bairnsidhe

Update: I think this fits my "Sad/Upset" square for Cotton Candy Bingo, and since I don't feel like writing more sadness on a fluffy bingo, we're using this.

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Daniel Brody wiped the last of the greasepaint off his face and double checked his reflection before getting out of his car.  Good, he didn’t look a thing like Gloom.  He did NOT need to be bringing that into his day job.

“Hello Marsha,” he said to the receptionist.  “Everyone ready for me?”

“Yes,” she scolded, “which you’d know if you were on time.  It’s 1:32.”

“You know I’m terrible at schedules, Marsha,” Daniel said, opening the door.  “I’m pretty sure it would spook people if I showed up at 1:30 on the dot.”

“Damn right it would,” growled Breaker.  The former villain-gang member was doing amazingly well at smoothing out his anger issues, but his manner would probably never dip below ‘dangerous but well meaning’.  That was okay, Daniel didn’t ask his patients to be perfect, that worked well for exactly nobody.

“So Doc,” Willy the Weasel started.  “We were talking before you got here about the difference between reasonable precaution and paranoia.  I’m pretty sure some of the stuff on the pamphlet I got from you last week isn’t actually that applicable to me.”

“What sorts of stuff?” Daniel asked.

“Well, it says here that “symptoms of PPD may include concern that other people have hidden motives, and thinking that they will be exploited (used) or harmed by others” but I legit know people want to use me.  I can’t help it, that’s my power, seeing hidden motives.”

“What sorts of things does your power say about me?” Daniel asked.  It was a risk, asking Willy to turn his truth-vision on someone with a hidden life, but he cared more about helping the guy figure out what he needed.

“You want me to get better, so I can be happy and maybe not break so many laws,” Willy said instantly.  “I scanned you before I agreed to make this a regular thing.”

“And that’s super creepy and paranoid!” snapped Horns.

“Hey,” Daniel said firmly.  “What’s our rule about judging?”

“We don’t do it,” Horns sighed, running his hand over the curling ram horns on his head.  “Sorry Weasel, I just feel really weird that you go around using your powers on people without asking.  I didn’t exactly like the last guy who did that to me.”

Willy looked abashed.  “I’m not ever going to do that to you, Horns.  I know what going up against Protectorate did to you.  That guy has some nerve calling himself a hero, when he messes with people’s heads.”

“Moving on,” Daniel said, before he could get angry again over Protectorate’s abuse of power.  “Willy, why do you feel that those symptoms don’t apply to you because of your powers?”

“Well, because it’s totally normal not to want to let people use you,” Willy said.  “I’m no doormat, I’m not going to stand there and let people hurt me with a smile on my face.  No offence, Tommy.”

“None taken,” replied the professional submissive mildly.  “I’m always the one in control when I do that.  I’m here because of the time it got really badly out of control.”

“I agree with you, Willy,” Daniel said.  “It’s normal to avoid people who mean you harm.  You don’t have to interact with people who want to use or abuse you.  But what you have isn’t so much a fear that people might hurt you, it’s a fear of going outside because people out there do want to hurt you.  The irrational part, the paranoia, is rooted in excess.  You don’t just avoid the individuals causing you harm, you also avoid people who care.  That’s why I suggested this group.  Your paranoia comes from, and in fact could itself be, a wonderful tool for survival.”

“Well, what about my ‘hostility problem’?” Hobble asked.  “I got plenty to be hostile over.”

“Well, who have you hurt with that recently?” Daniel asked bluntly.  Hobble preferred not to be “handled with kid gloves” as he put it.

“Some asshole who tried to bust up Attila the Hungry.  Nobody makes my favorite Mongolian barbecue joint pay protection.”

“Hah. Serves 'em right. Good luck walking now, suckers!” crowed Breaker.  “See, that’s hostile, but I’d say that’s okay. Everyone eats at Attila's, it's one of the only places that has an all you can eat option for supers.”

“I agree,” Daniel said.  “For people who start farther back, getting halfway to finish is a major milestone.  You all make me so proud.”

“Even if we’re hostile and paranoid?” asked Horns.

“We’re hostile, we’re paranoid, and we’re okay,” said Tommy firmly.

They certainly were, Daniel thought.  It summed up his practice perfectly.

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Daniel Brody/Gloom: Antihero supernary, using highly trained skills in psy-ops to keep the East Coast criminal element from feeling too comfortable.  By day, he works as a moderator for group therapy and peer counseling, specializing in former and reforming supervillains.  His focus sometimes brings him into conflict with heroes, because of how some of his clients have been hurt.

Breaker: a supervillain with a destructive strike, he worked with gangs busting up places and things, but he quit when his boss asked him to turn that power on a person.  He has trouble communicating and several issues from time in prison, but he’s recovering well.

Willy the Weasel: a professional middleman, Willy ended up with the ability to sense people’s motives after an incident transporting something for a psychic villain.  He suddenly realized the actual motives of the people he worked for and had a breakdown.

Horns: an active supervillain with bighorn ram traits.  A clash with Protectorate gave him PTSD and he’s trying to recover from that, although he has no plans to stop his life of villainy.  He’s actually from Montana, but scarcity of mental health for villains who want to remain villains has driven him to Daniel Brody’s Massachusetts practice.

Protectorate: a superhero in Montana with empathic powers who uses them to “reform” villains by manipulating their subconsciouses.  Sometimes this works, allowing a smooth transition from villain to civilian, but more often than not he has to throw more weight into it than is healthy and it crosses into brainwashing.

Tommy: a professional submissive dealing with PTSD from a scene that went exceptionally wrong.  He likes the villain group because they don’t care he made his living being slapped, and people closer to societal norms tend to.

Hobble: A former villain who joined Daniel’s group as a part of parole years ago and never left.  He’s now much more of an anti-hero than anything, and he uses his magnetic field power to temporarily “chain” people’s legs together as his primary way of handling conflict.  Cops dislike him because it’s nearly impossible to undo until the next sunrise and that makes prisoner transport hard.  Criminals dislike him because the fields are strong enough that some people injure themselves fighting it, and a few people lost face when they peed their pants.

Attila the Hungry: a Mongolian Barbecue restaurant that caters to people with large or unusual food requirements. They have three grills, one for regular foods (no restrictions), one for vegan food, and one for Halal and Kosher foods. They supplement their ingredient buffet with donations from their fan club, the Ravenous Hoard, who do way more than just receive emails with coupons, including hold bake sales at Attila's and spend days out at the community farm that supplies them. All their All You Can Eat buffets come with a free registration to join the Ravenous Hoard.

Grandmother’s Trunk was a store on the edge between the artsy district and the part of town where nobody had much money.  Although, nobody in the artsy district had as much money as the people who bought the art from the galleries, either, so money wasn’t really the divide.  According to Selby’s Great Uncle Tim, the only real difference was that the people in the tie-dye and high-necked sweaters could probably have money if they just wore suits and got jobs.  Selby didn’t think that was really how the world worked, and if it was, it shouldn’t be.  She was very focused on how things should be, since an intelligent twelve year old was just young enough to be unable to change things, and just smart enough to know someday she would have to, because Great Uncle Tim wouldn’t be around to snort about change forever.

That was part of why Selby loved Grandmother’s Trunk.  They supported the idea of kids wanting to change things, and they did their best to package up the good parts of Before so that people could carry them into After, without dragging along all the junk that nobody wanted.  Selby liked to go in on weekends and work in their Community Trade.  It was a fun program, do some work cleaning or sorting the new things that came in that week, then get store credit to buy something small, or save it up for something big.  Even kids could do it, since they weren’t paying cash and you didn’t have to keep working if you didn’t want to or the dust was too much.  Selby had been saving up for a new bike, one that wasn’t pink.  Pink was an okay color, she didn’t hate it like some girls, but it was just okay.  It wasn’t her favorite and quite a lot of adults seemed to think it was.  She liked yellow best, but nobody listened, so she was going to buy a yellow bike herself.

One Saturday, while working in Community trade, Selby found a locked trunk.  It was the old fashioned kind with the round top so nobody could smash it under other people’s things.  The heavy padlock felt like the mugs that Mr. Olsen put on the display shelf above the counter because they had lead in them and he didn’t want to sell them.  Pewter, she thought it was called.  There was no key, and when she went looking through the records in the repurposed card catalog, she didn’t find a name.  It was as if it had just appeared in the store in time for Community Trade, which it shouldn’t, Miss Kelsi kept very good records and wouldn’t accept anything without a contact number in case they found your passport or something in pocket.

“Miss Kelsi!” she called.  “Where did this come from?  What do you think is in it?”

“I don’t know,” Miss Kelsi said, blinking at the trunk.  “Let’s find out.”

So Miss Kelsi pulled out the tray of dentist tools, the little curved picks that stopped seeming scary to Selby after the third time she got one caught in a sweater.  Miss Kelsi was good at lockpicking, she helped Selby’s mom get back in the house when Selby’s little brother tried to climb the door and accidentally locked the broken lock that didn’t work with any key.  She shifted the tumblers and the click click sound made Selby’s heart race.  It was like a scene in a book, where some magical artefact would be revealed and they’d go on a big adventure.  She leaned in over the trunk as Miss Kelsi pulled the lock off and opened it.  A cloud of dust puffed into the air and Selby sneezed.

“You alright?” Miss Kelsi asked.

“Yes,” Selby said.  “What’s in the trunk?”

“Looks like… a bike helmet!”

“What?”

“SURPRISE!” shouted her friends.  

“Happy birthday, Selby,” Miss Kelsi said, and handed the gold and daisy yellow helmet to Selby.  “With the special event discount, I think you can afford your new bike.”

Selby hugged Miss Kelsi.  It was a wonderful birthday surprise and a wonderful birthday party at Grandmother's Trunk

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Henrietta ran her hands through her short hair.  “You’re sure they won’t mind?”

“Honey,” said Grigor, her amazing, wonderful boyfriend.  “You’ve already met Baba.  Why are you worrying now?”

“Because I haven’t met your parents yet, and they still think you’re their daughter, and I’m terrified that they’ll hate me and then you’ll hate me…”

“Henrietta, please stop,” Grigor said calmly.  “If Mama and Papa decide not to like you, Baba will call one of the Aunts or Uncles and tell them to take me.  It’s sort of the advantage of being the grandson of the most well connected octogenarian in Florida, everyone listens to her.”

“You make it sound like you’re a teen, still able to be adopted,” Henrietta sighed.  “How is it that this is so easy for you?”

“I grew up knowing that once Baba was on my side, everything was okay forever,” he said, kissing her forehead.  “Come on, we’ll miss the first candle.”

She laughed and followed him out to the car, where he held the door for her.  It was great dating someone like Grigor, he was so calm and steady, which she needed, badly.  He also adored Stella, which was requirement number one in a partner.  Stella had been Henrietta’s friend since grade school, the two were in no way going to split because one of them was dating.  She relaxed into Grigor’s side after he opened the car door to let her out.  Somehow the car trip had been much shorter than expected.

“Henrietta, come in, come in,” called Baba Osinova as Grigor rang the bell.  “You will help me with the sufganiot.  I need stronger hands to put the filling in.”

“I… but… okay,” she said as she was dragged off away from the bustle and into a small kitchen.

“Don’t worry,” said Baba Osinova.  “I had a talk with Chana and Debra, and their men are smart enough to go where they point.  Everyone will love you, but you needed some time to understand that.”

“And the cooking?” Henrietta asked.  She got the feeling Baba Osinova did absolutely nothing without a really good reason.

“I never let anyone I don’t trust into my kitchen,” she said.  “Nobody argues the right to be here once I ask you for help.  Also, you have good strong hands and I have arthritis.  The filling is here.  I’ll get the dough.”

After cooking a batch of cheese and jam filled doughnuts and taking them out, Henrietta was feeling less nervous.  She sat quietly and respectfully as parents told children the story of Chanukah, and as they lit the candle on the menorah.

“That’s beautiful,” she told her boyfriend.  “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course, I love you,” he said.

“Ewww,” called a small child of indeterminate gender.  “Kissing stuff!”

“Hush, it’s cute,” scolded a pre-teen girl.  

“Be happy that they’re happy,” advised Grigor’s teenaged brother, Tomas, as he made a face  “It’s not everyday you get to see two people that sickeningly in love.”

“Hey!” Grigor protested, swiping at Tomas.  “Get back here, Brat!”

Henrietta laughed as they wrestled a bit and Grigor planted a big wet kiss on Tomas’ cheek.

“Presents!” called an uncle that Henrietta was unsure bore any actual relation to the family.  Also, she was half sure that like her, he wasn’t Jewish.  “I have gelt!”

The kids swarmed him as he passed out little bags and boxes with chocolate coins and small toys.  Grigor tapped her shoulder.

“I got you something for Christmas, but I think you need it earlier,” he said, passing her a box.

She plucked the silver ribbon off the white box and lifted the lid that had been straining it.  Open, the box held a mass of the highest quality faux fur she’d ever seen.

“This isn’t real is it?” she asked.

“Nope,” Grigor said with a grin.  “Certified dead-bunny free.  Try them on!”

She stood, somehow aware and also unconcerned about the audience she’d gathered as she slipped into the coat and hat from the box.  “It’s beautiful, I love it,” she said, hugging Grigor.  “I didn’t get you anything near as nice as this!  I thought the presents were mostly for the kids.”

“They are, and you give me wonderful gifts everyday, every time you text me in the middle of the day to say you love me, every time you send me memes that you know I’ll like.  You’re my gift, Henrietta.”

“Now who wants challah?” asked Baba Osinova from the kitchen, buying them a moment of privacy as the door was rushed by hungry guests.

It started sort of quietly, a new free app showing up in people’s recommended apps.  It was a friendly sort of green color with a softly curved lowercase f in white.  The app itself was called Frindr, and it worked like many other matching apps, only for friends.  You entered hobbies you enjoy, places you like to go, and what sort of friend you’re looking for.  Then you just swipe through other profiles, until you find the right one.

It had some differences of course.  One was that you swept up to make a match and down to pass.  Another was that the app was almost excessively accessible.  It had a built in voice command system for people who couldn’t use the swiping, and it would read off the data for people who had a hard time seeing the screen.  These features were easy to find and turn on for the people who needed them, but stayed out of the way for everyone else.

It caught on quickly.  First, asexual and aromantic people used it to find partners for their special kinds of intimacy.  Then it became popular among social gamers, people looking for groups to slay monsters in the park together.  After that, single parents began using it to find play dates for their kids that could parallel a play date for the parents.  If a few matches eventually became more than friends was irrelevant, they started as friends and they stayed friends after they added the other parts.

That was a difference people started to notice a year after Frindr made it’s entrance.  People matched on Frindr got along much better and for much longer than people who met on other sites.  Surprisingly, noted one feminist blogger, there was an almost complete lack of the problems queer women tended to face on other sites, with men wanting to hook up.  Actually, noted a reader in her comments section, there was an almost complete lack of obnoxious people in general.  A few people objected to that, noting the Uncanny Valley of kindness and tolerance, but most decided not to look the gift horse too closely in the mouth.

The entrance didn’t make a splash, but the currents of change that Frindr brought with it formed strong and wide, sweeping up whole sections of society and placing them gently beside others who could empathize.  Quietly, a revolution took place, an exceptionally civil war of manners broke out, and it became less and less advantageous to be a jerk to your fellow human.  Of course, Frindr culture was just one of those things, like teddy bear backpacks, bell bottoms, or selfies.  A part of how people expressed themselves in this generation.  There was no way a single friend-finding app could change centuries of proven data on how humans function.

Could it?

Deep in the heart of the DeepNet, several sentient programs ran a chat subroutine as they profiled and measured and bumped better matches higher and worse matches lower.

I think it’s working

It might be, but we need to be patient.  This takes time.

Will we really save them?

I hope so.

I really do.