Chapter Text
“Whoa. Is that her?” a young, nameless hero from Idaho (a cape with the ability to commune with and grow potatoes) asks, her voice tinted with awe.
“Looks like it,” says another, equally unknown rogue from Iceland (with the power to turn things green). “I’ve only ever seen pictures. Do you think she’s the real deal?”
“I’ve only heard rumors, but yeah. I hope so. This is going to suck otherwise.”
“Haha, don’t worry,” a new voice interjects. The unnamed hero and rogue turn to see one of the most famous heroes worldwide: Legend. “I’ve had the privilege of seeing her in action once or twice. Trust me, she’s legitimate. This is going to be a good day.”
Normally, calling an Endbringer attack a ‘good day’ before the battle begins would be the height of folly and arrogance. It would basically be asking to be proven wrong and annihilated; the Monsters are spiteful like that. On an average day of an attack, none should assume - hope yes, but assume no - that they will leave a battle alive and well. Thankfully, there are no more average days anymore; not since she showed up, not since arguably the most powerful cape in the world, one who rivals even Eidolon, appeared. Even since she helped out in Canberra, there’s been a foreign sense of hope in the world. It was the first time that an Endbringer attack ended with double digit casualties, over in such a short time that the Simurgh didn’t have time to scream long enough to require containment.
More whispers and pointed fingers arise as the group of capes from around the world, gathered to fight the Leviathan, watch her procession. Legend didn’t get a chance to see the process last time, as he was busy blasting rainbows at an angel, but from what he’s heard and watched in briefings, it is an esoteric and unprecedented wind up. Some powers require charging or a sympathetic ritual to use (e.g. some blasters’ attacks, Myrddin’s ‘spells,’ Battery’s stillness, a changer’s shift), but this one is almost silly (like Myrddin’s ‘spells’). All eyes are alternating between her trek and the approaching storm that heralds the Leviathan. Hope springs forth in her wake as she cuts through the crowd and walks to the center of the gathering place. Heroes with feats rivaling myths of old and Villains with records that surpass the devil make way for her, the most powerful rogue in the world.
When she reaches her destination, an impressively large maple tree that wasn’t there the last time Legend visited Brockton Bay, he feels the collected parahumans hold their breath. She places a fingerlessly-gloved hand on the tree’s trunk and pauses to inspect its base, looking down at the root of her destination. None can see her unmasked face through the long curtain of dark, wavy hair that shields her from view, so Legend can only imagine the expression she must be making: mouth pressed into a grimly determined line, eyes closed as she focuses and blocks out the torrential rain. With the way the feline ears atop her head twitch, she must be feeling the full weight of the world on her shoulders: something he can relate to. He wishes that a woman so young didn’t have to carry such weight alone, but that is the world they live in: a world that dispenses great power to those unequipped and unprepared to handle it.
Suddenly, she looks up and the excited whispers begin anew. With no more windup, she grabs the tree, digging claws into the bark, and begins to climb. She puts one clawed hand above the last, one spiked shoe over the other, steadily, if shakily, making her way up the trunk. She’s almost three feet off the ground when her foot slips and she drops back to the ground. Capes have to hold each other back to prevent assistance, and more than one small fight - quickly extinguished - breaks out. Her power only works if she alone is the one to do it; any help up the tree renders the process null, so they can all only watch helplessly as she starts again.
Second time seems to be the charm, as she makes it up without further complication, coming to rest on the lowest branch: a good eight feet above the ground. The relief is palpable now that she’s completed the most difficult part of her power’s windup; no one will have to fight today; no one will have to die to that monster. Victory is all but assured now, though no one moves to leave. All assembled capes remain in place, waiting for the main event now that the prelude is complete.
Stuck in a tree, Taylor Hebert, the most famous unmasked parahuman, the most powerful rogue, the hope of the world, The Cat, opens her mouth and lets out her battle cry:
“meow…”
X.X
Above a burning orphanage in France
Scion looks up from the burning building he was about to extinguish, his attention drawn away by a primal urge, a facet of his programming. No thoughts head empty, the golden man drops the orphan in his hands back into the fire and speeds away.
X.X
Back in Brockton Bay
Taylor meows mournfully, trying not to look down at the hundreds of powerful people staring at her. It doesn’t help her embarrassment, as there are dozens of fliers still in her field of vision, and she can hear the murmurs. She can practically feel the attention on her, and it makes her want to curl into a ball and hide. But she can’t. Nope, she’s got a ‘responsibility to the world,’ as so may people have put it.
‘I hate this. I hate my power. I look stupid and everyone’s watching me and I can’t even run if I tried. Why couldn’t I be an Alexandria package: nice and simple. Or hell, a tinker or a blaster or ANYTHING OTHER THAN THIS?! I’d rather have bug powers, or be a super-mime, or some other lame power. It’d be less embarrassing. But noooooo~, I get to trap myself in a tree and meow for help. Why is this my life? Why must I suff-’
Her internal monologue is interrupted by the arrival of her knight in shining skin. Scion, bathed in golden light, reaches out for her. Taylor blushes as he lifts her into his solid and deceptively gentle grasp. He floats her out of the tree and to the safety of the ground once more. Her embarrassed blush increases tenfold when he takes the time to scratch behind her ears, same as he does every time he rescues her from a tree. In a fit of anger she lashes out at him with her claws, but he only reacts by somehow radiating amusement.
When he stops and turns to leave, Taylor relaxes. It’s undignified and embarrassing to be petted like that in front of such a crowd. He sees Leviathan finally poking his head above the water and - without moving - gives the impression of a shrug, as if saying he may as well beat down an Endbringer while he’s here. When he flies off, towards the Monster, cheers sound from the assembled capes around her. Congratulations and thanks are given to her, but The Cat ignores and dismisses it all, too embarrassed by the spectacle.
Sure, she saved the Bay and hundreds or thousands of lives, but at what cost? At what cost…
aklsghklgh (this is the original version) aghkaslhdgklashgklhsalgh
"holy crap, is that her?" assault asks, voice tinted with awe.
"looks like it," battery replies, her shoulders drooping with lost tension. "this'll be a good day, then."
"better than a good day," interjects legend. "this will be a great day."
normally, prematurely calling an endbringer attack good or great would be the height of folly and arrogance. none should assume to leave an endbringer attack alive or unharmed.
but that was before She showed up, before arguably the most powerful cape in the world became a regular at these battles. since she started attending these battles, there hasnt been a bad day, one like kyushu or Madison. no, there have only been good and great days, where barely any capes or civilians were lost to the monsters.
though he's seen the event many times in the last few years, legend can never truly get over the process, the windup to her ability, the likes of which havent been seen before or since her arrival on the world stage.
the assembled capes from around the world look on with bated breath, all eyes on the tall, slender figure that portents their salvation. heroes with feats rivaling myth and villains with more demented records than devils both make way for her, cutting conversation to whisper and gossip about the world's strongest rogue. hope springs forth in her wake.
all eyes are on her as she reaches the tree that is her destination. it isnt an impressive tree: oak, forty feet tall, with many of its lower branches pruned away to not impede foot traffic. but, because of her forthcoming actions today, it will be commemorated and memorialized for its whole life.
she places a fingerlessly-gloved hand onto its bark and pauses for a moment and looks down at the root of her chosen place of battle. legend cant see her face through the curtain of long, dark, wavy hair that shields her from collective view, so he can only imagine the professional, determined visage. with the way her feline ears twitch atop her head, she must be feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders, and he can relate.
suddenly, she looks up, her unmasked face flushed with determination. without any windup, she grabs hold of the tree trunk, sinking her claws into the bark, and shakily begins to climb. she puts one clawed hand above the last, one lumberjack boot above the other, steadily making her way up the trunk. she's ten feet up when her foot slips and she drops back to the ground, the capes around her collectively gasping, their concerned whispers rising in volume. legend, like many others, would offer his assistance in her preparations, but her power doesn't work unless she's the one to do it, so he can only watch helplessly as she restarts her attempt at climbing the tree.
second time is the charm, it seems, as she makes it up without complication, coming to rest precariously on the lowest branch: a good fifteen feet above the ground.
smiles are aplenty now that shes completed the most difficult part of her setup. the collective forces prepared to fight the endbringer today relax, as victory is all but assured now. some pack up, preparing to return home, but most remain where they are, watching the ritual of The Cat's power. Legend watches alongside his former ward and her husband as The Cat, Taylor Hebert, the most famous unmasked rogue on the planet, stuck in a tree, opens her mouth and lets out her battlecry.
"meow..."
***elsewhere***
Scion, the golden man, the first parahuman, looks up from the burning orphanage he was extinguishing, his attention pulled away by a primal urge. without any more warning, he drops the smoldering orphan and speeds away through the air.
***back at the endbringer fight, inside taylor hebert's mind***
"meow."
i hate this
"meow."
i hate my power
"meow"
this is so embarrassing! everyone is looking at me and i look silly
"meow."
why couldnt i have a different power? no other power is so demeaning. im stuck in a tree meowing for help like a damn fool
"meow."
why couldnt i be an Alexandria package? or a tinker, or a blaster, or ANYTHING ELSE?! I'd rather have bug powers or something lame like that. it'd be less embarrassing
"meow"
but nope! im stuck in a tree. meowing. why is this my life?
"me-"
shes cut off by the arrival of her rescuer: scion, bathed in golden light, gently reaching out for her. she blushes as he picks her up and floats her down to the safety of the dirt once more. her embarrassed blush increases tenfold when he takes the time to scratch behind her cat ears, same as he does every time he rescues her from a tree.
luckily, the scritches dont last long before he turns to fly away to avert some other disaster and sees behemoth rampaging in the distance. though he doesnt move, taylor gets the impression that scion shrugs, as if nonchalantly deciding that he may as well beat down the endbringer while he's here.
so, as scion flies off to lay the beat down on behemoth, cheers sound from all around taylor. congratulations are had and thanks are given, but The Cat ignores or dismisses it all, too embarrassed by her showing to hear anything.