VELVETEEN vs. Normalcy #3
“You know we still have ordinary police, right?” asked Polychrome, sounding honestly baffled.
“They take care of the human crime, most of the time. The people who don’t need heroes.
We’re only getting involved because I can see that some of you are packing heat, and I’d rather no one got shot today. ”
“We know the laws,” said a biker. “You’re supers. You can’t touch us unless we have powers or somethin’.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” said Polychrome, shooting him an utterly terrifying-looking smile. “Who told you that?”
He paled. “W-what?”
“We’re allowed to fight unpowered individuals when they pose a threat to others on their power level.
There are kids in this crowd. We’d be in more trouble if we didn’t fight you.
Especially since we’ll have all these lovely witnesses to make sure nobody gets away with creatively editing the way things actually went down. ”
“Yeah? Well if you’re so tough, why aren’t you hitting us yet? Huh? Unless you’re lying, and it’s not really allowed.”
“Or unless I was able to call a concerned citizen during my fight over here and found out how you were talking about my friend,” said Polychrome.
“I don’t like it when people talk about my friend like her ethnicity is something to be ashamed of, or something that means she shouldn’t be a hero. I don’t like it at all.”
A rising scream from a nearby alley heralded Velveteen’s approach, surrounded by a squadron of teddy bears, fashion dolls, and tiny robots.
As she ran, the figures on the push-and-play carousel in the little kiddie zone shook themselves free and lumbered after her, poles in their paws like quarterstaffs.
The bikers shouted and spun, but not fast enough. The attacking toys broke over them like a wave, and while shots were fired, they pierced nothing more vulnerable than fluff, hit no one, and generally made for an underwhelming showing.
Velveteen came skidding to a halt, panting slightly from the exertion, and turned to watch as her toys restrained the bikers.
Several of them had had the bad luck to have painted faces on the sides of their bikes, and had to watch as those same bikes changed sides, joining up with Velveteen as she subdued the rest of the gang.
“Was anybody hurt?” she asked.
“No,” said the vendor whose stand had taken the most damage. “But I don’t have superhero insurance.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing these men weren’t heroes,” she said.
Slowly, he smiled.
* * *
The Princess stepped through a full-length mirror at the back of a Ross Dress For Less, looking around with a distinctly charmed expression, like she had never seen anything more remarkable in her life.
She was wearing a pink silk bathrobe trimmed in living butterflies, which fanned their wings in contentment as she walked toward the front of the store.
Every piece of clothing she passed transformed on the rack, going from cheap fabrics and last season’s fashions to the very latest things from the Paris runways, made of real silk and hand-spun cotton, becoming garments fit for royalty.
She caught a salesgirl staring at the racks with an open mouth, and paused to lean close enough to whisper.
“You can mark ’em down, but if you try to mark ’em up, the tags will scan at the prices they have now when you run them through the system.
Everything in here sells at a discount-store price, because it’s a discount-store item, and these people deserve a little magic.
If I were you, I’d hop on the socials and let people know before corporate catches wind and tries to interfere.
They can’t, but the attempt won’t be fun for anybody. ”
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am,” said the clerk, rapidly, as she pulled out her phone.
The Princess winked at her before blowing a kiss at the jewelry department. “Get yourself something nice before the flood gets here,” she suggested.
“Yes ma’am,” said the clerk, suddenly beaming, as the Princess walked on, sweeping out of the store in a cloud of glitter and rose perfume.
* * *
Velveteen was in the living room when someone knocked on the door.
She was still Velveteen because she was wearing her headband: she wouldn’t be Velma until she took it off.
It was a simple, if sometimes exhausting, arrangement.
She turned toward the sound, sliding her legs out of Tag’s lap.
He didn’t share her need to be in costume for most of his waking hours, but he liked to wear his mask when she had hers on, just in case someone saw them.
“I wasn’t expecting company, were you?” she asked.
Tag shook his head. “Not me.”
“Okay…” Cautiously, she approached the door, waiting until she was almost there to call, “Who is it?” She promptly ducked to the side.
No one shot, kicked down, or otherwise assaulted the door. Velveteen gave it a wary look.
“Sugar, it’s me,” called the Princess. “I felt like takin’ a walk. Can you let me on in, please?”
“Carrabelle?” Velveteen moved to undo the deadbolt, then the latch, before opening the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to decide whether I’m makin’ a mistake,” said Carrabelle. She swept inside, past Velveteen, and nodded to Tag, who was still on the couch. “Being alive looks good on you. You should keep it up.”
“I’m planning to,” said Tag. He didn’t have as much experience with the Princess as the rest of them did, apart from spending a substantial amount of time dead in one of her receiving rooms. And he wasn’t entirely sure that counted. “How do you do?”
“Been better, been worse, been drinkin’ too much on account of how my best friend disappeared right out of my hands and I still remember caring about the person who came in and replaced her, but not enough to ask if she feels the way I felt about my Jack.”
“She doesn’t,” said Tag without thinking, then froze in horror as he realized what he had just said to the living embodiment of the fairy tale hopes and dreams of the world. “I mean…”
“I know what you mean, sugar,” said the Princess wearily.
“You aren’t telling tales out of school: anyone who’s known Jackie long enough to have a drink with her knows our girl ain’t out there lookin’ for true love’s kiss.
And my own story says true love’s dirty afternoon delight isn’t an option, either.
Jack was the other way around. All the lovin’, none of the wantin’. ”
“Cara…” said Velveteen, helplessly.
“What?” asked Carrabelle. She spread her hands.
“I know my story. And you know how careful I have to be. If I let myself have certain things, if I cross certain lines, that’s it.
My pretty bubble bursts, and if I’m lucky I wind up powerless and alone in a world that’s never been very kind to people like me.
If I’m unlucky, I get to be the evil queen, and we wind up fightin’ each other until one of us goes down.
You know I love you like a sister, but you also know you’d pay a lot more than either of us wants in order to beat me. My story’s too strong.”
“I’m sorry,” said Velveteen, voice going soft. “You said you were wondering whether you were making a mistake?”
“You know they got my Jack from a parallel reality,” said the Princess. “The Snow Queen owes me a few favors. I can get there if I really need to. I can—”
“No,” said Velveteen. “You can’t.”
“And why in the blessed Baum is that? I have the power. I have the connections. Why can’t I be the one who gets to go and get the girl, for once?”
“Because she told us she had a Princess in her world,” said Velveteen. “It wouldn’t be fair to her Carrabelle, you bursting in there and making Jack choose. She didn’t want to hurt any of us. She just wanted to stop hurting herself.”
Bit by bit, like a flower during a solar eclipse, the Princess began to wilt.
She drooped, sagging where she stood, until even her hair managed to look miserable.
“So that’s that, then,” she said. “Another happy ending missed and mourned. Sometimes I get damned tired of how heavy this story of mine can be, you know that? Sometimes I wish it would just stop pressing me flat as a damned pancake.”
“I know,” said Velveteen, stepping closer and hesitantly opening her arms.
The Princess all but fell into them, clinging as Velveteen guided her to the couch. Tag slid out of the way.
“I’ll be right back with the ice cream,” he said.
“You beautiful, beautiful boy,” said the Princess, resting her head on Velveteen’s shoulder. “I could have any beautiful boy in the world, and he’d be my prince, and my story would start ending. Why do fairy tales have to be like that?”
“Intentionally inaccurate recording by the Brothers Grimm and their contemporaries to minimize the roles of women and accentuate the roles of men, followed by generations of film adaptations that proved the fuel that became your story,” said Tag.
Velveteen and the Princess both turned to stare at him.
“What?” He shrugged. “I did my college degree in superhero studies and the influence of memetic narrative on the way magical heroes manifest. It required me to get half a history degree, to cover Jolly Roger, and half a folklore degree, to handle you. I can answer any question you have about magical heroes.”
“Here’s a question for you,” said the Princess. “Where’s my ice cream?”
“On it,” said Tag, and ducked out of the room.