Page 143 of Velveteen vs. The Consequences of Her Actions

“I don’t think ‘Sparkle Bright’ was much better,” says Polychrome, finally allowing her black light shell to dissolve. “I sounded like a brand of toothpaste. I mean, come on. And you don’t really get to talk, Firefly. The original Firecracker’s body wasn’t even cold in the ground before you were making off with her trademarks.”

“It was a legal transfer!” protested Firecracker, spinning around to face Polychrome. “I have a compatible power set, and her death was a matter of public record. Me taking up her mantle was a tribute to a fallen hero, and had nothing to do with me being sick and tired of the tabloids making cracks about my butt glowing in the dark.”

Polychrome wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t even make sense. You have fire powers, not light powers. Now if they wanted to get obsessed with my butt, that would be another matter. Because my butt does glow in the dark, when I want it to.”

“TMI much, Yelena?” asked Firecracker, before she sobered. “I mean it, though. You can’t come back.”

“I never said I wanted to. And even if I did, I have two big reasons not to—three, if I count your frankly sophomoric attempts at threatening me.”

“And what might those be?”

“I know you’re smarter than that, Missy. Think about it. Who’s my best friend in the whole damn world? My ride or die?”

“Velveteen.”

“Right. Always has been, even when we hated each other. And who’s my one true love, the woman who was publicly seen kissing me back to life when I went down in the fight against Supermodel?”

“I know this one. The weird little steampunk girl. Where did she come from, anyway? For real, not that weird story you fed to the gossip rags.”

“A parallel dimension that has since been destroyed, and she has a name,” said Polychrome. “Victory Anna is the woman I’m going to marry, as soon as I get up the nerve to ask if she’s okay with that. And you know what she would never, ever, under any circumstances agree to do?”

“What?”

“She’s not going to join The Super Patriots. She met them first in another dimension, one where they treated her treated like a supervillain, and she knows the team from the other side. Vel wouldn’t come back if you paid her, and Torrey would burn the place to the ground inside of a week if I tried to push the issue. For their sake, I can never come back. And I’m not mad about it.”

Firecracker blinked, dipping lower in the air as her concentration wavered. “It sounds like you actually believe that.”

“The corporate mind control division has been shut down. People can leave if they want to. You could leave if you wanted to.”

“I don’t want to leave,” snapped Firecracker, immediately defensive. “This is my home. Some of us know how to be loyal.”

“I am loyal,” said Polychrome. “Just not to the things you want me to be loyal to. What is this really about, Missy? Who are you mad at?”

Firecracker rose back to her original position in the air. “Velveteen left before you did,” she said. “She doesn’t get to come back and pick up where she left off. That’s not fair.”

“She’s not trying to,” said Polychrome. “We’re only here so the government doesn’t disappear us into one of their super-prisons.”

Firecracker looked at her dubiously.

“Promise,” added Polychrome. “We’re happy in Portland. She’s happy in Portland. You should see her with Tag, Missy. They’re so sweet it’s sickening. And I know a little something about being overly sweet.”

“If you say so,” said Firecracker. “I still don’t like you being here.”

“Trust me,” said Polychrome. “Neither do we.”

* * *

If Polychrome had been thinking of something other than how much she didn’t want to get into a fight with a pyromancer, she might have looked more deeply at Firecracker’s complaints, might have realized what was going to happen next. But she was preoccupied with worrying about what Victory Anna would do if she looked out the window and saw someone taking shots at her girlfriend, and so the moment passed, and she didn’t sound the alarm.

In Velveteen’s room, she rolled over again, trying desperately to find a position comfortable enough to let her fall asleep. She was staring at the barely-visible ceiling when someone knocked on her door. She sat bolt upright, blanket falling away, and slid out of the bed.

Her room had come with a set of flannel pajamas in her size, patterned with the little rabbit-eared hearts that Marketing had tried so hard to brand her with. She had put them on out of necessity, nothing more, but as she moved toward the door, she was surprisingly grateful to be wearing something so all-concealing.

Whoever was in the hall knocked again. Velveteen swallowed a scowl and slapped her hand down on the security panel, letting Imagineer’s system read her palm print. Only once she was confirmed as the person currently assigned to this room did the lock disengage and the door slide open, so much like something from an episode of Star Trek that it was almost comic.

The opening door revealed a well-built blond man in blue and orange loungewear, which was a lot less comic. Velveteen—Velma, suddenly; she didn’t think of herself that way very often anymore, but she was out of uniform, and this was a moment for her civilian identity if there had ever been one—stared at him.

Aaron Frank, often better known as Action Dude, stared back.