Angelo
Early Morning
The Docks
The following morning was, fortunately, bereft of the ringing of alarm bells and the cracking of gunshots.
It wouldn't have been necessarily new, waking up to danger staring me dead in the face, but I'd been awake for a few hours too long since that fucking 'Celestial System' dumped me out of the penthouse pool party in Miami and into the slimy ass Brockton Bay sludge water. A full eight hours of sleep was like ambrosia to my frayed and recovering nerves, and that magical pool of mystical energy inside of my stomach - my magic - seemed a lot happier for the long rest.
I leaned against the wall outside of the rundown apartment building we'd squatted in the previous night, a cigarette leaning out the corner of my lips. The smoke from the cancer stick came out the lit end a deep, beautiful purple color, the shade of a nice, seasoned wine. The scent of tobacco and ash was notably absent, replaced by the sweet and tangy aroma of spiced grapes - a favorite cologne of mine back home.
Prestidigitation was a fine spell, and the breadth of the shit I could do with it… honestly, it boggled my mind. They were tiny little tricks, very minor and situational, but to know that I would forever smell like spiced grapes… it almost brought a manly tear to my eye. With Ma complaining about the compound smelling like an ashtray all the time, Father would kill an entire family for just this one cantrip.
He'd killed more people for less.
…
'Best not to think about the family right now.' A humorless smile curling my lips tighter around my cigarette, I returned my attention to my spellbook.
Or, at least, that mental list of available spells I had stored inside of my mind.
Before, I'd never been one for shit like D&D, or 'Worm'. It wasn't that I was averse to books- far from it, actually. Despite being sixteen, I had an Associate's Degree in Accounting due to dual enrollment courses taken during private school, and I'd been looking to turn it into a Bachelor's after graduation. However, due to the trajectory my life had taken since I shot out of my father's nutsack, I had no actual free time to enjoy the same hobbies my older brother did. I wouldn't say he had it easier, dodging my father's critical eye early on, but our responsibilities were simply different at a foundational level.
He'd been free to pursue whatever he wanted, as long as he didn't smear the family's name, while I'd been put on a fast course towards becoming the next head of the Bucciarati Family after my father croaked. Private schools, private tutors, private parties, private training.
No fucking room to breathe.
I exhaled purple, sweet-scented smoke, forcing the stress out through my lungs.
Still, I'd heard of Dungeons & Dragons. I even had a few high school friends who ran me through a couple of one-shots, and Wizard had been one of the classes I'd been drawn to due to the innate difficulty and latent potential in their spellcasting. In the tabletop game, one of the most noteworthy things about spellcasting was that you were limited by your level of spells, and the amount of spellslots you possessed. For Wizards, as well, you had to prepare a certain list of spells in the morning in order to cast them throughout the day. I was fairly certain the former mechanic was due to the Goddess of Magic being a petty, vengeful bitch.
With the Celestial System, however… things were a little less mechanical but a lot more confusing. Rather than arbitrary spell slots, I had this pool of dense, potent magical energy inside my body that I innately knew would not regenerate after my spellcasting unless I allowed my body to rest fully. Cantrips didn't use this magical energy, but casting the first-level spell 'Alarm' last night had made it dip a little - an expenditure that fully recovered when I woke up.
I envisioned my mental spellbook as a plain black tome splayed wide open, and on those pages, I could envision the names of countless spells scribbled from top to bottom. They were categorized by Levels, from One to Nine, but any spells above Level Two were blurry and illegible, no matter how hard I tried to decipher the script.
I could only assume that further enlightenment would come from experience, study, and experimentation—just as it would in the tabletop game.
I wasn't able to escape actually having to prepare those spells, though, and that's where my mind was at currently. I knew that having an actual book, or tome, to write things down on would be a lot easier on the headache I was currently sporting, but I was nothing if not adaptable in desperate situations. I highlighted select spells in my head, feeling my brain and magic pulsate with each selection. Words became emboldened, complex calculations and phrases filling my skull, enriching me.
Cantrips: Prestidigitation, Mage Hand, Fire Bolt
First Level: Mage Armor, Sleep, Magic Missile, Magnify Gravity, Longstrider
Second Level: Invisibility, Misty Step, Suggestion
I don't know how long it took me to Prepare all of my chosen spells. By the time I blinked out of my own mind, my phone said 9:47 AM, my cigarette was nearly down to the stub, and Sal was walking out of the apartment.
I put the burnt-through cigarette out on the bottom of my magically cleaned boots, waving away the purple cloud of smoke. "You hide the backpack in the room?" I asked, my voice slightly hoarse from lack of speaking.
"It's stashed," my brother confirmed, nodding. "Unless someone knows exactly where to look, the goods will keep for a bit. Still, we'll want to find someone to take them off our hands soon enough."
If I'm being honest, it was a little strange to be in a situation where my brother had a better lay of the land than I did. He was still part of the family, back on our Earth, but I suspected I had far more information on the way we ran things and the criminal underground than he did. But we weren't on our Earth anymore, and all I could do was rely on his half-remembered recollections about a mid-tier web serial for guidance.
Well. Small mercies with the magic.
"Good." I stretched my arms above my head and rolled my neck, groaning at the sensation of bones cracking and locking back into place. As soon as I felt more human, I released the stretch and shoved my hands back into my pockets. The area around us was eerily empty, save for a couple hobos wandering listlessly a bit further down the street. Some real Black Mirror dystopian shit.
Confident that we were alone, I returned my attention to Sal. "I was looking through the phone of the cat I killed. Name was Ted, not that it matters. Turns out he and those other idiots weren't just a group of dumb drug dealers."
My right hand found what it had been looking for. Pulling the flip phone out, I flicked it open with my thumb and tossed it to him. "Only got two contacts in there. Some freak called Skidmark, and another one called 'Big D'. Assuming the second one's his favorite prostitute, what do we know about the shit-named guy? I remember he's some sorta gang leader."
Sal's lips pursed and his brow furrowed, as he thought over my question. "Skidmark? He's…in charge of the Merchants, one of the gangs in town and the shittiest one. They're not even a real gang, just dealers that don't even hold territory proper."
"He's got some sort of directional manipulation power. If he was good at using it, we'd actually be fucked," he explained. "Fortunately, even odds I could have killed the guy before I got cursed energy. Dude's just the scum of the earth."
Looking down at the phone, Sal opened it and closed it with a flick of his wrist, fidgeting with it. "Outside of that…couple of Capes work for him. Mush, kind of a shitty Changer, and Squealer, a blonde vehicle Tinker with big knockers." Then he paused. "Actually, I'm not sure if that's just fanart. Do you remember the classifications for powers or need a refresher?"
Honestly, that was one of the few things I did remember.
What can I say? It tickled the technical side of my brain something nasty.
"They've got a cool system. It stuck with me," I nodded my head, running a hand through curly locks of dark brown hair. "Heh, gotta admit; I'm pretty curious to see what they end up classifying us as. It'll be impossible to narrow down after the System tosses us a few more quests."
"Trump, probably," Sal shrugged. "Once they figure out we're gaining more powers, we'll be put in the same territory as other Capes that ramp up in strength. Things'll get dicey then."
He lifted out a hand, counting names on his fingers. "Glaistig Ulaine, Moord Nag, pretty much any big-time Tinker… Once we get A-Class threat status, we might get put in the same territory as some of the bigger threats in the setting. That comes with benefits and disadvantages here."
"Notoriety usually does," I acknowledged with a dry grin. "We'll need to form a solid foundation to build off of if we're to keep growing. Father compared the birth of a criminal organization to playing Jenga - takes one misplaced block at the bottom for the whole fucking tower to fall. All the magic in the world won't be worth shit if we end up back at square one."
I eyed the phone still in his hand. "You say these 'Merchant' clowns are trash tier, huh? Wouldn't be a bad idea to scout 'em out, see what meat we can pluck before taking them down."
"I don't disagree. Mush might be a little too tricky for us, or Squealer if she's inside one of her rigs. Otherwise…" Sal shrugged. "We should probably be fine. Maybe call up Terry's contacts and play at being stick-up artists for a while."
I made a noncommittal hum in the base of my chest.
"I wouldn't mind going back to our roots," I admitted, withdrawing the van's keyring from my left pocket and idly twirling it around my finger. "But it also wouldn't hurt to make contact with this Skidmark rat sooner rather than later, preferably after we grab some masks. Sad excuse for a gangster or not, if he's giving dumbasses like Terry whole ounces of meth at a time, that means he's moving a lot of weight at once. Probably has quite a few cooking spots and crackhouses scattered around."
My mind was moving a mile a minute, plans sprouting but being culled before they could grow past the initial thought. I was working with too little information to make anything concrete, and while Sal's overall knowledge of the universe was extremely useful, I doubted the author went into the day by day operations, key spots, and full grunt catalog of the Merchants group. Right now, we had a whole shitty city in front of us and way too many paths to explore.
The uncertainty of it all made me even more excited.
"Then I'll get calling, and try to give em' the ol Salvatore charm," Sal smirked.
Now, the old Salvatore charm was a thing. I would give my brother that much, he could be pretty charismatic when the moment struck him. I think it came from wearing his heart on his sleeve and just from being such an open sort of guy. Ironically, people didn't connect him all that much to criminal activity just because of that friendly golden retriever-esque face.
For a moment, I debated contesting - not because I doubted his ability, but because I felt more confident in smooth-talking my way through the snakepit that negotiations between criminals inevitably ended up turning into. However, as much as I believed in my own hype, we had no actual power here in Brockton Bay. Magical and physical might, sure, but unless I fibbed and bluffed my way through every threat and chess move, I didn't actually have anything to back up pressing the bastard.
We were starting from the bottom rungs, and Skidmark wasn't some rich MILF or college cheerleader I could whisper sweet nothings to and charm the panties off of. Fucking far from it. Somehow, I felt Sal's earnestness and force of personality would work better than a snake's tongue when it came to the Merchants, at least for establishing a meeting.
"Sounds good," I finally answered, palming the keys to the van and turning my head towards the street. I'd parked our ill-begotten vehicle a couple of blocks away just in case, and I had a good feeling it would be in the exact same spot I left it. "Terry had cash, right? Not sure if the money from our world will hold up here."
He shrugged. "It should. If we were flooding the market with tens of thousands of dollars from our world, I'd be more concerned. They've got Thinkers that check for that sort of thing."
Huh. That was something I'd need to look further into later on, then. I was certain we'd come across a way to magically duplicate money at some point.
"Alrighty, big baller," I snorted, pushing off the sidewalk and walking backwards towards the street, "You can foot the bill then. Praestigiae."
A snap and twist of my fingers, and one spoken word, and I felt my magic burble inside of my body as indiscriminate stains from the previous day's adventure scourged itself from Salv's clothing and body. I couldn't do much about the state of his hair outside of it becoming clean and vaguely soap-scented, but God knows I wasn't a fucking stylist. He'd do fine with the shaggy bedraggled look.
"Ooh. Oh yeah," Sal sighed, eyes closed as he squirmed in relief. "That's the good stuff. Almost as good as bein' able to punch through walls."
"Ha, as hard headed as a brick wall. You're welcome, ingrato."
Good deed done, I turned on my heels and continued jay-walking across the abandoned street, my destination clear.
First the van, then the eats.
Afterwards? World fuckin' domination.
One Hour Later…
Fugly Bob's was a prime example of 'looks shitty, tastes great', and both me and my clogged arteries would sing its praises for years to come.
I hadn't even realized how fucking famished I was until the cute waitress had brought us our meals of choice - The Hideous Bob for me, which was obviously just a rip-off of the McDonald's Big Mac, and a side of fries for Sal. Unfortunately, she wouldn't serve me alcohol without an ID no matter how much I waggled my eyebrows and made her giggle and blush, so I was stuck with a large Coca Cola instead of the Chianti I'd wanted.
But - and this was a fucking game-changing realization - Prestidigitation could change the flavor of any drink or food.
So, guess who ended up drinking Chianti-flavored soft drink?
This Wizard.
"Holy Mother of Jesus," I groaned, wiping up the remnants of the Hideous Bob sauce with a handful of fries and popping them into my mouth. "This. This right here, brother? Might have made this entire interdimensional trip worth it. It's not ma's risotto, but I'm not mad at it."
Taking a sip of his soda, I could see my brother shooting me a dubious look at the proposition. "I'm going to have to take your word for it. Ma's risotto is unmatched."
Sal was a mama's boy, but then again, I was pretty sure that he was her favorite to begin with. It wasn't surprising that he returned the favor.
They were thick as thieves and in all honesty, on the same wavelength. I shared that with Father, but the end result wasn't quite the same warm relationship as those two. The expectations I had weighing on me made it so it couldn't be, even if I wanted it to be.
"Still, you're getting into the swing of things now. First, you're using magic to flavor your food and not take showers; next you're going to be turning water to wine."
I went to take another bite of my burger, only to pause when I noticed that there was nothing else in the wrapper.
I glanced down at the pail of fries. Damn near empty.
It was probably for the best.
"Yeah," I sighed, leaning back and clasping my hands over my stomach. Even with a belly full of greasy fast food, the lean muscle there was solid and reassuring. A lazy smirk formed on my lips. "It's… not easy, but a lot of the knowledge is just there. Anything past Level 2 spellwork will take more work I'd imagine, but cantrips are simple."
Sal hummed softly at that knowledge, reaching for one of his fries. "You shouldn't rely on that. Wizards in the Forgotten Realms lore do quite a bit of research into their own custom variants of spells, or unique ones," he emphasized. "Maybe when we get settled, try to see if you can replicate any of my cursed energy techniques. Most of them are likely out of the question, but you might be able to give yourself temporary reinforcement."
My smirk turned wry. "It's taken for granted when you're playing the tabletop," I chuckled, snatching one of his fries and tossing it into my mouth. "But - mm, component pouches or arcane foci are paramount. I've been getting away with using Prestidigitation to create small, benign trinkets to use, like the bell and wire last night, but I'll need to make a trip to some shops."
Not to mention spellcrafting and modulation was, unfortunately, not nearly as easy or swift as just 'a bit of research'. I understood that there was a notable gap between first-hand experience and reading information online, but I knew, intrinsically, that creating my own spells would take a lot of research and experimentation, compounded by my own relative newbiness at being a Wizard. More than what was feasible right now. Though, that did introduce another question of mine.
Subclasses. If I had access to Level 2 spells, then I was definitely around the metaphorical 'level' to specialize, and I knew exactly which specialization I wanted to venture down.
It was pretty obvious what I had to do if the perk itself wasn't throwing the answer in my face. Experimentation.
Thankfully I was experienced enough at making my guns sing.
Swallowing the rest of my rightfully stolen food, I took a sip of my wine-soda before continuing, "I forgot to ask this earlier, but what was the second perk you received? Assuming Jujutsu falls under 'Erudition', it being a source of magical energy like mine."
"Oh. Just a generic Fighter perk, not one from D&D," he explained, shrugging. "I'm a fully trained swordsman now, stronger, and tougher. Probably Brute-zero, zero-point-five, if I had to guess. What about you?"
That sounded pretty fitting for Sal. In a straight-up close-range brawl he was our heaviest hitter, and he could take punishment that I couldn't at the moment - not without something like Shield, or Mage Armor. That was a slight relief, even if being reliant on ranged combat felt more like a weakness than anything else.
"I was blessed by a star," I chuckled, murmuring a word of power beneath my breath and rolling my wrist. When I turned it over, a small toothpick rested on my palm, which I used to idly pick at my teeth. "Perfect aim with all ranged weapons. Seems like the System grants us perks that suit our individual 'playstyles' so to speak. I do love my guns."
And was currently missing my forever companions, Apollo & Artemis; dual Sig Sauer P226s, engraved with ornate silver and gold decals of Olympus' divine archers. They held sentimental value, gifted to me by our grandfather before he passed, but I was sure I'd find suitable replacements here.
Tinkertech existed, after all. And now, so did magic.
"Guess you lucked out," he chuckled softly. "You got everything you need to hang back and spam shots at people. Does that perfect aim include spells?"
I tilted my head thoughtfully. "... Could be. Depends on how quickly I can turn a Glock into a magical focus."
Vague ideas drifted through my head, but nothing concrete.
Sal clicked his tongue at me, crossing his arms before his chest. "Don't be a dope, Ange. Cantrips like firebolt are ranged attacks in D&D."
I snapped my fingers, a crooked grin forming on my face. "Ah- I've got you there, oh mighty geek. They're ranged spell attacks. The perk mentions weapons." I rubbed my chin, leaning my elbows against the table. "Wouldn't hurt to test it out, regardless. I've learned that magic is all about experimenting."
He rolled his eyes at my clarification. "You're right, my bad. Still good to test it out all the same."
Sal wiped off his hands on some of our spare napkins, meticulously getting his hands clean. They were still a little bruised and battered from the night before, but he didn't seem to be hurting from the mild scrapes. "Anyway, we all done here? We've still got drug dealers to bully."
The food was gone, my belly was full, and there was shit to do. I saw no reason to sit around any longer.
"Hell yeah, let's-"
"Vicky, there's an empty booth near this corner spot! You two head over when you've ordered."
The boyish voice brought my attention away from the table.
His hands occupied by shopping bags, a teenage boy with broad shoulders and sandy blonde hair drifted closer to the booth we'd chosen specifically to get away from prying eyes and ears. He was about average height for a kid his age, I'd imagine, wearing expensive-looking clothes that I could only assume was 'designer brand' in whatever year this fucked up world was on.
He came to a halt when he noticed the two of us, brows arching upwards in surprise as mossy green eyes scanned over our forms with naked curiosity.
I stared back, bored, my conjured toothpick hanging loosely between my teeth. "Everything alright, buddy?"
The boy's gaze drifted from me, and then to Sal. "What? Ah, sorry for staring at you like that - I just didn't expect to see anyone sitting all the way back here, haha." He chuckled, an awkward and forced sound.
"We like our privacy," Sal responded, shooting the boy an expression that could generously be called a smile if you squinted—all pearly white teeth, but not a lot of friendliness.
In response, a barely-hidden grimace passed over the kid's face. He had an impressive amount of control over his emotions, but I'd been forced to pick apart lies and deceit from men twice his age and three times his skill in poker. I could already tell this was going to be an awkward encounter.
Good thing I had to piss. The wine-soda was a bit much for my new Wizard bladder.
I shot Sal an amused smirk. "Speaking of privacy - I've gotta drain the snake. Give me a couple minutes before you run out on the bill, aye Sal?" I stood, casually wiping my greasy palms on the legs of my denim jeans. I'd end up using Prestidigitation in the bathroom anyway.
"I'll be sure to run the moment you're out of sight," Sal joked back.
My only response was a middle-finger thrown over my shoulder as I headed for the blue bathroom sign.
______________________________________________
Sal
Afternoon
Fugly Bob's
The kid was still staring at me when Angelo disappeared around the corner. He had shopping bags in his hands, the lacy strap of a bra hanging out the top of one of them, but he seemed more interested in me than setting them down at his own booth.
"Sorry again," he finally broke the awkward silence, setting the bags down on the booth right behind ours. When he turned back to me, there was a smaller, more genuine smile on his face. "Don't think I've seen you or your… brother around here before. My girlfriend and I come to Fugly Bob's at least once a week for their portobello-beef burgers. Oh! And the name's Dean, by the way."
He extended his hand, green eyes wide and welcoming.
No reason to be rude. Not without arousing a helluva lot of suspicion about myself. I offered out my hand and gave Dean a firm shake, shooting him a smile. "Call me Sal. This is the first time my brother and I have visited," I explained. "We're new to the city, starting at Winslow on Monday."
A lot of this was easy, straightforward, small talk. Much of it was lies, but that didn't mean I would be spilling my life story to this stranger. Besides, in his nice clothes, I strongly doubted that he went anywhere other than Arcadia. Or were there other high schools in Brockton Bay? My memory of the story was already stretching at the seams.
Neither of us was planning on going to school, though, not if we could help it. For me, it was a matter of being bored out of my mind and having trouble staying still in normal school. However, for Angelo, I had to presume he'd take the chance to abandon his typically grueling academic schedule.
"Oh, first time?" Dean's eyebrows rose. "And your family moved to Brockton?"
"Bold choice on my parent's part, but they had business in the city."
"No, no, the city is going through some tough times right now, that's true. Yet it's gone through tough times before and pulled through alright." He had a real winning, charming smile if nothing else. "If no one else has said it, welcome to Brockton Bay."
A spin of gold in the corner of my eye caught my attention, bringing my gaze away from Dean's smiling face. Two girls rounded the corner - the taller one practically leading the other by the corner of her elbow.
I caught sight of long, silky blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and an over-abundance of brown curls and freckles before they were standing in front of our booth beside Dean, looking down at me with the same curious look the kid had been sprouting mere seconds ago.
Their names came to my mind immediately, without thought. Who else could the pretty blonde cheerleader and mousy-haired grumpy chick be, after all, other than-
"Vicky," Dean's smile widened, wrapping his arms around the girl's slim waist, "Amy. Hey, I found a free booth near the back, but this guy and his brother, they-"
"Who's this?"
Honey-brown eyes, ringed with dark eyebags that spoke of a severe lack of sleep, narrowed into inquisitive slits as they stared hard.
Amy Dallon was a girl of average height, tangled brown curls falling down to her shoulders in a mess that any comb would be hard-pressed to fight through. Soft, cherubic features were marred only by a heavy smattering of light brown freckles and a resting bitch face that seemed like her one and only expression, now that I was actually looking at her in the flesh. She wasn't unattractive, per se - hell, I'd consider her pretty fucking cute most days - but the scowl made her seem like a honey badger waiting in the lurch to bite your goddamned hand off.
Victoria, however, was notably tall and statuesque. Her long, silky blonde hair was tied back into a high ponytail, while her eyes - a dazzling blue, like gemstones - were masterfully polished off with smoky black shadow. Despite the slight bite of the morning chill, Vicky was clad in clothing that seemed more suitable for warm weather - a snug white crop top sweater, form-fitting black jeans, and an expensive looking jean jacket. Whereas Amy was cute and cuddly, Vicky was strikingly beautiful. It was probably intimidating for most teenage boys.
All in all, the dichotomy between the step-sisters was, quite literally, like night and day.
If I didn't know who I was talking to before, I knew now. It was an unlikely encounter to run into the Dallon siblings and Dean Stansfield here, though. That being said, I knew Dean's powers weren't outright mind-reading. His emotional sight was open to interpretation at the best of times, let alone when he didn't know the person all that well.
"I'm Sal," I introduced myself, waving over at the two girls with a smile. "First time visiting FB's with my brother, so Dean came over to introduce himself. And you guys are…?"
I obviously knew who they were somewhat, but only through the medium of a story. One that was prone to the author's vision may not be the closest to the reality of the world. That was before you got into the mess of fanon plaguing my memories of Worm. As such, I was willing to give most people the benefit of the doubt before judging them.
Amy didn't seem keen on answering, but Vicky took the opportunity to shoulder her way into the conversation and pick up the slack.
"Victoria Dallon," she grinned, poking Amy playfully on the shoulder. "And the grumpy pants here is Amy, my precious little sister. Sorry for all the sullen pouting - we've been shopping since, like, eight AM and she spent all night working. Like a dummy. Even after I warned her to get some proper sleep."
The freckle-faced healer's scowl puckered into a, surprise surprise… pout. "You said we'd be going to the mall in the morning, Vic," she sighed, shoving her hands into her baggy white hoodie, "Not fucking 8 AM. That's not morning. That's… hell."
"Early bird catches the worm," Dean supplied helpfully.
Amy's tired glare promptly shut him up.
Snickering to herself, Victoria patted Dean's hand, causing him to unwrap his arm from around her waist, and promptly slid into the booth directly across from me. Coincidentally, it was the same spot Angelo had just been occupying. She seemed completely at ease despite the slight awkwardness in the air, propping her chin up on her clasped hands and leaning her elbow against the table. "So, interrogation time! I've gotta ask. Are you or your brother single?"
Amy jerked to attention, her cheeks flushing crimson. "Vicky!"
"What?! Ames, he's Italian. And cute. I refuse to let my sister cockblock herself every time we meet cool new people!"
"How do you know we're cool?" I asked, more curious than not. "Could be that me and my very single brother are gigantic losers or creeps."
Even so, I was feeling more than a little well-inclined toward Victoria. Though…didn't she have some kind of emotional field…? Either I was already in it, and thus compromised to feel some degree of awe toward the hot blonde, or she was tamping it down and my attraction to her and her sister was natural.
"Honestly, I'm sympathizing with your sister more…" I sighed, leaning back against my side of the booth and closing my eyes. "My brother's the only reason I'm up at dawn." I was not a morning person; anyone who leveled that slander at me didn't know me at all.
Vicky's azure blue eyes sparkled like crystals at my words, the fluorescent lights of the restaurant bar-
… Yeah. There was definitely some bleed-through.
Not much, but for someone who knew himself to be more willful than just any googly-eyed virgin, I could tell the difference between natural attraction and artificial. The jury was out on just what was fanon and canon when it came to the infamous 'Victoria Dallon Aura', but I was leaning towards the theory that there was probably some sort of passive field that made her presence slightly more charming or affable.
"Even better," she grinned, peering back up at a wide-eyed Amy. "Hear that, Ames? Sal here is a grouch before his 12 PM espresso shot, just like you. I'm sensing good chemistry already."
It was obvious that she was just teasing the girl, nothing more than some lighthearted fun. However, the worried look Dean sent Amy's way pinged something critical on my 'vibe check' radar. Looks like the mousy healer wasn't the biggest fan of these sorts of jokes.
"Look, I'm flattered," I started to speak, trying to cut off a potential issue at the head. "And your sister is very, very cute-"
"Excuse me?" Was the mildly surprised squawk of outrage from the short brunette.
"-But my brother and I are new to the city, and we're still getting settled. For now, how about a rain check on any attempts to set us up?" Well, unless Angelo saw Victoria. There was a non-zero chance he was going to hit on her, boyfriend be damned.
If I'm being honest, the fact that her boyfriend was there might make him more likely to give it a shot. He was funny like that.
'And speak of the devil…'
I saw him before my new acquaintances did, rounding the corner of the bar as he returned to the booth. We locked eyes at that very moment, his slim eyebrows raising damn near to his hairline as he paused mid-stride and observed the teenage girls loitering around our 'private corner'. Fraternal sibling communication was a real thing, fuck anyone who said otherwise, and the short conversation we had in that very brief couple seconds of intense eye contact went something like this:
They're cute. Which one do you like?
The one with freckles, with the grumpy face.
Of course. He the blonde's boyfriend?
Yeah. From the story. They break up all the time. Not serious.
Say less.
It wasn't actual telepathy, but we'd spent damn near seventeen years together, shoulder to shoulder, crawling through the bad and floating through the good. Reading each other was practically a second language at that point.
He began walking forward again, one hand going behind the small of his back, and I had a sinking feeling that things were about to get a lot more awkward before we ended up leaving Fugly Bob's.
"Speaking of your brother… You guys were going to leave soon, right? I know we sort of dropped in here out of nowhere, and I'd hate to be a bother." Dean eased himself back into the conversation, eyeing the seat beside Victoria as if debating whether or not to sit and solidify their company.
For the first time since they'd arrived, Vicky's smile dimmed in its brightness. Her head turned, worried blue eyes piercing into my own. "Were we being rude?"
Dean shifted. "Maybe just-"
A low, slightly accented voice interrupted him. "It's fine. We don't mind the company."
Angelo slid into the booth beside Victoria, a sudden movement that clearly surprised the young lady. I could tell by the way he smoothly moved his hand from his back to the underside of the table that he was hiding something in his sleeve, but there was no time to try and sus out just what the fuck he was doing before he was leaning against the booth, grabbing his wine-soda with his free left hand and taking a small sip of the sweet-smelling drink.
"Ah, that's good," he smacked his lips, eyes wandering between Amy and Dean, before finally settling on Vicky. "Thanks for keeping my brother company while I was out back. You'd be fucking shocked at how long the line in the bathroom is."
"There's a line in the bathroom?" Dean blinked, glancing back the way he came.
Angelo smirked, the beauty mark beneath his right eye crinkling with the motion. "No, but I didn't wanna admit how badly I needed to piss in front of polite company."
At his side, Vicky snorted into her fist.
He had used that exact same line three months ago on a model in Venezuela, the shameless asshole. I didn't know whether to be amused or disgusted. A mixture of both seemed more appropriate.
"Well, I kept your seat warm, at least!" The blonde superheroine said, the brightness in her smile returning full force now that it was clear their presence wasn't unwanted. "Cold leather has a really bad vibe. You can trust me on that - mom swears by the seat warmers I bought for her SUV on Mother's Day. I spent a really long time sitting on the choice."
It could've been a genuine, air-headed comment about cold leather seats, or a sarcastic, cheesy joke cleverly hidden behind her preppy and casual tone of voice. Whatever it was, it was clear that Angelo found it endearing.
His growing smile was evidence enough.
"Come sei dolce," he chuckled, bringing out the full-force of his Sicilian charm. The jerk wasn't even trying to hide it. "I saw the assist from across the room, and plucked a thank-you present from the waiting area. You, quite literally, saved my ass, Miss..."
Vicky's eyebrows raised, her smile widening into an intrigued grin at the casual purr of Italian. "Victoria, but my friends call me Vicky. And I really hope you didn't steal whatever it is. I'm flattered, but shoplifting really puts a damper on starting new friendships."
"'Course not, Vicky. I'm no criminal."
It took actual effort for me not to snort at those words, keeping the same small smile on my face. "We come from a long line of legitimate businessmen. Waste management specialists, y'know."
"Waste management?" Amy asked, arching a brow my way. "Really?"
I shrugged. "Can't beat the classics."
In a twist of the wrist, from beneath the table, Angelo brought out a single, plastic yellow flower. A dahlia, if the rusty memories from my ma's horticulture lessons could be trusted. Despite its obvious fakeness, there was a slightly sweet aroma drifting from the pretty flower. Something citrusy.
Vicky stared, her eyes growing wide. "O-oh." she gasped, full lips parting in genuine, pleasant surprise. "How did you even manage to hide that? The color is so bright and pretty! And I didn't see any dahlias when we came in…"
She couldn't hide the delight in her voice, even if she wanted to.
My brother merely smiled. "I've got my ways. I'm not super into reading auras or anything, but I thought it matched your energy. Bright and pretty, like the sun."
"You don't even know me…"
"Then I guess this little gift serves two purposes then, hm?"
I wanted to barf, but holy shit if she wasn't eating it up.
On the sidelines, I saw Dean's fists clench. Funnily enough, Amy's did too.
It was probably time to step in.
"As lovely as it was to talk to everyone, it's probably time we split for the day. The two of us still have a few things to handle," I interjected. As much as I genuinely did not care if Angelo continued to mack on Victoria in front of her boyfriend, there were better times for it.
God, what was the world coming to where I had to be the responsible one here? Everyone had their vices, but Angelo's was undoubtedly a pretty face and his love for the female flesh. If I let him, he'd get completely and utterly sidetracked by trying to get in Vicky's pants.
I turned to my brother, both of my eyebrows raised. "We've got some meetings to get to, remember?"
"Right…" Angelo murmured, his hazel eyes still locked with Vicky's blue. She hadn't taken the flower, her smile flickering uncertainly as she slowly raised her gaze up to check on Dean's expression, but the boy had impressive control over his emotions. Other than a clenched jaw, his face revealed nothing.
That seemed to make Vicky's decision for her.
When she looked back to Angelo, opening her mouth to say something, my brother simply pressed the flower into her hand and lightly patted her knuckle closed. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it would've taken someone like Victoria Dallon, Glory Girl, the barest amount of force to shove the flower back into his chest-
But her fingers slowly closed around the plastic green stem, and Angelo's eyes became lidded.
"... Thank you, Angelo. It's, um, beautiful," she grinned softly through her flush and the weight of Dean's stare, twisting the dahlia in her palm. "For a fake flower, at least."
"Heh. You're welcome. Now," he slid out of the booth, seemingly unaware of the tense atmosphere he'd inadvertently created, "It was nice meeting all of you, but duty calls. Hopefully we can all hang out again under less busy circumstances."
Angelo smirked at his new blonde friend. "I'll have real gifts then."
I stood as well, sliding out of the booth and picking my jacket up off of the seat. I'd never been one to flex about my height, but it was amusing - in some dark, tiny part of my brain - to see just how much Angelo and I towered over both Amy and Dean. If I had to guess, Amy was about 5'4", and Dean, bless his frowning soul, was only a few inches taller than her.
5'8", if I had to guess.
In comparison, I stood a few inches above Angelo's even six feet, and he was the shortest between me and our dad. He liked to think he had some room to grow still, and I liked to tease him that he'd best get used to being the shortest out of the Bucciaratis.
"Yeah. Hopefully." Dean forced a smile, taking a step back to give us room to depart. Still sitting in our booth, leftover fries turning cold on the plastic tray, Victoria offered a small wave and smile. When Dean's green gaze turned to her, however, her eyes ended up falling back down to the plastic yellow flower. Some sort of guilt, maybe.
I didn't even want to guess at what sort of conversation they were about to have.
Amy also moved to the side, though she seemed less put off than Dean. She glanced up at me as I walked past her.
"... See ya." One hand came out of her hoodie pocket to wave, only for her to think better of it at the last second and try to shove it back down. The result? A weird half-wiggle of her hands that seemed more like she was attempting to cast some sort of curse on me.
Her pale, freckled face burned crimson.
Let it be known that I didn't just like messed up girls. I didn't want a girl with issues; I wanted a girl with fucking subscriptions. If they were a girl failure and a trainwreck, that was the baseline of the type of woman I liked because I wanted to dive right into the FEMA disaster area of a chick's neuroses. And you know what?
Amy Dallon fit that mold perfectly. I couldn't help but snort at her awkward half-wave, lifting up my hand to give her a proper wave back. "See ya' later."
Don't get me wrong, my personal preferences for women had caused me problems in the past. They were inevitably destined to cause me more problems in the future. But moments like this made it all worth it in the end.
For her part, Amy made a hasty retreat, freckled features pinched in from embarrassment. It was, unmistakably, an incredibly tsundere look.
It was only after we'd paid and made it back to the van that Angelo began chuckling quietly to himself, a dark and curious smile twisting his lips into an expression that could only be described as 'devious'. "Well fuck, this is going to be fun. You didn't tell me that some of the women here are that gorgeous. She could have beaten any supermodel back home."
I could only sigh, slumping back into my seat. "Please don't get us involved in a lover's quarrel. All of those three were Capes," I informed my brother. "I mean, Dean's kind of a shitty one, but Amy and Vicky are pretty strong."
That brought an end to his villainous chuckling, and Angelo blinked.
"... They were Capes?" He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head up towards the tattered gray ceiling of the recently cleaned van. "Interesting. What kind of powers do they have, and do they involve the possibility of Vicky crushing my skull between her milky white thighs?"
Honestly, I'd probably have to sit down with him at some point soon and go through every inch of information I knew about Worm, just so that we were on the same page. For now, though, as I shoved the keys into the ignition and started the vehicle back up, I dutifully answered his inquiries.
"Amy is one of the strongest Strikers on the planet," I began. "She nerfs herself a lot in terms of how she uses her powers since she's an unrestricted biological manipulator, but only uses it to heal." That mental block of hers was a nefarious one, to be sure.
However, I doubted he wanted to hear all that much about Amy. She wasn't his type, as in tall, blonde, and busty. "Vicky is an Alexandria package. Flight, a forcefield that can take basically any hit, a fourteen-ton deadlift, and a mood aura."
Worm was a setting with winners and losers regarding who got what powers. Out of the entire New Wave family, I think who was the real winner with powersets was pretty clear. Victoria got the best of countless powers from her Trigger, and her Shard loved her. Or about as close of an approximation as you could get for a Shard.
Angelo whistled, reclining back in the passenger seat and throwing his boots up on the dashboard. "I can appreciate the whole 'Supergirl' aesthetic… but this Amy girl. Unrestricted biological manipulation, and she lives in this city. You say she's a hero?"
Ever the business-minded criminal, despite his cavalier attitude. I already knew where his mind was going, judging by the added layer of frost in his tone.
"Yes," I nodded. "But she doesn't fight, just heal. Her father was a big time crime boss before he got sent to the super-jail forever, and she got adopted by the Heroes that took him in."
I think that was a wild choice, personally. It wasn't as if anyone was going to be able to be objective regarding that child, and the authorities had to be aware of it happening regardless. The real question was why she wasn't placed in a more secure foster home, or with better adoptive parents.
Hero privilege, I guess.
He nodded, slowly. "Should be alright as long as she stays a healer. I don't fancy a potential walking Black Death aiming her guns in our direction if she isn't on our side. I'll take your word for it, though."
"It took a lot for her to crack in the original timeline. She'll be fine." Amy was under a lot of pressure, but it took being held hostage by murderous psychopaths specifically attacking all of her pain points and being pushed over the edge a little by Tattletale to reach that point.
The frostiness thawed, and the crooked smirk came back. "You think Vicky can crush a boulder between her legs?"
It was enough to make me groan at his antics, and the accidental mental image he put into my mind. "Ange."
I almost missed the seriousness.
Our plan of attack after Fugly Bob's was relatively freeform. Angelo had already turned the entire vehicle spotless from bottom to top, and the broken windshield was 'replaced' by a smooth, flawless illusion of one every hour on the hour, so we were free to go and do whatever we wanted.
A quick stop downtown saw Angelo spending forty of Terry's hard-earned cash at some smoky incense shop, purchasing a small, drawstring pouch and an assortment of different knick-knacks and oddities that would seem odd to some, and downright weird to others. Powdered herbs, fragments of bone, feathers - hell, I caught him prying the canine off of a bleached wolf skull and dropping it into that God forsaken container.
The most expensive object was, of course, a small bronze brazier that we'd only managed to find at some obscure hobby shop tucked in the back of the Hillside Mall. Just the brazier alone, a piece of polished metal no larger than two of my fists, was fifty bucks, nearly wiping out the last of Terry's cash.
"It is for a summoning ritual later tonight, giovane." Had been his cryptic answer. Personally, I thought he was having too much fun with this whole 'urban witch' shtick.
Finally, after several hours of ripping and running, we found ourselves back where we'd started - the Docks, parked in an alley near our temporary base of operations. I could hear the muffled sound of Angelo whispering strange arcane words in the back of the van, the acrid scent of burning herbs thick and heavy in the air, but his freaky ritual had nothing to do with me. After a day of preparation, it was finally time to get the ball rolling.
I was itching for some action.
My gaze drifted down to the cellphone clenched in my hand. On the screen, the contact 'Skidmark' glowed a dim blue in the looming darkness of the evening. No time like the present to make some trouble.
Tapping in the numbers, the phone rang a bit before someone picked it up. A raspy, unhealthy sounding voice.
"Yeah? Who's callin'?"
"This is Skidmark, right?" A small smile was beginning to creep across my face. "We've got some product we're looking to move. You got any time free today?"
[NEW QUEST: HAIL TO THE KING]
[DEFEAT SKIDMARK & CONQUER THE MERCHANTS!]
[REWARD: 1x MODERATE MIGHT PERK]
[NEW QUEST: GOODFELLAS]
[MAKE A PROFIT IN EXCESS OF $10,000 THROUGH DRUG TRADE!]
[REWARD: 1x MINOR ARTIFICE PERK]
Oh yeah. It was all coming together.