Page 81 of Velveteen vs. The Consequences of Her Actions

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Envy, jealousy, and covetousness, with their gently divergent definitions and their functionally identical roots, have been a part of the human psyche since the beginning of recorded history and, presumably, before. Even animals can express the desire to own that which does not belong to them, whether it be the best territory, the most plentiful food, or the most fertile mate. Wars have been fought and nations have been divided by the many flavors of greed, both subtle and direct.

When the first superhumans appeared, the natural human response was awe. Here were men who could fly, women who could summon storms with a wave of their hand, people who could talk to animals or teleport or recover in the blink of an eye from what should have been fatal wounds. Here was the future, walking up to the door and ringing the bell, asking politely to be let inside. The first news reports of superhumans have an air of jovial futurism to them, implying if not outright stating that sooner rather than later, humanity would enter a new golden age of possibility.

Then more superhumans appeared, and more, and more, and it became increasingly clear that this new golden age was not going to be available to everyone, or to anyone outside of the chosen few—and those choices so often seemed to be wrong! Villains and n’er-do-wells and the obviously undeserving were granted the gift of superpowers while those who would have made better use of those same gifts were left standing idly by, unable to compete, unable to even start playing the game.

Was it any wonder when those “more worthy” onlookers seized control of the narrative? When the story of the superhuman who fell, rather than flew, became infinitely more compelling? Envy has always found a home in the human heart.

Envy, which rejoices when the mighty are brought low.

* * *

An instance of Night Shift was in the banquet hall when the Princess arrived, coaxing another cup of coffee out of an urn so covered with glittering crystals that it looked almost like a bedazzled beehive. (Corporate would never admit it, but the Princess’s need for coffee before she could face the morning was the reason they had finally allowed a major chain to open outlets in their theme parks. Seeing the coffee shops in conjunction with the fairy tale flourishes of it all had reinforced the idea that princesses liked espresso in the minds of children the world over, and had made it possible for the Princess to keep a steady supply of the stuff flowing in the Crystal Glitter Unicorn Cloud Castle.)

“How’s our patient today?” she asked, walking up to Night Shift and stopping a respectful distance away.

“Cranky,” said Night Shift. She took a swig of coffee. “Belligerent. Making me think it may be time to up my rates again. But she’s healing. Her bruises are almost gone, that one bad break has managed to set, and she’s up ten pounds. You could probably dismiss me, as long as you’re willing to sit on her and make her take things easy for another week or two.”

“You really think we can keep that girl quiet for another week?”

“I think you’ve got three days before she starts climbing the walls and animating your garden statues out of sheer nervous boredom,” said Night Shift. “I’m removing toys from around her bed constantly. She’s not calling them on purpose, or she says she isn’t, and I’m inclined to believe her, because she looks unnerved every time I find another one. She’s anxious and she’s bored and it’s got her leaking energy in every direction. The sooner we can put her back on steady patrol, the better off she’ll be.”

“Now hold on,” objected the Princess. “You’re the one who tore strips out of my hide for letting her go on patrol in the first place.”

“Yes, four days ago,” said Night Shift. “I’m good at my job. Probably the best in the world.”

“As you are the only one-woman emergency room and care staff in existence, I’m going to say that yes, you’re definitely the best there is at what you do. What’s your point?”

“That she’s stronger now than she was four days ago. If you asked what I thought of her going on patrol tonight, I’d say it was fine. As long as she’s not trying to save the world solo, she should be all right.”

“Huh,” said the Princess. “She’s doing that well?”

“She really is,” said Night Shift.

“Well, then, you think you could give us a moment’s privacy? I need to speak with her about something.”

Night Shift blinked, clearly nonplussed. “What? I’m already leaving her alone. I only have three instances right now, and we’re all taking care of biological needs.”

“Look how well-behaved I am, not asking what that means,” said the Princess. “Why did you leave her alone?”

“She has company,” said the Night Shift. “I thought you knew.”

The Princess didn’t reply. The Princess was already gathering her skirts in her hands and running for all that she was worth for the door.

* * *

In the recovery room, painted with stained glass shadows and propped up by the softest pillows this side of Slumberland, Velveteen crossed her arms and scowled. The expression lacked the heat it would have possessed only a few weeks prior; it was, in its way, almost fond.

“I don’t know which is worse,” she said. “The fact that you came here to ask me that, or the fact that I opened the door and let you inside. You’ve got to be out of your mind.”

“I’m not,” said Action Dude, twisting his hands anxiously in front of him. He was back in his orange and blue costume, the very embodiment of truth, justice, and the corporate way. He looked like everything she’d been running from since she was eighteen years old. He looked like everything she’d ever wanted, all served up on a silver platter and ready for her to enjoy. “We talked it over, and we think it’s the right thing to do.”

“And ‘we’ would be…?”

“Me, Dotty Gale, and the American Dream. We all think that, well. We’re not bad people, Vel. We were raised to be heroes, and we’re doing the best we can. But we were raised by The Super Patriots, Inc., and we know now what that meant. Supermodel set the curriculum. She guided our training. We don’t know whether what we think of as ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ is actually…good.” Action Dude grimaced. “It sounds sort of stupid when I say it like that, but really, it’s scary.”

“A lot of things are scary.” There was steel in Velveteen’s tone, and no forgiveness in her gaze. “You know what’s scary? Finding out how much of your paycheck got funneled to your parents in exchange for them looking the other way while a big corporation beat the childhood out of you. Having no high school diploma or place to live or idea of what things are supposed to cost. Not knowing how to survive without Marketing holding your hand. Have you ever cooked? Anything? Or done your own laundry, or paid your own bills?”