Sweet chocolate Jesus this is late.

Again, I don't own Worm. Or birds of any description.

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[INTERFACE]

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Barracks 2.3
Partnership

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Once the bus drops me off two blocks from my house, I decide to walk slowly. Rachel's already in the house – and she's brought Chinese – and seems to be in good spirits, if a little wary.

I'm walking slowly because… well, I'm trying to figure out how to tell her that I'm planning on having Purity, single mother and former member of the E88, join the team. I'm also wondering when I started thinking of potential team members; the lists of who'd be a good or poor match are up there, in my head, but I can't quite remember making those lists.

'Which means,' I frown as my house comes into view, 'Queenie did it. Stupid owl that isn't one.'

No PRT presence in a fifteen-block radius, undercover or otherwise. Given that they're 1) not really panicking, 2) have decided to let me come to them and 3) the events of this morning weren't anywhere near my house, the lack of any observation concerning my civilian identity isn't very surprising.

And while it's nice they're taking my privacy, and the safety of my family, into account, I can't stop a pang of unusual anger that thrills through me. But that's an old anger, something born of a pragmatic moment of clarity I had some years ago. It won't do me any service in the present, no matter how sensible the underlying philosophy is.

Watching the broken step – gonna have to do something about that – my frown twitches upward as Parian leaves her shop on the Boardwalk to begin her puppet show, a chorus of songbirds I've perched on her shop's awning heralding the cloth-manipulator's entrance. More smiling and laughing faces are had by the surrounding crowd, especially the children and Parian takes my musical offering in good grace.

'And this is only the start,' I muse, walking into my house and hanging up my things, Rachel and her dogs watching me from the living room. Ugh, I hope she understands the Purity situation and doesn't sic her dogs on me.

I really, really don't want to get into a fight with Rachel. I mean, I'd win, probably, but the house would lose too, and explaining that to Dad would be worse than telling him I'm Night Owl.

"Hey, Rachel," I say, with a little tiredness; shopping and job hunting are tiring activities, "How was Tattletale?"

She stiffens, noodles stopping halfway to her mouth while I kick my shoes off and head for the loveseat; putting her food down, Rachel fixes me with a glare, "You spied on me?"

"No. I just had a raven follow you and told her to tell me if you got into any trouble," I reply, flopping gracelessly onto the loveseat, taking the whole thing up with my tallness, "It just gave me all its memories, along with those of the bugs that were in the area you were in," I look at my fellow Parahuman, who's looking a little confused and angry, "I didn't tell it to do that, by the way."

"So… you knew what I was doing, without knowing about it," Rachel said slowly, looking like she was trying to parse my words; I nodded along helpfully, "and didn't know what was going on till just now?"

I nod again, reaching desperately for the General Tso's and pork fried rice on the coffee table, "Yeah. Most of my swarm just does stuff by itself," Rachel pushes my food toward me with a foot, before picking up an egg roll and throwing it at my head; I catch it deftly, smiling, "Thanks."

"Whatever," grumps the scowling blonde, before she huffs and asks in annoyance, "So you already know what we talked about then?"

I blink a couple times, somehow find the strength to sit up, and shrug, "Nah. I just know who you talked to, not what about," ohhh, General Tso, you delicious bastard you~. Come to Taylor.

"Oh. Good," she digs in a pocket and throws a cellular phone next to me, "Cause that smug bitch told me to give you that, said to call her if you're ever doing something interesting, or just wanna chat."

I give the high-tech brick a wary glare and say to Rachel, "I already have you to talk to."

"Yeah, but I don't like talking. Words," grumps the butch girl across me, before she starts digging in again.

[data] Oh, regular update from Sophia's [proposal: Observation]. She's being questioned now, and it doesn't look like it's going well; given what the PRT and Protectorate now know about her…

Eh. I'll deal with her when I deal with her. Right now, I've got some yummy spicy chicken to devour.

For several minutes, that's all that happens; just two teenage girls and three well-behaved dogs chilling out, eating some scrumptious food. At a couple points, Rachel looks at me weirdly, like she doesn't understand something about what I'm doing.

After the third time she does this, I ask calmly, "What?" Do I have something on my face?

She replies flatly, "You eat like a starving mutt."

Blink. Scowl, "Uh, yeah. I'm a growing girl. Need my protein," delicious greasy eggroll, oh how I love you!

Rachel scoffs, "You're already fuckin' tall. How much more you gonna grow?"

Huh. That's a good question, "Hold on, I'll ask," while my new friend looks bewildered, I send a [query] to Queenie. Barely a second later, I get [data]. "Okay, so I'm probably gonna hit six feet in about two months, if I keep eating like a mutt. I probably won't grow more than that, unless I find a reason to, like looking down on short people," I smirk in humor, while Rachel's confusion turns to suspicion. I pop the last of the eggroll into my mouth and ask, "What? I'm not gonna make myself seven feet tall or anything. Can you imagine how much I'd have to spend on specialty clothes?"

She puts her food down and says, "Okay, I gotta say this…" Rachel seems to engage in some sort of mental battle for a second before finally speaking heatedly, "You. Are. Bullshit."

Uh… "Uh…"

"No. Shut up," she points at me for emphasis, hushes Brutus when he growls at me, and then Rachel elaborates, "I was… forced to work for the Teeth. I met the Butcher, and even he's not as bullshit as you. You eat like you're starving, and get stronger and taller. You know everything that's going on everywhere, and you're so… it's like you don't fucking care!" she looks pretty angry for some reason, "You can see into people's houses, listen to what everyone's saying, and you know what everyone's doing all the time, and it's like…" she waves a hand at me, a disgusted glare on her face. I think it's disgusted, anyway.

I'm not entirely sure what Rachel's issue is.

Oh. Wait, there's laws against invading other people's privacy, aren't there? "You're… mad that I'm breaking the law?"

Rachel stares at me like I'm an alien and I just told her I kidnapped Elvis, "No! I'm mad that you don't care! People don't like being watched all the time!"

Ohhhh, okay, I see where she's going with this. "Well," I say dismissively, "then it's a good thing that I'm not watching everyone all the time, isn't it?"

She opens her mouth, but no, my turn, "Shut up and listen." Rachel shuts up, but doesn't look happy at all.

I set my food down and explain, voice growing angrier and more passionate with every word, "The average joe on the street, I'm only watching at a distance, making sure they're not getting into trouble or are about to run into trouble. What most people do, I don't really care about, and all that information doesn't get sent to my brain anyway. But the gangs, the PRT, the Protectorate, and the villains, I'm watching them constantly, because a fucking hero made me Trigger!"

Taking a couple deep breaths, I glare at the coffee table and continue, "I can't trust them to do the right thing; hell, this morning proved to me I can't trust any of those shits, hero or villain, to do anything even approaching sensible! Yeah, I didn't tell Queenie to go and start all that trouble," my eyes meet Rachel's, but her head turns down slightly, as though in deference to me.

Whatever, "but they didn't need to wreck half the Docks over it! And now, because I stopped them, I have to live with having that kind of reputation. I have to keep the pressure on those that are actually breaking the fucking law, and those that just want to keep their bullshit status quo going! For fuck's sake, I have to remake the status quo these stupid bastards have been following for decades, because if the past few days have taught me anything it's that none of those so-called heroes are HELPING anyone!"

Breathing hard, I stand; I realize that I'm yelling, but I don't give a shit. This needs to come out, "They go out in costume and kiss babies, shake hands with politicians, and visit schools, and what fucking good is that?! What good is Legend's fucking toy deal to some girl who's been captured by Lung's slavers?! A black kid who's just watched his parents die to neo-Nazi isn't going to want Glory Girl's goddamn autograph! While Armsmaster gets accolades from senators and pats on his armored back, I HAD TO WATCH A THIRD OF MY FUCKING AGE GROUP GET ADDICTED TO THE MERCHANT'S DRUGS!

"So yeah, Bitch, fuck them! And fuck their privacy! If I have to tear their little dream of spandex and shitty toys apart and show them nothing's perfect, that their stupid fucking utopia isn't a reality, then you better believe I'm going to do it! I'm not going to fight these gangers, these drug dealers, these rapists. I'm not going to ask for fucking permission. I'm going to tear their empires apart and do my damnedest to make sure they don't rise again! For fuck's sake," I throw my hands in the air and look furiously at Rachel, who is now looking more shocked than I've yet seen her, and so are her dogs.

Wow. I'd better tone it down a little.

"We can't count on these heroes to do the right thing and stick their necks out for those that really need it," I sigh, feeling tears come to my eyes, but I grit my teeth and finish, "So I'm going to do it. I'm going to go out there in costume, jump through the hoops, pay lip service to the PRT, and put these monsters in prison, or in the ground, like they deserve. Like they've earned.

"Because the average joe doesn't deserve to have to look over their shoulder every time they have to go to the corner store for a six pack and some candy for their kids. The store owner doesn't deserve to get robbed every other day, or hassled for protection money. And those kids… they shouldn't have to live in fear of someone locking them away for the rest of their lives, or getting them hooked on drugs, or their parents getting killed because of the color of their fucking skin. We've already got the Endbringers, Nilbog, Ash Beast, Moord Nag, Sleeper, and the NIne; we don't need these pretentious assholes running around playing villain. We've got enough monsters to fight as it is."

And I sit down, winded from finally having the chance to tell someone that. A year and a half of loneliness probably brought that on. Yeah. I'm not stressed out, everything's going swimmingly.

Oh, that reminds me.

"Also," I point at Rachel with a morsel-laden fork, "again, I'm not watching most people."

She glares, "Yeah, you just fucking said that."

I shake my head and smirk, "Yeah, but I didn't give a reason, really. If I was watching everyone all the time, I'd know how much people were fucking, and no." I laugh at Rachel's disbelieving expression, "Just no."

Rachel hums, as though she's thinking about that, then picks up her food again, "I guess you do care. Good."

"Duh," I reply as I pick up the remote and start flipping through channels.

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[2.3]

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Vista stood upon the top of the PRT building and surveyed her domain, hands on her hips like the true hero she was. Unlike Shadow Stalker, who seemed to have tried her best to ruin them in the eyes of the Bird Master, Vista was clean as a whistle and on the straight and narrow. By golly, no one was gonna start shit on her watch-

"Hold that pose," Vista's heroic scowl turned into an enraged one, as Dennis' voice briefly preceded the sound of his phone snapping a picture.

"Clock!" she whirled on her fellow – and very annoying – Ward, "If you post that, so help me I'll-I'll- I'll send you to the middle of the Atlantic."

"Cool down, Vista," he waved his hands in an attempt to calm her; it didn't work much, "It's actually a pretty good picture. PFP on PHO worthy even. Here, look."

Vista did… and yeah, it was pretty good, but, "I still would've liked permission before you photographed me. And are you taking a class or something?" he'd captured the sun and the Bay's layout really well, even managing to get Captain's Hill into the shot, "This is really good."

Clockblocker shrugged, explaining as he sent the picture to her phone, "Miss dark and scary doesn't talk much while on patrol – and when she does it's usually insults – so I decided to pick up a hobby to help pass the time."

"Huh," why didn't she ever think of that; oh wait, "So instead of looking for crime-"

"I can do both!"

"You have the attention span of a gnat, Clock. No you can't."

"Hey, I'll have you know that I'm a very smart gnat."

Vista opened her mouth to rebuke that extremely stupid quip when a small, blue object bounced off Clockblocker's helmet with a loud clack!

Good thing she'd trained for surprise attacks. Vista got herself and Clockblocker the hell away from whatever it was while the PRT troopers lining the helipad – who'd all been pretending to ignore the two young heroes' banter – shouted in alarm and aimed their foam sprayers at the…

It was a plastic document tube, like what office buildings used for sensitive papers.

An eagle screeched above them and flew off toward the Boat Graveyard. Or the Boardwalk. Both were in the same area.

Vista squinted at the raptor, then the tube. She pinched space to get a closer look at the latter –

"Miss Vista, please get away from that." One of the troopers tried.

"Quiet you," replied Vista distractedly as she carefully examined the package, ignoring Dennis' grumbling about annoying birds.

-and felt her heart skip a beat at the tiny, typed letters on one capped end of the tube.

To: Director Emily Piggot, PRT ENE;
Armsmaster, Senior Team Leader, Protectorate ENE;
Miss Militia, Ward's Supervisor, Protectorate ENE

From: Night Owl

Given everything that'd happened that day, Vista just hoped she didn't get M/S tanked… or worse, crapped on by birds like Stalker was.

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[2.3]

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To the lord-high mucky-mucks who shouldn't call people on their home phones, no matter how potentially dangerous said person is:

Yes, it's me again. Night Owl. I have a few things to say.

Firstly, Director, please don't do that again. I've made my intentions clear and will not be revisiting them.

Secondly, Armsmaster, if you, Velocity, Triumph, Kid Win, Vista, Clockblocker and Dauntless could please make yourselves available, preferably with a few paddy wagons and squads of PRT troopers, this Thursday evening at the rally point on Pine Drive, I would really appreciate it. The details will be discussed in my meeting with the Director, so she'll be able to read you in on what I and my allies will be up to that evening.

Thirdly, to the Director and Miss Militia, I have a solution for the Shadow Stalker dilemma, and am more-or-less prepared to read you in on my mutual assistance program. I propose we meet at the below Latitude/Longitude coordinates tomorrow evening, preferably around 10:20 PM. I would prefer the Director and no more than three Protectorate capes of her choosing accompany her, in addition to Shadow Stalker; no troopers. You may bring the Triumvirate for all I care, as my intentions are strictly honorable.

Finally, Director, enclosed are the names, locker numbers, and ranks of all the moles in the PRT ENE. They've been sorted according to who they answer to and by order of their importance, top to bottom. Happy hunting.

Hoping you're in good health, and eager to meet you all in person,

Night Owl

PS: Please apologize to Clockblocker for me. I couldn't resist ;P

PPS: While Kid Win's idea is very sweet and thoughtful, I don't really need a Tinker-tech birdfeeder. Please tell him to stop before he wastes materials that might be better used elsewhere.

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[2.3]

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"HOW IN THE FUCK DOES SHE KNOW ALL OF THIS?!"

Chris didn't know how to answer the Director's screamed question. Hell, he didn't know how Night Owl knew he was making a birdfeeder; the plans were still on his laptop – which he'd brought to lunch on the rooftop goddamnit.

In his defense, it seemed like a good apology gift, what with Shadow Stalker somehow pissing the S-ranked cape off enough to warrant daily doses of white luck.

"The Think Tank says she's been operating for at least the last six months, maybe seven," Armsmaster's clipped voice cut off Piggot's fuming tirade; Chris, and all the other Protectorate capes for that matter, had never seen the Director that pissed off, "That may push her Trigger date back by a year, maybe more."

The Director exchanged a look with the veteran Tinker; while Kid Win didn't know what that was about, he knew it wasn't good, because the Director gave a really pissed-off sigh.

Her next words floored the Wards. Even Armsmaster flinched.

"Call LA and request they send over Crackleblur." A pause, filled with shock, then the Director added airily, "As discrete as possible, please. I don't want lightning bolts flying out of nowhere and spooking the gangs."

"So," Aegis had raised his hand, drawing glares from both Piggot and Armsy, "what's going to happen to Shadow Stalker?"

"Do you care?" hissed Dennis, while Missy folded her arms and scowled – pouted – next to him.

"Assuming Night Owl's proposal isn't too farfetched or causes harm to the girl," gritted out the Director, "that will… remain to be seen, urgh," she rubbed her face and looked at Armsmaster pleadingly, "Is Hero sure it's impossible?"

The Tinker shrugged, "Unless you want to make most of the bird population die out, there's no way to secure everything against Night Owl."

After a moment of tense silence, Kid Win interjected hopefully, "Uh, will we be needing more curtains then? You know, to keep Night Owl from watching us all the time? Because I think I have an invention that can help with that..."

And Chris' feeble attempt at a jest slipped, fell, and cracked its head against the floor. Death was instantaneous, and no one attended the funeral.

He decided to build the birdfeeder anyway, just to spite Night Owl for making their lives hell.

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[2.3]

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A smile lights up my face as I lift the neatly-pressed blouse from the ironing board. It's a nice shade of yellow, which will match nicely with the brown skirt I'm planning on wearing to Kayden's office tomorrow.

Rachel took the news well. All she did was frown, nod and say, "More people to fuck up the Merchants. She's not a Nazi anymore, right? Good."

She's lucky she's so butch and muscly, or I might've been offended by her bluntness.

Who was I kidding, I mused with a small grin, heading back up to my room to lay out my kickass outfit; I was just as blunt most of the time. But I got that from studying my idol and life-coach-by-proxy.

And Rachel's in my room. "Where are your dogs?" I ask, looking around – oh, they're in the living room still. "Nevermind, why are you in here?" I ask the blonde in only a little annoyance; my room is the last safe place, somewhere no one – except Dad, but he's a parent and therefore doesn't count – can bother me.

Rachel's looking at my posters and drawings, scattered over my wall, "You draw these?" I nod. "You're really good." I blush and move past her to put my blouse on the back of my computer chair, "Who's the old guy?"

Wait.

What?

I whirl around and find Rachel pointing at my most prized – after the flute, but that died – possession: a signed poster of George Carlin in his capacity of Rufus, the time-travelling mentor from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure.

It was one of the last signings he did before Leviathan killed him in Seattle – vengeance shall be MINE! – and one of my fondest memories of Christmas with Mom and Dad; they'd gone to Boston to get this prize most priceless for me, as I'd adored Rufus, and Saint George by extension, since I first saw the movie when I was six.

In the years between then and now, I managed to collect every single stand-up act of the Funniest Man to Ever Live, all of his movies, and a very rare bobblehead that sat pride of place on top of my computer tower.

And Rachel has never heard of him.

Finally getting over my shock, I hiss, "How do you not know who that – nevermind," I amend flatly when Rachel glares at me, "Give me a minute to get the DVD player ready and make some popcorn. You," placing my hands on her shoulders, I spoke to my new friend and comrade seriously, "should prepare to laugh at the antics and humor of Saint George Carlin, the wittiest comic to ever live."

Rachel frowns thoughtfully at my words before nodding slightly, then asks, "Can I get that backrub too?"

[data]

…Crackleblur was coming to the Bay…

"…yes Rachel, yes you can," I may as well live it up a little, before what might be my last day on Earth.

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[2.3]

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The Mojave Desert

Two sets of deafening booms echoed over the searing wastes; what little wildlife braved one of the most arid deserts on the planet sought shelter as sharp cracks and sonic booms rang out over and over again, lightning flashing through the clear sky and displaced air washing over shrubs and cacti.

But then, most of the wildlife was used to these weekly sparring sessions.

A sizzling sound preceded the crack of thunder as one of the fighters came to a stop over an outcropping of sandstone.

Wild red hair spilled over the back of her sky-blue costume, the simple rectangular visor over her eyes tracking the movements of her mama's black-grey form as the older woman came for another pass. Smirking, the Mexican girl shifted closer to her Breaker state, her body dissolving into twisting bolts of lightning; around her, she felt the charges of the air bend to her will.

Not hesitating, she directed them into her mama's helmet, though not as fast as she would if she was facing, say, Leviathan or Behemoth; that helmet wasn't easy to replace, and it wasn't like they were really fight-

The miss cost Crackleblur, as Alexandria, her adoptive mother, darted around the bolts and shot right at her like the flying brick she was.

Crackkle!

And then the younger girl was a mile above the ground, one hand trailing a stream of blue-white electricity. Another second of focus and-

KROOOOM!

Even her visor had a hard time cancelling the bright flash of the thunderbolt she sent back into the desert; she'd been working on that move since forcing Leviathan to retreat in India last year.

Crackleblur's head swung from the crater she'd made to her surroundings, searching, 'Where – above!'

Too late.

A black clad hand landed gently on the crown of Julisa's head and ruffled her hair, "Gah! Mama, deja es a~hora!" She swatted her smiling mother's hand aside and glared. She hated when her mama did that!

"That was much better than last week, Julisa," complimented the woman who'd took her in, eight years ago; then her mouth returned to its usual flat line, "Having said that, you're still not moving as fast as I know you can."

"It's only a spar, mama," Crackleblur crossed her arms and ducked her head, but didn't take her eyes off her mother.

"You're distracted as well; the timing on your melee attacks was off by a quarter second. Is it the Bay?" when her daughter nodded, Alexandria shook her head and smiled, "I'm sure it's not as serious as PHO makes it sound, mi rayo de sol."

They'd talked about it earlier in the day, the sudden appearance of Night Owl, newest S-ranked cape to appear on the PRT's radar; though, it was more like Night Owl decided to make herself known, which reminded Julisa bitterly of what happened to the province of Chihuahua and her hometown, right before… He showed up.

No warning, no preparation, no terms, just…

Shaking her head, Crackleblur shot back to ground level as a fork of lightning; two seconds later, Alexandria was beside her and the younger cape was talking again, "I just… No one should have that kind of power, mama," she gestured in frustration before saying pointedly, "No normal cape, anyway."

Her mother looked at the nearby Protectorate outpost, where the 'trouble' Wards were retrained; a small city of concrete and cinder block, it was built to simulate urban environments for practical training, while the football stadium-sized outbuilding served the purpose of a school, cafeteria, and living quarters for the capes and PRT troopers who worked there.

Humming a little, Alexandria clicked her tongue and observed, "You think Night Owl is like Ruin."

Julisa shivered and bared her teeth, remembering what that monster did to her home, her family, and herself, "Si."

"Possible. We know there are others, and Night Owl remained undetected for some time before revealing herself; Glaistig Uaine was an unknown for nearly a decade before showing her true self, and he Triggered in Sydney, nearly five years before he made his move," the member of the Triumvirate crossed her arms and looked worriedly at her daughter, "Be that as it may, the Horror of Red Jacket never bothered with social niceties; he just wipes populations out. Night Owl is not the same person."

"No, but she can be worse," argued the leader of LA's Wards, making a cutting gesture for emphasis, "How many birds are in a city? Is she limited to only birds; you have heard the report of what she did to that bastardo Skidmark. And if she is alike to the Ascended-"

"Julisa," chided Rebecca in a hard tone, floating closer to her furious daughter, "Night Owl is not like the other three Ascended. You must remember this: she was not a slave, she was not a pariah, she was not wronged. By comparison to the other three, she has the best chance to become an ally."

The words burned Julisa to hear; she had suffered at his hands and power personally, pushed over the edge twice in an attempt to avenge her town. The monster deserved death, after Red Jacket, Chihuahua and Panama.

More than that, no new Ascended could be allowed to roam free.

"I know that look, mi raya de sol. And I know," Julisa leaned into her mother's strong hand as it was placed on her shoulder, "You want her watched. We are watching her, from a distance."

"If she goes off the rails, I want in on the mission to take her down," the younger cape hissed, electricity dancing over her teeth and fingers.

Alexandria sighed with a smile; once her daughter had an idea in her head, it was difficult to change her mind, "I'm sure it won't come to that." A beep sounded in her ear, "One moment."

While her mother answered the phone call, Julisa amused herself by trying to charge pieces of metal and make them levitate; like the last time she tried, only the four largest pieces on the rocky ground answered her call, and those quickly dissolved into nothing under her power's assault.

"Tsk," Crackleblur clicked her tongue and looked for another piece; if she could perfect the technique, she could no-sell Him, if he ever showed his mask again.

Honestly though, as she levitated a larger piece of rusty iron, Julisa thought her mama was right; Night Owl didn't strike anyone – least of all the Think Tank, Dragon, Hero and Legend – as the type to go after the common folk. It probably would be alright. But…

'What kind of Master offers to put down the Rey Goblin? Doesn't she know how that sounds?'

"Crackleblur."

The iron chunk disintegrated; lips pursed, the Ward turned to her mama.

Alexandria's face was hard, "Night Owl's requested a meeting, told Director Piggot she could bring three capes of her choosing. You are one of them."

Well… it seemed Crackleblur would find out what Night Owl was really like sooner than later.

"When am I leaving, mama?"

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A/N:

Yes, very late, I know.

Since I was last on this fic, the faves and follows have gone from 500/700 to 840/1107, and nearly fifty reviews have been submitted.

Honestly, I get that it's popular, but it's so close to the verge of trope-y silliness that I hesitate to write anything about this fic, more often than not.

On the other hand, I really enjoyed writing it, and will enjoy writing any future chapters. Odds are the plot will pick up more than a little bit as I move forward, as I have so many other, better written stories to write at present.

Sorry for not responding to any reviews, but as everyone seems to be extolling the awesomeness of Birb!Taylor and Queenie, I'll assume everyone loves it!

Until we next meet, folks

~Baked