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Well, this sprang from my head on Friday when I should have been working... a little spit and polish during my lunch break yesterday and today and I think it's about ready. Most of you haven't run with Katy yet as far as I know, but that's ok; she's a busy girl and doesn't get much time for superheroing -- at least, not when others from the Legendary are out and about.
(No fancy title; not only haven't I thought of one, but it also seems... unnecessary. It's an origin story. ![[Image: smile.gif]](http://www.ezboard.com/intl/aenglish/images/emoticons/smile.gif) )
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The clouds were somber, dark and brooding; a fitting backdrop for an old patriarch's funeral. A chill breeze stirred the late autumn leaves, sending them whirling and skittering across the grass. The group of mourners clustered at the top of a small hill shivered and huddled more tightly together as the last words were spoken.
A short distance away, ignoring the wind that stirred her ankle-length skirt and set her long auburn hair awhirl, Katherine St. Clair watched her family as her grandfather, the single most important person in her life, was lowered into the ground. She watched her mother wipe away her tears and accept the hugs of the remaining St. Clairs -- there weren't many left at the cemetery, Katy realized with detached surprise -- and begin making her way towards the short black limo parked at the edge of the hill. Her father favored her with a searching glance as he passed, but any emotion in his own face was locked down tight, presenting the world with a steel-chinned scowl and nothing more.
Her own tears had already been shed, though her eyes felt puffy and she knew that, save for the wind, she'd have had tear streaks down her own cheeks as well. But the wind wicked them away as fast as they formed, and she liked it that way. Grandpa wouldn't have wanted her to cry. He hated it when she cried -- it always made him sad, he'd said, and at his age he didn't think he could handle being sad anymore.
Katy smiled, just a little, as the memories came to her. She watched the clergyman in quiet conversation with a older gentleman dressed in workman's clothing -- the gravedigger, she guessed -- and made no move to leave the hilltop. She remained lost in thought until a quiet throat-clearing behind her finally caught her attention. She turned.
Craig, their butler, stood a few short feet away, hands clasped respectfully at his waist. "I'm sorry to intrude, miss, but your family is wondering if you're ready to leave," he said quietly.
Katy's lips quirked slightly as she nodded. "Standing here won't bring him back, will it?"
Criag's expression softened a bit and he adjusted his thin-rimmed glasses. "No, miss, it won't. Unfortunately. Or I'd stand here myself until Hell froze over." He glanced briefly at the gravestone, then chuckled. "He'd probably threaten to dock my pay for wasting time were that to actually happen, however."
Katy smiled. "He'd never have done it, though." She sighed, then started back towards the limo. "What comes next? I mean... I dunno... Grandpa was everything."
Craig fell into step beside her, looking for all the world like every other butler, but his words were more paternal, more caring, than the professional facade would ever have allowed. "Katherine, don't worry too much about such things yet. You're young, and if you'll forgive the cliche, you have much yet to learn. Remember your grandfather, and remember that above all else..." Craig paused to offer Katy a hand as she stepped over the curb. "Above all else, remember that your grandfather always -- always! -- planned ahead."
Katy blinked, puzzled. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Craig smiled and winked at her -- another shock; she didn't know the old man had anything approaching a sense of humor! -- and said, "Now THAT would be telling. Trust me. And not a word to your parents. Now into the car with you, young lady!" he finished briskly. "It's cold out here."
Before she could quite figure out what to do next, Katy found herself whisked into the warm confines of the limo. Craig closed the door with a soft thump, leaving her in the company of her mother and father. Both of them glanced at her, then returned to their own thoughts, though Katy's mother offered one gloved hand in silent sympathy, which Katy accepted.
The trip home was uneventful, as were the next two months. Katy never managed to find a chance to confront their butler alone -- one of her parents was always with him, or he was out on errands, or she was in school, or just about anything. She never managed to put the comments out of her mind, but at the same time, she didn't obsess over them. She'd trusted Craig her whole life -- she'd practically been raised by him, it seemed -- and so a little thing like holding in her curiousity was not much to ask, she felt.
And then it was her fifteenth birthday, and her world turned upside-down.
***
Upon her return from school, the first thing Katy did was dump her load of books and her satchel in her room. It being Friday, the teachers had seen fit to load the student body down with twice the normal amount of homework. Katy didn't mind so much -- it was easy stuff, except the literature bits -- but she'd have plenty of time over the weekend to get it done. Right now was time for relaxation and maybe a little early celebration -- her birthday party was tomorrow. She changed out of her school uniform and into shorts and a t-shirt, then went downstairs hunting for a snack.
Her mother was in the kitchen and in full swing. Katy found herself shooed out almost as fast as she entered, with a small snack tray as consolation prize. "And stay out, young lady! I've worked all day on this cake and I won't have you ruining the surprise!"
Katy blinked, shrugged, and headed back upstairs with her spoils. Waiting outside her room was Craig, looking excited about something -- an unusual enough sight that Katy stopped in her tracks, slowly finished chewing on the carrot stick, swallowed, and narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. "What are you looking so smug about?" she asked guardedly.
"If you would be so kind as to come with me, young miss, I believe I can answer that question shortly. Your mother would like you out of the house so she can prepare, and as it happens, your grandfather made arrangements with me for this day quite a long time ago."
"Grandpa?! Wait, I don't understand... grandpa arranged for me to be out of the house so Mom could prepare?"
Craig looked pained. "Not quite, miss. Your grandfather left instructions with me regarding your birthday, which I might point out, is tomorrow; your mother gave me instructions to keep you out of the house until at least seven, so she can prepare your birthday dinner. The two goals mesh."
Katy grinned. "I got it, I got it. Okay, I suppose. Let's go!"
***
Katy climbed out of the car and stretched, eyeing the building they were parked in front of curiously. It was stately and well-kept, but at the same time had an air of abandonment about it. She noted that the front doors were both decorative and imposing -- no simple steel-and-glass here -- and that they had a large, complicated padlock securing them shut. She followed Craig to the door, watching with growing excitement as he produced a strange key from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and plied it in the lock.
"This building belonged to your grandfather," he said while fiddling with the key, "and still belongs to the estate. Which means, in essence, it's your father's or possibly yours. It used to be an apartment complex and office building, and is now mostly abandoned, except for storage. That's what we're here for."
"Storage?" Katy asked as they slipped through into a well-lit, if a little dusty, lobby area. Craig pulled the doors closed and re-secured the padlock, pocketing the key with a quick flourish.
"Storage," he confirmed. "This way, if you please." He led her down the vacant halls at a quick clip, to a bank of elevators, and from there to the thirty-third floor. As the elevator doors opened, Katy could not help but draw an impressed breath.
"Storage, and executive suites," Craig remarked offhandedly, adjusting his glasses. He smiled down at Katy's astonished reaction.
The elevators opened onto a plush entrance hall, with royal carpeting and marble tile stretching away into chandelier-lit vastness. As near as Katy could tell, the lobby area took up fully one-third the floor space of the building at this level. A fountain -- dry, but clean and obviously ready to be put back into use at a moment's notice -- was the centerpiece, with seats and spaces for people to gather scattered about. An archway led further into the building, where Katy could see several doorways. Portraits of the St. Clair family -- including one of herself, there between two large floor-to-ceiling windows! -- decorated the walls.
"This will be yours, when you're older," Craig said quietly. "It's in your grandfather's will. Your parents know, but haven't told you yet, so act surprised when it comes up. It's not what we're here for today, but you have to see it to get to the rest."
"It's... amazing," Katy breathed.
"Follow me, please," Craig said, and led the way through the hall to the arch at the end. From there it was a short trip down the hallway to a T-junction, a left, another left at the next hallway, and then... an ornate oak door with no obvious markings indicating what lay beyond.
"This was your grandfather's hobby room," Craig said. "You remember the models you used to play with as a child? The clockwork toys and steam-powered trains? This is where he built them and collected them." Craig twisted the handle and pushed the door open gently. "And he wanted you to have them for your fifteenth birthday," he finished quietly, watching the tears spring up in Katy's eyes.
"I'll leave you to it for a time," Craig said. He patted Katy on the shoulder gently and urged her forward into the room. "There's a card on the workbench for you," he added. "Your grandfather wrote it when he knew he wouldn't be here for this day."
The door closed behind her. Katy stepped forward as if in a daze. Around her were several glass-domed pedestals, each containing one or another of her grandfather's mechanical contrivances; gleaming brass rods, dull iron, copper tubing, gold wire... all of it combined to make quasi-Victorian playthings that to a child had seemed magical. She remembered most of them well. Her grandfather would bring a couple over every time he came to visit -- he had visited often -- and he would get down on the floor with young Katy and make the choo-choo puff little clouds of steam, or the gleaming Brass Liberty strike various heroic poses in tribute to the real Miss Liberty, and dozens of other activities.
Her father had smiled indulgently, she recalled, even when she ran over his foot with the train, and had simply noted that he had never been able to get them to work when he was a boy, but he was glad she was having fun with them. Her grandfather had merely chuckled and pointed out that her father had never tried as hard as Katy did, to which her father had simply grinned. It was an old routine with them, and young Katy had no patience for it -- the train was about to run out of track, and Brass Liberty had to save the day!
She saw the card, then, and picked it up. Her grandfather's heavy scrawl filled the interior, and she had to blink away tears in order to read it.
Dearest Katy,
I wanted to do this in person, but I must have forgotten to wind up my gears one too many times. I'm sorry I'm not there to see your smile. I remember how much fun we had playing with my little toys, and while I know you're a Big Girl now, and Much Too Old to be playing with these things, I can't help but feel that they need someone to look after them. So, I'm giving that job to you. I know you won't let me down.
It's past time to level with you, Katy. In my youth, I was one of those heroic types, out there saving the day. I see in you the same fire, and the same gift. You understand machines, the same way I did. My little toys work for you. Your father didn't get the gift... I was never sure why. But he's got a good head for business, and it takes all types to run the world.
Take my toys. Play with them. Learn how to use them, and when you're ready, create your own and become one of the heroes, just like you've always wanted. Craig will help you, just as he helped me.
And whatever you do, don't tell your parents! Those old fogies would never understand.
Tickles,
Grandpa.
When Craig returned, some time later, he found Katy perched gently on the edge of the desk, cradling Brass Liberty between her hands. Tear tracks streaked her face, but her smile was genuine, and she looked up as he entered.
"One of the heroes, huh?" Katy said with a grin, sniffing back a tear.
"He was," Craig replied. "He hung up his costume when you were six, claiming he was getting too old. I think he saw in you what he wanted to be. I've never known him so happy as when you two were playing with his toys."
Katy smiled again. She carefully set Brass Liberty back on her pedestal, using the edge of her t-shirt to wipe away an errant fingerprint. Then she fixed Craig with a determined gaze.
"He said you'd help me."
"I will," Craig assured her. "I've already made some arrangements. Your parents know that your grandfather left you his toys and that desk behind you. As with most of your grandfather's things, the desk is more than it appears, of course." He smiled. "That and the toys we can put in your room, without raising any eyebrows. I will make sure everything else stays hidden, so your parents don't suspect." He cleared his throat. "Once we get home, I'll show you the secret entrances."
Katy blinked. "Our condo has secret entrances?"
Craig grinned mischeviously. "Of course, Katherine. It was your grandfather's home, and in his day, heroes maintained secret identities. I suggest you do the same, at least until you're old enough to live on your own. Your grandfather is right about your parents not understanding."
"Oh, I know that. Daddy would go ballistic, and I don't even want to think about what Mom would do."
"Indeed."
Katy shook her head. "Y'know, this is all too wierd. Grandpa's a superhero, I'm supposed to follow in his footsteps, you're some sort of secret butler-to-the-hero type... what next?"
Craig smiled again and indicated the door. "Next, Katherine? Why, next comes *training*."
"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," Katy muttered as she left the room.
***
It was a heck of a year, Katy reflected to herself, gazing down at the small, unadorned box in her hands. She knew what was inside, even before opening it. She looked out her window, out over the beautiful landscaping of Atlas Park at night, and smiled at her half-reflection in the glass.
Well, Katy me girl, she said to her doppelganger, are you sure you're ready for this?
Well, duh, Katy-in-the-glass replied.
Katy opened the box and grinned at what lay inside.
PARAGON CITY HERO REGISTRATION FORM, said the title. Her chosen name -- Katy Kaboom -- was already filled in, as were all the other important bits. This was it. She was, after a year of intense training under Craig's watchful eyes, a honest-to-God hero. She didn't know how Craig had managed to finagle it without letting her parents find out, and she didn't care. She was ready.
Her watch beeped at her, a peculiar three-tone chime. Katy glanced around out of habit, then tucked the box away under her bed and pressed the studs on her watch in a quick pattern.
"Are you ready, miss?" came a tinny voice.
"As I'll ever be," Katy replied.
"Very well. Your parents are asleep. It's time, Katherine. I've arranged for a contact to meet with you down at City Hall, so head over there first." There was a pause. "And... good luck."
Katy grinned and slipped out of bed, throwing off her nightclothes to reveal her costume -- a tight-fitting armored vest, gloves, a belt with pouches for her toys, and a long skirt that wouldn't interfere with her movement. She twisted her long hair up into twin ponytails, to further change her normal look, and slipped a pair of goggles on. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror one last time, then left the room.
Watch out, Paragon City! Katy thought gleefully. Here I come!
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Thoughts, criticisms, etc. always appreciated. Ta-ta for now!
--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs
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