Chapter 32: Dressed for the Part (Patreon)

He awoke to the sound of a knock on his door. He rolled over to ignore it and his entire body lit up with pain.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he moaned. Another knock pulled him from the discomfort and he called out. “Come in.”

He turned his head to see his father opening the door, his arms crossed, a pleased smile on his face.

“I told you you were pushing it too hard.”

Terry went to wave dismissively, but his muscles seized and he clenched his eyes tight against the pain. Footsteps sounded—were they a bit louder than normal?—and he opened his eyes to see his father and Dr. Wong hovering over him.

“What on earth?” the doctor exclaimed, his hand hovering over Terry. “His body’s been battered!”

“Nothing to alarm yourself with, doctor,” James replied coolly. “Just experimenting with his new Skills. Could you ease the muscle aches—” He held up a finger. “—just a bit, now.” He turned back to Terry with what the boy felt was a smile bordering on sadistic pleasure. “He’s not gonna have a healer on hand for every little thing. Some measure of pain will remind him of the dangers of power experimentation.” James' eyebrows raised—clear acknowledgment of their previous agreement.

Terry groaned, forcing himself to a sit. His muscles felt torn; shredded flesh beneath his skin. The pain of simply sitting up made him grimace. Sweet, angelic relief suddenly filled his body and he sighed with pleasure.

“My prince!” Dr. Wong burst out. “Your body…it’s like you packed on two dozen pounds of muscle overnight. But the inflammation is severe. And you have a fever in the 105s.” He turned to James in a panic. “Are you certain this is normal?”

“Quite, doctor. Just bring down the fever and reduce the inflammation, will you? He’s got a parade to attend.”

When Dr. Wong was finished, Terry felt marginally better—like his body was hanging together by glue and thread instead of just thread. And the lack of sleep compounded the effect, putting him in a surly mood.

But he reminded himself over and over again: F4 Physical. You have an F4 Physical!

And he could feel it, too. Through the aching joints, the burning muscles, and the brain fatigue, he could tell he was noticeably stronger than before. As he rose to take a shower, he gave an experimental hop, fighting through the pain to see what his body could accomplish. Fire licked his knees, needle points jabbing into his quads. But his gentle hop launched him to a height that he would have considered his maximum jump before the tempering.

He couldn’t wait to experiment with his new physique. And though the thought of firing up his affixed Skill filled him with anxiety, he was also incredibly impatient to reach the peak of F.

His father chuckled at Terry’s experimental hop, shaking his head wryly. “I remember when I first hit the Es. I traveled exclusively by leaping across rooftops for a week, just to enjoy the sensation of that superhuman physicality.”

Terry’s face lit up thinking about that. Being able to go places he couldn’t have before, do things physically impossible just a week ago—he was giddy with excitement.

“That wore off real quick,” his father continued. “Got cocky and missed a step. A five-story drop can be fatal, even to the Es. Keep that in mind, hm?”

Terry nodded to appease his father. I’ll just have to watch my step then, won’t I?

Though he wasn’t looking forward to the parade in the slightest, he viewed it as a necessary pain to get to the real event—the Awakening Party. So he stripped his soiled clothes off in the bathroom and flipped the shower handle to the hottest setting.

“Do cold water, son,” his father called through the bathroom. “Trust me.”

Terry scowled, flipping the handle from scalding hot to lukewarm. He didn’t have the mental fortitude to plunge into ice water right now, not after the agonizing walk from the bed.

But as he stepped into what he expected to be water bordering on cold, he actually found it relatively pleasant. Must be some inflammation and a fever still in my system.

With a sigh, he turned the temp down a notch. He waited for it to adjust, then turned it down another notch.

Only when it was at the very coldest setting did he actually start to shiver. But now that he was here, he found it mildly comforting and nowhere near the pain and discomfort he’d endured last night—well, early this morning.

After he had sloughed off all the gunk and grime and sweat, he reluctantly stepped out into the brisk air and toweled off. A glance in the mirror showed sunken eyes—blue like his mother’s. He leaned in, wondering if he was showing any flecks of magical color like the high-ranking supers. What color would it be? Silver like his mother’s? Green like his father’s? But there was no magic there yet; all he saw was the mundane blue of his pupils staring back at him and the bloodshot red surrounding it. His hair was tousled from the towel, overly long as he hadn’t bothered to get it cut in six months.

“I look like crap,” he muttered.

He scrounged up some eye drops from the medicine cabinet and ran a comb through his hair, but it still managed to look mangy. After trying several different hair configurations, he eventually found a hair tie and pulled it back in a ponytail. It was a new look, befitting the new Terry.

I need to work on a superhero name, he realized.

A knock broke him from his thoughts and he quickly pulled the towel tight around his waist before opening it. His father stood there, his eyebrows rising as he took in Terry.

“Damn, son. The doc wasn’t kidding. You looked like you packed on some muscle.” His eyes trailed to the ponytail, tilting his head in a appraising look. A cryptic expression shifted onto his face and Terry suddenly felt very self-conscious.

“It looks dumb, doesn’t it?”

His father quickly shook his head, indicating the hair style with a wave. “Not at all. No, it looks great. It just…” He hesitated, obvious discomfort on his face.

Terry squinted. “What? Tell me if it’s dumb, please. I won’t be mad.”

James snorted. “No, Terry. It looks great. You…remind me of your mother, is all.”

“It’s too girly, I knew it.” He reached up to pull the hair tie out. I’ll slick it back or something. But his father’s hand snaked out, stopping him.

“No, it’s not girly at all. Leave it, please.”

Terry hesitated with his hand wrapped around the hair tie, conflicted on whether his father was the best judge of what was cool or not. The man had been wearing the same hair cut for Terry’s entire life—a military fade that was utilitarian, tinged with grey he didn’t care to dye.

“Okay, I’ll leave it. But I’m gonna check with Tania—no offense. If she laughs me out of the room, it’s coming out.”

James smirked at that, a sly twinkle in his eye. “Okay, son.”

Terry was tempted to let it lie, but there was something in his father’s look he couldn’t ignore. “What’s that look mean?” he asked, crossing his arms.

James shrugged casually, matching his posture with crossed arms. “What look?”

Terry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “That look!”

“Oh, this look? Nothing really, I’ve just being hearing from Mesmer about this girl you’ve been following around like a lost puppy—”

His eyes bugged out. “Have not! She’s just a friend!”

James nodded knowingly. “Uh-huh, I had some just friends when I was fourteen, too. Just friends become just girlfriends quick once the hormones start flyi—”

“Nope. Nuh-uh. Not having this conversation. No thank you.”

“Course, your grandfather won’t approve. No political value in you getting with this Tania. But screw him. Half the girls I dated were to spite the old man—”

Terry used all of his new speed to snag a pair of briefs before retreating behind the bathroom door. Why is my skin so red? He wondered, catching his reflection in the mirror. Obviously the inflammation from the body tempering…obviously.

His father’s voice echoed through the door. “Nothing to be ashamed about, son. Hormones are a hell of a drug. Throw in the pure euphoria of your new powers.” He whistled. “Man, I miss my teenage years. The angst, the power exploration, the sex—”

Terry threw the bathroom door open, his mouth gaping.

“Please, for the love of the Underworld, stop! I beg you!”

His father was biting his lip, clearly to stop himself from bursting out in laughter.

Terry gave him a deadpan look. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

The dam broke and James guffawed into his hand, a deep, bass-filled laugh that Terry felt in his chest. He watched his father with as stoic an expression as he could muster, waiting expectantly for the laughter to die down so he could properly scold the man. But just as it was waning, James looked up through teary eyes and a whole new round of laughter started up.

Eventually, Terry couldn’t even force himself to pretend to be annoyed. Seeing his father so happy broke the mask, filling his chest with warmth that he couldn’t attribute to any fever. His own—more subdued—laugh broke free and the two of them shared that moment for another few beats before it died down naturally.

Suddenly, James snapped his fingers. “Oh! I almost forgot.” He rushed out of the bedroom, leaving Terry staring after him in bewildered surprise. He returned a moment later with a black garment bag held up high to keep from dragging.

“What’s that?” Terry asked.

“Your outfit for the festivities.” James reached for the zipper.

“I was just gonna wear a t-shirt and jeans,” he replied numbly.

James hand faltered, his eyes whipping back in surprise. “T-shirt and—are you kidding me? Terry, all of Wichita is gonna see you in the parade. All your favorite supers at the party. You want me to introduce you to Dancer wearing a t-shirt and jeans?” He suddenly shrugged, dropping his hand from the zipper. “Sure, what do I know about teenagers’ fashion, anyway. You’re right, let’s go with the t-shirt and jeans.” He called out to the hallway. “Crunch! Could you come grab this. Donate it to some youth founda—”

“Hold on a second,” Terry said with a bit of panic. “Let me see it.” His father gave him a wry look, so he affected a casual tone. “Maybe it’s not totally terrible. But don’t get your feelings hurt if it doesn’t match up to my t-shirt and jeans.”

James put a hand to his heart in mock pain. “When did I give you the impression I was that sensitive?” Dropping the act, he reached up to the zipper once again. “You’ll probably hate it.” Then he unzipped the bag and pulled out what had been hidden inside.

Terry had been prepared to keep the game going, feign reluctance and claim the outfit was gauche or hideous or uncool. But when his father pulled the bag back, Terry’s eyes went wide of their own accord.

Oblivious to his reaction, James turned toward the bed and laid the outfit down, his back to Terry.

“I know, I know, totally out of style. Crunch, the prince doesn’t like it—” He turned back to see Terry’s gob-smacked expression, a wry smile touching his face. “Ohh, you do like it.”

He had trouble finding the words as he approached, holding his hand out to caress the material.

The outfit that held him enraptured was mostly black with silver stitching. The top was a buttoned up shirt with a collarless neck, silver buttons lining the front. The silver stitching ringed the hem, creating a contrast to the midnight black material. Embossed in the shirt were images that shifted as he changed his angle. At first, he spotted a boy—me, he realized. But at the boy’s side was a long-limbed ghoul and the two of them were staring across at a towering, two-legged beast.

“Is that me and Crunch facing Savage?” he gasped.

James nodded. “Keep looking.”

Terry approached, the images shifting as if by magic, clear as a picture despite the black-on-black material. It was like a charcoal image relayed in the texture of the cloth.

It’s Artificed clothing!

The next image was of a vast silhouette, and the back of that same boy as he faced the creature down.

“Me and the draugr,” he whispered. His father nodded, turning the shirt around to show charcoaled Terry staring on stoically as two patches dragged an unconscious person. “Tenebrous!”

The image on the back shifted once more, showing Terry rising from the Awakening Chamber grave, a smile on his face as his father helped him out.

“I had that last image stitched in last night—well, this morning,” James admitted guiltily. “I lied about being tired so I could get away to see it finished, but then you were so stubborn about the tempering, I—”

He cut off with a choked cry as Terry threw his arms around his neck. After a moment of shock, he chuckled. “So, it’ll do, then? I could still see if some kid’s foundation could find it a home.”

Terry pulled away with a snort.

“Yeah.” His eyes trailed back to the shirt, admiring the silver stitching, the magically embossed imagery, the buttons that he just noticed had little roses punched into their surface. His throat tightened at that last detail and he went back in for a softer hug. “It’ll do.”

***

When James, Terry, and Crunch approached the palace entry way, Tania, Whipvine, and Mesmer were waiting to see him off. He moved down the stairs with a bit of trepidation, not sure what to expect from their reactions. Tania and Whipvine were laughing about something while Mesmer was conversing with a servant who ran off as they finished.

Whipvine had his back to Terry, but his hearing would be a hundredfold better than Tania’s and he turned as Terry’s boot scuffed against the carpeted stair. His scars stretched as his eyebrows rose and Terry found the expression difficult to read.

Tania’s…less so.

“Holy shit!” Her voice echoed through the entryway, drawing Mesmer’s attention. The older revenant gave Terry an appraising up and down look, a smile on his face.

“Prince James, who’s this man?” Whipvine’s voice boomed out. “And what have you done with little Terry?”

James chuckled at his side, waving in Terry’s direction. “Allow me to introduce my newly-Awakened son, Prince Terrence Fairway the Second, third in line for the throne and a registered Alterant-Class super.”

“Hot—” Tania choked, her eyes suddenly going wide. She looked between Terry and Whipvine in a panic. “Is-is it hot in here?” Her cheeks visibly turned red as the four of them stared at her—Terry, in shock, the others with amusement. “Anyone?” she continued desperately. “I’m hot. I’m gonna—” She indicated the front door with a thumb, then rushed away.

As she fled, Terry noticed her own outfit—a white sun-dress with honest-to-god high heels. Instead of flowers or some other feminine design, small black skulls adorned the dress. And he couldn’t deny it…he really enjoyed watching her storm out, her high heels clacking on the stone, her legs flashing subtly as the hem of her dress twirled. Suddenly, he was eternally grateful to his father for making him a proper outfit. The idea of arriving in a t-shirt and jeans while Tania looked like that was possibly the most embarrassing thing he could imagine in this moment.

His father sighed at his side, watching him wistfully. “Ah, to be a teenager again.”

Terry spun on his father. “I will literally kill you,” he muttered under his breath.

James laughed at that, patting him on the back as he continued down the stairs to clasp hands with Whipvine.

“By the Underworld, you’re looking suave, young Terry.” Whipvine studied the imagery on the Artificed clothing, doing a complete circuit as he took it all in. Terry held up his hands so the man could get a proper view. “Powerful, yet sophisticated.” He nodded toward James. “Well done, Prince James. Didn’t know you had the fashion sense to pull it off, being honest.”

James chuckled, nodding in agreement. “I took some consultations, but even I was surprised how well it came out. And Terry’s frame is filling it out nicely, as the girl obviously noticed.”

Whip and his father laughed at that as Terry tried to sink into himself.

Mesmer shook his head like a disappointed parent watching two kids laughing at a crass joke.

“You look like a prince, Terry,” Mesmer said. “And I can’t help but see your mother when I look in your eyes.” He turned to Whipvine and James. “It’s striking, isn’t it?”

They both sobered at that, nodding agreement. “Uncanny, really,” Whipvine replied.

James remained silent, but Terry could see the pride in his eyes.

After a moment of building awkwardness, James slapped an arm around Terry’s shoulders.

“Come on, son. Wichita awaits.”