Work Text:
"Oh, hey, a new hero! I'm Glory Girl, who're you?"
Taylor hesitated. Then, she squared her shoulders. "I... haven't figured out a name yet," she admitted.
"Ah, that's fair, names are hard," Glory Girl said, nodding. "What's your power? Maybe that'll give some inspiration?"
"My power is... I can do this ," Taylor said, before suddenly she wasn't Taylor, and was instead a dragon with scales of burnished steel, taking up an amount of space normally allocated to long-haul trucks carrying shipping containers.
Her wings stretched and unfurled; from tip to tip must've been at least sixty feet. She lifted her sharply pointed head, with its swept-back crest of spines and horns, and produced a deep, throaty rumble that shook the street and rattled your bones.
She tilted her head back down to look at Glory Girl, her eyes now literally glowing a hot-steel orange.
"Huh," Glory Girl said. "Neato. How about Drake?"
"I liked Josh better," Taylor-as-a-dragon said, trying and failing to keep her voice down.
"Oh, ha ha, very funny. You know what I mean, smartass."
"I'll take it under advisement," Taylor said. "Uh... god, there's no tactful way to say this... Sorry, but I'm gonna have to kidnap you now."
Glory Girl stared impassively, folding her arms.
"You wanna take another swing at that, champ?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow.
"Look, it's- me dragon, you princess," Taylor said. "It's tradition ."
"When you say kidnap ," Glory Girl said carefully.
"...I'm going through a rough time, okay?" Taylor admitted. "I don't want to be alone right now."
"Okay, listen, miss dragon friend person," Glory Girl said carefully, hovering forward and placing a gentle hand on the tip of Taylor's nose. "If you want to hang out, I'm willing to hang out, it's just... I mean, maybe find a better way to phrase it?"
"Sorry."
"It's okay, hon. Is there somewhere specific you wanted to go and chat, or..."
"The top floor of a tower of some sort," Taylor said immediately.
"...Alright, lemme think..." Glory Girl tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Okay. Forsberg Gallery should work fine. C'mon, let's go. You mind if I invite a few friends, introduce you to 'em?"
"Gallant."
"Gallant?"
"Only invite him," Taylor clarified. "He's a knight in shining armor."
"Ohhh, okay, I see where you're going with this. Alright, c'mon, you know where the Forsberg Gallery is?"
"Hey Gallant, we got a distress signal from your damsel," Dennis called from the communications console across the room. "Said she got kidnapped by a dragon, and she's at the top floor of the Forsberg Gallery."
"Oh no ," Dean said, leaping off the couch(and spilling the bowl of popcorn, provoking a string of age-inappropriate profanities from Vista). "I have to go save her!"
"You want us to gear up and come with?" Dennis asked.
"There's no time!"
Dean rushed out of the room, and Dennis held up three fingers.
Then two.
One.
"Can someone help me put my armor on?" Dean asked.
"Oh my god , Taylor, that's awful ," Vicky said, digging her hands into the thick ruff of scales behind Taylor's crest and scratching at a particularly sensitive spot where dust and debris was likely to build up. "I'm so sorry, you don't deserve any of that."
"I'm sorry for dumping all that on you, it's just..."
"No, no, I get it, you don't have to apologize for anything," Vicky said. "I'm here for you, hon."
"What do you mean I can't take my motorcycle?" Gallant complained.
"It's in the shop for servicing, after that fight with Crusader put a few nasty dents in it," the PRT officer explained.
"Ugh. Okay, well, what am I supposed to use in the meantime?"
"We have a few spare bikes for this sort of occasion," the officer said. "Right through there. Take your pick."
"Oh. That's convenient." Gallant walked through the indicated door, and then a moment later walked back out. "When you said bikes-"
"I did in fact mean bicycles. Two pedals, no motors."
"You've gotta be fucking shitting me."
"This is what you get for skipping leg day."
"-and a lot of people assume, just because I'm a girl and I'm blonde , that I'm some dumb bimbo who doesn't know how to do anything other than put on makeup," Vicky complained, polishing Taylor's scales with a bit of steel wool and paste wax. "I'm taking AP psychology classes, damnit! I'm in the top five percent of my class!"
"That's really unfair," Taylor said, nodding. "I'm sorry you have to deal with that."
"I mean, fuck's sake, a lot of people assume for no fucking reason that I don't know how to fight, like I'm not a superhero raised in a family of superheroes!" she continued. "I've been taking Judo classes since I was six! I'm a fucking black belt, damnit!"
"I'm sorry sir, but the Forsberg Gallery is not currently open to the public."
"You realize who I am, correct?" Gallant said.
"The rules are rules, sir."
"My girlfriend is being held hostage on the top floor, and you think you can stand in my way?"
"That is correct, sir."
Gallant stared uselessly from behind his helmet.
"Fine," he muttered, pulling out his wallet. "Name your price."
"Two thousand dollars."
"We should do this more often," Taylor said, as Victoria lowered the angle grinder and lifted her face shield. "My scales haven't been this shiny in... well, ever ."
"Sounds fun to me," Vicky said. "Thanks for letting me get all that off my che- oop, missed a spot." She lowered the face shield, and went back to work with the angle grinder.
Dean wheezed, leaning against the wall. The fucking elevator had been out of order, of course , and the goddamn Forsberg Gallery was twenty eight motherfucking stories tall , and to cap it all off, the cocksucking architect had put the fucking stairs in the most inconvenient possible configuration , forcing him to climb a set of stairs, navigate a fucking labyrinth of shitty paintings as he crossed the floor, and climb another set of stairs.
He eyed the flight up to the twelfth floor balefully.
"You know what?" he said, panting. " Fuck this. I'm done. That dragon can fucking keep her."
He turned around, and began to slowly, painfully navigate back down the stairs.