[M][Earth] Of the People

[Jarka]

It was a strange little group; that’s for sure. A psychic cook, an electric killer, and a boy who had never been born all gathered around a kitchen table, discussing the previous night’s rambunctious escapades over heaping portions of egg scramble.

“No, I’m serious; it’s like a super cure.” Jarka rapped her slotted spoon against the side of the skillet for emphasis. “I always make this when I’m hungover. You’ll feel better in no time.”

Hati sidled next to Victoria with a wink. “Then you can be right back at it by tonight.”

The pink haired girl stifled a gag, a motion that was just barely a joke.

As their laughter dispersed, Jarka found herself gazing idly into her cup. Her mind’s finger nonchalantly swirled the orange juice as most people might drum their digits against a table.

A thought finally bore itself to the surface of her mind. Victoria had been brave enough to share her powers, brave enough to open herself up to the group against direct orders. Granted, Jarka had suspected something was amiss with the girl. She would be an idiot not to after spending hours trying to make sense of everything, re-watching the video clips of the assassination, and seeing Victoria transform beyond a heartbroken little girl covered in blood. Seeing her crackle with lightning. Seeing her leap from one skyscraper to another. Seeing her ready to kill so keenly, so remorselessly.

That killer was nowhere to be found at this kitchen table. Victoria was just as fragile, just as... normal as any person on the street. She was nothing like the saiyans and their merciless destruction of her city. She didn’t let her abilities define who she was. They were secondary, an afterthought. Sitting in the rickety chair was a pink-haired girl who laughed. A girl who cried. Who loved. Danced. Shared. Trusted.

Jarka had trusted Sigfried, and he had betrayed her. Maybe he never told her secret, but their entire friendship had been based on and around his lies. She had never felt so crushed as she had that night. Yet, sitting across from her was a girl who had just lost everything and was willing to build it all up new. She was still suffering, but that didn’t stop her from reaching out again, risking herself again, trusting again. Jarka could do it too.

She brushed her hand along Hati’s forearm. “Hey, how much do you know about me from Sigfried?”

Hati shrugged, appearing genuinely unenlightened to the nature of her query. “You can cook. You can party. What else would I give a shit about?” A glance to Victoria revealed just as blasé an expression.

“Guys, I have- I have powers, too. Sort of.” Jarka fidgeted with her necklace. “Nothing as incredible as you, Victoria.”

Bubblegum hair trailed along the table as the girl leaned forward. “What sort of powers?”

“A couple of times I’ve, like, seen the future. Not often. But there’s another thing.” Jarka fetched her bowl of water and placed it on the center of the table. “This, uh, it’s still pretty crude.” She traced a whirlpool with ease before flashing an insecure smile. “That’s it. I’m still learning.”

Hati slapped the table. “No shit! That’s what you were talking about. I thought you were just fuckin’ rolling!” The girls exchanged a baffled look. “After the club? In the limo?”

“Last night’s a bit piecey for me. It was all so fast. I really can’t get a hold on everything that happened.” She had rarely imbibed in anything besides hard liquor; the pill’s effects were overwhelming.

He patted the psychic’s shoulder endearingly. “Shoulda figured. Yeah, you were talkin’ about moving the world with ripples. Like everything’s attached to you with strings.”

Jarka reddened. “Not everything. Moving water is pretty much all I can handle.”

Victoria gently cocked her head. “Have you tried anything else before?”

“I mean, I have a book. I just haven’t gotten that far with everything going on.”

Fingers pensively twisted around a lock of pink hair before nudging an empty plastic cup towards the psychic. “Would you like to try now?”

Jarka fixated on the cup, memorizing its location and contours. Her eyes closed; her mind cleared. She pictured the cup sliding across the surface until it teetered on the edge. Her eyes opened. Nothing.

Disappointed, she turned to her comrades. “Did it even budge?” Heads shook reluctantly. “Guys, I told you. I can’t yet. I don’t even know how I would do it. Water’s easy, I mean, it’s fluid. I don’t...” Jarka trailed off as she considered her words.

She tipped the red cup on its side. It rolled for a moment before steadying itself not an inch from the center of the table. Jarka spread her palms in front of her. Eyes relaxed, mind empty.

Anticipate the wake. Her mind’s finger reached through the cup, always pushing farther than necessary. Letting the wake carry the cup.

Eyes open. The cup was stagnant. It had, however, rolled all the way across the table until being blocked by Hati’s plate of food. The table of friends erupted into cheers.

Victoria flashed a sweet grin. “Congratulations. You’re stronger than you thought. What made the difference?”

“It’s hard to explain. I pushed harder than I needed to, I guess. If that makes sense.”

The boy fiddled with the cup for a moment before tossing it to Jarka. “Can you pull it? Like, go the other way. Towards yourself.”

Considering his suggestion, Jarka steadied it in the center of the table again. Mind calm.

Anticipate. Her mind’s finger raked through the cup, attempting to push from the far side. She could hear it wobble in tiny spurts as it was mentally nudged.

Jarka visually appraised her progress. The cup had barely moved an inch. It was too tedious; there had to be a better way. Perhaps...

Anticipate the wake. Her mind’s finger dragged all the way through the cup, trailing it behind as though it were being pulled by an invisible string. The motion was smooth, steady.

Eyes snapped open. The cup rolled off the edge and into her lap.

“You learn quickly.” Victoria, face dressed in intrigue, took a slow sip from her water.

“Hell yes! You’re gonna have one hell of a parlor trick at this rate.” Hati offered an exuberant high five. “Nice icebreaker, too.”

The psychic, the killer, and the club-hopper chattered excitedly around the table. Discussion of pickup lines, of powers, of passions flew between them with ease as the morning shifted into afternoon shifted into night. A strange group of friends, indeed.

*****

Victoria found herself unable to grasp a single thought. It was better that way. Today was not a day for introspection; it should not be about her at all. If she dared pull away from the events of the day, she would tumble into her memories of Roy and never want to return. Today was his wake, and she wanted to be present in every sense of the word.

*****

The seats of the limousine were cramped with a mass of bodies, each draped in their respective mourning attire. Jarka was not used to dressing somberly nor seeing her companions with such gloomy demeanor. She wanted to run, to shake them, to bake something wonderful. She wanted to do anything to distract them, hear laughter, see smiles. She knew she couldn’t.

It was strange grieving a man she never really knew. He had always been so distant, so untouchable, so unreal to her. In all honesty, he wasn’t real. He was a plan. An embodied agenda.

Her hand felt a squeeze; Hati had noticed her troubled expression. He seemed truly concerned, truly supportive. She wasn’t being fair. If Roy hadn’t been real, it meant Hati wasn’t either.

Sigfried had called her and the brothers into his room that morning. They needed to be prepared for anything. Sigfried would deal with any negative public reaction to Victoria, which was likely given her fireworks that day. Skoll would be security detail, armed and ready to handle any further opposition to their cause. Hati and Jarka would be soft support. Their job would be to escort Victoria, to keep her under control. Jarka had initially objected. She didn’t want to continue the ruse. Victoria should know the truth about Roy.

“Sometimes we need a lie.” Hati had struggled with the words. “Sometimes the truth can be too much at first. We need somethin’ to hold on to until we’re ready to understand reality.”

She had crossed her arms. “That doesn’t mean we need to embellish the fabrication.”

Hati had smiled his crooked smile, but a twinge of sorrow flickered in his eyes. “Well, I hope somebody gives me a funeral when I die.”

She returned the squeeze, prompting a comforting grin from Hati. He was real.

Their eyes fell once again to Victoria. The girl had been stoic for the duration of the ride. Her silence set the tone for the group, each member too afraid to upset her with their condolences.

The limousine rumbled to a stop. It was time.

A black-clad Skoll stepped out, his hand resting on one of his many concealed weapons. Jarka and Hati soon followed. As one foot struck the pavement, she was overwhelmed by the crowd of people gathered around the temple. They were passionate, rambunctious. The girl obediently stationed herself directly behind Skoll. If he couldn’t stop an attacker, he would at least try to stop a bullet. Hati placed himself by the door to the limousine, his white suit glaring against the ebony surface of the vehicle.

Sigfried’s appearance was accompanied with a low murmur from the multitudes. An uncomfortable expression colored his features. The group had known the public would mourn the loss of their hero. The group figured the public would welcome Sigfried as his replacement. The group had no clue how the public would treat Victoria in her first official appearance since the assassination. There was a good chance they would revolt at the sight of her, terrified of her hidden power, her rage. The rumbling of the mob increased as Sigfried and Hati reached into the limousine.

The rabble fell silent when sleek black pumps gently clicked against the pavement. Long pale legs connected to a sensible black dress connected to blossom hair emerged. Victoria shielded her eyes from the sunlight, her face expressionless.

The people were face to face with a demigod. She could decimate them without breaking a sweat.

The crowd began to cheer. Shouts of encouragement, of sympathy, of gratitude were indecipherable over the sheer enthusiasm of their accolades. Victoria was their hero.

The small band of freedom fighters pressed through the applauding congregation and into the temple. Sigfried had arranged for a private wake before opening the funeral to the masses, saying it was what Roy would have wanted.

Rows of polished pews encircled the spacious house of worship. Jarka found this strange; during the few times she attended rituals, she had prostrated on a mat. A shrine coated in incense and unlit candles erupted from the center of the ring of benches. At the top of the pedestal rested a small but intricate vase. Noticing their arrival, the priest gathered her robes and approached the altar to begin the rites.

While the cleric warbled melodically, the cook examined the figures settling into the innermost pew. Skoll crossed his arms and bored into the movements of the monk. His brother gently rocked back and forth, eyes darting uncomfortably around the room. Sigfried slumped in his seat; seemingly unaware of his hand rubbing the back of his skull. The resigned demeanor had not disappeared from Victoria, but her gaze had become locked on the urn. Roy’s urn.

With hardly a breath to carry the words, Victoria whispered, “It’s not real.”

Jarka tenderly rested her hand on the younger girl’s shoulder, her concerned murmur barely audible over the chanting. “What do you mean?”

“This isn’t real. This was - This was how I was going to say goodbye.” Her words became louder, broken with sniveling. “There’s no- no body. This isn’t right. He’s su- supposed to- be here. He’s supposed to be a- alive. He’s- He’s supposed to be- be with me.” Victoria crumpled into a blubbering heap while Jarka embraced her.

The first tear had fallen. Many more would follow. Each person took their turn mourning, took their turn consoling. As the sobbing subsided, they approached the altar to light a candle in memory of their fallen comrade. Candlelight flickered against moist skin before the group silently turned to leave the chapel.

After a few steps, Victoria rushed back to the podium. Slender fingers brushed her lips before coming to rest on the body of the urn. “Goodbye, Roy. Goodbye, my love.”

*****

“Hey, Skoll. I need a favor.”

Jarka’s greeting prompted a glare from Skoll. “No.”

The less social brother had been even more antagonistic since the funeral. He had already sharpened and cleaned and organized every weapon in the apartment. Now, wielding a masking tape and marker, he surrounded himself with various pills and cleaning solutions from the bathroom.

Jarka watched him scribble across the tape and attach it to a bottle. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Labeling.” Another cryptic series of letters and numbers affixed to another decanter.

The girl rocked on her heels. “So... about that favor.”

The boy pointed the marker to her, a surprisingly menacing gesture. “I said no.”

“Skoll, you don’t even know what I need.”

He sneered as he resumed the classification. “It’s likely something trite. Squish a spider. Braid your hair. Help you make pecan pie.”

Jarka took a seat beside the boy. “Nope. It’s something right up your alley.”

Skoll scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I doubt that.”

“I need a poison.”