Page 100 of Velveteen vs. The Consequences of Her Actions

“Bless your heart,” said the Princess, stopping where she was and looking over her shoulder. She didn’t have a microphone anymore, but every word carried perfectly. When a fairy tale princess speaks, the story listens. “I do it because the children are my responsibility, and in half a heartbeat, they’re going to outnumber that poor girl you don’t want to leave alone. But also because y’all have decided the animus heroes are a threat. It’s not even that you might come after me next. It’s that if you want to be that bone-stupid, I ought to cut you off before you hurt yourselves.”

With that said, she turned and walked out of the chamber, leaving a silent committee behind.

* * *

It wasn’t much of a shock to find the page from before waiting in the hall. It was a bit more surprising to find him waiting in a black spandex suit with a large red MR. on the chest, but it wasn’t the strangest thing she’d seen that day, and so she barely blinked before she stopped and crossed her arms. “Now who are you supposed to be?” she asked.

“Stop, criminal, and face the wrath of Man Rea,” said the page, the air around him crackling with power.

The Princess blinked. “Is that meant to be a play on ‘in mens rea’? Because honey, I think you’re butchering that Latin so badly they’re gonna have to turn it into dog food. Were all the good code names taken that day?”

“I—don’t try to confuse me! You’re the one about to be on trial here, not me!”

“All right, I’ll bite. What’s my crime today?”

Man Rea fumbled for a moment, trying to formulate his accusation. “Tax evasion.”

“Sorry, no. I have a very good accountant who makes sure my paperwork’s in order.”

“Harboring an illegal animus.”

“She ain’t illegal yet.”

“Female imp⁠—”

“Sugar, there ain’t enough medical care in this city for what’s going to happen to you if you finish that sentence.”

“—personation,” he said.

The Princess sighed. “You just had to go there, didn’t you? All right, then.” She began to whistle, a long, warbling note that could easily build into something orchestral.

And the rats came.

* * *

The dress shop looked like it had also been the target of a pitched battle as the Princess stepped back inside, finding herself accosted almost immediately by giddy, fast-talking sales staff.

“—was wonderful! We gave⁠—”

“—so many girls are going to look amazing at their proms, and it’s⁠—”

“—that was the kindest thing I have ever witnessed!”

“Just a little fairy tale magic,” said the Princess, with a twinkle in her eye, and continued onward to the mirror. She needed a shower and about a dozen mimosas. Rats made great bodyguards, but they left a certain smell behind, and she wasn’t going to wear it a second longer than she had to.

Throwing a wave and a twinkle to the girls, she stepped into the mirror, and was gone.

VELVETEEN vs. Evolution

Victory Anna crept down the hallway of the home she shared with Portland’s other premier superheroines, a hand-held boxy device in front of her and occasionally making a soft pinging noise, like it didn’t want her to forget that it was there. Unlike her robe. Anyone who happened to see the normally modest gadgeteer could have been forgiven for doing a double or even triple take. She was wearing a corset over a knee-length chemise and nothing else, not even the elaborate clips that normally kept her braids up and out of her way. By her standards, she was virtually naked.

There were no windows along this hall, and this deep into the house, the only people she really needed to worry about running into were Polychrome, her girlfriend, and Velveteen, her technical landlord. As neither of them shared her particularly Victorian sense of modesty, she was reasonably in the clear. Which didn’t explain the creeping, exactly. She was moving like someone who expected to get caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to, deliberate and quiet, and her expression matched her movements. She stopped when she reached the door at the end of the hall, holding up her device like she expected it to provide the answers.

It beeped, twice, and two of its little indicators turned red, causing Victory Anna to frown deeply and lower the device again, shooting the door one last unhappy look before turning to slink off down the hall, still silent.

Polychrome was waiting for her on the couch. Unlike Victory Anna, the photon manipulator was fully dressed, wearing a black unitard that seemed to swallow the light around it, with a rainbow sash wrapped around her waist. She looked just as worried as the diminutive gadgeteer as she sat forward and asked, in a low tone, “Well?”

Victory Anna took a deep breath. “It’s time we involve the extra-dimensional experts,” she said. “I suggest we contact your North Pole at once. We need to speak with Jacqueline.”