White Noise

Mech Pilot who just has to hold it together for the last hour of the shift

"No." Frankie presses her palms to her eyes and sighs in exasperation. She musters up all the remaining patience she has and opens her eyes again.

"Hexy, please. My new roommate is going to be here in an hour, and I can't afford the rent by myself so I really need her to stay. So I can't have her freaking out when she sees you."

"Won't see Hexerazitex. Am monster under bed. Epitome of stealth." Frankie fixes the petulant creature with her most patronizing look.

"Hexy, the bed is almost three feet off the ground."

"Epitome. Of. Stealth."

"Hex, just... could you be a closet monster for a little bit? At least until she's signed all the paperwork?" Hexerazitex glares at her, and Frankie holds a hand up right before its retort. "I know, I know. 'Closet monsters are weaklings and fools and have bad taste in anime.' I'm aware. But we also need to be able to pay rent and eat." Hexerazitex stares her down for almost a full minute before letting out a long-suffering sigh.

"How long?"

"One month. Long enough that getting her deposit back will be a pain and she feels invested." Silence. "...I promise I'll buy you the snack cakes you like every week while you're in there." The creature under her bed perks up a little.

"...The chocolate dipped ones? With the creme in the middle?"

"Yup."

"...Deal." Frankie sighs in relief and starts figuring out how she's going to explain this to the new girl later and manage the inevitable monster sugar rush she's just signed up for.

Previous

Heather's on full alert as she enters the diner. It's just before dawn and the place is practically empty. Just a handful of graveyard shift workers grabbing breakfast before going home, and someone tucked away in the corner booth she'd been instructed to go to. The note taped to her window hadn't exactly been subtle, and she's reasonably sure she's walking into an ambush, but what else is she going to do? Whoever left it already knows where she lives, so if they wanted her dead she'd be dead. She grips the folding knife in her pocket and slides into the booth.

"You look like shit." Heather stares down the stranger. She's around her age, though she looks much more put together. It takes a minute or two for Heather to finally recognize who's sitting across from her.

It's 1999, and Starlight Witch Auriga tears across the sky over the city, glittering chariot blazing bright in the night as she races to stop the Void Empress before she can crush the throat of her sister-in-arms Taurus.

It's 2022, and Heather stares as Carmen sips her crappy diner coffee. She can just see the edges of the scar on Carmen's neck as her scarf shifts.

"What the hell are you doing here Carmen?" She hadn't seen Carmen in years. Not since the hearing, and all the fallout afterwards. "I thought you moved away from the city years ago."

"I did. I heard about your little adventure last month and decided to check up on you. You need to knock that shit off before someone finally takes objection to it."

"What, you're here to intimidate me? Finally decided to sell your soul to Uncle Sam?"

"I'm here to keep you alive, dipshit! You beat two cops half to death! I know you think you're fucking Batman, but I figured out it was you, and where you live, and it only took me three weeks. If I could do that, I guarantee the feds already know where you are and what you're doing."

"If they wanted to stop me, they'd stop me. Like you said, they probably know what I'm up to anyway. Besides, the assholes had it coming."

"Is this really what you've spent the last twenty-three years doing? Wasting your life playing vigilante?"

"I'm wasting my life? I'm the only one who's living! Protect the innocent, hold the tyrants accountable, try to help people! 'Fight under starlight that the dawn may come again'. Sound familiar?"

"The nineties are over, Heather. The Void Empress is gone, her portal's sealed, and it's never opening again. The fight is over; the world doesn't need the Starlight Witches anymore."

"I'm sorry, did you think all the evil in the world just vanished when we sealed the gate? That the whole world held hands and sang kumbaya and everything was perfect? There are still wars and famines. Corporate executives bleed everyone dry. Our fight didn't end in ninety-nine, it just took a different form."

"So what, you're going to force the world to bend to your whim? You can't just force change in people, even with magic."

"Your concern has been noted, now fuck off so I can go home and sleep. I have a shift in three hours."

"Look, I'm not saying you have to work inside the system to change it. I've seen what working with the feds has done to Jess, I get it. But you can't keep fighting for the rest of your life." Heather continues to glare at her in stony silence. Carmen shakes her head, drops a couple bills on the table, and stands to leave. "Whatever. I tried, that's all I can do. You wanna throw your life away and spend the rest of your days in a cell, be my guest. I need to get back home anyway; my daughter's prom is next week and I promised I'd take her dress shopping on Monday. At least try to keep your nose clean. With any luck, we won't see each other again."

It's 1999, and the Starlight Witches celebrate with donuts and stolen gin at three in the morning after defeating the Void Empress' greatest general.

It's 2022, and Heather watches Carmen walk out of her life for the last time.

Heather hauls herself through the fifth story window and practically falls into her room. Her vision is swimming as she lays on the dirty carpet, trying to collect herself. She almost certainly has a concussion, but she can't really find it in her to care right now. It's not like she could go to the hospital: "Oh, this? I got cracked upside the head by a cop when I stopped him and his buddy from hassling a couple of homeless folks, please don't turn me in". She closes her eyes and just breathes, four seconds in, six seconds out. She'll just ride out what's left of tonight on the floor, slam some aspirin when she wakes up, get through another shitty shift at the Target, then another fun night of vigilante justice.

Things had been so much easier when it was just an inter-dimensional warlord trying to conquer the Earth. Of course, that might also have something to do with the fact that that was over twenty years ago and she had a team fighting alongside her. Then they defeated the Void Empress, and the world took notice. Turns out most governments weren't exactly comfortable with a bunch of super powered teenagers running around "accountable to no-one"; by which they meant not easily controlled by the rich and powerful. Most agreed to quietly retire, the rest sold their souls for paychecks. Now she's flying solo; fighting much less glamorous battles and more mundane evils. It's fine. It's fine. She doesn't need help from cowards and quislings anyway.

She rolls over onto her side and immediately regret it as her head roars in pain. Sure, the whole magical girl transformation thing still supercharges her and gives her the body of a teenager again, but the injuries don't just go away when she changes back. Turns out broken bones, stitches, and mild head trauma are a lot easier to deal with and heal a lot better at sixteen than thirty-nine. She grits her teeth, gets on her hands and knees, and crawls to the bathroom. She pulls herself to her feet using the sink and stares into the mirror. She can see the lump on the side of her head even under her hair, big enough that it won't be easy to explain to her coworkers. Maybe she can pass it off as falling down the stairs again. They're starting to get suspicious, though; a couple have even voiced concern. It might be time to find a new day job, maybe finally look into some of this "gig work" she keeps hearing about. Skip the Dishes probably doesn't care if you look like death when you make deliveries.

She digs through the medicine cabinet for her aspirin, swears when she finds the bottle empty, and slumps back down to the floor. She curls up with her face against the cool tile and presses her hands to her eyes. She doesn't feel nauseous, but better to lay on her side so she doesn't drown in her own puke if she does throw up. Eventually she drifts off into a fitful sleep, plagued with visions of old enemies and people she thought were her friends. Over twenty years later, she's still not sure which bothers her more.