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It was damned hard to actually be irritated with Lauren.

It always was. A lot of it was just how she was. She was so cheerful, energetic, and damned friendly that actually being mad at her just seemed like kicking a puppy. Not that she made it easy to live with her. Between the innuendos, the borderline harassment, the actual harassment, and that same boundless energy living with Lorena Negasi was a full time job on top of all his other full time jobs. If there was any moment that all of this was going to add up to a perfect storm, it would be when Bastille’s leader was exhausted from an S-Rank mission, fighting a Manticore, burning through his usual Aura supply almost three times over, and in dire need of a nap.

Despite all this, he couldn’t actually be irritated. Her excitement was contagious, and Ben was already pumped. As tired as he was, he had never felt better. Bastille, the team Goodwitch hadn’t wanted to let into the academy, the team of misfits, had completed an S-Rank mission their first time out. They’d rescued a refinery’s staff. They’d killed a [i]Manticore[/i]. And they’d come out of it a few thousand lien richer. Each. If anyone had doubted BASL belonged, out loud or otherwise, they could eat their goddamn words.

Which was why, despite all the grumbling he made a show of, he was happy to go out. There was a lot to celebrate.

The huntsman-in-training chased an ibuprofen with a mouthful of cold coffee, one to chase away the ache of over-worked muscles the other to fight off Morpheus, and peeled off his shirt. The grimy black shirt was balled up and tossed into the hamper, then he focused on ditching his greaves and boots. Both were kicked under the bed while Ben pulled a navy blue shirt out of the bureau and pulled it over his head. He slipped into his sneakers without really looking, instead taking a moment to glance at a mirror and ruffle his hair until the mess looked at least a little intentional.

Then he grabbed his wallet (not empty!), slipped it into his back pocket, and made for the door.

“We’ll be back in a few hours,” Ben called over his shoulder, pausing long enough to look over his shoulder and give the two girls staying behind a wave. “If Lauren gets me killed, Sangue gets my share of the profits.”

Then he was out the door, heading for the courtyard. The evening air was a nice, crisp change from the stale stink of the refinery and he took a few deep breaths once he reached the foot of the statue out front. The Cap rolled his shoulders, letting a grin break out on his face while he waited.

It [i]had[/i] been a pretty good day.