"So what brings a scrawny brat like you all the way out here?"
The lights flickered softly above, casting a warm yellow hue over the ruin they'd left in their wake. Thalia looked up from the debris and caught her first proper look at him.
He was an older man, probably in his early 50s. African American, salt-and-pepper beard that sat proud on his jaw like it had stories of its own. Bald head, but he wore it with swagger. Everything about him oozed that kind of old-school cool, the way he walked, the way he talked, like his words were dipped in jazz and swagger before they came out.
"Are you kidding me? I almost died and that's the first thing you have to say?" Thalia snapped, still coughing from the dust she'd kicked up in her crash landing.
"But you didn't though, did you?" he said as he strolled back behind the counter, as casually as if he were restocking inventory and not seconds away from firing a shotgun at someone's head.
He adjusted the shotgun into its holster behind the counter, then dusted his hands.
"Notice you never hesitated once in that little scuffle? Your reflexes, your speed, heck even the way you think, it's all sharper now, more focused. Normal girl off the street would've died the second I pointed that barrel at her face. Probably would've pissed herself in the process too. But what did you do?" He gestured toward the wreckage with a subtle grin. "You came at me head on."
Thalia paused, her heart still pounding. His words echoed in her chest louder than her heartbeat. He was right.
She hadn't just reacted, she'd fought. She wasn't panicking, she wasn't screaming. She was calculating, adapting, countering. She didn't even recognize herself in that moment.
She looked down at her hands. Same fingers, same, same nails. But they felt… heavier now. Or maybe stronger. She didn't know.
"You'll get used to it," Gerald said, already rummaging through a box under the counter. "As you get stronger, it'll be a lot more noticeable."
"How—" she started to ask.
"—How do I know so much about you?" He cut her off and stood up again. "That's none of your business."
He gave her a side glance, then picked up a remote from beside the till. Without another word, he pointed it at the old CRT TV mounted in the corner of the ceiling and clicked it on. The screen hummed to life, static flickering before settling on a news report.
Channel 1 News.
"After six long months away on interstellar duty, . That's right — New Liberty's own punk-powered princess is back. Welcome home... Astra."
"—and in other news, after nearly six months off-world, the youngest member of the Highborn Fae Lineage returns home. That's right, New York's very own Punk Rock Princess will be back this time tomorrow. Welcome back Solar Girl, Earth misses you.
The camera cut to some old footage of Solar Girl fighting a giant Kraken-like monster in the Pacific ocean. She was everything any teenage girl/young woman wanted to be and more, shoulder-length blonde hair tousled by wind, grunge and punk patches sewn onto her denim jacket that she always wore over her white-and-gold super suit, that unmistakable sun emblem across her chest like a badge of royalty, her family crest, with white fingerless gloves that tied together her entire look. She was the very embodiment of girl power.
"Sources close to the United Hero Coalition confirm that Solar Girl has successfully dismantled the rogue asteroid cluster threatening the outer Martian orbital field, without a single loss of life. Experts say the maneuver required precision-level force, expert gravitational calculations, and high-level communication with off-world colonies."
The anchor added with a grin, "And of course, only someone like Solar Girl could do it all with that kind of style. The younger sister of the legendary Solar himself, she's become a beacon of hope for the next generation of heroes. Her return is expected to mark a new wave of planetary diplomacy efforts—" the sound faded out as Gerald turned down the volume, kicked his feet up onto the counter and brandished a newspaper he opened and began to read.
"Uhh… so are you gonna help or not? I was told to come and see you. Aren't you supposed to like… train me or something?" asked Thalia, folding her arms with a frown.
Gerald, seated behind the counter with a newspaper shielding his face, briefly folded a corner down just enough to reveal one eye. "Train you?" he laughed, rough and full of gravel. "Now why exactly would I do that?"
Thalia blinked. Was he serious?
She opened her mouth, closed it, then finally let the disbelief spill out. "I almost died thanks to you, you old fart, and you're telling me you've got nothing to offer?"
"Nope, sorry. Can't help you," he said simply, folding the newspaper and setting it down on the counter with a soft thud. "Not until you've helped yourself."
Before she could even form a comeback, he vanished into the back room, the curtain flapping behind him. Sounds of clanking, rummaging, and wood shifting followed, Gerald clearly searching for something.
"Crazy old geezer," Thalia muttered under her breath.
Then, whoosh.
An object flew straight at her from the back room.
Instinct took over. Without a second of conscious thought, her hand shot up and caught it clean out of the air, halting it just inches from her face.
"You old fart! How about a heads-up next time??"
Gerald's voice came lazily from the storeroom. "But you knew it was coming, didn't you? Even before you could see it, your body had already reacted."
Thalia paused.
"I—" she started, but she couldn't finish the sentence.
He was right. Somehow, her body had moved on its own, reflexes sharper than they had any right to be.
She looked down at the object in her hand: a longsword, sheathed in a finely worn guard. The leather was aged, the grip wrapped with worn gold wire, and the intricate designs carved into the scabbard shimmered faintly under the shop's flickering light. It looked old. Powerful. Otherworldly.
It looked Fae.
"This geezer…" she thought, narrowing her eyes, "Is he… a fairy?"
Gerald reappeared, walking back behind the counter without so much as a glance at her. "Now get going. If you make it back in one piece, you can ask me whatever you want."
Thalia tied the sheath to her hip, and just like that, it vanished, fading from sight as if absorbed into her very body.
Her eyes went wide. "Woah…"
"Six days, you come back here in six days, then we can have a real talk. Now fuck off." He sat back down, picked up his news paper and flipped a page as the news reporter continued on in the background.