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With Armsmaster's death, Miss Militia is promoted to team captain. Even with the losses, however, the Protectorate ENE doesn't get new capes—all teams got hit hard by the last Endbringer attack, and even though it was by all accounts a major victory, it did not cause capes to start lining up to join.
Days pass, and winter hits Brockton Bay. It's pretty mild, as winters go, but it's enough to drastically reduce criminal activity. The heroes have an altercation with white supremacists the following week, but nothing much comes of it, as cape muscle seems to prefer to remain comfortable inside. Capes nationwide are somewhat subdued, perhaps as the aftermath of the victory against Behemoth. Nothing much seems to change, however—the Simurgh continues to fly around in her unpredictable pattern, Leviathan continues to be impossible to locate, lurking in the depths of the ocean. The public gets hopelessly contradictory information about what really happened during the fight from unofficial sources, secretly fed from official ones to make sure people don't jump to the right conclusions, and the topic loses its momentum.
And all of this completely fails to distract Sadde, who seems to not be getting better from the post-battle funk. Or, at least, not straightforwardly better. The depression and fatalism turn—maybe not completely, but at least a bit—into unease and anxiety, or perhaps stir craziness. It is, after all, true that, other than for class, Sadde doesn't really leave HQ a whole lot, not since they reached the comfortable position of being able to patrol from the comfort of the console—of, in fact, being more effective when doing that, for the average uneventful patrol.
Fatalism, depression, anxiety, and unease, all combined into a Sadde-shaped ball, are currently floating upside down in Lorica's workshop, failing to read a book while she fugues.
"What happened?" Doesn't he need catharsis? Has he even cried?
"She, uh... it turns out she was one of the heroes who fell to Behemoth, this last battle. She went to school with me," he answers in a murmur.
"And it was a victory, right, he's dead, he won't ever kill anyone or attack any cities, but all I can think about is that the last thing he decided to do was blow up and kill even more people." Oops? Was that information even released to the public? Well, he's not very much thinking about it, now. "It doesn't feel like a victory to me."
If it wasn't released to the public, at least she's not evincing surprise. "Don't schools have counselors anymore?" Well, they're not doing a good enough job. Chelsea should be a counselor, look at that listening face.
"I dunno, probably, but I didn't go." Arcadia surely does, but in his case he'd probably have gone to a Protectorate therapist. "Maybe I should've, I dunno, but it feels a bit, weirdly personal in a way I don't know if I could really share with a counselor." The irony of sharing it with a stranger completely escapes him. The fact that she's so kind and nice and gorgeous doesn't.
"There's really no substitute for having friends you can talk to about personal things," she nods.
"Yeah..." He shakes his head again. "Gods, I've kinda dragged this conversation into a fairly unpleasant hole, haven't I?"
"Aw, it's okay, I don't mind." Really, isn't a sympathetic ear just too valuable to pass up?
"I don't really have a lot to say about it, though. It's mostly a knot of bad feelings and, and sadness about the unfairness of the world. How I wish there was something I could do." To prevent extra death, of course, and do better next time. There's some definite resolve there, in the background.
"That sounds so hard." Look how trustworthy she is. It's not like Sadde has a family to be out to, he should get one free "tell a stranger" pass.
(A part of him kinda wishes something bad would happen, like a mugger or something, so he'd be forced to use his power to help and then it wouldn't be his fault, and then another part screams at that first part that no that'd be awful what if she got hurt?)
He shrugs, trying to hide his thoughts. "I dunno if it's hard, I don't have a lot to compare it to, it's just—there. Always been. I want to help."
He beams, like the angels have validated his existence. "I try to be. Our stop's the next one."
"So, as far as shopping goes, what's your vice?"
"Ice cream, but shhh, don't tell anybody, I pretend it's sweaters."
He giggles and locks his lips with a key. "Your secret's safe with me. I know an ice cream place nearby, we could walk there if you want and I could tell you about Brockton Bay."
...it is a little impersonal, isn't it. Well, he can insert some personality into it, for starters by asking, "What's your favorite ice cream flavor?"
"I have a reeeeeally hard time having favorites but I think it's probably strawberry." Personal anecdote time? Personal anecdote time! "I kinda pride myself in being weird, and it has been remarked more than once that this is an awfully normal ice cream flavor to like and it doesn't really jibe with the rest of my persona."
"Oh, wow, so many things, there's a huge list, I could spend all day talking. But, I guess from most people's perspectives the one that tops the list would be," he swallows, "that I'm genderfluid." He shouldn't be nervous about this, he's pretty darn proud of it, but what if she doesn't like it?
"Oh yeah, what kind?" She knows there's kinds, that's impressive!