Glam is an ex-rogue Ward aged approximately seventeen. She is a shaker/blaster/mover, numerical ratings presently unassigned, and wears a white costume with a mask that rearranges itself to match her facial expressions. She's credited with a couple of moderately sized hits to Leviathan in Acapulco.

They're talking about all the usual things: who would win in a fight? Beneficence is hawt. Somebody spotted Echo on patrol the other day. It's so sad Antares died, I had him on my favorite shirt, my sister had a crush on him. So there's this new Ward, she seems sort of neat. She? There was a news article about her a few weeks ago which said "he". Well, the press release says she. Maybe it was a typo. Maybe the article was a typo. Maybe your face is a typo.

A moderator swoops in to agree: no creeping on Wards. The offending post is deleted.

Yates watches the boards, the bot says.

It's not really grammatically incorrect, look, copy posts from Glam's original account.

Do you have a better suggestion? posts copy, before opening the PM curiously.

Is there a convenient time for you to meet with a Youth Guard representative?

Cassidy Li suggests a certain coffee shop and 2pm.

Whichever you're more comfortable with.

Cassidy Li sends a link to a list of Brockton Bay Youth Guard representatives and says that Alejandro Contini will be the person at the coffeeshop.

It has gone off on a tangent about the female privilege guy's conspiracy theory and been locked by a moderator.

"Hi, Sam," says Alejandro, "I'm Al. Do you want to talk here or walk and talk or go to my office?"

Shrug. "No preference."

"The office is just a block away. Cassidy would have sent you there but you might not have wanted to be seen going in the front entrance and I can get us in the side door." Al and his coffee head out the door.

He follows.

And Al has an office, and it is cozy, and he motions for Sam to sit down. "So why don't you tell me a little more about your story?"

"feel more comfortable like this to be honest."

"That's fine," Al assures them. "Why don't you start at the first time you started interacting with the local Protectorate?"

Nod. "Did anything about your gender identity come up at the time?"

"No. The first time it did was on another day when Lorica asked me if the androgynous look was on purpose. I said yes, and explained the pronouns. They, by the way."

"Of course," says Al. "Does Lorica respect your pronouns?"

"So the problems are all elsewhere in the department?"

"Almost everyone was great about it. Or at least mostly okay about it. Branding was not."

Al nods sympathetically. "That would be Phyllis Yates?"

"I don't—look, she's just doing her job, I'm told she's pretty good at it, and she probably is—"

"That doesn't make it okay for her to behave abusively towards minors in her care over their gender," Al says, leaning forward sympathetically.

"I think 'abusively' might be too strong a word." Not that she couldn't be called that, but as far as Al knows not really, and at any rate they're pretty sure they were responsible for more than a bit of her reaction anyway. "And in any case I think it's a little bit okay? Even if she wanted to help, it's not like she'd have the power, especially if the fallout of it caused her to lose her job or something, which I definitely wouldn't want. I understand the apolitical stance thing being pretty important." Even if the market segmentation and relatability things are absolutely bullhockey in their opinion.

"Your gender isn't and shouldn't be a political football," Al says.

"Agreed, but in the end, if it's the system as a whole that's flawed with regards to that, I don't think she should personally pay or be held to blame for it. Even if there was more she could have done." Shrug. "To be honest I think if at some point the gender thing becomes less of a hot topic and slash or department policy changes with respect to that, from what I've interacted with her, she'll roll with it and adapt."

"Well, we'll make sure she's got the chance to do that in time to be of some use to you, shall we?" says Al, smiling.

"Hopefully. I'm kinda in their hands right now though so, uh."

"Did you fucking bring the Youth Guard in? They're talking about trans-gender shit it has to be you what did you do you fucking moron?"

"What?" Their sleep-addled brain catches up with what it's seen. "...has Yates been fired?!"

"What's it look like? I don't give a shit about her, what did you think you were doing bringing the Guard in so they stare down everybody? This is the department's second strike, they're going to be breathing down our necks for a week, you little selfish shit!" Wallslam!

"Six years ago somebody was an insomniac and the Youth fucking Guard have rules about sleep, or didn't you hear."

"...six years ago? Seriously? They hold a grudge for—ow—that long? ...it's getting kinda hard to breathe here."

"I didn't fucking get a chance to complain before you decided to be their poster child for fags who need our support and validation for their fucking gender identities," snarls Boots, but he flings Glam to the floor in disgust and lets go.

"I'm sorry!" they call from the floor, before floating up. "Are there any of them here?"

"Not yet."

Yates is not particularly interested in talking to a Glam who chases her out the door.

"I can't make Ms. Yates un-tender her resignation," Al points out.

"No, but you can make the situation that made her resign in the first place go away, like the second strike which is definitely unwarranted."

"It's very admirable that you feel for Ms. Yates, but I'd recommend you just stand back and let us do what we do," Al says.

"It's not just Ms. Yates, it's everyone here. I don't think they mistreated me or mishandled me in a way that justifies this, and this will cause much more trouble than it's worth anyway, I'm graduating in less than a year! And yeah sure you'll mention all the other trans kids, point, but why would you need a strike? Why not just change the rules in the background?"

"The 'strike' system wasn't my idea and it lacks a certain finesse, but the Protectorate proved a little unwilling to treat Wards decently without us carrying a big stick," says Al.

"Trust me, in a little while it'll all blow over, Wards departments nationwide will have a sensible policy in place about transgendered heroes like you, and it'll all work out."

"I'm still waiting to be convinced by a sensible argument that expects me to be capable of reasoning instead of treating me as a tool exactly like the Protectorate did."

"Glam, you came to us. We're trying to help you. But even if you don't see that now, we can't withdraw after finding out about abuse in the system."

"One, no, you came to me. Two, still waiting for the argument. There was no abuse, there was a lack of appropriate rules, and if you really are trying to help me, is it that hard to explain to me why this is literally the best option you had and how there were absolutely no good third alternatives and how you spent way more than an afternoon trying to brainstorm them?"

"We sent the first message, but you were the one who decided to meet," Al says. "I'm sorry if it's not clear right now. It'll all make sense when you're older."

"...oh no. You are not pulling that. That is literally the same thing every patronizing adult says to a minor when they don't think the minor's capable of personhood and agency. You're acting no better than them." They almost threaten him again, but a voice in their head says he may well be recording this conversation and that they've damned themself enough already.

"I am trying to help you, Glam," says Al. "I'm about to get in the car, gotta hang up." The line goes dead.

"I fucked up big time and I need someone to scold me in a reasonable way."

"...I fucked up big time and I need someone to scold me in a reasonable way. Or glare at me. Or ignore me completely and make me turn in circles inside my head for a long time until Piggot calls me to her office. Or something."

"I didn't call them! I—they talked to me, in the forum, and I talked to them in person, and the guy was so reasonable, and now I just want to undo it, I told him specifically Yates was okay, she was just doing her job, I wasn't mistreated, I didn't even want anything to change right now! I could've handled—" They think back on what they read on the forum, multiply it a thousand times over, and shudder, but go on. "I could've handled the rest of the year, it was just, supposed to help other people in the future, a rules change, not—"

"So you should have gone to Piggot and said, 'Director, the Youth Guard reached out to me about the gender thing. I haven't replied yet because I don't really want to make a federal case out of it, but it's -" She pauses, maybe reading something on her helmet display. "- harder than I thought to take having my cape persona referred to as a girl even knowing that Loen will go live in a few weeks. Can we come to some sort of compromise'. And then you have put the fear of the Youth Guard in her heart and you get everything you want. I might have suggested if I'd known the two people solution wasn't cutting it, but..."

"I didn't know they'd make a federal case out of it! I have barely started patrolling yet and I'm already fucking it all up, Yates was right, I can't fix any fucking thing—"

"I could deny it all. Say, say they forced me to do it, coerced me, lied to me, make their case that much weaker. Piggot and Yates didn't abuse me, they—they could've treated me better but I'm not some whiny baby that can't take that, oh Scion I'm some whiny baby that can't take that aren't I."

"They don't technically need you, I don't think."

"Why not. What's even their case?"

"Their case is they can outspend the Protectorate and they look really, really good to the public and any given Protectorate department would rather instantly knuckle under than risk getting into a legal contest."

"Damn it. Fuck. Fucking shit." Glam swearing a lot. They're not very good at it, clearly, but still. "Well then why did they even need me to come to them? Why didn't they just push for this before?"

"Waiting for moments like that is how they look really good to the public. But they have the social capital to spend down if you don't help."

stop. They land, hugging their knees again and burying their face on them.

"You sure?"

"...no, but it's—might be—I dunno, weird."

"What is it?"

Her armor's actually pretty flexible, but it is indeed not designed for hugging.

"...fucking crappy timing, fucking shit, goddamnit," he mumbles.

"Hm?"

"So you remember how I said I like looking at my brain and introspecting and figuring myself out and stuff?"

"A hobby we share."

"Right. Ssoo. I just did some of it."

"I may have been. Less than joking. When I said. A thing." Pause. "On the boat."

"...it's probably the right guess."

"You don't really want to talk about this right now, do you?"

"No. Ergo my comment about crappy timing."

Costume. Float. Get out of the way of the door.

"I'm fine. Calmed down some. Sorry for my outburst." They almost say 'must've been the teenage hormones.'

"That's good to hear. And you've probably not been around enough to have any sleep disruption, but they're not looking covetously at your mealtimes or nights...?"

"Not as far as I know! And I'm just starting anyway, very light workload for the time being. I'm being transferred to Arcadia on Monday, too."

"I almost, almost made itching powder appear in his underwear. I would've done it too if it weren't so easy to trace to me."

"Mm-hm."

They sigh and put their face on their hands. They're not crying anymore, but still quite very upset.

"You okay?"

"Nnnnoooo. I am not okay. I am, like, the opposite of okay. If okay were a number I would be the negative of that number. And that seems to happen too often and now my brain is being stupid about how I'm—oh god this is so ridiculously childish, my brain is going all 'you are ruining her image of you,' Jesus Christ stop being so fucking self-centered Glam."

"I should probably go. Wait for Piggot to scream at me or Boots to hit me a few more times or something."

"Boots hit you?"

"Slammed me against a wall a couple of times, no big deal."

"Getting slammed into a wall a couple times by a Brute is kind of a big deal. Why, though?"

"...cause I brought the Youth Guard here? He said something about breathing down our necks for a week or something. I did add some armor padding to my back before he hit me, though, I didn't want to be broken in two."

"I don't know why Boots in particular would be mad about it, though. If anything this gives him freer rein. Reduces how much he can be disciplined for being himself all the time. They could cut his hours, but he's never seemed to like patrolling, and if they levy a fine and it comes out of his budget it's not like he uses it for anything."

Shrug. "I can't claim to understand him, he won't let me."

"Yeah, me either, not that I've put a ton of effort into it. You're sure you're okay? Physically I mean."

"Yeah. I mean, I have a few bruises that I'm going to feel in the morning—well, it's the morning, but you know what I mean. I've had worse. I'm pretty sure I didn't crack a rib."

"You could go to the doctor about it..."

"Don't wanna get him in more trouble, I'll know by tomorrow if I've cracked a rib."

"You don't have to tell the doctor what happened," Lorica points out.

"Unless it's not a Protectorate doctor, I'm pretty sure they can guess."

"I was thinking not a Protectorate doctor, whoever you'd go to out of costume."

"...I'd mostly not go. If I really had to I'd go to a free clinic."

"I've had any decent degree of control over my powers for one year."

"If I offer to loan you enough to pay out of pocket to go to a regular doctor whose line doesn't wrap around the block, will you think it's worth going?"

"No, not really. Like I said, at worst I have a cracked rib, and I'll find that out by tomorrow, and I've had worse. I can deal."

"If you're positive..."

"I am."

"Okay."

"Oh. Okay. I guess that's—reasonable. I should, probably go."

"I mean I'm very flattered, just. I'm straight?"

"Uh. That's—I mean—"

"It doesn't sound like that big of a deal, considering?"

"Isn't it? You didn't want to be just one thing for the press."

"I mean, your power doesn't care what I think so that's not a factor but I was still imagining it'd make you uncomfortable. There is also the fact that you do not know my name or what I look like."

"It would probably not make me uncomfortable to be like this when I was with you, if you don't mind what I'm like when I'm not. And I don't really... care what you look like. It's—you? Your, your self. You surprise me, in a way that's not... surprising? I expect you to surprise me, kinda, I like watching you think, watching you work, talking to you, seeing you navigate the world and the way you do it, and. I am very good at verbalizing my thoughts, I could go on, but I think you got the gist of it."

"For all you know I'm a Case 53 with spider mandibles and ninety five percent warts by surface area."

He tilts his head. "That would preclude making out, probably," he admits. "But I'm not that fond of making out anyway."

Lorica snorts. "I had kind of planned to nun my way through life what with cape life expectancy and most of the people I meet being horrible."

"The tense of that verb makes me hopeful."

"Of course it does. But like... I don't know, you seem. I'm going to say 'well intentioned'?"

"...is that bad? I can't tell if you mean that in a bad way."

"It's better than being maliciously intentioned and not as good as being consistently successful."

"...oh."

"I mean... you see what I mean, don't you?"

"Yes. Yes I do."

"And so I do like you but I have really high standards for 'better than nothing'."

"Ouch." He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Okay. My character would say something like 'there's another reason to become awesome' but I'm not in the mood to play it. I just—need to stop doing things so much. It's probably part of this character, believing I'm invincible, I can do anything, nothing will go wrong. This is the right frame of mind to control my power, but it's not so good for everything else. I can't fucking just believe everything will go right and then have it all go right, I need to grow up and actually look at how to accomplish things, and it hurts a little bit to say it. Feels so obvious, another thing I missed." He lowers his hands and opens his eyes, then sighs. "I'll do better."

He laughs. "Don't say that, you're going to encourage me." He smiles a bit sadly. "If you're still okay having me around even with—" He makes a vague gesture with his hands. "I'll probably ask for your help. More often, that is. And other people's help, too, and my own help, but yeah. I'll try not to just jump into things like that."

"I'm okay with having you around."

"Okay. Good."

"Did you really think I was going to quit talking to you because you have a crush on me?"

"Talking to me? No, of course not. But, you know, I've been hanging out with you a bit more often than with. Anyone else. And vice-versa. And you might've wanted to tone that down a little. And I had to be safe, anyway, not just assume you're comfortable with whatever."

"Fair enough."

He smiles. "I should probably go and—not duck anything up for a long time."

"Good luck."

"Come in."

"Hello, Glam," says Piggot. "What brings you here?"

"I—would like to apologize. And, well, take blame for it, if it wasn't obvious already, but apologize anyway. I acted without thinking, without full knowledge of the consequences, it was foolish and immature."

"Why," says Piggot, softly and evenly, pronouncing every consonant with exactitude, "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about. There is no blame to distribute for calling the Youth Guard, which you are absolutely free to do at any moment and with whom we are delighted to cooperate. It is no doubt I who should be apologizing to you for not making enough resources available to you here that you felt you could solve your problems internally."

"I—" They swallow. "I don't think there is anything you should apologize for, I do not believe you or Ms. Yates are at fault for—anything. I was selfish and childish and rash and uninformed and naive. There is probably nothing I can say or do to help it, but I wish Ms. Yates was still here."

"Ms. Yates's career decisions are of course entirely her own," says Piggot silkily.

"Of course," they repeat in a low voice. "If—if you can think of anything I can do to, help, with anything, and if you can trust it's something I could do without breaking it, I would be glad if you told me," they continue, in the same low voice. "Even if it takes a long time for me to earn that modicum of trust."

"I'll bear the offer in mind," says Piggot.

"Have a lovely afternoon," says Piggot, smiling thinly.

Boots is a little hard to find.

Boots is hiding in the rafters of the gym.

Glam floats up to them. "Do you want to talk? Or punch me? I'll go away if you want me to."

Boots socks them in the shoulder.

They grimace and bite their tongue not to cry out. They're pretty sure if Boots had been trying a little bit harder they might've dislocated the shoulder. As it is, it's just hurting like a—a lot, with their hovering having absorbed some of the impact. "I probably deserved that."

"The fuck do you want," mutters Boots.

"I don't know. To help. Try to make it better, if I can't fix it. Maybe serve as a target to your frustration and anger, I can take it and you might need it. I can't claim to understand, but." They shrug, and wince when they're rudely reminded that shrugging involves their shoulder. Ow.

Boots growls wordlessly.

"...or I can go away. Like I said, if you want that, I'll do that. I want to help, and if staying out of your way for the rest of forever is the way to do it, then I can do it."

"All of a sudden you're pretending you give a shit, what got into you?"

"I do give a shit." Their compunctions about swearing could wait, they had a feeling Boots might be annoyed if they were obviously avoiding swearing. "It may sometimes look like I don't, and like I'm selfish and weak and need to be protected and want everyone to care about me. And to some extent, that's true, and it's—it's something I'm working on. It's something that's hurt the department, hurt Ms. Yates, hurt you, and I do give a shit."

"Well, isn't that all very peer counseling," snaps Boots.

"Maybe. I can be more direct: I fucked up big time, I'm a complete selfish git and I fucked up."

"The fuck is a git?"

"...no clue, it's something I heard. I think it's like, asswipe, moron, idiot?"

"Oh."

They shrug again. This time they don't wince (externally, they grimace under their mask). "I'm sorry."

"Well, that fixes everything, doesn't it."

"No. No it doesn't."

Snort.

Sigh.

"'Cause you haven't asked me to leave yet. I told you I'm gonna do what you want me to."

"What, are you just gonna fly around after me forever if I don't tell you to get lost? Follow me home like a puppy?"

"No, the plan was mostly staying around until you decided you wanted anything in specific, and not go after you if you left without saying anything."

"And your plans are super fucking good, aren't they."

"...not so far," they admit. "But the mistakes I've been making mostly revolve around not stopping to think about things and to listen to other people, and acting as if I know better than anyone else. This plan is more along the lines of 'assume Boots knows what he needs better than I do.'"

"...and wants to tell you all about it because we're such good friends."

Glam laughs a bit and shakes their head. "Good point!"

She extends her hand. "Hi. It's nice to meet you. My name's weird."

"We're not such good friends. So we could start with being just friends."

Shrug. Only the barest of the furrows of the brow, because she's getting used to the pain. "Why not?"

"That's not a reason."

"Because I want to. Because I like having friends. Because I think we could be good friends, and I think that might make you happier. Because it'll make me happier."

"I do! What do you like to do, James?"

"Nothing lately. Can't do wrestling anymore. Had to fake an injury."

"Oh. That sucks. I've never wrestled."

"No shit."

She laughs. "That obvious, huh. I mostly like running."

"I can't do that either. Not out of costume, I mean."

"Are there rules about doing that in costume during your free time?"

"There are if the Youth fucking Guard thinks I'm patrolling when they cut down all our hours."

"Wow, that's so fucking dumb. Goddamn pricks."

"Don't have to tell me twice," snorts Boots.

"And of course if we tell them we're not patrolling they don't believe us, 'cause of course they know more about our fucking lives than we do."

"Ah-huh."

"The sea and inland?" blinks Boots.

"Yeah, like, you probably run pretty fast, so we could go the long way around, north or south, until we weren't off any city's proper shore?"

"Oh. Maybe. I dunno how the Youth Guard finds out things they find out."

"Yeah, I dunno either. Could prolly keep Ki flying around keeping an eye out for anyone looking our way or some such."

"You're still gonna do the two people thing? Now?"

"...I actually hadn't given it much thought, yet. Maybe? I'm not sure if it'd hurt or help or what. Dunno if there's much point."

"So maybe don't do the critter."

"Yeah, maybe not."

"Oh well."

"Or I could keep it just as a lookout, not really as Ki but. Something that could plausibly be flying around and keeping an eye out?"

"Huh?"

"I mean, whatever critter I conjure could just be a random animal that would act in random animal ways while making sure we're not being followed or observed or something. Just 'cause other-me won't exist doesn't mean the idea's completely useless."

"Oh. Okay, I guess. How fast do you go?"

"Not a clue. Running, I'm—in good shape, but that's about it. I'd probably need to fly to keep up with you."

"I said go, not run."

"Oh. I never really tried going as fast as I could, and it's technically not me that can fly, it's the suit."

"But you think you could keep up with me?"

"How fast can you go?"

"I can do ninety if I don't have to turn."

"...hoooly crap. That's kind of incredible. I might need to tweak the design to handle that."

"The suit or the platforms?"

"Suit. Platforms will be fine."

"I mean I usually go a lot slower than that because I'm usually in the city and have to go around or over stuff."

"Yeah, platforms should let you go full speed. But still. Damn."

Boots smiles a little bit.

She smiles back! She has made him smile! That is a good. She has Accomplished Something today.

"So do you like need a while to fix your suit or what?"

Blink. "No, not at all. Well, I mean, a minute, I need to think." She closes her eyes and furrows her eyebrows.

Boots hangs out on his rafter.

There are some changes to the suit, merely cosmetic, for Boots' sake. The fabric looks somewhat shinier and more reflective, the G more obvious because of that, and it bulks up ever-so-slightly. "Thaaat should be enough."

And he jumps down, landing on his feet near the weight rack.

Glam hovers down, masked.

To the exit!

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, farther out into the ocean, so that we're not that visible from the shore."

"How're we gonna get there, are you going to turn us invisible or what?"

"I can't turn us invisible, but I can carry you there, and flying capes entering and leaving the PHQ should be common enough that it won't be weird?"

"Nobody else has an all white costume."

"Okay, true. ...but well, we don't really need to be disguised to leave, do we, we're just gonna go use our free time on a Sunday afternoon."

"I guess as long as we're not in the city it doesn't look like a patrol," says Boots dubiously.

"Right! Let's go, shall we?"

"Are you gonna give me something to land on so I can walk it or do you seriously plan to carry me?"

A platform emerges from the water. "If you prefer to walk." It starts extending a way farther out, as if it were a single piece with several sections unfolding from the previous ones.

Boots hops down onto the platform and jogs.

Glam flies after him, and the platform extends faster than he can run, retreating back into itself behind him.

Boots speeds up. He's getting most of his speed by pushing off really hard from the surface of the platform; it's loud.

Boots speeds up and up and up.

Glam does as well, making more and longer platforms appear. They start appearing with a slight tilt to the right so the path will start turning south to run parallel to the coast instead of away from it.

And presently Boots is outrunning a hypothetical cheetah in leaps and bounds.

Whee!

Eventually Glam judges they're far enough from Brockton Bay that they can start turning the platforms back to land. Running on the ocean is fun and all but some variety in scenery is cool, too.

Whee!

Boots doesn't recognize it, but he has to go a little slower when there are trees around anyway.

Glam makes large 'Slow Down' messages start appearing on the ground. If they're large enough that you can read them from a distance they don't go poof, so they're there for long enough that Boots might notice them, probably.

Boots can slow down in a hurry by taking a big enough jump. By the time he lands he's mostly out of forward momentum. He jogs.

They curve back into the bay, and the PHQ is visible soon enough. Glam flies down closer to the platforms and Boots.

"That was fun," Boots says. "Where'd we even go?"

"All the way down to Massachusetts, almost to Rockport. That's about halfway to Boston."

"Wow. I don't think I ever ran that far before."

"Yeah, I didn't have the trip very well mapped in my head, we could probably have gone even farther if I knew some more about where we'd be less likely to be seen."

"There wasn't anyone, right?"

Back into HQ! Glam is happy. They have Bonded.

Boots doesn't confirm or deny.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Sure."

That's an interesting life choice, replies either Lorica or her bot.

I hope being his friend doesn't mean letting him hit you.

Sounds fun.

It was! We got almost to Rockport before turning back.

I'm glad you had a good time.

No reply to that one.