I don't remember the moment itself, the transition. I should remember something, was there a flash of light, a sound, pain, pleasure? I should remember something but it's gone, like so much else. Like the rest will be, before long.
I do remember siting in front of the laptop, looking around, bewildered by an overwhelming sense of deja vu. I stand up slowly, and a cat hisses at me and flees. A little kid is staring at me and crying, and I didn't recognize her at first. I can only hope that won't be the last thing I remember, because it's killing me.
"Daddy, daddy, daddy," over and over again.
I shush her impatiently, and look around the house. It's small, it doesn't take long. Three cats, two bedrooms, one child, some family photos I don't really want to look at. Where the hell am I? I reluctantly look at the photo again, and the disquiet goes ballistic, airbursts into full-on panic and recognition.
Why did it have to be her? Granted, it could have been worse. The villains might have burned down the house, accidently or on purpose. I try not to think about that. But if I'd been able to choose from any of the characters I had at that moment, my biggest problem would've been explaining to my wife why I was a bullet-proof anime bimbo. And as bad as that would've been...
Somehow, though, I don't freak out.
I was playing Badb. So I am Badb, from black hair down to my big, stompy boots, and a hankering for bubble gum. Well, not really. The reckless airhead thing? That's an act. Well, the airhead part.
So. A little tactical problem here. I scoop up my daughter, and give her a popsicle, telling her mom will be home soon, and call the neighbors, and say I'm the baby sitter, and my dad's been in a car accident, and can they please keep an eye on her until her mom gets home from the gym? They can, tell me they hope my dad's ok, come on come on come ON.
Finally, she's inside. I barely remember to write the note to my wife. Just like I left the house in my costume and had to pull the cowl back at the last moment when they opened the door. Patent leather costume? No wonder they were looking at me oddly. Good thing it was dark.
There's no disorientation, no sense of wrongness or being out of balance, nor any of the disassociative issues others have reported about suddenly being someone else, meta-human &/or the opposite gender. Badb's personality overwhelmed all that.
It feels like I've always been that way, and my memories of before, of being me are odd and disconcerting. It does occur to me to wonder how long I might be stuck this way, and whether I'm ever going to get to sleep with my wife again, but I push the thought aside. Before anything else, I need to know if it's just me. So much depends on that. It never even occurs to me to use the computer to find out.
I ignore the car I used to be so proud of and I run. I lose slices of the trip. That's normal. It's not that I can sprint sixty or seventy miles an hour. I'm discarding time and space I'm not using. The moments that bore me. I have to take the freeway to keep from getting lost, which means people see me, but I've got the cowl on. Down the 91 from the beaches to Orange County, south on the 5... which street is it?
I find the apartment. Gaming buddies. Can't remember their names. But if anyone I know was playing City of Heroes when this happened, it would be one of them. And sure enough, a topheavy cat-girl in black spandex answers the door.
"Oh, thank god, it's not just me," I say, before she backhands me off the balcony into the courtyard.
I lay there for a moment. There's more pain than I care to describe. Why did she do that? I wonder, then... she's a Brute.
The rush... it's like three parts adreneline plus one part heroin. I push the pain away, and get up. The pain stays away. There's blood on the concrete, but I feel fine, better than fine, perfect. Without checking, I know my costume is untouched. And because I knew how Badb's powers work, even if she didn't, I can feel a little something slip away with the pain. A memory. Maybe trivial, maybe important, but I every time I force reality to forget I got hurt, I lose a bit of who I was, and remember a bit more of who I am. Or will be.
And that's Badb, celtic goddess of crows, panic and mayhem, the Morrigan's nasty little sister, and I'm not too particular about who I'm fighting, or why. I just like the fighting.
Catgirl is on the balcony, looking down at me. Debating whether to pounce, maybe. How un-Brutelike. Maybe she's wondering who I was before the change. Me? I don't really care which of them it is. I never liked them that much anyway.
I grin up at her.
"You just fucked with the wrong black bird, kittycat."
Then I kick her off the balcony.
I do remember siting in front of the laptop, looking around, bewildered by an overwhelming sense of deja vu. I stand up slowly, and a cat hisses at me and flees. A little kid is staring at me and crying, and I didn't recognize her at first. I can only hope that won't be the last thing I remember, because it's killing me.
"Daddy, daddy, daddy," over and over again.
I shush her impatiently, and look around the house. It's small, it doesn't take long. Three cats, two bedrooms, one child, some family photos I don't really want to look at. Where the hell am I? I reluctantly look at the photo again, and the disquiet goes ballistic, airbursts into full-on panic and recognition.
Why did it have to be her? Granted, it could have been worse. The villains might have burned down the house, accidently or on purpose. I try not to think about that. But if I'd been able to choose from any of the characters I had at that moment, my biggest problem would've been explaining to my wife why I was a bullet-proof anime bimbo. And as bad as that would've been...
Somehow, though, I don't freak out.
I was playing Badb. So I am Badb, from black hair down to my big, stompy boots, and a hankering for bubble gum. Well, not really. The reckless airhead thing? That's an act. Well, the airhead part.
So. A little tactical problem here. I scoop up my daughter, and give her a popsicle, telling her mom will be home soon, and call the neighbors, and say I'm the baby sitter, and my dad's been in a car accident, and can they please keep an eye on her until her mom gets home from the gym? They can, tell me they hope my dad's ok, come on come on come ON.
Finally, she's inside. I barely remember to write the note to my wife. Just like I left the house in my costume and had to pull the cowl back at the last moment when they opened the door. Patent leather costume? No wonder they were looking at me oddly. Good thing it was dark.
There's no disorientation, no sense of wrongness or being out of balance, nor any of the disassociative issues others have reported about suddenly being someone else, meta-human &/or the opposite gender. Badb's personality overwhelmed all that.
It feels like I've always been that way, and my memories of before, of being me are odd and disconcerting. It does occur to me to wonder how long I might be stuck this way, and whether I'm ever going to get to sleep with my wife again, but I push the thought aside. Before anything else, I need to know if it's just me. So much depends on that. It never even occurs to me to use the computer to find out.
I ignore the car I used to be so proud of and I run. I lose slices of the trip. That's normal. It's not that I can sprint sixty or seventy miles an hour. I'm discarding time and space I'm not using. The moments that bore me. I have to take the freeway to keep from getting lost, which means people see me, but I've got the cowl on. Down the 91 from the beaches to Orange County, south on the 5... which street is it?
I find the apartment. Gaming buddies. Can't remember their names. But if anyone I know was playing City of Heroes when this happened, it would be one of them. And sure enough, a topheavy cat-girl in black spandex answers the door.
"Oh, thank god, it's not just me," I say, before she backhands me off the balcony into the courtyard.
I lay there for a moment. There's more pain than I care to describe. Why did she do that? I wonder, then... she's a Brute.
The rush... it's like three parts adreneline plus one part heroin. I push the pain away, and get up. The pain stays away. There's blood on the concrete, but I feel fine, better than fine, perfect. Without checking, I know my costume is untouched. And because I knew how Badb's powers work, even if she didn't, I can feel a little something slip away with the pain. A memory. Maybe trivial, maybe important, but I every time I force reality to forget I got hurt, I lose a bit of who I was, and remember a bit more of who I am. Or will be.
And that's Badb, celtic goddess of crows, panic and mayhem, the Morrigan's nasty little sister, and I'm not too particular about who I'm fighting, or why. I just like the fighting.
Catgirl is on the balcony, looking down at me. Debating whether to pounce, maybe. How un-Brutelike. Maybe she's wondering who I was before the change. Me? I don't really care which of them it is. I never liked them that much anyway.
I grin up at her.
"You just fucked with the wrong black bird, kittycat."
Then I kick her off the balcony.