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Marked, Interlude G
🕑 Added 2021-01-25 09:54:29 +0000 UTC"Try it now."
Axel hesitated. "You close everything up in there?"
"Yeah!" Gilbert called back. "Everything's clean. Hit the juice."
There was only a moment's pause, and then Gilbert saw the flood lights for the backyard coming on. "Fuck yeah!" Axel shouted out to him. "That did it! What was the problem?"
Gilbert grinned as he wriggled out of the crawl space. "Bro, rotten wires. Got them swapped out with some spares from my bag, capped them off good."
"Fuck, Gills, you're soaking that vo-training up. Old Man's gonna be using you as a showpiece or something." Axel gave him a crooked thumbs up. "Good on ya."
Gilbert shrugged, tugging down the hem of his tank top and lowering himself down the lip of the hatch to the attic, skipping the ladder entirely. It was a little showy, but he liked being able to do it, especially since he harbored secret fantasies of hottie milfs watching him do it while he worked on their wiring or stuff. Not that he'd go around seducing housewives or anything like that, but the idea of being eye catching AND useful made him feel good. "He put a lot of trust in me. I'm not gonna let him down, you know?"
"Yeah, yeah, we all know, you're the dee-dubs golden boy. Fucking goody goody." Axel slapped him companionably on the back. "Just don't spend all the training money before the rest of us get a swing at it, yeah?"
Gilbert walked into the bathroom and dusted himself off on the linoleum, before he started sweeping up the dust and dirt from the attic. "Gonna be money a plenty, bro. Every one of us doing work and putting our pay back in the Bay just makes things better for everyone. Like Danny says."
"I fucking remember. Money that moves makes prosperity, money that's stationary is good for show and toilet paper." Axel waved him off. "I like the saying, 'Gotta spend money to make money' better."
"Same thing, my dude." Gilbert swept up the dust and little splinters, dumped it in the basket between the sink and a toilet that probably could have used a scrub brush and a half bottle of bleach, but as long as he didn't sit on it or use it Gilbert didn't give a damn. Everybody pissed and shit, after all.
Besides, it'd be good practice for when he was doing work on people's places. The mental image would be a reminder for him to take care of necessities before going into a stranger's house.
"Yeah, so uh, you sure you still want that old computer? Cause the fans are all busted, I think the heat sink needs paste, the hard drive's bricked and the graphics card is like six years old."
"Bro, I don't want your money, I already told you." Gilbert shut the door behind him. "You were talking about getting rid of it, I got a use for it."
Axel was already hauling out the box with the old computer and monitor, a rolled up towel between the CRT and tower. "What are you, some kinda tinker?" he asked jokingly, then got serious. "Wait. You're not actually a tinker, are you? Cause I'll totally keep your-"
"I'm not a tinker," Gilbert said with a roll of his eyes, the gesture belying the sudden pounding of his heart. "I just take pieces of different machines and frankenstein them into rigs I can sell used. I got fans, old hard drives, stuff like that, and I can make working low tier machines. That's all." He took the box from Axel, and did his best to not smirk at Axel's look of irritation at the relative ease with which Gilbert held it.
"Alright, man, alright. But you know if you do be a tinker I got your secret." Axel winked at him exageratedly.
"Man, give it a rest." Gilbert followed Axel to the door. "Bro, I'll catch you later, man."
Axel led the way to the front door, a mind bogglingly grueling trek that took all of a dozen steps. He gave Gilbert a serious look as he opened the front door. "Yeah, listen, you drop by my cousin's place tomorrow afternoon you can pick up more computer parts cause she's got a leaky shower-"
"No can do, man," Gilbert said, carrying the box out onto the porch as Axel turned on the porch light. "Tomorrow's Freedom and Future, you know that."
"Gills, GILLS, you can't miss that shit even one week? My cuz's got some good shit, barely three years old and she's upgrading already." Axel leaned up against the doorjam, holding his foot out to keep the screen door from swinging closed. "For real, man."
"Dude, I stay balanced because I don't let a little wobble become a big fall. That means I keep my support group, build my life, and NEVER miss a meeting. Besides, for all I know, one of them could need a computer."
Axel laughed, and thumped his fist on the door. "Yeah yeah. Go ahead, man, thanks for the help."
"No problem, bro."
---
Gilbert finished cording down the box to the back of his scooter, then for good measure added a bit of duct tape to the mix just to make sure the cord didn't slide. Having his hard earned second hand computer go smash on the pavement was not how he wanted to finish up his Friday night.
Kicking the putt-putt engine to life, he strapped on his helmet and pulled out into the street, the chill of the night air making the hairs on his arms prickle up even under the jacket. He really SHOULD have worn a thicker shirt, but he'd decided against doing the laundry til tomorrow and didn't want to wear his sweater for the third day this week. He was kind of embarrassed that he'd been wearing it a second day when he met that girl Titania.
Thinking about her evoked mixed feelings. On the one hand, she was actually pretty in an unassuming way. She had a bright, wide smile, and a startling compassion and positivity to her. And, he had to admit to himself that he'd enjoyed her brief but unmistakeable second of looking when he'd pulled his sweater off. She'd given him a thorough once over when she'd thought he wasn't looking.
On the other hand... well, he didn't want to think too hard about the other hand right now, while he was driving. Which itself was a mixed bag. Mixed feelings inside mixed feelings, like... What were those hollow Russian dolls called? Majesty dolls, or something like that. No, with a couple sandwich rolls, a twenty minute conversation, she'd turned him upside down. For three days, now, off and on he couldn't stop thinking about her. He couldn't even rightly say WHY she just stuck in his mind the way she did, but there was something magnetic about her. Like, even if she was technically homeless she was still alright, she was still able to meet her own needs. And even if she was still on her own resources, she'd share them with a stranger without a moment's hesitation.
And that 'without hesitation' was, in some ways, the most unnerving thing about her.
With a jolt, Gilbert noticed the driveway to his apartment complex on the right. He barely remembered the drive home, not that this was an unusual thing for him. He always had a lot of things on his mind, and the last couple days especially so. He drove up to the motorcycle parking, locked the moped, and cut the duct tape covering the cords on his box of non functional computer. Hoisting it, he frowned to himself over the decidedly flimsier feel of the cardboard after the drive home, but held onto it that much more securely to compensate, before walking up the steps. Propping the box between his hip and the brickwork, Gilbert was still fumbling with his keys when the door opened and he found himself face to face with Arthur.
Arthur was, in Gilbert's opinion, the closest thing to a human toucan he'd ever met. Reedy thin and absurdly colorful between his paisley sweater and his multicolored pompadour, Arthur was possibly the most metro guy in the city, a trait which was decidedly risky a few years back when the Empire was really big in the Bay. His colorful clothes, practically tie-died hair, and naturally effeminate mannerisms could have gotten him beaten or killed, but these days weren't quite so contra survival.
"You COULD have called ahead, boy-oh." Even his voice. As Axel might have said, every time Arthur opened his mouth a purse fell out.
"Was busy helping out a friend," Gilbert replied easily. "Thanks for getting the door, Art."
"Ar-THUR, Gills. Ar-THUR. And I'm happy to do it even if you ARE letting in all the cold air standing out here like this." Ari[i]THUR[/i] stood there tapping his foot impatiently. "Tick tock, boy-oh."
Gilbert laughed, lifting the box more securely and carrying it inside, grinning at Arthur. "Sorry to keep you up worrying, bro. I'll try to call and let you know I'm okay." He paused, then added, "Say, didn't you say that the second floor stove was having issues? Like, one of the burner coils wasn't working right?"
"Mmm, yes I did. I was thinking of calling in a repairman, actually." Arthur let out a frustrated huff, folding his arms as the door shut. "Not too eager to spend the money but..."
"Why don't you let me get a look at it?" Gilbert asked. "I've been vo-training electrical, if it turns out to be a bum solder or something simple, I can save you the time and money."
"Oh, you don't have to do that!" Arthur protested.
"Bro, I don't mind, it's easy, and if nothing else I can save the repairguy a look and help him get finished faster that way, if it's not something I can fix myself." His hand slipped for a heart stopping moment, but he managed to retain his hold on the box. "Uh, after I get this stuff in my apartment."
"Well... I suppose it doesn't hurt. And I can knock a bit off your rent if you fix it, save us both a little money that way." Arthur stood up straight and waved over his shoulder. "I need to get to sleep, and I shouldn't keep you out here in the hallway while you're carrying heavy things. You know where my room is-"
"Room four," Gilbert agreed. "I remember."
"Thank you, Gills. Just give my door a knock when you're ready to look at the stove."
Arthur sauntered down the hall and into his room; Gilbert made his own way to the lift and up to the third floor, finally wrestling his box through the doorway and onto his floor mattress.
Gilbert's apartment wasn't much to speak of, a bedroom and a storage room which he'd converted into a sort of work room. In it, multiple computers in various states of repair sat along with other, more generic electrical parts sorted in neatly organized bins.
And now, here in his room, he had to confront the part that really bothered him about Titania, the biggest source of his mixed feelings, as he pulled his tank top up and off, and tilted his head forward to examine the purple, blue, and green mottled 'tattoo' just over his heart. It was slightly warm to the touch, cooled off from this morning where it had felt sore and feverish. If he understood the rules correctly, it was almost ready.
What came with the tattoo was both amazing and a little concerning. Scary, even, if he really thought about it. Honest to god superpowers. Not STRONG ones, of course. But he was okay with that, he guessed. Except he was damn sure that Titania had given them to him. And somehow, the thought that she would just give superpowers, even small ones, to a complete stranger, really bothered him. Yet at the same time, he didn't want to lose this ability he'd been given.
He'd been uncertain about it when he realized what it could do, that first night, when suddenly he'd felt it hovering there, in the back of his mind. It had felt like a presence. A gentle warmth in his brain and over his heart. And when he'd tried to figure out what it was he'd been feeling, suddenly his new tattoo had practically burned, almost painful. And when he'd leaned on his desk, grabbing his chest at the burning, the old, chipped, worn and rickety desk had suddenly firmed up. The wood became sturdy, the joints flush and almost invisible, the varnish scratches vanishing and the worn and chipped spots becoming smooth, looking unblemished.
He'd inspected the desk quite thoroughly to learn even the tracks and guides were whole, intact, practically brand new. The contents were still the same, but the bottom of the drawers even had that stupid diamond print paper on the bottom that he'd torn out when he first bought it from the second hand store. He'd tried to do it again, of course, and nothing happened, but the tattoo cooled slowly, and a little more than an hour later it had recharged.
So far he hadn't found anything it couldn't fix if it was small enough. The first night, it recharged once per hour until about six a.m. or so. During the day, it didn't recharge. The second night he could use it twice per hour, and there was something else there. He still wasn't sure how to use that one; it didn't seem to follow the same rule as the first power.
But even if he never figured out how to use the second thing, the first one was more than enough. It could turn his side hustle into something easier and more profitable. He could refurbish almost anything, within reason. If he couldn't repair something whole, he could dismantle it down into smaller pieces until he could. That, of course, DID mean he needed to stay under the radar.
Maybe he should see about joining the Protectorate? He wasn't sure what good a power like this would be as a hero. In all honesty, he didn't really like the idea anyway. The most useful thing he could do would probably be fixing broken PRT equipment and that wasn't so much being a hero as being a government repairman. He'd be better off as a contractor, maybe someday run his own company.
Someday. Someday. For now, though, he stayed up late, while his power worked, until two in the morning, the last of the various computers and parts repaired. Then, he stripped down, flopped onto his floor mattress, and was asleep before he even thought about turning out the light.
Comments
John Fiala
Oooh! Interesting. I'm pretty sure Taylor didn't actively try to do anything, but now I'm picturing an army of friendly tattooed people using magic to gently make Brockton Bay better, and it makes me smile.
