Beginnings
The next morning Loki and I went to the bank where I transferred funds to start him out with. The account officer's eyebrows tried to meet his hairline but he said neutrally that that the $10 000 deposit was very generous and entitled Loki--Laurence, as he was known in public--to extra bank services. I helped him weed out offers that he didn't need (I wasn't sure how well he understand modern finance) and we set him up with a consumer financial advisor to give him basic lessons in how to budget and handle money. "Thank you, Aunt Emma," he said as we were wrapping things up.
"You are my favorite nephew," I said, and he gave me a peck on the cheek before being escorted to a different area of the bank to meet with the advisor. He said he'd see me at home, so I took the hint and went to my fledgling business. I finished a couple of pendants, then went out for lunch; one thing I liked about the area was the food trucks and restaurants. In the afternoon, I washed enamels and built up thin layers on some earrings and pendants and one brooch. Then I started to work on some cufflinks. By the time I knocked off in time to get to the gym ahead of the work crowd, I felt like I'd made good progress.
When I got home, Loki was making dinner. He was quiet, which I attributed to an active day. "I want you to know that I deeply appreciate everything you've done for me," he said as he dished up large portions of salmon, shredded, sauteed brussels sprouts, and mashed potatoes. I saw my grandmother's old "Joy of Cooking" and a recipe card for the sprouts by the stove. "I know you spent lavishly on media to help keep me occupied in my cell, and allowing me to live here, setting me up with funds...I don't think that I can repay you."
"I can afford to do it, so I do," I shrugged. "I'm not looking for repayment. Besides, you've done an awful lot for me too. I'll never forget your kindness, especially that mess when Steve died. What do you think you'll do?"
"I am looking for work, but I suspect it may be difficult since I have no work experience that would be acceptable on the applications. I think I would like to go to school," he said tentatively.
I was a little surprised. "Do you know what you'd like to study?" I asked, and he shook his head.
"There is a bewildering number of courses of study," he said. "But I understand that all of them have a general core of classes that everyone must complete. I could do those first." He fiddled with his knife. "This an opportunity for me to make my own mark," he said quietly. "To be known not as Odin's son or Thor's brother, but as myself. Or as Laurence, anyway," he shot me a brittle look.
"Ok," I said. "You'll need to take some tests to see where your skills are. We'll say you're homeschooled. Let's do some research after dinner." I got up to put my dishes in the dishwasher. "I'd like your opinion on another matter, before we get started, though." He looked inquisitive. "I'm getting to the point where I can start thinking about opening my store. I need to get some display cabinets. Will you give me your opinion? You have good taste."
"I'd be delighted," he said, looking pleased. Cleanup was fast and soon we were looking at different styles and materials, debating pros and cons. Soon we were both looking at options on each of our laptops, and after awhile, he said, "I have an option for you. It's not what you were looking for, minimal and modern, but keep an open mind, please."
"Ok," I said in interest, and he turned his laptop toward me. He'd found a group of antique tabletop display cases for sale; the glass fronts were gently curved so that the edges of the case didn't cut across a customer's line of sight, and the description said that they were wired to include a light to illuminate the cases' content. The wood was mahogany, french polished, and carved in a variety of styles.
"What this makes me think of is one of those shops that sell curiosities, where you never know what you'll find. It sets the mood for wonderful things to be found. Paint the walls and ceilings white, keep everything plain except for these cases. They'll draw the eye and create a fantasy for the buyer." All of a sudden, I could see it. The floors were light anyway; perhaps a pale rug on top of, pale solid wood bases for the cases, and the five cases drawing all eyes to their contents. I checked the descriptions to be sure that they were in good condition, and bought them on the spot. He sourced some bases as well, lime-washed plain wood with a drawer underneath. I grinned at him.
"I think I have a solution for your joblessness," I said. "I find myself in need of a sales associate. Hours are negotiable, depending on your college prep."
Loki Looked doubtful. "Do you think I'm qualified?"
I smiled at him dryly. "No doubt. You certainly managed to sell me on those cases, and those are completely opposite of what I thought I wanted. I think that once you get the hang of it, my problem will be keeping up the inventory." He looked uncertain but pleased. "Let's try this. You come to work with me, figure out what we're going to need in terms of how the store looks, and you'll do the painting and design. I'll show you how to do it, but you'll complete the work. I'll find you some training for sales, and we'll have a trial period. And I'll be working myself, so I'll be available for questions." He brightened up.
"I...think I can do this," he said, almost to himself. Then he looked straight at me. "I have no experience in trade of anything beyond intrigue and ambition. I can almost guarantee it won't be a smooth transition."
"We all have to learn sometime," I said on a sigh. "And I understand your background. I'll do my best to be patient, but I will kick your ass if you get an attitude." His grin flashed.
"I will do my best."
"You're going to feel like a fish out of water," I said gently. "Like you don't know what you're doing, whether you can do it, and It will feel easy to want to go back to what you know and are familiar with. Ask Thor for a different situation. But I really think you can succeed here, and ultimately be a success on your own terms. It'll take time to discover what you like and what you're good at, find that intersection of talent and interest. But I've got your back. You've got my support as long as you're trying to make your own way. I admire that you're willing to do the work."
"I hope I'm not taking on too much," he said worriedly.
"It's going to be scary, you'll feel like you're out of your depth a lot because you're growing and trying a lot of different things. It's part of growing up and it's good for you. You can always talk to me if you have questions or you think things are about to blow up." He looked somewhat reassured but still apprehensive. "Well, I don't advise you try to do everything all at once anyway. You can't, actually. First, let's get you started at work. We'll also research how to get you into college. Then you can start to work on that. One step at a time." He looked a little more reassured. Time for a change of topic.
"That secret I've got?" I smiled at him. "I decided to be a street-level hero. That's where I was last night." He looked at me in a combination of bafflement and concern.
"Isn't that rather dangerous?" he asked politely.
"Little bit, but I don't just jump into every problem. I intervene where I feel I have a good chance of success. I don't want to get myself into more trouble than I can handle," I assured him.
"Why do you want to do that? There are many others who defend the city." He wanted to understand.
"Because I can make a difference," I said simply. "There are a lot of things that can be resolved by the application of enough cash. I donate to women's shelters, homeless and veterans organizations, food pantries. They can do a lot of good providing services and counseling and housing. But if somebody's been mugged or is being threatened, I can't donate to help that. I can put a stop to it, though." He thought about that for some time.
"So who are you?" he asked. "Black Cat? Black Canary? Er...there aren't a lot of female heroes, compared to the males."
"Poppy," I said a little nervously.
"Poppy? Really?" he looked me over.
"Exactly. She's pretty much everything I'm not."
"How do you do the hair?" he asked, fascinated. "And I wouldn't say that at all. You play a sensual badass. That must come from within in order to be convincing. And it must be convincing; the papers who report on the heroes all say that Poppy is becoming very respected. The victims can't say enough good things about her and the criminals even say that she's both nice and fair. She's being held up as an ideal; a contrast to other heroes who use deadly force without compunction, who will use harsh interrogation techniques." He looked enlightened. "How do you get them to tell you things?"
"I still have some temporary hair dye that Avenger Tech created for me when I was acting as Paladin; apparently I packed all that stuff up when I left Seattle. It comes out easily with a special dry shampoo. I take care of that when I'm ready to come home. I can get the men to spill their guts by tying them up and judicious applications of cleavage." I squirmed. "And...I've been working on a perfume. I only use it if I'm trying to get information, which is really rare because by myself, I'm not equipped to go after an organization. It has a musk base, it's sexy, but I also altered an agent that Avenger Tech was working on for use as a truth serum. I made it an aerosol rather than an injection. So I sit on their laps, let them breathe in the perfume, and when they go cross-eyed, I start asking questions. Information that I get that's bigger than I can handle I spread around to the other heroes I know."
"How does Barnes know? he asked.
"He did my laundry when I was ill and found the sash."
"Why are you telling this to me now?" His eyes searched my face.
"Because I trust you," I said, squeezing his hand. "And we're roommates. Plus I might lean on you to cover for me." I smiled, and he smiled back.
"I can help keep your secret," he said with conviction. "And I have a suggestion. Or two. With the Avengers coming to town, you should consider procuring some colored contact lenses to obscure your eyes somewhat. I heard someone speaking of them when I was at the movie. I might also have some costume suggestions. The top front of your costume doesn't appear to be secure."
I started to search for contact lenses and told him what happened my first day on the job. He laughed until his ribs ached, and we talked about the costume and also a utility belt. I went up to bed feeling like things were looking up.
The next morning, we went to the store, where I explained how the security system worked, gave him keys, showed him around (not that that took long) and sent him to a paint store a few blocks away with instructions to choose the color he liked best and get the equipment we'd need. I'd show him how to cut in and roll, but he'd be on his own. When he got back, a store associate in tow to help carry the paint, the store associate volunteered to get him set up. After the lesson, I tipped him for his help, and Loki got to work. He took a break to get us some lunch, then went back to work. He had the whole loft cut in by quitting time; his selection was a rich, creamy white that was luxurious and it would look like lightly pearlized leather when he got done with it. I took a break and went to an optometrist to be fitted for contacts; I took the prescription with me and ordered the contacts online that night; I selected a pair that had a blue-violet rim that would make my irises look bigger and a lighter violet inside. It was from a line that was designed to look natural, so it wouldn't be obvious that I was obscuring my eyecolor. My boring blue would provide a depth to the color. I was excited to try them and paid for express service.
The Avengers' signing of the UN compact on superheroes made the news, along with the information that they were going to be headquartered in New York again. Thor had learned to use email and sent his brother a message that he and Sif would like him to come for dinner. Loki tried to play it cool, but he was excited and I was pleased for them both. That night I finished up my utility belt. The belt was shaped so it sat smoothly on my hips and made them look a little curvier than they were. The only drawback was that I couldn't wear the scarf now; I folded it and put in one of the pouches. I used one for lipstick, breath mints, money, eyedrops and a small, unbreakable vial of the perfume; I put a few tools in the others, but the best part was that I had some place to securely attach the collapsible staff and the bullwhip. I'd been practicing hard in the basement and felt skilled enough to use it. It wasn't that different from the urumi in some ways, and less lethal as well as more helpful. I could use it to yank somebody's feet out from under them, pull somebody off-balance, or restrain them if necessary. I had a fruitful night of crime-fighting; I'd apprehended a trifecta of purse-snatcher, mugger, and attempted rapist. I didn't bother at all with the rapist; I secured his hands and feet with duct tape (he was hairy, so it would hurt to come off) and left him on the curb for the cops with his pants around his ankles and his dick hanging out. It made the paper the next day; the cops had thought it was funny.
I had another appointment the next day; the density of my brain tissue seemed to have stabilized at 'very dense' in that curious band but nobody seemed to know what it did or how it affected me. It still had more nerve activity than anywhere else.
A few nights later, I was patrolling and ran into Deadpool again. I was a little concerned for him; he seemed convinced we were characters in a comic book with an audience of readers and addressed them from time to time and sometimes his personality wasn't all that stable, but overall he was a good guy (as long as you weren't a scum bag). Deadly with his katanas, but good, and I have a huge soft spot for veterans who'd been experimented on. "Yes, I have a gun in my pants, but that doesn't mean I'm not happy to see you," he said, making an obnoxious kissing sound as we touched masks. He liked my new belt, made a few off-color remarks about their contents, and introduced me to a friend of his, one Wolverine, a tall, broad, hairy guy with somewhat limited social skills. I kept an open mind, though he almost scared the pee out of me with blades that extended from the backs of his hands. I gathered that he'd also been a test subject at the facility that Deadpool had been...treated at.
"Jesus, lady, get a grip," he snapped, which confused me.
"I didn't say anything." Hadn't had time to even flinch.
"You said 'eep'." Deadpool nodded.
"I heard it too."
"I didn't say anything," I repeated. "You must be imagining things." His hand snapped out and grabbed my jaw.
"Don't lie to me." I put up my hands to try to tug free. He was starting to scare me. Then he released me and stepped back, a calculating look on his face.
"Did you get exposed to that stuff on the subway?" I nodded warily. "Go to a doctor?"
"Franklin first, but he wasn't very helpful. Then I went to another doctor, who was more helpful."
"Find anything up in your brain?"
"How'd you know?"
"I know a guy you need to meet," he said. "Come on." I looked at Deadpool, who flapped a hand at me.
"You'll be safe with him." Then he lunged at me, hugging me, his hand squeezing one of my breasts. "Boobies," he said, sighing. "Just don't let anybody talk you into joining any intramural groups while you're there." Confused, I said goodbye to Deadpool and followed Wolverine down to a motorcycle on the street.
It was a long ride to wherever. My hips were aching by the time we pulled up to an enormous manor house. Wolverine led me inside and told me to sit as he left the room. I sat. He was back shortly with a bald man in a very high tech wheelchair. I rubbed my temple. "I am Professor Charles Xavier," he said. "I run a school for gifted youngsters. Mutants." He looked at me closely, his eyes narrowing. "Interesting. It looks as if you have some special abilities, but you weren't born with them. What can you do, my dear?" Wolverine loomed behind him.
"I was in a chemical accident that resulted in skin that's mostly impervious, a widely expanded range of vision, photographic memory, and the ability to move atoms around." The professor looked interested and asked specific questions.
"Do you think she's related to Magneto?" Wolverine asked when I described my metal work.
"No, I think it's more that she prefers the order of metal," Xavier said. "Erik has always been very careful about siring children." He went on to ask questions about my experience with the subway virus. "You aren't a mutant as we define it, which is that mutants are born with their abilities, but that chemical accident appears to have made you much more suceptible to other changes. Given where the changes to your bran tissue have occurred and your response to pressure, you appear to be able to project your feelings and pick up on those of others. You responded to mental pressure earlier by rubbing your temple. Think carefully. Have others in your presence responded similarly? Have people been saying things that they would normally keep to themselves or that seem out of character?"
I thought back. That lunch after I'd come back from the doctor's. Tony had been rubbing his head. "Yes, when I've been engaged in a topic, I've had people rubbing their heads or necks. People have said things they don't mean to." I thought of Batman, babbling about his sexual frustration.
"And have you in turn said things that you do not intend to or that are out of character?"
"Yes," I said quickly.
He smiled. "You can pick up someone's emotions and amplify them slightly, creating a loop between them and you that feeds on itself. The use of your ability can result in the feeling of pressure, felt consciously or unconsciously. You need to train yourself not to let your ability leak. Fortunately, it is not difficult to learn how." I spent almost two hours with the professor, learning how to shield, but also how to use the ability in a conscious manner.
"It's mostly a matter of practice, Poppy," the professor said at the end. "But if you need additional help, please call." He handed me a business card with his contact information, and I put it inside one of my new pouches. "Why don't you try to wake up Logan there?" He indicated Wolverine, who had fallen asleep on one of the sofas in boredom. I pressed at him gently.
"The fuck?" he said, jumping straight to his feet. "Who's touching me?"
"Interesting, Poppy," the professor said again. "That time the pressure you exerted felt like a finger pressing on his arm." Wolverine was made to be a lab rat as I quickly learned how to distinguish between the two kinds of pressure I could apply. He was grumpy and looking forward to be getting rid of me at the end, and I thanked the professor before we headed back to the city.
It was shortly before dawn when I got home. I slept until nine, then Loki and I went in to work. He was fully rested and energetic, and got the walls finished before going out to look at sofas or chairs for customers and a pale rug to help delineate the sales area from my workspace. I took a nap, waking a couple hours later when he came back. We went back and I purchased two white sofas that were comfortable and very clean-lined and a few ivory and gray Persian rugs. Loki was excited and had several ideas that seemed interesting and helpful. We detoured back to the bank and I set up an account for the business, which I should have done a long time ago. I got Loki a card as well, and told him to take care of what he wanted, just not to go completely nuts. His grin flashed, but he was diverted when we returned to the shop by the arrival of the five bases for the display cabinets. He puttered around, rearranging them, until I was done for the day. We grabbed takeout on the way home, and chatted as we walked down the tree-lined sidewalk to the house. I stopped abruptly at a house two doors down. A realtor was hanging a "SOLD" sign, and Steve and Bucky were standing on the porch. Loki shot me a "WTF" look, which I returned. I walked up the path, smiling at the realtor.
"What's up, guys?" Bucky's grin was huge and contagious. I found myself smiling with them.
"I just bought a house," Bucky declared. "Well, I have a mortgage, anyway." For a second, he looked scared to death, and I sympathized. "I don't want to live in the tower, and this is a nice neighborhood."
What could I say? Damn wasn't appropriate. It's not that I didn't like Bucky or minded him being around, it would just make my nocturnal adventures more difficult. Well, I'd figure something out. "Congratulations," I said, smiling. "We'll be neighbors." He picked me up in a hug.
"That was a factor in choosing this house," he said in satisfaction. He jerked his chin in a not toward Loki. "L-- Lothar?" he said, not remembering Loki's new identity. I burst out laughing. Loki rolled his eyes.
"Looks like you have dinner," Steve said. "Can we come by after a bit?"
"Sure," I said, and Loki and I went home to eat. We'd just finished when there was a knock on the door.
"Your former husband is prompt," Loki said, smirking. I smacked his arm lightly as I got up to answer the door. To my surprise, it wasn't Steve and/or Bucky. It was a man I'd never seen before. Taller than me, he had an open, cheerful face that was pleasant rather than handsome and receding hairline of reddish-blond curly hair. He seemed to be about my age, maybe a few years younger.
"Are you Emma Harrington?" he asked nervously. I nodded, conscious that Loki was moving up behind me.
"Hi. This is awkward, and I apologize for just showing up on your doorstep. My name's Brad. Brad McDonald. We've never met. But I wanted to meet you. I'm your half-brother."