the premise he used about media and entertainment was confusing for you, or rather, how people fell into it was confusing for you.
“You more than anyone should understand it,” he had told you once, “with the way you stare at the screen all the time and how you’re always glued to that typewriter.”
You still didn’t get it.
Wouldn’t people be more susceptible to a shepherd who promised eternal youth or to get rid of all evil? Sure, it was stupid, but far more plausible than seeking good entertainment, besides, the cult/movement was pretty obviously designed to revolve not around good television, but Vincent Whittman. When he first began ideating the whole cult, your adored Vox took you out on a public date to the New York Aquarium on December 31st of 1949, almost 2 hours before the New Year, disgusting place that was. Sure, the place’s magnificent structure, and some of the smaller more colorful fishes were beautiful, but the man you had chosen to marry was obviously more interested in the larger less beautiful fish, and it terrified you, he knew this of course, he had known so for years, just as you had known that he had a special interest in sharks, you on the other hand were terrified of the ocean, sure, the beach was nice, but the actual ocean, so little of it was known, and the deeper you went the more horrifying its creatures would become, “That’s because their bodies adapt to the dark and coldness of the ocean! Isn’t that smart? Getting rid of what is useless to thrive in such a hostile environment?!” he was practically beaming as he explained.
“Sure, but they are still not handsome.” You managed to mutter into his chest, not wanting to look up until you left the exhibit.
The reason why you had accepted to go to that horrifying place was quite simple, you never went out like a normal couple, just when you had to help him with crime scenes that were far too visual to be passed off as simple accidents, or when you needed to fabricate proof that certain colleagues were involved in illicit activities (one time you even framed one of your colleagues for Vincent’s murders!), and only on anniversaries you two would sneak into that very same Italian restaurant you two had gone to for your first day, although it wasn’t that hard when the two of you (mostly him) had bought the staff’s discretion; to put it shortly, something really big had to be going on inside Vox’s pretty little brain to have him take you out to such a public place, sure, it was 10 pm, it was closed, and he had pulled some strings to have you two be the only people in there, but it was still a new place.
You remembered that day clearly, mostly because of how scared you were, being in a barely lit place surrounded by predators with deep dark eyes that showed nothing but death to you… the only thing standing between them and you was glass, you wondered what would kill you first if that glass were to break, the shards, the sharks, the water or…
“Babe,” Vox called out to you “look!”
“Is it something scary?”
“No, it’s the food court.”
“Oh.” You opened your eyes and walked towards one of the tables, Vox pulled out a seat for you, you sat down and he did the same.
“Do you like this place?”
“Not really, I did like those small fish earlier, the colorful ones.”
“I suppose they are pretty, like you.”
The air was tense, you looked around the place, it was creepy, dark, empty, lonely, big; maybe it was better during the day, when young lovers would go on dates, students would enter guided by their teachers, and children would run around as their parents walked five steps behind them.
Children, you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about them, about how surely Vincent would love to have a junior and you would have to name the kid Vicente to please him but also to keep your own heritage in the bloodline.
You just hoped you would never give birth to a girl.
“I’ve been thinking, about my job, about your job.” Vox spoke. “And I think that I can’t do it all alone, I need more people, we need more help.” He paused to look at your reaction and the continued, “I may be charismatic and you may be… efficient,” Rude, “but to actually position myself in a high enough place where no one can try and reach, we need more people to actually see what good I can make for the media, for entertainment.”
He really wasn’t good with words, at least not when he spoke to you, he knew he could not just twist the truth to tell you what you wanted to hear, so it was your job to untangle all his verbatim and make sense of it all.
“So you want… a cult?”
“What?”
“A cult.”
“What? No, no, no, not a cult, no.” He laughed nervously, “It would be more like a uhm a movement!”
“You really had to think for that one, didn’t you?”
Vincent now seemed embarrassed but also shocked, were you calling him stupid? Yes, you were.
“I’m sorry but, I fail to see how that helps us, it certainly doesn’t help me, and it certainly doesn’t help you, I mean, years ago, yes, it would’ve helped you, but now? You are the host of five different shows, you’re making cameos in movies, you- you had luncheon with Alfred Hitchcock last year AND hosted the Academy Awards two times already for Christ’s sake! What more support could you possibly need?”
“It’s precisely because of that that I need this.”
“Vincent-” he looked away, he hated when you called him that, “You have enough people following you around already, what could you possibly want with more?”
“I- I need to get higher, to shine brighter, to-”
“No, Vincent, what you need is to focus. What is your objective?”
Vincent took a step back, he had to play his cards correctly, if he said something wrong it would be over, you would not support him anymore, you would turn your focus elsewhere, he could not afford to have you support anything or anyone else, not even yourself.
Especially yourself.
“I want to be your husband. I want to be able to hold your hand in public, to take you to the aquarium during the day and take you with me to the ceremonies.”
You looked at him, looking for any trace of insincerity, he grabbed your hands.
“If everyone sees me as all-knowing, if everything I say becomes undeniably true, if my will is indisputable, then I can appoint anyone I want to whatever place I want, and everyone will accept those decisions.” He let go of your hand and stood up, “If I say green is blue, people will accept it, no questions asked,” he paced around, his steps were expressive, energetic, magnetic and magnanimous, “And if someone even dares to say it's green, they will be deemed as stupid and tasteless- no, they will be seen as just plain evil, the scum of the earth!” His voice echoed like roaring thunder in the empty parlor, electricity going through his veins, a spark in his eyes. “Whatever I say is true will become indisputable, whatever I say is bad will become a complete sin” he walked towards you and kneeled in front of you, he took your hand tenderly, but his gaze never softened, “If I put you in charge of a movie and say you are the next Méliès…”
You thought, long and hard, a second that felt like an eternity; you were so tired, tired of fighting to be heard, of being put below white men who had never faced any hardships, yet used the experience of those who had actually served in the front lines almost 5 years ago to justify their own sense of grandiosity, but they didn't even bother to listen to the actual boys who had seen their friends die in the field, they didn't care to listen to the women who had been serving and were still treated as lesser than, they didn't care to listen to those who had died for them, they didn't care to listen to the so called foreign brothers and sisters that came to their aid.
No, the only story that matter was that of the American hero, the soldier who got home, the one that seemed unaffected, the one who had killed and felt no remorse, the one who got the government's praise.
What a wicked country it was, forsaking its own monsters.
And somehow those assholes found a way to make the worst of others’ pains into their own, pushing you around for not being there, listening to men who had immigrated before you, just because they were men, listening to white women before you just because they were white.
What progress had you actually made? Just writing every now and then for different shows and getting your name skipped in the credits? Surely there was more progress that could be made aside from having men not grabbing your ass, right? You had graduated from people calling you a skirt the moment they realized no one could ever get to bend you over, so they just dismissed you whenever they could, “Oh her writing is too unamerican!” “That plotline would bore people to death” “This is precisely why women shouldn’t write” “If she didn’t come here to marry a real man instead of some hairy macho, why is she here at all?”.
To hell with it.
Vincent was right, you weren’t going to make it on your own, you needed him.
“You would need to be careful with it, it should be something easy to deny, don’t try to play God, just show concern for something, maybe… quality?”
He beamed with joy, he pulled your hand to his mouth and began kissing it with excitement. “Have I ever told you what a genius you are? You are wonderful!”
Indeed, you were wonderful and you were making him wonderful too; after thinking it through and typing down your thoughts to make more sense of them you had arrived at a conclusion, if he wanted to be seen as a man of taste he had to go more to the movies, read more as well, he was probably not going to do much of the latter but that’s what writers were for, giving cards to the marvelous performers, at first it was simple, a comment on the latest movies and plays, praising performances and writing, then you moved to the questioning, was this or that show truly substantial? Was this or that actor actually talented? What could he know? He was just the most popular host of the country, and he trusted his followers to have the brains and criterion to judge for themselves just like how they trusted him and his good taste.
Looking back on it, it did make sense people would fall for that, not just because it was you who had designed the bases of what would rapidly become Vinny’s non-cult, but because you had used the same approach you used when you first met him:
Flattery.
Your clever notes and cues made Vincent seem smarter than he was, and who doesn’t love to be trusted by someone superior to them?
Your husband was over the moon, eventually you gave him the cue to finally begin his favorite part of the scheme:
Punishing.
There were no “maybes” or “perhaps” anymore, there was just good and bad entertainment, and people took his word as gospel, if he deemed a show as satanist propaganda, it’s producers would get thousands of angry letters demanding it’s cancellation, if he said the greatest of actors was actually a danger to good society, then said actor would get a brick through their window and into their living room in a matter of days.
But Gods don’t just condemn, they reward.
In those months you had seen that man produce a plethora of ideas for shows and movies, he had scanned the crowds for new talent, he had shaken hands with young writers and directors that he knew could bring his many visions to life and wouldn’t wander off with their oh so precious and fickle willpower, you were almost impressed, you knew your husband was smart, even if he didn’t often use that brain of his, yours was far superior and more than enough for the two of you, and still, he had gone ahead and beyond what you had planned for him.
“When is it my turn?” you asked one time.
“Soon enough, darling.”
It may have not been in the way you had envisioned it many years ago, but you were exercising some control over the industry, even if it was through your husband, after all, behind every great man…
“Sweetie” your husband called to you, “be a doll and get me my black coat, you know which one.”
Let us go back to the future to the night we first mentioned, April 11th of 1952.
The second public date, far more special than the first for a variety of reasons, you two were going to a place YOU adored above any other, the movies; it was also during working hours.
As the taxi stopped near the entrance, the two of you fixed your scarves and hats, hoping to be decently disguised, Vincent stepped out of the vehicle and opened the door for you, he handed the driver a generous fee (thanking him for his discretion most likely) and walked you towards the theatre.
High pillars lit up with warm lights welcomed you, surrounded by people talking about everything and nothing, you tried your best to stay away from the people coming out, not wanting to spoil the movie for yourself, you did catch a few “That was simply beautiful!” and “Better than I thought” but that was it, as you got closer to the box office, the smell of pop corn flooded your nostrils, salt, butter, caramel.
This was home.
“Doll…” Your husband called to you, you turned to him and he took your hand and put two dollars in it.
“Oh, yes, yes.”
You walked up to the box office and handed the money to the man inside, “Two for Singin’ In the Rain, please” the man took the money and gave you your tickets and change, you loved the feeling of the tickets in your hand.
Going to the movies was a ritual, one you had performed uncountable times before, and you loved every single part of it, getting ready at home, putting on your best dresses, the anticipation as you made your way to the theatre, buying the tickets, the smell of the corridors, the feeling of the seats, you loved watching the previews, getting excited for the movies to come, you always brought a small notepad and a pen with you to write down dates and titles, during the intermissions and on your way back to the apartment you would jot down all of the things you had liked and disliked about the movies you watched; when you were still dating, Vox had taken you several times to the movies -to very secluded and intimate theatres- and this habit of yours struck him as weird at first, mostly because he couldn’t understand what you wrote, but he had never met anyone who was so marveled by something as simple as an intermission animation or even those pesky snipes.
Nothing in this world brought you the happiness that the movies did.
“You ready, darling?”
“Of course”
You both were seated at the back of the theatre, Vox took your notepad out of your purse and he handed it to you along with a pen, “Thanks, love.” Was all you said and you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
No one is ever so big that he wants to go through life alone.
No one is ever so wise that he does not have unanswered questions in his heart.
“Hey,” Vox whispered to you, “how’re you doing? Feeling good?”
You smiled at him and nodded.
“Good, good, just wanted to make sure.”
… You may be wondering, how can I live the best kind of life?
How can I enjoy life at its fullest?
“It’s just that,” He spoke again “We haven’t gone out in years and, even before that…”
You took his hand and squeezed it, “Thank you, Vincent, for making time for us, I know how busy you’ve been.”
The answers can be found only in God.
“Oh Doll, you are so understanding.” He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on your knuckles.
Worship him in church, every week.
Worship him at home, every day.
Once the snipe was finished the screen went black and the music began, the Metro Goldwyn Mayer lion came up on screen and all the whispers in the room ceased, excitement rushed through your veins, Ars Gratia Artis, art for art’s sake, what a good motto.
Gene Kelly
Donald O’Connor
Debbie Reynolds
The actors began singing on screen, a lively tune indeed, not the way you would start any film, but you were giving it a chance, you had picked the movie after all.
In
Singin’ In The Rain
With
Jean Hage, Millard Mitchell, Cyd Charisse, Douglas Fowley
Rita Moreno
You tried your hardest not to scoff at the sight of the name, but you failed, your husband noticed this and tries not to laugh, just like you, he failed.
“Something funny?”
“Hmmm I don’t know.”
Story and Screen Play by
Adolph Green
And
Betty Comden
“Are you jealous of her too?” your impertinent husband asked.
“Whatever makes you say something like that?”
“Oh nothing, you’re just doing that thing with your nose.”
“I don’t do anything with my nose.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Let me watch the damn movie already, Vincent.”
“Aww, okay doll face.”
Dignity, always dignity.
To put it shortly, the movie was absolutely gorgeous.
There were not enough words to describe what it had made you feel, you didn’t even get to write down a single thing about it, when the lights of the theatre came back on you and Vincent sat there until a young man had to ask you to leave.
“Wait I- I- I- know you! From the television, you are-”
Vincent mindlessly took out his wallet and gave the boy all of the money inside, the young man then knew he had to leave and not tell a single soul about what he had seen.
You took your leave, not uttering a single word on your way back home, you walked home, didn’t even bother to stop a taxi, occasionally the silence would be filled with sharp breaths, as if either of you were trying to speak, but nothing ever came out of your throats, each of you was trapped inside their own mind, you were walking together, but you could barely acknowledge each other’s presence, your arms weren’t even linked, he had his hands inside his pockets while you were holding onto your purse as if softening your grip on it would cause you to fall into the sky.
The film had resonated deeply within both of you, you thought, a famous star who continuously lied about his rise to stardom, falling for a show girl with big aspirations who tried to act like she wasn’t totally starstruck by him in an attempt to be taken seriously.
“Had a good night?”
You looked up and were met with the doorman at your building, when did you get here?
You turned to your husband and saw the very same incredulous look on his face, “Oh yes, yes, marvelous evening” Vincent entered quickly then ran back outside and gestured for you to go in, you walked into the building and he followed you as a gentleman should.
You stepped into the elevator, still in silence and stepped off it on the fourth floor.
“Mr. and Mrs. Whittman” the young man inside the elevator spoke timidly, “You uhm, you don’t live in this floor anymore…”
“Oh right, how silly.” You tried to brush it off and the two of you stepped once again inside the elevator and didn’t get off until you reached the top floor.
Vincent walked to the door and opened it for you, you entered and finally dropped your purse, you stepped out of your shoes and walked barefoot into your room, you took off your coat and let it fall to the floor, walked into the bathroom, washed the makeup off your face and let yourself fall on the bed on top of the sheets, you inhaled sharply and let out a long exhale, you looked at the ceiling and you could’ve sworn you could see Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse dancing in that dreamlike sequence.
“Wine?”
You turned your head and saw Vincent holding a bottle and a glass, you shook your head and he placed the item on top of the bedstand, then he laid next to you, also staring into the ceiling.
“I… I didn’t know it would be…”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah… I just wanted us to have a good time but that was-”
“Absolute perfection.”
“Yeah.”
“… Vincent… Why did you take me there?”
“Honestly? I just wanted to soften you up but… that was something else.”
“I figured.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Not really.”
You both laid there, staring into the ceiling, Vox might not have been anywhere near your level, but he was a cinephile, this movie had had the same impact on him as it had in you.
“The others just left… like it was nothing…”
“What is it?”
“What?”
“What you were going to tell me, what you are going to do, what is it?”
“I’m going to own the network.”
“Bob saw your vision board and said yes?”
“No.”
“Makes sense, he always saw right through you, he knows you’re ambitious.”
“Yes.”
You both kept staring at the ceiling, letting out long sighs every now and then.
Bob Sinclair, your former boss, had been Network Owner for quite a while now, and you had always feared your husband would go after that very same position because that meant he would probably kill good old Bob and truth be told you did have a certain affection for him, he had been the first person to see promise in you after all and had never had any other hidden motives to support you.
“Must you do it? The congregation follows you and supports you already, you could just appeal to the board and in a few years you could get it… Bob is an old man too…”
“I’m forty-seven, I’m not getting any younger-“
“Neither is he!”
“But I’m tired, tired of waiting for things to come… I’ve listened to you, I’ve cooled down with the murders… but aren’t you tired of waiting around too?”
You felt him shifting to his side, he was now facing you, your eyes were still fixed on the ceiling.
“I just want to go to the movies with my beautiful wife, where everyone can see how bright you shine… don’t you want that too?”
“I do.”
“Then trust me with our future.”
You turned to face him, how could you possibly say no to that charming man?
“God says glory is in heaven, that it is the consolation for men once they die. Blessed be God because by having you here in life I don't need to go to the golden heavens above, because love of mine, the real Glory is you.”
A helluvaverse version of one of my OCs for your consideration, Showstopper, she drowned after getting drugged and pushed off a yacht by a bitter rival actress.
You can almost feel pity for her if it wasn't for the fact that she was a prolific opportunity killer.
Would it make it better if I said that she started out by killing the bigots who tried to sabotage her?
"No mames no mames no mames no mames no mames no ma-"
You had overslept, forgotten to choose the clothes for the day, and hadn't had breakfast yet "Pizza!" You suddenly remembered, you jumped to the kitchen, thankfully that ability had been left intact by your father, and you opened the fridge to take three slices, God they were so good even if they were cold.
Bzz Bzz
Shit, your phone, where the fuck was your phone? Why did you leave it in vibration mode? What if it was your dad? Oh you were gonna be in so much trouble, curse your stupidly thick black curtains, they don't let any light in through the windows and now you're late because the stupid sun didn't wake you up because of the stupid curtains, god how stupid, you were supposed to be there at 10, well, the meeting was at 11 but you simply had to be an hour later, if you didn't mentally prepared yourself for getting there an hour earlier you would surely get there late and that was not good, and now you weren't dressed, your hair was a mess and- oh fuck, YOU DIDN'T DYE IT! Now you were gonna walk in and be the weirdo with the freaky white hair like in that one shitty Disney movie with the aliens and the werewolves and- wait no there are literal aliens in the building, you seem normal in comparison.
Okay, deep breaths, that's what you needed, deep breaths and focus, what is it you're missing? Finding your phone, getting dressed and eating, you could eat on your way there, flying and eating was complicated, but you could do it... But what if you got arrested for flying without a permit? Okay so no eating, who cares? The phone, you can leave that for last, otherwise you will take it and get distracted and waste more time. Getting dressed was the priority.
Another jump, back to the bedroom, okay what the fuck were you wearing?
So, there was the Eclipse suit which your father had strongly advice you against using, what he thought was wrong with it was beyond your understanding, it was all black, comfy, tactical, had lots of pockets, and you washed it regularly so absolutely no blood stains and no cocaine in them, it was perfect, sure, it seemed skin tight but it was ninja skin tight, not male gaze skin tight.
Then there was your training clothes, every sorcery order had a sort of uniform, it wasn’t anything extravagant, just something you would see in an illustrated fantasy book, gloves, bishop sleeve blouse, accordion skirt (your father had insisted you used the pants when he first introduced you to the uniform, you had politely declined because they were way too uncomfortable on your skin and also ugly as shit) all beneath a rather nice coat, you hated to admit it, but it was nice (even if it did look like a Victorian fencing uniform).
Last option was the space suit. A suit your father was fond of, the suit he saw you in and made him realize that maybe there was still hope for you, for him it seemed like a suit made for a great benevolent hero, for you it was a reminder that you weren’t good enough.
Perhaps your father was right, you should wear the training suit.It looked scholar, with an air of regalness, but it was still light.
Maybe it was intended to be a fencing uniform.
Oh but you had to shower first.
Wait what time was it? Did you even have time for that?
You took away all the blankets and heard something hit the ground, your phone. You reached for it and fortunately it was okay, and you saw the time, 5 am.
You turned to your clock, it read 8 am, then you remembered the existence of time zones.
You flicked your wrist and the curtains moved, yep, still dark, you couldn’t go back to sleep now, the idea of being late to your first day had shot adrenaline through your vein already, maybe you could take that shower now.
You walked to the bathroom, still trying to get used to the apartment’s layout to make jumping easier, you turned on the shower and took off your clothes, you looked in the mirror, a myriad of scars staring back at you, there was a time when each of them held meaning, when you could tell exactly which were self-inflicted in the name of science and which were glorious battle wounds, when every scar had a story and a name, now you couldn’t tell them apart.
“You could just heal them away,” your father had told you the day he took you back in, “No more scars.”
“No, I need them.”
“And the one on your cheek?”
“Specially the one on my cheek.”
You walked into the shower, the warm water making the memory more vivid; the scene was almost biblical, a father bathing his daughter in herbs after years of being lost.
You let the water fall on your face, you needed to focus, in a matter of hours you were going to live your worst nightmare: corporate work.
There had to be a way to avoid it, you couldn’t quit, you couldn’t change your father’s mind, what could you possibly do?
“Ouch fuck.”
Soap got in your eyes, stupid fucking soap.
Wait, stupid fucking soap, that made ABSOLUTE SENSE.
Having finished your shower you stepped out and wrapped a towel around you, you jumped into your room and dried yourself.You were an absolute genius.
If you couldn’t walk away, you were going to make them kick you out, and since Blonde Blazer was so horny for redemption and all, you weren’t going to act like you did around your villainous colleagues, you were going to be a complete annoyance by being the most off-putting being in the entire world, fuck masking, fuck hair dye, you were going to be honest and sincere, see how much of that they can handle.
You snapped your fingers and were fully dressed, you had no time to waste, you were going to need a game plan, thank God for jet lag, you had all the time in the world.
You braided your hair and went straight to the kitchen to eat and device a plan to be as off-putting as possible, now, what was supposed to be off-putting? When you were younger you were described as a creep, a weirdo, off-putting, that was all thanks to undiagnosed autism, but that had been long ago, in recent years you had turned out to be quite the socialite, just smile wave, laugh, joke, do some drugs, that was more than enough to charm anyone, you went from concerning child to eccentric lady in seconds flat. You had to sacrifice that progress if you wanted to get your soon-to-be team to drop you quickly.
Your first day you would have to be quiet, observe them, see what ticks them off, which meant you were going to be normal that day, just be chill.
You made your bed and tidied up your room, it was going to be a long day and you did not want to come back home and get frustrated for having your room messy.
After a while of scrolling and practicing Theremin (you hadn’t lied to your father, you actually did enjoy the wobbling sound it made) you looked at the time, it was 9 am. You made your way to the living room and put your phone, the Theremin, toilet paper, keys, and wallet on the center table, you quickly went to the kitchen and took 3 water bottles out of the fridge and put them on the table with the rest of your things, you then jumped back to the kitchen and put 6 of the remaining slices of pizza in a Tupperware then put it back in the fridge, once you were sure you had everything in place you left your apartment and made your way to SDN.
After a while of walking and taking buses, you finally arrived to the building, the lobby was big and its high windows made you concerned for birdlike heroes, did they crash into them frequently?
“There you are,” you turned to the voice of your father calling you, “You’re early, and not wearing headphones, that’s a first time.”
Oh god you forgot to put your headphones on the table.
“Yeah I, I wanted to rest my ears today and I’m going to be working with these people, so I won’t have much time to wear them anyway, I think.”
“Good, those things are going to give you cancer with their- radiation waves and-”
“Dr. Grimm! I see you made it early”
Blonde Blazer, walked towards you, your demeanor changed, you went quiet and sat straight, unsure if it was because of professionalism or your plan or simply having to interact with the woman again; your father shifted his gaze towards her and then back to you, you stood up and made a small bow to the woman. “Miss Blazer, glad to see you again”.
“Oh, out here it’s best if you just call me Mandy.”
“Okay then, Mandy… ma’am.”
Mandy just smiled at you, “Shall we enter?”
You followed Mandy into the building, she attempted small talk, your father humored her as you remained quiet just nodding along to everything he said as you desperately tried to remember where you had put your headphones so you could conjure them as soon as your father left, once the elevator’s doors opened (when did you even step into the elevator?) you saw your nightmare coming to life, the cubicles, the phones ringing, the uniforms, the mugs with the company logo, it truly was hell.You took a deep breath and stepped outside the elevator and into the office.
“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore Toto.” You thought to yourself.
“Stop it.” Your father’s thought rang in your head.
“What? I didn’t think anything to you.”
“No, but I can tell you were thinking something pesky.”
“It was just a movie reference.”
“Whatever it was, change your face, it’s obvious you hate being here.”
Mandy led you to a break room, she excused herself and stepped out of the room leaving you and your father alone once again.
“We got here too early.”
“I know, I need to see how prepared they are.”
“Well they certainly are prepared enough, she went and got us right when you arrived, she must have imagined you were going to pull something like this.”
“Indeed, it seems she really is competent, after all.”
“So sorry guys,” Mandy was once more with you, “There was a scheduling conflict and we will have to meet in the gym, I will introduce you to your dispatcher and then you can meet your team once you’re out on the field, is that okay?”
It seemed Mandy was succeeding in making your father forget this whole dispatch hero idea, unfortunately he was aware that you were aware and he contained his impulse to lecture her on the importance of scheduling.
“I see no problem,” he turned to look at you, “these things happen.”
Okay, damn, message received.
You followed Mandy back into the elevator and went down to the gym, once there you found a man was already there, waiting for you, he looked beat up and tired, a part of his ear was cut (or bit?) off and he looked less than thrilled to be there.
“We wanted to make a team meeting, introduce you so you can have an easier time settling in but I think it’d be better if you meet Robert first, he will be your dispatcher.”
The man, Robert, walked into the light and extended his hand towards you, you simply nodded and he put his hand back in his pocket.
“Robert Robertson, a pleasure.”
“Likewise.” You limited yourself to answering yes to everything for the time being.
“Ah yes, Mecha Man, I remember you.” Your father spoke.
“Uh yes, I remember you too, doctor.”
“I believe congratulations are in order, you managed to turn a bunch of villains into a decent team.”
“It was their own merit too, sir.”
“As you can see,” Mandy interrupted, “Robert is already experienced in the reforming field, I assure you, Starlight, you will be a perfect fit for the Phoenix Program.”
“On that subject, I would prefer it if my daughter’s condition was not made public.”
“Condition?” Robert asked.
“Being a part of the program, it is not a good look for her, to be instantly branded as a villain.”
There he was.
“Mister- Doctor Grimm, I promise, she won’t be branded as anything, the Z-Team as you know is made up almost entirely of former villains-”
“I am well aware of that.”
“Yes, and since she will be joining them-”
“Excuse me?” Your father’s gaze sharpened, clearly he thought you were being assigned to a more heroic team, so did you, actually. “She will be joining the Z-Team?”
“Yes.” Mandy said, her tone shifting slightly.
You turned to Robert only to see he was already looking at you in a way that felt invasive, like he was examining you, you quickly looked away, breaking eye contact and staring at your boots.
Hands behind your back, straight posture, head down, the perfect soldier.
“No, absolutely not, I forbid it.”
“Doctor-”
“I did not take my daughter off the streets to take her here and have her actively interacting with criminals.”
“You just praised me for redeeming those criminals.”
“No, I said you had turned them into a decent team, I was expecting my daughter would be sent to a different team, I thought that after your advances with this ‘Z-Team’ you had been assigned to a more competent team where your talent would be better employed.”
“Okay we should all just calm down.”
“No, Blazer, the Doctor here needs to respect the people here or else he can take his business to another place, this is not a daycare.”
Okay, so Robert was now the one doing a great job at making your father change his mind.
“Most certainly, if anything this resembles a zoo.”
“That is enough.” Mandy stood between the two of them. “I understand your concern for your daughter but I will not tolerate any more of your disrespect, doctor.”
Your father stepped back, he seemed… pleased.
“Good, that is all I needed to hear.”
“Uh, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Robert asked.
“Oh it is nothing, do not give it much thought, I will be taking my leave now, do tell me if there is any complications with my daughter and please, do not tell anyone about who she was. You,” he turned to you and pointed his finger at you, “behave.”
You did your best not to groan or roll your eyes at his accusatory tone, instead you made a small courtesy and answered with the most respectful tone you were physically able to produce, “Yes, sir.”
With nothing else to add, Doctor Grimm opened up a portal and stepped into him, you could feel every bit of hope you had leave with him as he closed the rift.
You let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding and turned to see Mandy and Robert reasonably confused.
“Yes, he is always like this, but please, do not take it personally.”
They just stared at you, had you done something wrong? You could not read their expressions at all, but they did seem uncomfortable.
“Are you going to bring the same attitude as your father?” you could not tell if Robert was being sarcastic or not, but his concern was valid.
“My father is adamant.”
“I know he is, but I’m not gonna be stuck with him 9 to 5, so I need to know,” he walked closer to you, “will you bring the same attitude to the team?”
I would rather die.
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
“Okaaay,” Blazer finally intervened, “Now that that’s out of the way, I think we can call the team to make a proper introduction.”
“Yes, that would be good.”
“Yes.” You looked at your feet again, “Although, can I ask for something?”
Blazer looked up from her tablet and raised a brow.
