Ordinary Powers: Bryce

It was rude to hovels even call it that. The building manager had thrown together some piping from the existing exposed plumbing for a sink and shower. The former of which funneled to the center of the room where a drain crouched, encrusted with detritus usage past. The entire room sloped toward the drain, an even, gentle grade from the one door down to the corner where the shower head was installed above a mirror and sink combo. She could say she’d lived in crappier places, but it was running neck-and-neck with that card board box out west. At least it didn’t smell like cleaning solutions and mildew even after it rained.

She set her tools down with a muffled metallic thunk on the concrete floor. A deep breath in, hold, release for four. She opened her eyes and took in the room from a stance focused on what could be not what was. The drainage problem was going to be the first hurdle. #SMITHY would be able to help there, but she’d have to make sure he could get a look into the pipes first. Regardless, the room seems prone to flooding. She walked around the space’s perimeter, letting her calloused fingers brush the wall. The damp patches of cinder blocks were clearly visible with runs thick and dark near the ceiling and only growing gradually less wide at the floor where the swirls of discoloration twirled like some sickly creatures tail toward the drain. Second task is ripping up the ceiling to make sure that whatever that is doesn’t continue. She stretched a long arm up, only having to go up on her toes a little. Even though the room was not cramped for most people, she had always towered. She ran a finger across the rock-like material of her new roof, dragging lazy lines back and forth from a foot or so out from the wall inward. She smirked and walked to the center of the room and pressed her index finger up slowly. It disappeared into the ceiling leaving particulates and dust skittering down in the glaring light of her construction lamps set on the floor. The material here was considerably more stable and firm. The smirk grew into a smile.

She returned to the first spot and mentally labeled the damp damaged space Project Alpha, for no reason more thought provoking than it had been the first place she started checking. With a finger tip she began tracing a small square, pressing the softer material with increasing force. The steady stream of crushed ceiling sifted down over her arm and chest coating her overalls in gray and black. After a dozen or so passes, her finger finally poked through into a cavity. She pushed her finger toward the wet wall and rent the ceiling all the way to the cinder blocks. Alright, the joists went the width of the room parallel to the door. That would make some things easier. She returned her finger to the hole and ran it perpendicular to her first line stopping when she met more resistance than usual. A tap of her index finger gave a muted metal ding. She dug out underneath the metal joist to expose it. The old metal was cleared quite handily of the ceiling material by her strong fingers. This section of support appeared to be in good shape.

She stopped and grabbed a tarp from the stack next to the door and put it over the drain and along the wall she was working on. What she didn’t need was another lecture from #SMITHY about putting powdered rock materials in a drainage pipe. Even thought pulverizing all of this garbage ceiling and washing it all down the drain would make life easier, it would definitely lead to blockages in the future. Besides a construction dumpster was just outside the hallway door and nothing in here was going to be heavy enough for her to break a sweat carrying it. She laid out another tarp to cover the rest of the floor and then traced a long line down the metal joist with an increasingly grubby index finger. She repeated the maneuver with all the remaining joists. The first damp slab of ceiling came free with a wet cracking noise. She caught it as It fell, almost knocking her respirator out of the way. The brief gap intensified the awful smell. She pursed her lips and hefted the first of many rotting chunk of ceiling out the door.

***

The work was arduous but showed considerable progress from her positioned with back against the closed door. The removal of the ceiling had added a few feet, or inches if under a joist, of height giving the area more open feels; as much as possible for this room. Most of the water damage seemed to have come from somewhere else and pooled here. Not ideal, but add a simple lip leading to the section of the wall with the floor drain would solve the problem for now. A nice plastic barrier from the top of the wall up into the ceiling should keep the draft down. The first beer from the cooler dripped condensation on the tarps. Little trails of dust coalesced into dark runs that stopped short as the moisture was overcome by solid matter. Her wet hair clung to her neck and tried to force its way out of her bun. She downed the rest of the beer quietly planning next moves.

The mirror lay on the floor, surface covered by another tarp. All the grungy walls were bare except the sink and the utilitarian shower head with hose attachment. It was one of those reddish brown surplus hoses that were always in murder movies or psychopath’s trucks. With a sigh she heaved herself up and pulled her goggles back over her blue eyes and respirator over her mouth. Wiping the moisture from her hand on her coveralls, she gave each goggle lens a swipe with her thumb moving most of the grit out of the way. She picked up the industrial hand sander, curling her fingers around the palm grip, tested the sandpaper with her other hand. Her gaze looked around the room and then back to the pile of scrap sand paper stacked as neatly as cast off ends and half used pieces could be. She gave the wall a swipe with the sander. Old paint, grim, mildew, and years of neglect stripped clean in one powerful push. She had to make sure to use enough force to get the layers off but not enough to crack the blocks. Replacing the blocks was annoying. If she were lucky, she’d have enough sandpaper to finish the floor too.

***

The push broom was ancient. The handle would have splintered her hands if it could have gotten through her calloused skin. The brush head bristles stuck out from the head at all angles. It reminded her of one of the foremen at the construction site. She pushed it along the still grimy floor. Once the dust settled she’d put on a layer of sealant on the walls. Let it sit over night then another maybe tomorrow while she started on the next space over. She’d have more materiels for those spaces though. The building manager was paying for those supplies since she wouldn’t be sleeping in those rooms. Then the floor gets cleaned. Then everything gets painted again. Then maybe she moves in a bed from the thrift store, maybe a dresser. Install some shelves. Make it an actual place to live. With the construction effort of her new room, #BRYCE could only wash in the sink and drag some spare clothes from her duffel. She did her hair up in a kerchief mostly because she needed a beer more than she wanted to wait for the mess of brown curls to dry. Work boots, black faded jeans, a partially buttoned up dress shirt, and a tank top matching her kerchief finished out her attire for the evening. She would fit right in with most of the other construction workers who had taken off their overchlothes and changed out sweaty shirts for carousing.

#MacMurray’s was a common hang out for most of the crews that worked downtown. After shift, regardless of which of the three you were on, #MacMurray’s was open to serve. Which meant that the overall appearance and atmosphere of the bar was a bit more of the hard work type and less of the spit and polish. The walls were covered in odd bits of building materials from sites around the city proper, incredibly wrecked equipment - each of which had a story, and crayon drawings of “thank yous” to one Mr. #MacMurray from various youth organizations for charitable drives and such . The later being more an inside joke now than an actual mis-attribution by the organizations or children. #JANICE, the owner and operator, didn’t mind keeping her face out of pictures. Plus it let her put a nice stencil on the mop closet door stating “#MR. MACMURRAY, Proprietor”. The ceiling was a series of different sound baffles placed in series from the front door to the bath rooms and aforementioned mop closet. Since this was a construction bar, and before the sound baffles were installed an especially noisy one, and since #JANICE was never one to miss an opportunity for free work, every crew who wanted to try for a free beer a week, was allowed one chance to install a row of baffling. This was to be critiqued by all the other competing crews on a series of classifications. #JANICE had called it a rubric or something. After installation, each crew hung a sign on the wall below their installation with their names and their company. By all accounts from the old timers, the event was an amazing all day affair for the whole family. Some even said that foremen came and even more surprisingly allowed crews the day to compete. Apparently company owners had a betting pool going based on #JANICE’s rubric. The winning team has a gold placard and depending on who you talk to it was either a Cinderella story or a favorite who won. Regardless, all the crews did a fine job. And not a piece of it had fallen down yet.

#BRYCE played with a the puddles made from her beer on the water-stained counter of the bar. The wood was rubbed smooth by years and years of hard hands, like heres, doing the same thing she was, more than likely. It ran the gamut of browns, reds, and blacks. She took another swig and then added another ring to the deck.

“Though yous was off today,” #SMITHY stated with a hit of concern in his voice, “to have sucha face on a day off means it was more work than play.”

#SMITHY was round. He had a round red face, a round belly, and thick round hands. But to think that any piece of that exterior implied softness would be a mistake. She’d seen him snap tubing between two fingers like they were dry twigs. His legs dangled from the bar stool after he scrambled up onto it with considerable grunts and sighs.

“First day with the new legs?” she asked around the mouth of her beer. She finished the last few swallows and pushed it across the counter toward the bartender’s side. #SMITHY pursed his plump lips and gave her a sour expression.

“Not that ya asked,” he replied curtly, “but I wasn’t off today and I had to gets up under a poorly drained crawlspace. So my knees aren’t happy campers.”

The bartender, about her age with perfect hair and a matching smile, placed two dripping beers down in front of them. #Bryce slid one over to her curmudgeon friend, “with my apologies to your joints.”

“You have a joint?” he asked with a twinkle in his beady brown eyes. His thick fingers barely made it around the bottle while hers overlapped at the nail. He pulled greedily from the bottle and returned It to the counter with a sharp crack and an open mouthed AH. She followed suit less exuberantly, he was trying to catch up after all. They sat quietly as the room moved about them. He was coming down after work and she was just deciding if her car or the tarps were a better sleeping location tonight.

“Got the ceiling down and walls cleaned. Still able to come out and check the drainage for me?”

#SMITHY grunted an appreciative sound from the mouth of the bottle and bobbed his head twice.

“Made sure to put down tarps so none of the materials got into the drain. Like ya asked me too,” she punctuated the last bit by swinging the base of the bottle toward her friend. He nodded more sharply and the crack of a smile split his dry lips. It turned melancholic though and he sighed, putting the beer down.

“#Maxine and the girls would love to have you stay with us,” his voice was quiet already bracing for the hundredth rejection of this offer, “the girls especially. They thinks the world of ya. #Maxine and me too.”

Her hand patted him lightly on the back, but he still shifted slightly. She sighed, resting her hand on one shoulder and looking at how much it covered. She could feel the heat from his skin, but everything under her hand was human and against her strength, fragile.

“I can’t bring that kind of attention to you or yours,” the words felt like a line she’d practiced, but the meaning was true. With the lack of attention paid to crimes dealing with people allied with her kind, she couldn’t accept that offer of help. Staying in the room she had now was the safest place for anyone she knew.

*******

SCENE in BAR

*******

“Hey, Bitch,” had barely caught her attention before something metal rang off her skull ripping the kerchief from her hair and letting it fall around her shoulders. She staggered to her knees more from the momentum of the hit than any pain. She could hear her attackers proudly congratulating each other as if they had hurt her, though. Her fingers drew in the asphalt in gouging runnels as she started to stand. Another blow took her in the side and back, giving her breath a little hitch, but again, nothing that actually hurt. Well, other than tearing the only clean, nice shirt she had left. She took in a deep breath and rolled her shoulders back as she straightened to her full height, letting her look down on the three men standing around her.

Of course the jerk who had accosted her inside was holding a length of old plumbing. He surprised her with and caught her in the jaw with the pipe. She didn’t think he’d actually swing if she was standing. The hit made her jaws clamp on her tongue. She cursed and spit blood out, a scowl fixed strongly on her tight face. The jerk’s two friends backed up a step, but the jerk just kept a cocksure smile plastered on his lips and feet firmly planted.

“Don’t worry, boys,” the words lazily spilled from his mouth. He lifted his chin to her, “she can’t touch us. I mean who are the cops gonna believe? A fuckin’ Brick? Or three scared normal folks like us?”

He pointed the pipe at her again. She felt her spine go rigid at his words. She knew he was right. If she laid a hand on them, the current legislation would have her on assault with a deadly weapon, her body. His buddies looked less than convinced, but did stop backing away. She stood extremely still and slowed her breathing. The jerk Put the pipe end under her chin and smirked.

“Isn’t that right you freak?” he sneered, “Hell. I should hit you a few more times just because I can. Teach you your…”

His clever little monologue was cut short by a wet crunching sound and high pitched wailing. While the jerk had to turn to see what was happening, #BRYCE had watched dumbfounded as the scene unfolded. A figure in black fatigues and body armor landed nearly on top of one of the friends forcing him to his knees. #BRYCE blinked in the dim light and realized that he hadn’t fallen down exactly, but broken both his legs in such a way that he was on his knees and his feet at the same time. The jerk had turned to swing with the pipe, ignoring his hurt friend. The pipe connected, but then went spinning off into the dark alley with a clattering. The other friend was off at a flat run. The Jerk landed a blow to the top of the stranger’s helmet thanks to a quickly down turned head. He recoiled clutching swelling fingers and cursed. The black outfit made the movements hard to see, but the jerk’s white shirt and blue blue jeans flashed and exchanged places, bringing his full weight and the force of the throw down on his neck and shoulders. The jerk let out a gurgling, startled cry and crumpled bonelessly, his head tucked under his chest at an unnatural angle.

It had all happened so fast #BRYCE had forgotten to breath. She took in a ragged, horrified breath. The figure turned to look where the third fleeing friend had escaped. His voice could be heard screaming for help. The stranger made a sound and looked back at #BRYCE. After a second, they turned away from the fleeing man and started to leave.

“I’m,” she stammered, “I’m going to be blamed for this!”

The figure turned its head slightly back toward her then leapt onto the rooftops from which it had come and disappeared.

#BRYCE could hear more voices coming from the escapees direction. She slowly got to her knees and interlocked her fingers behind her head. And waited.