Chapter Nine
Coraline settled onto a medical table and started to peel off her armor as John assessed the damage from her unwanted trip across the pavement. She assessed her own condition, bruises, scrapes, shaken up but none of the dens instruments indicated the damage was primarily cosmetic, so to speak.
Vulpes winced as she pulled off the last piece of armour, glancing over her scraped and bruised skin. John looked over the suit, running a hand along the battered armour plating, clearly impressed despite the visible damage.
“You know, this suit handled that way better than I expected,” he mused, examining the armour’s lining. “That impact gel layer really took the brunt of it. You’d probably be nursing broken ribs if we hadn’t added it.”
She chuckled dryly. “Could’ve fooled me—feels like I rolled through a cement mixer full of broken glass.” She reached into the medical cabinet, grabbing antiseptic and gauze for the worst of her cuts and bruises. As she dabbed at a particularly rough scrape, John continued studying the suit, muttering ideas under his breath.
“I think I could add another layer here,” he said, tapping the shoulder plate, “maybe a higher-density gel or reinforced padding. Even with the extra weight, it’d absorb impacts better if you end up doing another high-speed ‘exit’ like that.”
Coraline grimaced, but couldn’t help smiling. “Let’s hope that was the last time I’m tossed from a moving vehicle.” She winced and downed a mouthful of something in a white bottle to dull the pain with a gulp. “Speaking of vehicles, I should check up on that tracker I planted on the BookMobile” Vulpes made her way to her computer chair and sat down with a slow wince. She tapped a few keys and the screens lit up showing a red blip on a map of Toronto that was stationary on a city street.
She let out a hrm then snapped at another key switching to local news where they were showing footage of the crashed bookmobile and a reporter who exclaimed that the fugitive was at large and considered armed and dangerous before they flashed an image of Doctor Lyra Sinclair and asked anyone who seen her to please contact the RCMP hotline.
“Damn it, all that she still slipped away” Coraline said with a scowl “If Lyra might return home, or try and finish what she started with the board who denied her funding, only logical place I can think to start”
John nodded, crossing his arms thoughtfully as he watched the screen. "Makes sense. She’s not in her right mind though, but if she’s as vindictive as she seems, she might just circle back for unfinished business. The board rejecting her would’ve been a big blow to her ego.”
Vulpes tapped her fingers against the desk, her gaze fixed on the map. "It's the only lead I can think of. She might try and flee the country though, she can probably make good money selling Psych-D to a Cartel and disappear ”
John’s face grew grim. "You’re going to have to be cautious with her, Coraline. She’s clearly a lot more dangerous than we expected, even if her mind is broken she is still clearly a genius.”
Vulpes pulled up Sinclair’s personal records on the computer, scanning through recent addresses and known contacts. "Caution’s part of the job. But if we can predict her next move, I may just get ahead of her this time.”
John glanced back at the screen showing the crashed bookmobile, shaking his head. "If she’s gathering supplies or allies, she might be trying to set up a new base of operations somewhere. We’ve got to track down any locations or labs she used previously, anything she could fall back on.”
"Right," Coraline agreed, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she set up alerts for any activity tied to Sinclair’s previous addresses, academic connections, and even old lab partners. She paused, staring at the screen. "Let’s see if we can catch up to her before this mess escalates."
John raised an eyebrow, catching the subtle shift in Vulpes' expression. “Something on your mind?”
She frowned, replaying the words in her mind. “When I confronted her, she made this offhand joke, ‘Lyra’s not here, man.’ At the time, I thought it was just her rattling off nonsense, but… what if there’s more to it?”
John considered this, a hint of worry in his voice. “Like she’s trying to distance herself from who she was? A way to separate herself from all the responsibility?”
“Exactly,” Vulpes replied. “This isn’t just Sinclair acting out after a mental break. This might be… someone else, or at least a version of her who’s completely severed from any rational restraint.”
John leaned back, crossing his arms. “If that’s true, we might be dealing with more than just a revenge trip. She could be seeing herself as… I don’t know, reborn, someone with a mission only she understands.”
Coraline nodded slowly, feeling a chill at the thought. “And if that’s the case, the predictable actions I’d expect from a criminal—like fleeing to sell her drug—might be completely out the window. She could be planning something entirely unhinged, and that makes her next steps hard to predict.”
They both stared at the screen, Sinclair’s image frozen in the news broadcast. This was no ordinary case. They’d entered the realm of unpredictable, dangerous supervillainy. Coraline leaned forward, resolve hardening in her eyes. “We’ll keep the usual watch on her previous contacts and locations, but I’m not ruling anything out. She might be unlike anyone we’ve ever faced”
It was evening in Toronto and the city was still buzzing with the news. A patient had escaped from Toronto General, started a fire and gone on a joyride that had turned the streets of downtown into a battlefield. Psychedelic was skulking out of sight in alleys and dark places. Currently she was sitting on a crate eating a hazelnut spread and grape jam sandwich she had acquired somewhere inexplicably along the way.
She polished off the sandwich and licked the crumbs off her fingers gingerly, she groaned at the state of her attire and the dwindling items in her gift shop tote bag. With a sigh she pulled off the rubber gloves and cheap safety goggles giving them a toss into the trash. “Need to ditch this doctors coat and these patients cloths, dead give away plus they are far too prone to drafts” she grumbled as she stood and did a little twist to limber herself up.
She peered out from the alley watching people closing their stores and boutiques. Most were not overly interesting to her, the sorts of dull mundane basic things that Lyra would have worn or liked to be seen in public wearing. That's when she caught the last store in the row. Its name was written in big colourful letters proclaiming it the “Vintage Values Boutique: catering to the sexy sixties and swinging seventies”
She smirked and gingerly lifted the magic eight ball and gave it a hard shake asking “Should I?”
The answer slowly floated up in the murky triangle: “Yes, definitely.”
Psychedelic grinned ear to ear, her eyes alight with delight. “Thank you, oh wise orb!” she whispered, clutching the magic eight ball to her chest. Her gaze drifted back to the colorful storefront, and she felt a thrill at the thought of slipping into something far more… befitting her new self.
With a quick look left and right, she slipped across the street, her movements light and excited. The boutique was in its final moments before closing, the lone cashier beginning to gather displays inside. Psychedelic peered through the window, taking in the explosion of bell-bottoms, tie-dye, fringe vests, and bold patterns. She spotted platform boots in colors that would make a parrot blush, miniskirts that could double as scarves, and sunglasses in every hue under the sun.
And the vintage toys and memorabilia lining the walls oh this place was a delight, the kind that Lyra would have visited to fuel what she had secretly considered a childish hobby a retro-fashion and style that she had loved as a teenager before her fathers demands and mothers incarceration due to her mental state had gotten to her.
The clerk glanced up, catching sight of her, and offered a polite, tired smile. She looked every bit the vintage shop employee, with her own nods to retro style—a paisley scarf in her hair and thick, square glasses. Psychedelic strode in, her head held high as if entering her personal paradise.
The clerk blinked as Psychedelic entered, her disheveled appearance a stark contrast to the eclectic yet polished vibe of the store. “Uh… can I help you?”
“Oh, yes, my dear,” Psychedelic replied, her voice lilting with faux grace. “I need a fresh look, something with… flair.” She held up the magic eight ball. “Something the orb would approve of.”
The clerk’s eyes darted from the eight ball to Psychedelic’s wild expression, and she nodded cautiously. “Well… you’ve come to the right place.” She gestured toward a rack of dresses and skirts in swirling, psychedelic patterns. “We have a lot of retro options. Bright, bold…”
Psychedelic barely waited for her to finish before she dove in, pulling out a purple paisley jumpsuit with gold accents, a fringe leather jacket, and a pair of knee-high silver go-go boots. “Oh, this is delicious!” She threw a red velvet bell-bottom jumpsuit over her arm for good measure and pulled a pair of oversized, round yellow-tinted sunglasses from a display, perching them on her nose.
Turning to the clerk, she struck a dramatic pose. “What do you think?”
The clerk hesitated, half-nervous, half-amused. “It’s… very, um, bold.”
Psychedelic winked. “Just how I like it!” She held up her magic eight ball one last time. “And it’s perfect timing too, because the world’s about to get a whole lot more colorful.”
With that, she took her loot and disappeared into the changing rooms, humming a tune from a time Lyra might have once enjoyed, but which now felt like a siren song from another world.
"Oh and don't go calling the police on me dear, or I will shoot you dead!" called out psychedelic from the changing room causing the clerk to slowly put the phone back down her hand shaking. The Clerk glanced at the door and decided her life wasn't worth this and bolted leaving the store and its contents to the woman in the changing room. Psychedelic looked out as she ran and tilted her head "Hmm guess everythings on the house, how kind she is!"
Psychedelic stepped out of the changing room, her new ensemble making her feel every bit the vibrant agent of chaos she envisioned. She grinned, taking in her reflection in a nearby mirror: the purple paisley jumpsuit hugged her figure perfectly, the gold accents shimmering under the dim boutique lighting, and the fringe jacket swayed as she turned, adding a playful flair. The silver go-go boots added just the right touch of flash, and the oversized yellow-tinted sunglasses were nice but she wasn’t quite feeling them, her eyes drifted to the sun glasses and until she spotted them, a set of rainbow hued heart shaped shades that was begging for her to wear them.
With a gleeful clap, she twirled around, inspecting the store’s now-abandoned contents. “Oh, the treasures that await,” she mused. She strolled through the aisles, tossing random items into her tote bag—a few feather boas, a stack of bangles, and even a polka-dot scarf that she tied around her wrist for good measure.
She paused at the counter, where a rack of keychains caught her eye. One in particular—a peace sign adorned with rainbow rhinestones—sparkled like a gem. She snapped it off the rack, inspecting it closely. “Perfect,” she murmured, hooking it onto her belt loop. “A symbol of peace for a bringer of pandemonium.”
She paused as if she had forgotten something trivial “Oh you silly goose, if you are a supervillain you need to remember to steal things!” Lyra hummed and reached behind the counter to find the cashier’s till was open and unceremoniously dumped the money into her tote bags. “Better”
As she made her way to the exit, she grabbed a mannequin’s straw hat and plopped it on her head at a jaunty angle. “Well, darlings, it’s been a pleasure,” she said with a mock curtsy toward the empty store. "Now… let’s see what Toronto makes of a little more colour in their lives!”
Stepping out into the cool evening air, she felt reborn.
Though something was missing, she had a pile of vintage clothes and some lovely memorabilia she planned on turning into fun toys once she got the chemicals of course ah chemicals! Yes, that's what she needed: a fresh batch of chemicals. The RCMP would be along shortly, she didn’t doubt the clerk had run off to find a phone. She reminded herself to shoot her if she saw her again.
With a delighted hum, Psychedelic strutted down the sidewalk, swaying in her new ensemble, catching curious glances from passersby who likely thought she was just another eccentric character out for the night. The thought made her laugh. Oh, if only they knew! Her steps were light, her grin wide as she wove through the crowd, already planning her next move.
Chemicals. She’d need to replenish her stash. The taste of her escape was still fresh on her tongue, and she craved more—something bigger, something bolder. Somewhere with just the right supplies... maybe a high-end cosmetic lab or a medical research building. After all, those types always kept the best compounds hidden away.
A police siren wailed in the distance, and she paused, tilting her head to listen as it grew louder, closing in. "Ah, music to my ears," she cooed. The cops were eager tonight. But she was ready for them, more ready than they’d ever suspect.
As she moved along, her eyes lit up at the sight of a nearby map plastered to a bus stop. She leaned close, her fingertips tracing over the city streets until she found her target: an all night pharmacy, not too far away. She grinned to herself. Yes, a perfect place to pick up some toys for her new game.
“Oh, Toronto,” she sighed theatrically, tipping her hat to the skyline, “I do believe it’s time we got to know each other a little better.” With that, she threw her head back in a burst of laughter, the sound echoing down the street as she sashayed her way toward her next target.
As she strolled through the quiet streets, Psychedelic’s mind raced with ideas. An all-night pharmacy meant all the supplies she could dream of—over-the-counter chemicals, maybe a few potent prescriptions, and certainly enough household goods to whip up a variety of concoctions. She was practically giddy with anticipation. After all, one didn’t need a high-end lab to make mayhem, just a little creativity and the right ingredients.
Her platform heels clicked confidently on the pavement as she neared the storefront. A couple of late-night patrons shuffled out, glancing at her with surprise as she made her way inside. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a stark, almost surreal glow on the aisles of neatly stacked products.
She scanned the shelves with a practised eye, grabbing bottles of rubbing alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, ammonia, and a few unsuspecting hair dyes, and a large number of colourful hair dyes that were going to be used for their intended purpose, after all dishwater blonde was hardly a colour fitting for Toronto's newest media darling. To the casual observer, her selections might look like the late-night shopping spree of a quirky insomniac. But to her, it was a treasure trove.
Humming, she swept down the beauty aisle, snagging a few tubes of hair spray—perfect for a makeshift flamethrower if paired with her lighter. In the cleaning section, she found exactly what she’d hoped for: bleach. Ah, the endless possibilities! To most people, these were just mundane products, but to her, this was an array of weapons waiting to be unleashed.
She paused at the toy section and grinned as she snapped up a few water guns, water balloons, a few cheap remote control cars and a bag of various things that gave her all sorts of fun ideas. She had to pick up a second canvas bag from the store; this one had a tie dye pattern she practically gushed over. Lyra never had this much fun shopping that was for certain.
With a jaunty little swing of her tote bag now filled with chemical goodies, she spun toward the register. The cashier, a weary-eyed young man, stared wide-eyed at her colourful appearance as she approached.
“Evening, sunshine,” she said with a wink, dropping a handful of crumpled bills on the counter. “Keep the change.”
And with that, she sauntered out, her mind already buzzing with ideas for her new “toys.”
There now she just needed a quiet place where she could do a little work, her eyes drifted to an shabby motel six that boasted kitchenettes in each room. Likely a cabinet and a hot plate but heat, ah heat added possibilities to chemistry as did access to running water and time to do some work. By Morning she would be ready to wreak some real havoc in this clean, polite city.
The Motel Six loomed invitingly with its dimly lit neon sign flickering in shades of red and blue—a quiet, rundown sanctuary where nobody would look twice. She strolled in, flashing her brightest grin at the clerk who seemed more interested in his magazine than his guests.
"Just one night," she said sweetly, her tone dripping with feigned innocence as she tossed a few wads of bills on the counter, clearly overpaying for the room. “A nice quiet night, because you haven’t seen me right dear?”. The clerk barely glanced at her, handing over a key with a lazy gesture and a nod of agreement.
Once in her room, Psychedelic took stock of her “lab.” True, it was nothing more than a hot plate, a scratched-up counter, and a chipped sink, but for her purposes, it was perfect. She laid her ingredients out like a feast, examining each bottle and item with delight. First, she began mixing, testing combinations, adjusting her creations with a little heat here, a few drops there. The effect would be theatrical, no doubt—blinding, colourful, and chaotic.
Between her cooking up various concoctions that would tide her over until she got some proper lab equipment she took to the bathroom and the hair dyes that were actually going to be used as hair dye.
By dawn, her arsenal was ready: rainbow-hued smoke bombs, blinding sprays, toxic slimes and more—all compact, all potent, all perfect for the day she had planned. She leaned back, admiring her work, feeling more alive than she ever had.
“Good morning, Toronto,” she whispered to herself, chuckling softly as the first light of dawn crept through the curtains. “Let’s give you a wake-up call you’ll never forget.” She smiled, pulling a towel from her head and shaking loose her new hair a mane of riotous rainbow hues.
She admired herself in the bathroom mirror as she applied her makeup. “A supervillain has to look her best” she mused. The police will probably staking out her house, expecting to try and leave or maybe go after the board. Of course why would she do any of that? That all sounded boring and she wanted to have fun and open people's eyes not be boring.
She would need better toys of course, a base of operations maybe, oh a gang that might be fun! I mean how was she going to.. Uh going to.. What exactly was she going to do? She furrowed her brow and considered this, robbery and chaos was fun but what was her ultimate goal? Play with the foxy lady? That was a given but moreover she needed something with pzazz, something fun and eye opening. She needed to rattle all these small minds out of their false perceptions.
An insidious grin crawled across her purple painted lips and she let out a slow giggle. She had the seeds of a perfect idea germinating in her mind a classic worthy of any supervillain. If she failed she would be famous if she succeeded the city would be thrown into pandemonium it was win-win!
She left the motel with a skip in her step and a groovy song to sway her hips to.
Coraline's day was less than ideal, she had to hide her bandaged wounds and the pain she was in and play the role of Coraline Penrose, rising young attorney for her father and his oldest friend, his law partner Arthur MacLeod. Uncle Arthur as she had come to know him was quite a character, a big boisterous man with a beard that while groomed looked more like it belonged on a lumberjack. Her father's partner was all but gone, ready for early retirement in Florida with her mother. So she did have to wonder why they had arranged the meeting. In any case Coraline couldn't afford to miss it.
Hence why he found herself at a lunch meeting trying not to show off how sore she was with her grey haired father and her not-blood uncle Arthur wearing suits and looking every bit the high class Toronto Lawyers.
Coraline sat across from Arthur MacLeod, watching as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes twinkling with that mischievous glint he often had, as though every conversation were a grand joke only he understood. Her father, seated beside him, looked unusually composed, with a hint of satisfaction in his expression—a rare look for a man who usually only relaxed at home.
"Coraline," Arthur boomed, slapping a heavy hand on the desk, "we’ve got a bit of a proposal for you. You know your father is packing his bags for sunny Florida soon enough, and your father has graciously convinced me that the only way he can retire in good conscience is if someone worthy fills his shoes."
"Me?" Coraline managed, raising an eyebrow. She’d expected this meeting to be about some routine client work or perhaps a lecture on one of her cases.
Arthur laughed, his booming chuckle filling the room. "Yes, you! Sure, you’re young, maybe even a little green—but you’re a Penrose. You’re sharp as they come, and, frankly, I’m too lazy to change the name on the sign."
Her father cut in, his voice steady but encouraging. "Arthur and I built this firm together, Coraline. The name Penrose and MacLeod carries weight here, and the idea is to keep it that way. Of course, we’re not throwing you into the lion’s den. Arthur will still guide you, and you’ll have your pick of cases at your level. Think of this as a placeholder—until you’re fully ready."
Arthur nodded, leaning forward with an approving grin. "The way I see it, you’re already a promising young attorney—a chip off the old block, as they say. I’d be happy to see you take the reins someday, but don’t worry about anything that’s beyond you for now. This is a chance for you to get your bearings, under our watch."
Coraline took a breath, nodding along as the two men spoke. It was an unexpected offer, to say the least. She hadn’t thought she’d be stepping up like this so soon, but then, the firm wasn’t the only thing she was managing in her life. Still, it dawned on her just how convenient this could be. An heiress being handed a position that people expected her to grow into—it was the perfect cover. They’d assume she was just a figurehead for a while, managing lighter cases and easing into the role.
It was an arrangement that would allow her to maintain her double life. The Vulpes could thrive under the guise of the young attorney—covering for her long nights, her secrets, her absences. And should anyone question her, they’d simply assume she was overwhelmed by her responsibilities or out on work assignments.
"Thank you," Coraline said, finally allowing herself to smile. "I’ll do my best to make sure the Penrose name keeps up its end of the sign."
Arthur grinned, clearly pleased, while her father gave a small, reserved smile. "I’m glad you agree," he said, the warmth in his voice just hinting at the pride beneath his usual restraint. "Arthur didn’t give me much of a choice, especially after he saw how well you did in school."
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. “Your father kept bragging about you to the point where I was just about ready to ask him to take early retirement just so we could bring you on board. Don’t worry, Coraline—you’ll do just fine."
Her father gave her an approving nod. "You’ve earned this. Just remember, we’re here if you need guidance."
Coraline felt a rush of warmth, her initial surprise giving way to a mix of pride and determination. “I’ll make sure this trust isn’t misplaced,” she replied, the weight of both her new role—and the cover it afforded her—settling into place.
Coraline stood, maintaining her poised smile despite the dull ache pulsing through her shoulders and sides. She extended her hand to her father, then to Arthur. "I’ll be ready to start as soon as the ink’s dry. And thank you, Dad, Uncle Arthur. I know this isn’t just about merits, and I appreciate you both looking out for me."
Her father shook her hand firmly, a glint of pride flashing in his usually reserved eyes. "You’re going to do well, Coraline. You’ve earned this trust."
Arthur clasped her hand with a grin, his laugh deep and genuine. "Don’t sell yourself short. Just you wait, in a few years, you’ll be ready to take the reins fully, and I’ll get my long overdue break.”
Coraline gave a nod, her confidence bolstered. She knew this opportunity would be invaluable—not only for her career, but as a perfect cover for the late nights and dangerous pursuits that came with her double life as the Vulpes.
Coraline enjoyed a relaxed lunch with her father, who eagerly shared details about his latest acquisition—a classic '57 Ford, already waiting for him in Florida. He spoke with a rare excitement, the kind he reserved for only a few things in life: his family, his work, and, naturally, his vintage cars. As he described the restoration plans he had for the Ford, Coraline couldn’t help but smile, feeling the warmth of his enthusiasm.
On the other side of the table, Uncle Arthur provided a lively counterpoint, regaling them with his signature bad puns and tall tales. His stories were often so outlandish that Coraline could never quite tell where the line between fact and fiction blurred, but that was part of the charm. She found it amusing how he and her father, though best friends and law partners, couldn’t be more different in personality. Her father was calm, analytical, and a touch reserved, while Arthur was brash, irreverent, and as lively as a firecracker.
It was moments like these that reminded her of why she was so grateful to have them both in her life, each supporting her in his own unique way. Their partnership, with Arthur’s larger-than-life energy balanced by her father’s steady grounding, had created a firm that thrived on their contrasting strengths. And now, as they prepared to pass that legacy to her, Coraline felt the weight of their expectations as well as their encouragement.
Arthur’s passion for superheroes was practically legendary around the office, adding a quirky charm that set Penrose & MacLeod apart from other, more buttoned-up firms. He was like a big kid, endlessly fascinated by costumed champions of justice and what they represented. Arthur had carved a niche for himself as Canada’s go-to expert on superhero law—a reputation that, for all his theatrics, he had genuinely earned. From vigilantes operating in legal grey areas to supervillains who tried to exploit loopholes, Arthur had studied it all. He was the firm’s resident authority on laws and cases involving superhumans, and Coraline doubted anyone else in the country had as deep a knowledge of the subject.
She couldn’t help but smile, recalling some of his sillier ad campaigns. Arthur, fully suited up in his legal attire but wearing a cape, would stare straight into the camera, delivering lines like “Penrose & MacLeod: Legal Heroes!” or “Penrose & MacLeod—when you need a different sort of superhero!” The ads were tongue-in-cheek and over-the-top, but they worked, drawing in clients who appreciated a lawyer unafraid to embrace the fantastical aspects of the superhuman world. Arthur had a knack for balancing his earnest enthusiasm with his expert knowledge, and for many, that made him one of a kind.
Coraline had always found it endearing, if sometimes a bit embarrassing. But now, as she prepared to step into her fathers shoes, she found herself appreciating his quirky approach. It had built a reputation that went beyond ordinary law practice and positioned Penrose & MacLeod as a truly unique firm, one that recognized the complexities—and often legal absurdities—of a world of superhumans.
Arthur’s passion had infused Penrose & MacLeod with an unconventional charm, the kind that made people feel comfortable approaching them with the strange and extraordinary. His dedication to superhero law was genuine, and Coraline had seen firsthand how his knowledge of superhuman legalities had helped people, both heroes and regular citizens. Superheroes might save lives, but Arthur often saved their reputations, defending them from legal tangles most firms would find baffling.
Some of his cases had become near-legendary in their own right: defending a telepath accused of “thought invasion,” counselling a retired hero on intellectual property rights over their costume design, or even fighting to keep some super science mind-reading device banned on privacy grounds. The oddity of it all was that Arthur approached these situations with absolute seriousness, treating superhuman-related legal issues with the same gravitas as any high-stakes corporate case. He always said, “The law doesn’t make exceptions for costumes or powers; it just means the stakes are higher and the rules, stranger.”
The quirky campaigns—the cape, the slogans—had been Arthur’s idea of showing the world that they didn’t just tolerate superhuman cases; they embraced them. At the time, Coraline had tried to avoid watching the commercials, horrified by the sight of her family’s legal firm engaging in such absurdity. Yet, now she could see how well it worked. Clients came not just because they needed a lawyer but because they saw in Arthur someone who truly understood their challenges. And now, with her fathers impending retirement, the responsibility of carrying on that unique legacy fell to her.
As Coraline looked across the table at Arthur, she felt the weight of that legacy. His eccentric approach had kept the firm afloat and thriving. She wasn’t sure she could match his flamboyance, but she could certainly carry on his dedication.
Her father was the quintessential traditional lawyer—a steady, grounded figure with a comprehensive legal mind that balanced Arthur’s more eccentric approach. If Arthur was the firm’s quirky heart, then her father was its backbone. He approached each case with a meticulous eye, handling everything from corporate law to estate planning and criminal defence with the utmost professionalism. Where Arthur might embrace the quirks of superhero law with open arms, her father would tackle each case with a pragmatic, analytical approach, ensuring every detail was covered.
Growing up, Coraline had witnessed the way he could navigate the boardroom and courtroom with the same calm precision, projecting authority without flashiness. In many ways, he was Arthur’s opposite: a “stuffed shirt,” as Arthur liked to tease, but one whose expertise and steady reputation had anchored the firm and brought in clients looking for a more conventional legal approach.
If Arthur’s role had been to make Penrose & MacLeod unique, her father’s ways to make sure it had solid footing. She’d be stepping into his literal shoes soon, and she knew her own path would lie somewhere between these two poles—combining her father’s professional rigour with the unique niche that Arthur had carved out.
With her father retiring early and Arthur’s eventual departure still a ways off—though she doubted he’d ever truly hang up his cape and briefcase until he was forced to—Coraline found herself staring down the reality of balancing her two worlds. The firm, with its legacy and the expectations that came with it, was a privilege she couldn’t deny. But the life of the Vulpes called to her just as strongly, and her body, bruised and aching, served as a stark reminder of the toll her oath had already taken.
She’d sworn on her grandfather’s grave that she’d be a defender, a shadow prowling for justice in the city’s dark corners. It was a promise born out of love, duty, and maybe a touch of stubbornness she’d inherited from him. But the bruises from her recent encounter with Psychedelic, the blinding aches as she held herself upright, reminded her of the price of that commitment. Even with her armor and her skill, she wasn’t invincible.
Yet, as much as she accepted the physical cost of her double life, she was equally aware of the risks in her new role at the firm. Penrose & MacLeod would demand her focus and energy, and she’d be expected to uphold its legacy. There would be times when she’d have to smile through pain, maintain a professional demeanour even when she’d rather be recovering or patrolling the city. The choices she made would always carry consequences, especially now, and she’d have to learn to walk a razor-thin line between Coraline Penrose, young attorney and heiress, and the Vulpes, Toronto’s vigilant protector.
It wouldn’t be easy, but then, she thought as she brushed her errant hair behind her ear, life wasn’t supposed to be. She’d embrace the challenges ahead, taking comfort in knowing that every sacrifice she made was for a greater purpose, one that gave her life meaning beyond herself.
