Acadian: I used the old window trick to sneak things past my parents into and out of the house when I was young. So I jumped to that immediately. Her room being on the second floor gave me a great opportunity to also demonstrate that her powers are from her, not the suit.
In the near future January's family is going to be the source of much more drama than her superhero life. Pretty much like reality there too...
The whole pro and cons of superheros vs. police is kind of an old trope, but I think one needed to justify the existence of superheros in the first place. So it had to go in there. Detroit having a police force as notably corrupt and under-staffed as it is only makes it work so much better. This city
needs superheros, because if you call the police they will not come unless you say there is someone shooting a gun at you. So people lie about that just to get them to show up. Of course even then it takes them at least 4 hours to get there. This is literally true, my old roomate has been there, done that. One of our old police chiefs publicly encouraged people to own guns. He did not come right out and say it was because his police department could not protect them. But every Detroiter knows that is true.
I am going to have to remember to call it the Stormcycle. It will be showing up in Chapter 2.
Uleni Athram: Thank you for the vote of approval. I spent a lot of time working on that fight. I kept most of the descriptions generic so it did not get bogged down. But I saw that downward jumping elbow in an mma fight and just fell in love with it. I wish I could find that vid again. One guy just creamed another with it.
I did not know Sylvie Von Douglas. I will have to look her up. Hopefully I can get some more ideas from her vids.
Renee: That is life, we all fall behind sooner or later. The name of the maid is actually an R&B singer - Gabriella Wilson a.k.a. HER. Look her up, she was a child prodigy.
You have touched on something that only came out when I was actually doing the writing: January loves flight. She never feels more alive then when she is in the sky.
Gadget is not clueless about January's study of Wicca. He does remark about the crows after all. As a techie, mysticism is not something he has a lot to offer about.
Unfortunately the suit does not have everything. Not yet at least. Like January, Gadget is still figuring out this whole super thing himself. So things will be slowly added over time as their need becomes apparent, like shielded circuitry and a rebreather.
Book 1.9 - Stormcrow RisingJanuary worked over the heavy bag. Her brother's words still draped over her thoughts like a dark shroud. Was she destined to end up working at Burger Baron? As the entire world was quick to point out, an English degree did not really qualify you for much else. Except being a teacher of course.
But she was just taking the classes to be a better writer. Her writing was going to be her future, wasn't it? Unless of course no one wanted to read her books. Who would, with them filled with gay and lesbian and transgender protagonists? She knew from bitter experience that the last thing normal people wanted to was to be reminded that someone like her existed. But even given that, January knew that she would never compromise her ideals. She would rather be homeless.
"Take it easy," her mother said from the other side of the heavy bag. "It's supposed to be a workout, not an annihilation."
The older, flame-haired woman was trying to keep the leather bag still as January pummeled away at it with fists, feet, and elbows. Trying and failing, January noticed, for she was hammering both her and the bag back hard with every blow. January realized that she was forgetting herself, and hitting too hard. She had to be better than that.
She stopped, and took a sip of water from the bottle on the table nearby. Their basement spread out around them. A washer and dryer stood in one corner, the furnace and water heater in another. Boxes were piled up, an old bike hung from the ceiling, and an ancient ironing board was unfolded and covered with junk.
The area she and her mother worked out in had been converted into a gym. The floor was covered in thick mats. A heavy punching bag hung from the ceiling, and nearby was a smaller speed bag. A full length mirror was mounted upon one wall. Free weights were stacked up in an iron cradle against another wall, beside a bench press and an elliptical machine. Finally, an inversion bar was bolted to the ceiling, with a pair of gravity boots clipped to it.
"I'm sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking," January mumbled.
"Or maybe you were thinking too much, knowing you," her mother observed. She motioned for January to change places with her, and began a series of punches and kicks into the heavy bag. "Is something bothering you?"
"You mean more than usual?" January asked. "I don't know. I just have been wondering, what is my life going to be? What am I going to do? How am I going to afford surgery?"
"Oh honey, I wish I could tell you," her mother paused a moment to look around the bag at her. "But I know you are going to be fine. You are smart, you are conscientious, you work hard. Even if you're writing doesn't take off, I am sure you will be ok."
"You can still be an instructor at your friend Adin's dojo," her mother went on. "You are already so far beyond me, it's hard to believe
I was the one who first taught
you kick-boxing. Now there is so much you could teach me."
"You could even try for the Olympics again," she added. "The Olympic Committee changed the rules on pre-op transgender athletes. If you test under a certain amount of testosterone, you can compete now."
"And do cisgender athletes have to test under that as well?" January spat bitterly. "No, of course not. They make special rules just for us. They won't treat me the same as other people, because I'm not good enough to be a person in the first place."
"You know that testosterone changes-" her mother tried to explain.
"What testosterone?" January cut her off. "I've never had it. I was taking anti-androgens before that could start. I've never had any unfair advantage over other women. They have more testosterone than I do. And they at least have the advantage of being allowed to use the bathroom. They have the advantage of being able to watch a movie and see someone like themselves acknowledged to exist. That is at least as something other than a freak to be laughed at or a monster to be murdered. What about the unfair advantage they have in every part of life?"
"The Olympics can suck my ovaries!" January fumed.
Her mother ceased all pretense at boxing, and walked over to her side of the bag. She put one gloved hand on January's shoulder.
"What's really bothering you Aug... January," she said.
January tried not to cringe at the sound of her original, male name: August. Just like when someone called her "he", it was an icy dagger piercing her heart. Lighthammer's hard light was easier to bear.
"
That's what's bothering me." She pushed off her mother's outstretched arm with one hand. "Even after all this time, you don't see
me. And why should you? I take a shower and look down at myself, and
I don't see me. I look in the mirror, and I wonder who stole my real body, and left me trapped in this… this… thing. This horror. How can I go on a date with someone, when the idea of them seeing me naked makes me sick? When do I get to be
me?"
All these powers that she supposedly had, January mused, and she was still not who she was supposed to be. She could jump. She could do back flips off the wall. She could throw steel girders. But she could still not look at a normal girl without feeling jealous. They were so lucky, to simply have been born how they were.
January fought back the tears forming behind her eyes, and the knot growing in her throat. She thought of her elemental mantra. She thought of her breathing, and of moving energy back and forth, cleansing her body of all negative emotion. None of it seemed to help.
"We talked about this before," her mother's face took on that serious cast that meant she had gone from empathy-mode to authority-mode. "We simply cannot afford to pay for surgery on our salaries."
"But you can pay for Julian's political science and law degrees," January spat bitterly.
"We aren't-"
"I know what U of M costs," January retorted. "I've seen the checks with dad's name on them. Julian leaves it all sitting out. I'm sure he wants me to see, so he can rub it in my face. He can never resist that."
"Hon, I don't know what you think you saw, but your brother is paying for it with student loans-"
The ringing of January's phone saved her from hearing the excuse. January dove for it like a drowning woman for a life preserver. It was not the normal bubbling ringtone of her phone, but rather a fuzzy guitar riff from Gary Clark Jr's "If Trouble Was Money." Her heart leapt. Had Avery broken the cipher on Subramanian's ledger?
January fumbled with her gloves, tearing off the velcro strip on the back of one to free her hand to use the screen. That left the scars on her wrist plainly visible. But she did not care. She rarely felt self-conscious about them anymore. She had much bigger things to worry about these days.
She got to the phone just in time to catch it before it went to voicemail.
"Avery!" she cried as she picked it up with her now bare hand.
"We gotta roll," he said, "you know who's on the move. Get your stuff, and meet me out front."
January pulled off her other glove and tossed it on the bench press. "I have to go," she murmured. Clutching her phone in one hand, she raced up the stairs. This was something she did not have wonder about, or angst over. This was something she could act on.
Gary Clark Jr. - If Trouble Was MoneyLatest Olympic ruling on transgender athletesCost of U of M Law School