Jarissa/The Uncommon Valor Fan Club Auxiliary
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
((Author's note: this installment of the ongoing "News Cycle" saga in the Virtue Forum thread "Uncommon Valor" takes place after the unauthorized publication of several heroes' secret identities, and the resulting horrific assassination of one exposed heroine. Plot complications created by Soaring Valor and Shining Glory used with permission, guest appearance by Wyldfire agent Silver Valor used with permission, quoted emails from other heroes and quoted beginning of broadcast on "Channel 8" all reference materials in the Uncommon Valor thread, around pages 98 to 103 {figuring the default setting of 10 posts per page}. Don't just stand there, jump in!))
The Paragon Sentinel saga: Apologies to Andrew Lloyd Webber
Silver Valor plunked a gigantic mug and a freshly-cleaned comms unit down on the desk in front of Jarissa, who had spent the past ten minutes digging Rikti armor fragments out of her left arm. "All fixed," he announced. "Try not to get sprayed by flame retardant while you're wearing it, okay? Not even the backwash."
Rissa ignored the electronics in favor of the food. "You really are the best roommate ever. Have I told you that? Because it's true."
"Pshaw. I've got late patrol in the War Zone tonight, so I'm going home to catch a nap. Oh, that reminds me, you've got a bunch of messages in there." Waving his Allen wrench, Wyldfire's resident superspeedster disappeared in a metallic blur.
Once the edge had been taken off the worst of her hunger, Rissa looked around for a distraction. If she ate too fast, it wouldn't do her regenerative abilities any good. Seeing nothing more amusing, she poked the glorified pager until it started retrieving emails:
Just give me a place to meet you all and I can be there soonest.
The Defenders? Whoa. Serious "Big Kids". Okay, stay cool, remember how you totally muffed up any chance of Wyldfire working with the Dawn Patrol, Rissa lectured herself. Skimming a bit further down, she found a similar message from Modern Samurai, and took a hasty gulp of her soup to keep herself from turning into a rampaging fangirl. I am twenty-eight, I am a competent and professional administrative leader of a counterespionage supergroup, and I will frelling well act like it.
Yo, people.
I've shut down the Sent', they ain't gonna be printin' no stories till I let'em. But that don't mean they won't try. I got the electronics good and dead, but they could still try and hold a press conference, or they could try to deliver the info for printin' a paper physically. If I find'em trying to do either, you'll get a message to stop'em.
Ic3blade.
Uhm. Her first instinct was to cheer; but the image of that disgruntled would-be Good Samaritan, back at the station Wednesday morning, flashed across her thoughts. Rissa felt guilty again. She thought about Franklin's line from the Historical Review of Pennsylvania, regarding essential liberty and temporary safety; it's not that clear-cut, but how do you tell the most important newsman in the history of the US that you're censoring a newspaper because they're stealing freedom?
Have sent encrypted file to Wyldfire acct. Subject is information obtained via European contacts re: Rusk family. Disperse at own discretion, but proceed with caution. Data not available via other sources. Have hacker contact ensure encrypted file trail properly erased. File decays quickly. -- JCG
Rissa jerked upright so suddenly that she nearly spilled the remains of her soup. Shoving the comms unit to one side, she jabbed the power switch for the computer and logged into the most secure area of Wyldfire's server. Sure enough, she found an encrypted file present with her name on it; and a countdown timer until it would overwrite itself, whether acknowledged by receiver or not. Hastily she accessed it -- gave the incomprehensible three passwords she'd memorized back in the autumn of 2004 -- and told it to delete itself, not without some trepidation.
As if feeling contrary, the file opened itself into a temporary document before erasing the original. Jarissa found herself reading with that peculiar mental stomp that once served as her main means of studying for a major test. Ants? Oh, that is creepy. Hastily she copied down the information onto a junk mail envelope, along with the routing data. Rissa closed the word processor, triggered Silver's favorite sector eraser, and logged out. In her normal account, she opened Google and sent a fresh email to the same recipients as last time:
From: jarissa.venters at Google
To: The Uncommon Valor Fan Club Auxiliary
Subject: Let's do lunch!I tend to work the late shift -- def. not a morning type. Anyway, on Peregrine Isle on the eastern seaboard, there's a "Curry Cove Park" very close to the beach. Google Earth pictures interspersed: there's a Paragon City Pizza and an Up-N-Away Burger on the north side of the park, and not only does the south side have a City of Gyroes and a Major Flanders' Fried Chicken, but there're a bunch of tables set in an outdoor seating area, complete with a few shade umbrellas. We're currently forecast to get some snow Wednesday morning but sunny most of the rest of the week -- which means normal foot traffic in the area.
Barring invasion interruptions:
I'll be there about two-thirty every afternoon this coming week, getting my main meal of the day. City of Gyroes is having an "Ides of March" half-price sale on "chicken soup and Caesar sub combos", which aren't bad if you don't mind a LOT of carrots in your soup. The lunch rush is over at that point, so tables will be open, but there's still a good amount of civilian traffic.I have things I need to share. If somebody could bring a low-volume white noise generator to help ensure our privacy without ticking off the civvies, that'd be great.
You'll, uh, know me by the leopard coat and the just-woke-up cranky that I'm told emanates off me until at least three in the afternoon. Strangers don't typically ask to share my table, anyway. I won't ask anybody who looks like a civilian to prove they aren't a Sentinel reporter, as I'm hoping they've got better leads than to hack Google Email; and anyway, I won't let them goad me into distrusting the civilized folks of this city.
Hope to see you soon!
Jarissa
Team Lead, Wyldfire
As she hit "send", all of the computer's urgent-incoming alerts went off at once. Rissa's fur stood on end in momentary fright, and she clicked madly on everything in sequence to find out what was going on. Besides the Rikti Invasion. They never hit Indy Port before, are we finally getting bombed?
Welcome back to our continuing coverage of the attack at the federal building. For those of us just joining us....
Jarissa stared in round-eyed horror. After the video played through, she mechanically reached for a fresh stack of index cards and an orange Sharpie. "Unc Valor Fan Club Aux meets ab 130 yds SE of Curry Cove marker 1430. Buy a lunch, bring cape license. No catgirl jokes." She coated the written side in a single layer of clear packing tape, attached a gob of adhesive poster strip to the back, and set it aside. Once she had twelve ready, she shut down the computer completely, stuffed her notes into her pocket, gathered the index cards, and took off to visit every train station in the city.
One tired hour later, Rissa let herself into the Cascade Street apartment she shared with Silver Valor. She still had a little adhesive stuck under one claw from jamming those index cards onto the rooftop siding of the Yellow Line and Green Line train stations; but after that horrid scene on Channel 8, there was no way she'd consider putting meeting notices where unpowered reporters could spot them.
The tiny space was quiet. She could hear the whine of the faulty icemaker in the fridge, and the elevator bank down the hall. A car with an inadequate muffler coasted past Subgenetics down on Cascade Street, heading toward the bend north; Cascade Street made a long, rectangular loop through the majority of Steel Canyon, and commercial property managers liked to take potential lessees on the "Grand Tour" for a few circuits. One of the businesses two floors up had their television on -- she couldn't make out the words, but the muffled cadence told her it was probably Channel 8 continuing its unrelenting tragedy-gossip-stock report-sunshine and puppies-tragedy cycle. Rissa shut off her comms unit and set it on the charger, peeled out of her clothes, and chucked them at the couch. She looked at the door to her closet of a bedroom for a long minute, then turned to slip into Silver's room instead.
One glimmering silver foot stuck awkwardly out from under the covers at the near end, sprouting out of a hideously green "Lucky Charms"-covered pajama leg. Snow-white wisps of hair drifted on the other end of the bed, staticky from the dry air and afloat in Thomas's magnetic field. Jarissa absently tapped the metal bedframe with her tail, hoping she hadn't picked up too much of a static charge yet, as she crept under the covers.
"Huhwha?" Thomas muttered, still more than half unconscious.
"Nothing, angel. Go back to sleep," she assured him. "I'll keep you safe."
Apparently that was enough for his subconscious to relax, as he almost instantly resumed snoring into his pillow. Rissa carefully curled her body against his, crossed her arms over her torso so her fingers would curl into her own shoulders if she did any dream-prompted scratching.
This is my world. Let me be adequate to the work of protecting it, until the day that it no longer needs protecting. Tomorrow I'll set about making things better.
