Chapter Text
Pearl tucked the pencil behind her ear, humming softly as she looked over the paperwork from the library. Bangs echoed from the kitchen, followed swiftly by a shout, and Pearl scoffed. She stood up, uncurling her legs from beneath her as she bought her paper with her. Her wings flicked while she walked, still humming absently.
“You good, Gri?” she called, not bothering to take her eyes from her paneer, and Grian’s angry warble was clear from down the hallway.
“No!” he yelled as Pearl turned into the kitchen, and she finally looked up. The parrot hybrid stood in the midst of a sea of flour, some of it still falling as the man flapped his wings indignantly. The recipe for mac-and-cheese sat nearby, absolutely covered in the fine grain. Pearl laughed, and Grian whipped around, fixing a betrayed glare on the moth.
“You know I’m terrible at cooking, and yet you torture me!” Grian told her crossly, shaking his head, and flour spilled in waves from his dirty-blond curls. Pearl giggled, folding up the paper and placing it in her pocket as she delicately made her way through the kitchen. The small TV on the counter was set to the news, as it always was, and continued to spout noise from underneath a blanket of white. Pearl stood beside her brother, taking advantage of the fact that she was taller than him (even by a little) by ruffling his hair. He scowled at her, flapping his wings as he turned away, and Pearl shrieked as she was covered in a rain of yet more flour.
“Alright, fine, we can call Scar over,” she said happily, “he’ll figure out something to make for us. If not, Impulse can.”
Grian paused in the act of searching for a broom, sending a glance towards the open balcony. The sounds of the city never ceased, but it was worth it for the summer’s breeze that fluttered through the kitchen and into their small apartment. Grain looked through, searching for the moon for a moment before furrowing his eyebrows. He turned back to Pearl, a hint of nervousness settling on his features as he tried, and failed, to wipe off his hands.
“You mean it?”
“Sure, why not?” She answered evenly, already pulling out her phone. She sent a text to their neighbors before she could second guess herself. “It’ll be fun.” At Grian’s disbelieving face, Pearl rolled her eyes.
“Come on, Gri, I’m not made of glass,” she teased, and Grian sen her a look .
Well, fine, then, Pearl thought, grinning, If you want to be that way, so be it.
“Unless you’re too chicken to hear what Impulse will say ‘bout the kitc–”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” Grian interrupted, leveling her with a finger in her face. Pearl jumped forward to bite at it, laughing as Grian squawked in surprise and jumped back. He settled on throwing flour at her, to which she retaliated.
And when Scar finally came through the door, already asking about what happened, he was hit with a face full of flour.
The man paused, coughing on the powder, and behind him, two voices ceased talking.
“Scar?”
“Sneak attacked,” he wheezed, in a way of response, stepping to the side so that the pair behind him could see the two avians on the floor, both absolutely covered in flour. They stared up at Scar and the others with a grin.
“. . . Hi!” Grian chirped, and behind Scar, Impulse sighed.
“Alright!” he said, stepping into the apartment, “let’s fix you and your kitchen.”
“The dad-friend has arrived,” Pearl whispered to Grian, who giggled, and Impulse shot them an exasperated look as he dragged them both off the ground. Mumbo, who was coming in, laughed.
“He is, isn’t he?” he commented, and Scar grinned.
“Very much so.”
“Alright, enough with that,” Impulse said to them, throwing a towel towards the group. It hit Mumbo’s face with a wack! and the man yelped. “What on earth did you do to your kitchen?”
Pearl grinned, “Grian tried to make mac-and-cheese. The fancy kind, not the box kind.”
“Yes, I see the ‘tried’ part,” Scar stated happily, shoving the avians onto the balcony, and Grian swatted at him.
“It wasn’t my fault Pearl left the flour open! And on the top shelf!” he defended, huffing, and Mumbo scrunched his nose.
“Are you sure that wasn’t you, mate? I’m pretty sure last time were were here you–”
“Do not spread such slander, Mumbo, it is unbecoming.”
“‘Unbecoming?’” Mumbo echoed incredulously, absentmindedly taking the broom Impulse handed him, “Grian, I’m already grown–”
Gunshots cut him off.
Pearl whipped around, giving up on her task of shaking four out of her bun. Grian did as well, whirling back while his wings flared slightly. Pearl’s moth ones flicked in anticipation as lights flashed a couple miles away, clearly visible from the 26th floor. Silence fell over the group as the others joined Pearl and Grian on the balcony, staring out as police sirens and more gunshots overcame the other noises of a city that never sleeps. They faded out as the lights moved further away, towards the shopping district. Pearl traced the movements of the light and gunshots against the rising cityscape, mentally mapping out where they could have come from and where they were going.
When Scar spoke, it didn’t surprise her.
“ . . . So? Are we goin’ to work?” he asked, curling his fingers around his chin. When Pearl turned, she could have sworn she saw blue light swirling in his green eyes.
“Do we want to?” Grian asked, glancing not-so-subtly to Pearl and then to the moon. She didn’t look back at him.
“I’m down,” Mumbo said, rubbing his wrists. The man fiddled with his watch, tapping it a few times until a screen unfolded from its small form. He examined it for a few seconds, listening to something nobody but him could hear, before looking back up. “It’s just a small robbery; nothing too hard, I’d say.”
Impulse shrugged. “I’m up to go chase down some bad guys,” he said, the only one who had not yet looked away from the fading lights and sounds of gunshots. Then he grinned. “I have my uniform with me.”
“When do you not?” Pearl asked, rolling her eyes, and Impulse sent her a meek smile.
Grian’s gaze was starting to burn. Pearl turned, knowing her brother was watching her, and glanced up. Her eyes sought out the moon, and she found it quickly, a moth drawn to light.
A waxing gibbous, she noted, tapping her fingers on the railing. . . . Yeah. Yeah, I can work with that.
Pearl turned around, a grin already on her face. The others noticed it quickly, straightening up, and a few of them sent her matching smiles. Grian began to vibrate excitedly, flicking his wings. He knew that face; he would always be excited for what that face would bring.
“Let’s do it,” she told them, and Grian finally let out a whoop.
“Go, go, go!” he said to the group, pushing Mumbo’s back as the man moved apparently too slowly at his jog. Mumbo waved him off, shoving him towards th eavian’s room with an endeared mumble of “oh, lay off!” The group quickly dispersed, running off to change into the outfits they each had spent so much time (and money) on. They met back on the balocny within minutes. Pearl came last, smirking as she pulled on inky blue and red gloves that matched with her coat. She lifted her hood, and Pearl tilted her chin.
She was not Pearl anymore, not in this outfit. No, Pearl was a scholar who ran a library with her brother. Pearl was a normal woman who lived a perfectly normal life.
No, she was the Scarlet Moon now. She was the witch with inky blue fingertips that faded into red, the woman of the night whose blood-red coat was ringed with stars and moon patterns. She always loved how the coat looked like a sunset that had dipped a little too close to midnight.
No, Pearl was no longer. The same for Grian, who became the Watcher as his parrot feathers bled into dark purple, darker than the night.
The same for Mumbo, who became the Cloak as he tightened the googles around his head and prepared the technology that had warned and hid them so many times.
The same for Scar, who became the Ghost as bright blue vex magic swallowed his form and blue wings appeared on his back.
The same for Impulse, who became the Fey as dark magic coated his hands and horns appeared above his temples.
The group who had laughed over spilled flour was gone. This group, the one with power spilling over them in waves, had taken their place.
And they were called Boatem, the heroes of Hermit City.
Scarlet smiled as Watcher perched on the railing, raising his wings as he prepared to take off. Fey crouched beside him, and Ghost hovered in place, wings flared. Cloak stood next to Scarlet Moon, holding his breath. There was a tension in the air, one so familiar that it felt like an old friend to the Boatem. They waited.
Scatlert closed her eyes. And when she opened them, they shone with a red light.
“Go,” she said, a wicked grin upon her face.
And they scattered into the night.