Galatea (
fearfully_symmetrical) wrote in
metalogs2023-05-14 10:06 pm
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Entry tags:
Lessons [Closed]
Who: Galatea
fearfully_symmetrical and the Green Lantern
torchbearer
What: Galatea asked for hero training. And she's following through.
When: Early month
Where: A rooftop, because of course
Content Warnings: If needed
She had asked. And he seemed...trustworthy? As much as anybody seemed it, to her. She'd spent most of her life being told that any 'so-called hero' was the enemy. And parts of her, the pre-programmed parts, still itched a little, even considering this. Seeing him in person would be harder, she knew.
But this wasn't there, and she didn't have CADMUS around to give her orders, so that gave her questions to answer. Most specifically who she was, exactly.
And she was supposed to be a hero. The Government's chosen hero. What did that actually mean?
These were questions she wanted to answer. And he'd said he'd teach and so...why not? She carried what she needed to a convenient rooftop before asking him to join her - which is why he'd find a pair of old school desks taken from a derelict building, along with a blackboard - and various remains of chalk.
Because this was how she'd learned - admittedly with digital screens and whiteboards - but still. She was gonna be the student, he the teacher. This is what made sense, right?
The fact that the desk was a little small for someone her age was...neither here nor there. Nor were the remains of the first two she'd flat out broken trying to make adjustments.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
What: Galatea asked for hero training. And she's following through.
When: Early month
Where: A rooftop, because of course
Content Warnings: If needed
She had asked. And he seemed...trustworthy? As much as anybody seemed it, to her. She'd spent most of her life being told that any 'so-called hero' was the enemy. And parts of her, the pre-programmed parts, still itched a little, even considering this. Seeing him in person would be harder, she knew.
But this wasn't there, and she didn't have CADMUS around to give her orders, so that gave her questions to answer. Most specifically who she was, exactly.
And she was supposed to be a hero. The Government's chosen hero. What did that actually mean?
These were questions she wanted to answer. And he'd said he'd teach and so...why not? She carried what she needed to a convenient rooftop before asking him to join her - which is why he'd find a pair of old school desks taken from a derelict building, along with a blackboard - and various remains of chalk.
Because this was how she'd learned - admittedly with digital screens and whiteboards - but still. She was gonna be the student, he the teacher. This is what made sense, right?
The fact that the desk was a little small for someone her age was...neither here nor there. Nor were the remains of the first two she'd flat out broken trying to make adjustments.
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Oh! We gonna be doin' fieldwork then?
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[ fieldwork is more technical than the word he would have used, but he can roll with it. ]
We're gonna patrol and I'm going to see how you handle a situation. And I'll offer pointers and backup if necessary.
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Arright, you got it, Chief.
[Far too enthusiastic about this.]
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Okay. Let's fly. You spot something, you take point. But remember I'm here for backup.
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C'mon crooks, let's make this interesting!
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Interesting how?
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I dunno, like a mystery to solve or something. If it's just another robot to beat up, that's no good, right? I mean, where's the fun in that?
[She pauses, turning back around.]
I mean, it's supposed to be fun, doing the right thing. Right?
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There's definitely fun involved. Unraveling a conspiracy or something big gives you a huge confidence boost.
But that's a small part of the job.
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[She rolls back over, wanting to hide her reaction to that word, 'conspiracy.' Having been on the other side of it. Hopefully it'll hide in the rest of what he said.]
So most of the time it's just...looking for trouble to solve?
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Most of the time.
I'm gonna ask something. Have you ever had a moment where you wished you had help?
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[The answer comes quickly, and of course it's a lie. It's so obvious a lie that she follows it up with a sigh.]
People would be nice.
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[She's saved from having to answer by the brisk sound of an alarm below them. She comes to a halt and then immediately dives down towards the source of the sound.]
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[And she plunges downwards, hitting the ground hard enough to require the all-too-common 'superhero landing', straightening up slowly. He may even see the grin on his face as she looks through the shattered front window of the shop.]
Hey, assholes! How 'bout you make it easy and drop whatever weapons you have and surrender?
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Don't break them!
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It's just three punks with shotguns, I got this!
[Said as a fusillade of shotgun blasts hit her directly in the chest, knocking her back across the street, the wielders emerging from the broken shop window.]
Sonuva-
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[ still, he's keeping a careful eye out, just in case she got hurt. ]
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[Instead, her eyes glow red and heat vision lances out, making the one thug drop his shotgun as it glows orange-hot, which is the fate of the next weapon as well. The third manages to get another shot off into her chest before she's up close, gripping the barrel with a hand and bending it.]
What about this situation has you punks thinking you're actually gonna get away with this?
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No killing either.
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[She rounded on him, about to say more, then stopped herself. She might have, honestly. At least to wound. Frankly she'd thought taking out the weapons with the heat vision was pretty cool from a hero-ing point of view.]
[And honestly, it's what she was trained to do. Simplest route. Least risk. Most efficient.]
Fine. C'mon, boys, let's get you to the local hoosegow.
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You okay?
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[She lies, flagrantly, grabbing two of the three by the back of their jackets and shirts so they won't fall when she goes for it.]
You grab Chucklehead Number 3, and let's get them handed over.
[And she's off into the air again, ignoring the startled yelling of her prisoners.]
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It's better to talk it out. Even if it doesn't make sense.
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[She says, a take on the old phrase 'pas devant le gendarme', or not in front of the policeman. An old phrase for 'not now', essentially. She needs to think. She needs time. To calm herself, to...to figure out why she's so angry about all this.]
[And why she's not angry at him for it.]
[But the nearest precinct is unfortunately near; she drops her two in front some startled police, and thumbs over her shoulder.]
Third and main, these mooks hit a small grocery store. There's cameras across the street, and the shopkeeper ought to be able to identify them.
[And she's off again, making for a nearby roof, out of sight of the police, landing and punching a chimney, leaving a neat hole in the brickwork.]
Dammit.
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