The illusion breaks

Sylvie had a good day. Okay, yes, she’d woken up in an apartment with no outfits again, and had needed to walk to the car and drive to the shops with little more than her home’s welcome mat, but the point was that she’d actually made it clothes-shopping, and picked up a decent variety of outfits.

Her sister was waiting in the car, casting occasional judging looks out at those that bothered with clothing all around her. Hela was lounging back, breasts just peering into view over the bottom of the car window, sunglasses on, and occasionally taking a drag of a cigarette and exhaling out the window.

She’d been very clear on her disapproval of Sylvie’s ‘chosen way of life,’ ie bother with clothes at all. Sylvie really was doing her best to keep her wardrobe, though.

Hence, this was a good day. Hela had driven her to the shops, rather than dropping her off on the far side of town and expecting her to streak home, again, so that suggested progress. And she liked the outfits she’d bought; vaguely, she was aware that the styles stocked seemed to fluctuate wildly.

Sylvie made it as far as the front of the shop when something beeped. Frowning, she turned back around to see a shop assistant approaching her.

“Is there a problem?” Sylvie said.

“Ma’am, can we see your receipt?” the assistant said.

“Yes, of course,” Sylvie said.

The assistant took it. He peered at it, and frowned.

“Ma’am, this shouldn’t have been issued. It says your card was declined,” he said.

“What?” Sylvie said.

“Someone at the till was being a little auto-pilot I think,” he said. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave everything you’ve bought here.”

Sylvie blinked. (In the car out the door, Hela tapped her bare wrist pointedly as if she’d ever worn even as little as a watch).

“What?” Sylvie said. The assistant took her bag, and looked through it.

“Okay, so this is everything except one shirt, pair of undergarments, and pair of jeans,” he said. “If you could just hand those over and we won’t need to charge you with anything.”

“Huh?!”

“Ma’am, is there a problem?” he said expectantly.

Sylvie faltered. She looked around the shop, a family just walking out the front door.

“Is there a back room or something we can do this in?” she said.

“Do you have anything to hide?”

“Yes! My boobs!”

The assistant looked at her with increasing wariness. She saw him reach for some button hidden under the desk, and squeaked.

“Okay, okay, I’ll give it back!” Sylvie said. She blushed, and awkwardly peeled off her top.

(Outside, Hela mouthed a ‘finally.’)

She slapped it down onto the shop assistant’s desk, cheeks starting to colour. When that wasn’t enough, she unclasped her bra, keeping one arm crossed as she slipped it off her chest. She kept an arm over her breasts, one palm over the furthest nipple and fore-arm squeezing the other as if that offered her any decency.

“Receipt says socks, panties and jeans,” the assistant said helpfully.

“I know, I know…” Sylvie muttered.

Red, and one-handed, she unfastened her jeans. She crouched awkwardly to pick them up with her socks as she straightened, handing them back over. Then she took a deep breath, and slid her panties down her toned legs, doing her best to keep her arm in between them to try and hide her core.

She’d just stepped out of them when the world changed.

It was a tiny shiver to start with, a feeling that things had been wrong, a feeling that she wasn’t who she thought she was. She was still for a second, hands still by her ankles, feet bare, nude, bent over, processing the sudden influx of new information.

The thing that brought her back to reality was a sudden scream of unbridled rage. Sylvie barely knew her own way when basic self-preservation saw her throw herself sideways, and a black sword whistled through the air where she’d just been.

She risked a look back; Hela was shockingly red, apparently even her pale complexion able to blush fiercely, and none too thrilled about having spent the last few days naked on TV. The car she’d been in was already torn to shreds, and she had one arm snaking down over toned abs to cover her core, trying vainly to hide part of her chest. The other summoned and threw another of her weapons.

Sylvie staggered away, still reeling from the last few days of memories. She really hated Westview.

But the TVA could come here, now that the Hex was over. Hela was separated from the stones, and poised to be a perfect target for them. If they would just hurry up and…

A portal opened. Still enraged, Hela turned around, but the lead TVA operative held a blue stone aloft: the black blades vanished into portals, and an operative got closer.

Crouched awkwardly behind a display case, Sylvie watched a pruning baton jab into Hela. There was a shout, and then a flash of light, and the goddess of **** was erased.

And then, for a moment, there was stillness.

Sylvie wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Seeing the TVA get a victory would always feel wrong to her; seeing another variant purged made her sick. But it was hard to mourn Hela, of all people. No longer worrying about someone like her with absolute power was a relief.

And, according to Ravonna, this was the deal. Hela was dealt with, and she and everyone were given a space in the TVA to live. No damage done to the sacred timeline, and no one killed like Hela.

One of the agents looked over, and caught sight of Sylvie’s flushing face and bare shoulders peering up over the display box. They started walking closer. Sylvie hesitated.

And for a moment, they were both distracted by a fake-sounding wailing noise. Sylvie raised an eyebrow, and saw some movement down the street. She blinked.

It was Agatha Harkness, for some reason deciding she wanted to take up streaking too. Sylvie couldn’t guess at what possible reason she had to be running down the street, arms positioned in just such a way to completely fail to cover anything up.

“Oh no!” she called, elongating the last syllable. “Look at me. So very naked. How embarrassing. Oh noooo.”

Sylvie blinked. The TVA agents looked at one another, apparently not totally convinced.

“So, what are we doing?”

“I guess standard orders are still in place?” another said. “Whatever. Easy if not.”

Vaguely, Sylvie remembered Agatha looking into her head to find out that the TVA tended to collect the women she’d stripped. Was this her reaction to finding out this variant Westview was going to be reset? It was certainly an… original survival technique.

And then Sylvie realised there was a TVA agent still coming towards her; rather than looking to take her in, they were holding a baton forwards.

It didn’t matter to her just then whether this one hadn’t got the memo from Ravonna, or if the TVA had decided not to keep to the deal. Survival was the only thing on her mind. She straightened awkwardly, still flushed, still crossing an arm over her chest, and side-stepped a jab; she grabbed the agent’s hand rather than the rod, managing a quick enchantment.

She wanted the rod, and she wanted the TemPad. Though, truth be told, she didn’t know if she had the energy to run for much longer if it turned out that she wasn’t going to get peace.