Page 93 of Velveteen vs. The Consequences of Her Actions

“We’ll still love you if you don’t talk like an escapee from an H.G. Wells novel all the time,” said Vel, and sipped her coffee, only to yelp.

“It’s hot,” said Yelena needlessly.

“I noticed! It’s also sweet. What the hell?”

“Coffee beans, in their natural state, are quite bitter,” said Torrey. “Modifying that chemical process was child’s play.”

“Don’t listen to her,” said Yelena. “First she had to design and build something called an ‘orangerie’ in the backyard—it’s like a really fancy greenhouse—and then she had to flash-grow a bunch of coffee plants to where they were big enough to start bearing fruit, and then she had to build a coffee roaster, since apparently all the ones not made by horrifying science were inferior to her needs, and now we have coffee that tastes like a fancy mocha as soon as it’s brewed, which we no longer need to pay for.”

“As I said, child’s play,” said Torrey.

“Huh,” said Vel, and looked at the contents of her cup thoughtfully before taking a larger mouthful. “Good coffee.”

“Your praise is balm to my weary ears,” said Torrey dryly, and opened the waffle maker to produce three perfectly golden-brown waffles. Putting two of them on a waiting plate, she speared the third with her fork and carried it with her to the table, where she sat down next to Yelena.

“You know, sarcasm isn’t the only available mode of communication,” said Vel. She picked up the plate. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“Perhaps not, but it remains a favorite.”

“What were you saying about Doctor Darwin’s origins?” asked Vel, pouring syrup over her waffles until they resembled victims of a very sticky flood warning.

“Apparently, he’s as extra-dimensional as I am, but along an evolutionary axis rather than a chronological one,” said Torrey. “While I have slipped out of time, he’s slipped out of species, and is unable to return to his original state. We may have been approaching him all wrong.”

Vel blinked, several times. “What the actual fuck?” she finally asked.

“He says he’s a Saurian,” said Yelena. “A dinosaur person. But something he calls ‘the Evolutionary Plague’ changed him and stranded him here. You’re the one who told us all this. You really don’t remember?”

“I thought the whole abduction was an unpleasant dream,” protested Vel. “If my window hadn’t been broken, I wouldn’t even have asked about it.”

“He took you from your bed, brushing through our security as if it were nothing at all, and you were lost to us, again,” said Torrey, with less sarcasm and more quiet dread than Vel would have expected. “We rushed to recover you, but not before he had committed some act of perfidious science upon your defenseless form. He was waiting for your return. His laboratory had been divested of all items which even the most generous view could equip with faces.”

“Meaning I’d be effectively powerless,” said Vel, and took the open seat at the table. “Well, that’s always fun. If we didn’t have a supervillain to stress about, we might actually start enjoying our lives.”

Torrey frowned. “You seem remarkably untroubled by this information.”

“Oh, I’m freaking right the fuck out on the inside,” said Vel, amiably enough. “But I’m back, and that means I have to go and talk to the licensing department about how I’m going to serve the city going forward, and if it’s a choice between worrying about my license and worrying about a supervillain whose code against killing has always kept them on the low end of the threat level, I’m going to panic about the paperwork.”

“Already?!” asked Yelena. “You just got back!”

“Technically I’m overdue for a renewal and review,” said Vel. “I was able to get an extension due to medical reasons, but if I’m well enough to get abducted, I’m well enough to fill out some forms and argue for my right to arm bears.”

“You mean bear arms,” said Torrey.

“I meant what I said,” said Vel, and took a bite of waffle, expression almost disturbingly serene.

Yelena and Torrey exchanged a look, and didn’t argue. There didn’t seem to be any point.

* * *

“Name?” The clerk sounded profoundly bored, like there had never been anything less interesting than the name of the woman in front of her.

“Velveteen,” said Vel, trying not to fidget. Some people thought that the Department of Superhuman Licensing was a natural counterbalance to the more mundane but equally frustrating Department of Motor Vehicles. Since she still needed to visit the DMV if she wanted to keep her car, she felt like this was a little unfair. It should have been the DMV or the DSL, not both, and certainly not for the rest of her life.

The clerk made a sound that could have been understanding or could have been a catch in her throat, and turned her attention to her keyboard, laboriously typing something into the system. Vel shifted her weight from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly grubby and small. This kind of grinding bureaucracy was the sort of thing she had no defenses against, and no desire to endure.

Finally, the clerk asked, “Legal name?”

“Velma Martinez,” said Vel.