Mjolnir

Descendants

^{#a8f9ff ....|..... prism ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower ......................................... #00aeef ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower ..............}

Imogen’s gaze was focused on the phantom mark of her lipstick left behind on the brim of the glass. A faint remnant of vodka hugged the inside edge as she turned the crystalware in her delicate grasp. Well, that was one thing off her long buried Academy bucket list. Although she imagined ‘Drinks with Magni’ to be under less duress, with the pretense of a date and perhaps a drunken night cap to wrap up the evening in a neat little bow. Excessive booze to drown out her brother making an ass of himself, and by extension her, was not how she expected that to play out… at all.

"I agree to thy deal, but I will still beseech thee for forgiveness. ‘Tis not in my nature to forget such a…" Imogen looked up as images of her own skin peering through the transparent lace flashed through Magni’s mind. "Fair and noble woman such as thyself. It would be a great boon to be reminded of our history, lest I cause more harm."

Fair and noble. Imogen chuckled softly at how she had nearly forgotten the odd Shakespearean way he spoke. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips, pleased he was noticing her, finally after a decade. Even if a voice at the back of her mind tried to warn her against caving to old feelings. She wasn’t like the people who caught his attention at the Academy. If she was… He would have remembered her.

But his smile was soft and warm like the setting sun, begging for her to ease his burden. His mind spoke of wanting to know his misdeeds and wanting to know her… Not just her body. Imogen’s heart fluttered slightly. "We attended this academy together." She cleared her throat, reaching for the vodka once again. "I… Had quite the crush on you back then," she confessed. Her usual confidence faltered by a fraction as she set down her glass and removed the cap on the bottle. She surprised herself at how willingly she offered up a secret she carried for nearly ten years. But Magni wanted understanding and they were adults, right?

"I’m not surprised that you never noticed me," Imogen continued as she began refilling her drink, taking a deep breath. "I was far more timid back then. A content wallflower. I couldn’t compare to the men and women that caught your eye." She finally turned back to face him, icy and stormy blue eyes meeting in a silent stare. The tip of her tongue barely flicked along her bottom lip as her gaze fell and she began refilling his glass.

"Although, I have to admit," she spoke up once again, only after she finished pouring his drink. Imogen set the bottle back down and retrieved her glass. "The small part of my heart that clung to my teenage crush was saddened that you didn’t remember me." She looked up into his deep blue eyes, shadowed by a pronounced brow and knotted golden locks. While admitting old feelings made her stomach twist uncomfortably, there was also some sense of relief getting it off her chest after all these years. Perhaps she could finally move on… Hopefully.

Imogen’s frosty blue eyes held his gaze intently as she slowly extended her lipstick stained glass and clinked it against his for a second time.

Shame was the most prominent emotion that clouded his mind as Imogen spoke. Of course she bore a familiarity. Young Imogen, daughter of one of the academy's founders. Beautiful then, though not as bold. But above all, young. Magni had already been aging out of the academy by the time she had arrived. She was one of the last ones to grace these hallowed halls before its subsequent closure. He had not known her well, from his recollection. The unbalance of their experience with the other brought a feeling of shame and guilt.

He wanted to offer excuses or a reason for overlooking her, as he had overlooked all the freshmen that year: the years of experience between them then. As he had grown older and possessed an iota more wisdom in his latter years at the academy, he felt it would be strange to invite those just coming to terms with the tribulations of age to his bed chambers. Least of all, a timid young woman connected to one of the two lords of the tower. To Magni, the explanation seemed sufficient. Finding the wording was another matter entirely.

As he searched for a way to phrase it while staring down into her eyes, a different feeling had subsumed the first: one he could not place. Even he could tell that she had not confessed this crush as a means of seduction. There was a hesitancy, a wall, between them. He was used to distance as a tactic, though he had always preferred a more literal use of it. He had travelled to other realms entirely to create distance between him and his harsh feelings towards this one. As Imogen tapped her cup to his, he surrendered the idea of offering an excuse.

"I offer to thee my deepest regrets for my disregard, Lady Frost. I only pray upon thy good nature to grant me thy absolution, so long as thou art aware that my fickle nature in my youth was not a reflection on thy quality, but mine own." He lifted his cup above his lips, motioning towards the very skies he called his domain. "And that a ten-year hath molded mine own temperament greatly, to appreciate true beauty and care where ‘tis found."

Imogen was… surprised. She expected her confession to be a way to wipe the slate and lay old feelings to rest. She offered him an easy fresh start with a simple shared drink and expected once she elaborated that would have been it. But rather than accepting her confession and moving on, or teasing her for it, Magni instead begged for her forgiveness in a way that left her speechless. A flush grew across her chest and rose up to her cheeks. She couldn’t recall the last time a man made her blush. It was the last thing she expected, unless it was from the alcohol, which it wasn’t. She needed at least two more glasses to get there.

She inhaled a sharp breath, diverting her gaze, and brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Her eyes focused on the clear liquid that rested in her glass and the smudged lipstick along the brim. The way Magni apologized made her feel like a goddess between the way he groveled and praised her beauty, but also embarrassed and terrified that Jim would hear and never let her live it down. His words, while archaic and otherworldly, were like the declarations of love in old historical romance novels. Imogen could understand how women like Juliet and Elizabeth Bennet got weak in the knees. She appreciated the apology… thoroughly but it didn’t calm old buried feelings, it just made everything far more complicated.

Whether or not he was the most perfect specimen to walk the halls of the academy was irrelevant.

"Keep talking like that and I’ll forgive you for anything," she half blurted out under her breath. Imogen brought her glass to her lips, with or without Magni matching her, and downed it. She found she needed the liquid courage for something else entirely. Hopefully it worked fast enough to dull her mind or erase the fact that her confession of an old crush did the exact opposite of what she intended.

As he said, or thought, she was young and he was in an entirely different realm than her. Too young for him to have seen her on an equal level as himself. He sought people to warm his bed and she sought a companion but lacked the tenacity to go after what she wanted. It would have been a poor match that only would have ended in a conquest for him and heartbreak for her. But now they were both older… wiser. They had the capability to look back on their younger selves with guilt, remorse, and no lack of embarrassment. She just had to look at it from a practical and logical perspective… Or avoid looking at him entirely, and she’d be fine.

Magni smiled softly as the mood seemed to shift slightly. He had been told many a time by his own mother and brother that sincerity in an apology was a strong balm for a wounded soul, and was pleased to see that it had the desired outcome. Her eyes had shifted away from his own, and a flush of red brightened her pallid cheeks. No… this was the reaction he was familiar with. One that he understood far too well. He took that moment, that hesitation and contemplation before she spoke, to admire her efforts in her appearance… though, he suspected he would be just as taken with her when it washed off.

Her forgiveness was a bit surprising. Sure, it was what he had hoped for. He was elated that they were free of that burden, at least for now. His father, in a rare moment of drunken wisdom, had once tried to explain his own failed marriage in terms of a field of grain. When it rotted and decayed from disease and poor maintenance, it was impossible to regrow. His father’s lesson had been to plant his crop in other fields, until those too rotted. Magni did not desire that sort of life, not anymore. It was better to swallow his pride and clear the rot, in the hopes of a bountiful field to follow. But what was the rot in this analogue? His failing memory? But then what was the wheat? Fellowship? Companionship? Ro-

As Imogen lifted her glass to down another drink, Magni mirrored her. As the burning liquid soothed his throat, he resolved to fulfill her request. He let his hand and cup fall to his side, and took a small step to fill the gap between them. He craned his neck down slightly, just enough that his own golden locks draped down to gently touch the crown of her head. He lowered the volume of his voice, but it still resonated with the same strength and clarity as a clap of thunder in her ears. "It is not in my intentions to commit the same crime again, and yet I shall strive to speak in what manner is most desirous to you."

The air shifted as Magni took a step closer and leaned in, his imposing figure filling the empty space that lingered between them. Imogen inhaled sharply, the air catching in her chest. The reddening of her face grew darker. As every pointed word left his lips, hot breath caressed the flushing skin of her face. His voice, while deep and quiet, sent a vibration through her core and a chill up her spine. It took every effort for her to regain her composure and steel her nerves. She slowly spun around to face him, tilting her head back to meet his gaze no matter how close he was… And jesus fucking christ, his face was only a few inches away from her own.

Her gaze drifted from the empty glass at his side, up the rigid contours of his arms, along the muscles of his torso that threatened to burst free from the ‘I love NY’ shirt, until she eventually found her way to his eyes. There were several desirous things the son of Thor could do for her, but she bit her tongue. Imogen was trying to be good, bury the past, and move on. But the closeness of his body, the quiet confidence in his words, and his piercing gaze made it difficult for her to silence her mind’s ramblings or the flutterings in her stomach.

With him so close, Imogen found it hard to keep herself from touching him. Her self control floated out the window with all sense of logic and forethought she had moments before. Delicate fingers reached up to brush his golden locks back over his shoulder and reveal more of his face. Her hand lingered there, hovering in the air just barely above his broad shoulder. "So eager to please," her voice lowered to match his. But where his tone was strong and dominant, hers was smooth like satin, pouring from her lips like a decadent wine. She let her hand fall, her palm resting on the incline of his traps toward his neck. "That’s rare in a man."

Imogen’s hand curved around the front of his shoulder and ran along the taut fabric of his shirt. After a moment of indulging, realizing it was the first proper time she had ever touched him, she pulled away just enough to poke his chest with her index finger. "You, son of Thor, are going to be trouble." There was a slight challenge to her words that wasn’t fully intended. The hint of a coy smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she turned her head away to reach for the bottle one more time. She shouldn’t, but the liquor was making her pliant and relieving tension… It might have also been lowering her inhibitions but that part she was less aware of.

The tips of her fingers hesitated on the neck of the glass bottle. This was bad. This was really bad. Imogen’s goal was to end her crush and smother the embers, not douse her loins in gasoline and watch everything burn. Magni Thorson was supposed to be some vague distant memory, like how she used to cover the walls of her pre-teen bedroom in posters of Hugh Jackman. But there he stood, a foot away in the tower. A happy coincidence that he arrived when they sought allies? They couldn’t very well turn away a God, but it left her in a predicament she was not prepared to handle. He was trouble. She was in trouble.

Magni could feel his own blood rising as it became clear that his charms still held sway in the world of man. Imogen's words, her lingering gaze, and her soft touch sent jolts through his body. He could not blame the alcohol, not yet, as his mind wandered. Just as she hungrily eyed him, his thoughts and eyes were ravenous as they beheld her. Her honeyed whisper elicited a gentle, low pitched exhale. He had forgotten the others assembled in the lobby so quickly, along with his purpose for being here. He had stumbled upon a new quest, but one equally as noble in his estimation. As his mind considered the positions he would like to pin her in, his whisper answered her. "’Tis a blessing for thou that I am more than a man, then." He was, after all, a god.

But her second statement had been a little troubling. A distance, or another confession. He knew he could be trouble, surely. But as Imogen reached for the bottle again, he knew that their current pace would perhaps be more dangerous. Magni could handle his liquor, surely, but he knew mortals had a lesser tolerance. But he was in no position to deny another glass when it was to be so kindly offered. Something told him, though, that wasn't the kind of trouble she spoke of.

He decided to make a move, but not one so bold. In his younger years, he would have been far more forward and daring even in as public a setting as this. Instead, Magni simply sought balance. His hand gently moved towards Imogen's side, his fingers resting just above her waist to feel her soft flesh. He marvelled at the feeling of her form. His mind raced with other places he wished to caress, but his hand remained as an anchor to keep her close. "I have no fear of danger, Imogen. I seek it." This was true, but often the danger he sought was not the pleasant kind he spoke of here.

Visions of her own body, romanticized through Magni’s thoughts and assumptions, crossed his mind. Images of their bodies, naked and intertwined, flashed through a montage of various positions and locations. Imogen sucked in a sharp breath and diverted her gaze to the bottle that still rested beneath her fingertips. Sweat gathered at the nape of her neck as she tried to stave off her own lingering thoughts and switch off their mental link. But she was failing. She needed another drink, but she could already feel the warmth under her eyes and beneath her skin as the vodka seeped into her bloodstream.

Then his hand found its way to rest upon her, just about her waist where the dip in her shirt revealed the pale bare skin of her back. Magni’s touch was like fire, rough and calloused. His hand never wandered while his thoughts drifted to fantasies of the numerous places his touch could explore on her body. Imogen’s constitution faltered and her fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle, forgoing the pretense of pouring herself a proper drink. She pressed the glass to her lips and took a deep drink. Fuck it. At that point she was going to be drunk either way.

Imogen discarded her empty glass and the half full bottle of vodka on the table. She raised her right hand and ran her fingers back through her blonde hair. She desperately needed to get on top of him—the situation… the situation. She sucked in a deep breath and braced herself, before allowing herself to look at him once again. While her mind was a chaotic clusterfuck, her face was calm, albeit still flushed between his words, thoughts and the alcohol… but calm, nonetheless. "Brazen thoughts in the presence of a telepath." Her right brow quirked and a slight smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. But she didn’t turn away or create any distance between them.

As Imogen took a swig from the bottle, his adoration for her only grew. The niceties of Midgard had their appeal, but there was nothing quite like drinking directly from the keg in the halls of his homeland. As she set the bottle down, Magni followed and set his own cup down. His other hand remained planted on her side, his fingers very delicately plying into the soft skin of the woman. He wanted to keep her close… especially given the vortex around them. He was certainly happier just focused on her, and he hoped for the same in her perspective.

Before she spoke, Magni had grabbed the bottle with his free hand and lifted it, too, to his lips. It was a bitter drink, but the buzz was passable. It was rude to leave anyone to drink on their own, and he was not going to let her think for a moment he was rude. But as the liquid began to sear his mouth, she had revealed something that confused him. Telepath? He had heard the term, he definitely knew it. They were like soothsayers of the soul… mind readers? That was it. Those with the power to read one's thought and know what they were think-

Magni turned his head suddenly, the liquor catching in his throat. He spluttered it out in a mist behind him, his choking deafening in the echoing lobby. It took him a moment to regain his breathing function, his mind ringing with surprise and amusement. "Thou hast had me at thy mercy, it seems." His tone was jovial, taking humor in the circumstance. She had been reading his thoughts. He had no real secrets to hide. He had only been thinking about fu-

Oh. Oh no

Magni's cheeks burned hotter than before, and he quickly removed his hand from her side to rub the back of his neck. It, too, seemed to burn hot to his touch. The apologies cycled through his brain, intermixed with recollections of what exactly he had been thinking about. This then sent his brain into overdrive, desperately trying to push the thought of Imogen's body from his mind. Of course, it had the opposite effect. He swore at himself internally, opting to quickly speak some form of apology lest her opinion of him be further marred. He spoke softly, but the words could not come out fast enough. "I was ignorant of thy talents. I did not intend any offense with my thoughts. Thou art a remarkable beauty, and it has been a time since I… well…" His stammering fizzled out as he glanced back at Imogen, his eyes carefully searching her face for a reaction. He was defenseless, his facade dropping at the thought of causing this former admirer further distress. He had let his youthful vigor guide his actions yet again.

A hand shot up to cover Imogen’s mouth as she tried to hold back laughter, but failed miserably. Her eyes lit up and a smile of genuine amusement crossed her lips. Her other palm pressed to her abdomen as she nearly doubled over. She couldn’t recall the last time she laughed quite like that. Part of her felt bad it was at Magni’s expense, but the moment of pure enjoyment was like popping a cork on a champagne bottle and letting all her tensions and stresses fly away in the explosion.

When she managed to catch her breath, Imogen’s hand lightly rested on the Asgardian’s shoulder, hoping to relieve some of his concerns. "I’m not offended," she reassured him with a genuine, light hearted smile. "I should have said something sooner, but I found your thoughts… entertaining." she admitted with a guilty shrug. Seeing into someone’s mind as they thought of her in every sexual predicament would probably bother a lot of people. And maybe if it was some random man or something she’d be bothered, but it was Magni… The single person she was desperate to have think of her that way a decade ago. It was a bit alarming and offputting, but mostly flattering in a ‘she now needed a cold shower’ sort of way.

"But, I should warn you, Magni Thorson." Her voice dropped to a hushed tone as his name rolled off her tongue like skin running over silk. Imogen’s hand trailed down from his shoulder to rest on his chest. A single finger tapped against his firm muscles in a gentle, tantalizing warning. "I am not some conquest like from your days at the academy." Her gaze slowly trailed up his chest to find his blue eyes hidden in a sea of flushing skin. "I’m a trophy… The prize." Her finger tapped his chest once more as her brows rose slightly. "Remember that."

Magni tried, with great failure, to stem the tides of his arousal at Imogen’s touch. He was pleased that his lecherous thoughts proved to be amusement for the woman, though that felt a touch like deserved mockery. But her threat, if it could be called that, was a puzzling one for him. Talk of conquest and prize, mixed with the intimate caress and tapping of his torso, left the godling baffled. It took him a moment before he understood the deeper implication. His mouth moved faster than his mind. "Thou wishes… to be cherished, not won over for fleeting revelry." The realization seemed to astound even Magni, not for the notion, but for the mere fact that he was able to parse those feelings. The thought may have hit a little too close to home. But even these thoughts he could not muster in any meaningfully clear way.

What did manifest clearly, though, was an internal struggle. For, with all the flirting and confusion since he had landed on these grounds, he was here for a purpose. He was here, in Midgard, to find his King as Prince of Asgard. His father was last seen by Heimdall on Earth, but then seemed to disappear as if into thin air. His obligations were foremost to his family. While diversions were a welcome distraction, he did not even know where to begin his search. He had come here for help. He needed allies. A telepath would be a fitting one. "It would be mine greatest honour to serve thou… but I have sworn an oath to find my father, the King of Asgard. He hath gone missing in these lands. I must seek an audience with the heroes of this realm, before I can take upon myself another… noble cause." He seemed pained to have to deny a worthy challenge, but he had another calling. He could not ask a brave woman such as this to leave behind her own aspirations to aid him.

And there it was. Imogen’s smile faded slightly, shifting into something a bit more tight lipped and absent her previously flirtatious glances. Her hand slipped from his chest, putting a bit more space between them. The games were a fun diversion, but as he mentioned there were more pressing issues. Knowing he wasn’t capable of anything beyond fleeting passion helped finally bury the decade old feelings… Although it stoked the fires furiously before letting it die.

Imogen cleared her throat and took a subtle step backwards, needing to put more space between herself and Magni. It took a moment for her to wrap her mind around everything and find her footing, having been thrown off kilter by their whole exchange. "Wait." She held up her hand as the dots connected. "You’re not here because of the signal?" Her brows furrowed at the wild coincidence of him arriving at the moment of their meeting. All for his… hammer?

Another laugh escaped her lips, but that time it wasn’t out of amusement, more at the way things aligned almost like divine intervention… Although the God standing before her didn’t have a fucking clue. "Magni, we’re all here because of the disappearances." She motioned toward everyone in the room but quickly realized he might not have a clue about those either, aside from Thor. "Heroes have been going missing for months… Years. Batman, Spider-Man, Superman. My dad… Yours?" Her hand vaguely gestured toward him. "There aren’t many of us left."

Signal? He had not seen any bonfires nearby. He was uncertain how these Midgardians had attempted to call him, but it certainly was by no means he had noticed in other realms or even in his time again on Earth. But as Imogen spoke of their plight, his eyes scanned the room more fully now. The large metal suit, familial resemblances. Magni’s eyes even settled on an old friend, and it took great self-restraint to not charge Tobias for an embrace. The heroes of this realm, too, were disappearing without a trace. Magni seemed to straighten his back slightly, standing to his full height as he felt an anger boil from deep within. An anger, mixed with a small hint of excitement. He had spent the last decades seeking glory on his own… but he missed a proper hunt. A hunt required companions, friends, allies. By chance, he had managed to find a room full of them.

Magni, the warrior prince of Asgard, turned his gaze back to Imogen. The embarrassment, the lust, and the fear were all burned away by a renewed vigor. He had feared having to plead his case to the suited people of whatever restrictive organization the people of this realm had placed all their hope in. But here, among peers, he felt comfortable. With a glint in his eyes, Magni spoke confidently. "Then I have arrived at an opportune moment." He lifted a hand, firmly placing it on Imogen’s shoulder as his expression had grown grave. "Our causes may be aligned. And it would be my honor and obligation to enlist my services in searching for our missing kin." He had hoped for assistance, but could not have expected this to be the situation in Midgard. The possibility to fulfill his quest with an old friend, fellow heroes, and maybe even get to know this Imogen better was beyond his tempered expectations from this journey.

Maybe… there was room for a prize at the end of all this.

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Descendants

^{#796e9c ....|..... alloy ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower .......................... #c03b6d ....|..... rose ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower}

It had been a decade since the closing of the academy and while Tobias was expected to go back to Genosha and the Brotherhood, he did everything he could to remain as far out of his father’s reach as possible. There was no goal or destination in mind, often wandering around the United States, keeping to himself. With his time at the academy training alongside heroes, vigilantes, and men better than he ever had the hope of becoming, it was hard to shake the call to help others. He never advertised his services and remained pretty far under the radar, but whenever there was someone in need of help he didn’t hesitate to act. Most of the time he went unnoticed, but when he didn’t that meant it was time for him to pack up and go somewhere new before the Brotherhood found him.

That worked for about a year until his niece?—he’ll never really get used to that one—called him and told her about his sister, Wanda, having gone missing. Tobias dropped everything and put most of his belongings in a storage unit in some random U-Haul in Maine. With nothing but a backpack, passport, and a prepaid credit card from Mystique, he was on the next flight to Sokovia. Wanda’s disappearance was a freak occurrence, or that’s as much as they could figure out. At least, that’s all the pair could ever figure out. For over seven years they traveled all across Europe, never staying in one place for too long, following any glimmers of hope they could find.

When all their leads started drying up, everything in the world shifted. Tobias and Helena were staying in a hostel somewhere along the Swiss Alps when it became international news. Heroes were disappearing. No one knew how or why. Surveillance cameras were conveniently wiped. No witnesses. No phone records. Nothing. They didn’t know if Wanda and Vision were part of it, but they couldn’t discredit it either. The pair went from spending a week here and there hoping for something but coming up empty handed to being pulled in every direction. Whenever a new disappearance was reported, they were there the next day. They searched tirelessly for any clues or leads they could find, but neither of them were detectives and wits only got them so far.

The disappearances weren’t slowing down. The most recent to go missing was one of the most well-known in all of Europe, Hercules. The pair stood in the middle of his home, everything in complete disarray beyond repair. Belongings, furniture, and even pictures that once hung on the walls were thrown about the home and broken beyond repair. There was blood… a lot of it. Too much to be from Hercules alone. If Tobias had to guess, he killed several attackers before they managed to subdue him. But there were no bodies left behind, no bullet casings, just the aftermath and questions.

Tobias sighed, fatigued and exasperated as yet another lead left them with nothing but a trainwreck to sift through. He winced as he slipped his backpack off, still sore and nursing several injuries after their run in with no name mercenaries in black a few days prior. He kept one alive, tortured and questioned him to the point that Elle wasn’t able to look him in the eyes for hours. But he got nothing. No answers. No leads. Even the man’s dead body didn’t have a speck of information. What he did know was they were prepared enough to come after him without a shred of metal on them. Their guns, tranquilizers, and even the buckles on their kevlar vests were all dense, military grade plastic. It was planned… organized. But that was something he already knew. There was no way whoever these people were could accomplish spiriting away heroes without a plan and thorough knowledge of each of their targets.

But they weren’t there for him. Perhaps they were scared about angering Magneto and the Brotherhood while it was in full force and safe on their secluded island. He couldn’t say. But they knew he was there when they came for Elle and they were prepared. Luckily they were stupid and underestimated them, but only just. They still managed to tranquilize her and he was barely able to stop them. There were several close calls. He had three pulled muscles, a broken nose, dozens of bruises, and a bullet wound in his shoulder as proof.

He walked around the mess, lazily moving debris out of the way with a light sweep of his foot. "Elle…" Tobias began, the defeat already apparent in his voice. "I don’t think we’re going to find anything. It’s just like the last ten times."

He sighed before gingerly lowering himself into a lopsided armchair that was missing one of its legs. His face fell into the palm of his right hand and he immediately winced at the pressure on his broken nose. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath.

Helena stepped lightly over a shattered frame, the glass crunching under her boots despite her efforts. Her gaze swept the ruin, so many questions moving around inside her head. Where had they taken him? How many had it taken to bring him down? Why was there no trace of their weapons, their bodies, their very presence beyond the blood on the walls? If Hercules could be dragged away like this, what chance did the rest of them have? And why, out of everyone, were she and Tobias still standing? After all, she’d even been targeted, tranquillized, and almost taken. And yet…here she was still standing while the powerful Hercules was defeated and taken to who knows where.

“It is not so different from the others, you are correct,” she murmured, voice low, as if the walls themselves might be listening, “Still… if we stop looking, then what is left for us to do?” Her words weren’t born of stubborn optimism and were more of a refusal to let the mere silence of the ruins before them dictate the end of their search. Tobias had already surrendered to the pattern of disappointment, and while Helena did not hold this against him, she had learned long ago that repetition did not always mean futility. Sometimes it was simply endurance. If every search ended empty-handed, then each new attempt became less about what they might find and more about proving that they still could look. That they hadn’t let despair take their sight.

Her words were also the distillation of years spent moving from one empty lead to the next, following traces of a woman who had always been just out of reach. Wanda’s absence and Helena’s search for her had become her compass, her reason for waking each day in some new city or village, providing her with a purpose beyond survival. To stop now would be to accept that there was nothing left to find and that her mother had simply vanished into the same void that was swallowing so many others. And Helena, most of all, could not accept that because without this purpose, she wasn’t sure who she would be anymore.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, noting the way he held his shoulder, the wince at his nose. “You should let me see to that when we are finished here,” she added, softer still, though there was steel under the concern. “It will not mend if you keep treating it as if it is nothing, da?”

Tobias adjusted how he sat attempting to relax as much as possible. Whenever he moved to ease one pain it triggered another. Comfort was not in the realm of possibilities for him. "The bullet went straight through. I don’t know what else can be done," he contradicted. After another adjustment and wince, he groaned and conceded. "Yeah… once we get somewhere for the night. Ok?"

“Good. I will hold you to that,” Helena replied before she turned her attention back to the wreckage.

The wind whistled as it slipped through a cracked window on the far wall beside an old stone fireplace, tattered curtains fluttered from the faint breeze, and shattered glass crunched under foot as Helena continued to walk around the room. At first it started with a singular beep, quiet, innocuous. But then it happened again. A steady continuous beep called out from somewhere within the room. Tobias lifted his head, looking around the room and then toward Elle with a confused, yet optimistic expression.

Helena stilled, meeting his gaze before she stepped toward the sound, boots shattering more fragments of glass until she caught sight of a sliver of black beneath the collapsed bookshelf.

“There is something here,” she announced as she knelt. Her fingers, surprisingly gentle amidst the violence of the scene, swept away chunks of wood and gritty plaster dust. They finally closed around a small device, no larger than her hand, with a screen that blinked in time with the beeps.

Slowly, Helena rose to her full height, turning the strange find over and over in her grasp. The display was straightforward, its message clear:

41.158558, -73.166693
September 23, 18 00 hours

Purposefully, she crossed the short distance to Tobias, presenting her discovery.

“It gives us a place… and a time,” Helena stated, a small, genuine smile briefly touching her lips, mirroring his earlier hope. “If Hercules was taken from here, perhaps whoever did this leaves… patterns. A trail we have not yet learned to follow.”

She handed the device to Tobias, her gaze momentarily drifting away to absorb the full horror of the destruction encircling them once more. Her focus then snapped back to Tobias as he examined the blinking screen. A chilling thought crystallized.

“This place may be where they take the next one… or where they keep the ones they do not kill.” Still, a bit of grim satisfaction also surfaced, and determination settled over her features. “What is the expression? You may have eaten your words?”

Tobias’s gaze fell to the small device in his hand. It looked like some strange pager, modern yet archaic at the same time. He studied the coordinates and date on the screen hoping that if he replayed it enough times in his mind it might give him an answer. "That’s a week from now," he said, stating the obvious. That wasn’t much time depending on wherever these coordinates led.

He awkwardly shifted in his seat and dug in his back pocket for his phone. The muscles in his face tensed at the uncomfortable movement but he didn’t make a sound. His pain was the farthest thing from his mind at that moment. He unlocked his phone and quickly migrated to the maps app. His fingers meticulously typed in the coordinates, double and triple checking the digits to make sure he didn’t miss a single number. He hesitated briefly, inhaling sharply as he looked over at Elle before hitting enter.

To his surprise it wasn’t some remote location in Siberia or lost in the middle of the Sahara, but in America… exactly where the old Descendant Academy tower was located. Tobias looked up at Elle, holding out his phone toward her. "I think you might be the one eating your words," he teased softly with a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

* * *

The constant, low thrum of the plane’s engines filled the tight cabin space, a steady shaking Helena felt deep within her body rather than just hearing it with her ears. Flying had never been something she enjoyed. Too many hours trapped in a seat beside people she didn't know, with no freedom to move and stretch her restless legs, always aware she was miles above the earth inside a complex machine she couldn't operate. Still, after years spent crossing countries in crowded buses, slow trains, and unreliable borrowed cars, she had to admit air travel had one big advantage: speed. It got you there fast. It also offered periods where she could focus her thoughts without distraction.

Her outfit wasn’t meant to invite attention, though the short cut of the skirt paired with knee-high boots seemed to do just that. Helena herself appeared oblivious to the way it left her legs in full view (or would have if she didn’t have Tobias’s hoodie draped over them. Perhaps he thought they were cold?), more concerned with adjusting her sweater sleeves than with any eyes that happened to follow her.

Tobias sat across the aisle from her, an arrangement chosen less for comfort than for the ease of keeping an eye on one another without pressing into each other’s space. He’d claimed the aisle seat, shoulders angled to avoid brushing the businessman next to him, his ever-present backpack wedged between his legs — the same bag that now held the battered pager they’d recovered from Hercules’s home. Its coordinates still sat in her mind like a pin on a map: a town in America she had never heard of, though the numbers placed it on the eastern coast. The date and hour were fixed in her thoughts as well, not far enough away to feel safe, yet not close enough to banish the questions of who, or what, would be waiting there.

She couldn’t help herself….

Shifting her weight, Helena leaned into the aisle. She rested her forearms on her knees, bringing her face closer to Tobias while ensuring her words wouldn’t travel beyond his ears. “Why do you think it was left for us?” she asked, keeping the question wide open and phrased as if they might simply be discussing a delayed meeting.

His broad shoulders made it hard for Tobias to sit comfortably in coach without encroaching on someone else’s personal space. He must have apologized half a dozen times to the man beside him before deciding getting smacked in his wounded knee by the snack cart was better than apologizing another time. For a majority of the flight he stared at the coordinates in his phone obsessively. Why the academy? Why them? Why now? It gave them no answers and only posed more questions.

Tobias was so lost in his thoughts he nearly missed her question. "Huh?" He looked over at her before the rest of what she said caught up to him. He cleared his throat and twisted his baseball cap around backwards so he didn’t bump her in the forehead with the brim. "I’m not sure it was left for us. It looked… old."

There was a part of him that wanted to dig it out of his bag and show her precise examples, but he didn’t want to risk the wrong person seeing it either. Aside from that pager, they had no leads, no information, nothing. For all they knew the enemy, whoever that was, could be on that very plane with them and he didn’t know if that signal was a trap or a godsend. There were too many uncertainties that he was overly cautious and ready for things to go sideways at a moment’s notice. "I can’t help but wonder if it was his." The him in question being Hercules, but he didn’t want to say the missing hero’s name. Who knows who could be listening?

The plane shuddered, a pocket of turbulence rolling beneath the wings. Helena sucked in a breath before she could stop herself, fingers curling against the armrest. She exhaled through her nose a moment later as though nothing had happened, but the young woman highly doubted she would ever get used to things like this. The turbulence only underscored how little sense any of this made, how unsteady the ground beneath their feet had truly become.

“Even so, why America?” Helena muttered, her tone more an expression of her confusion than any challenge to Tobias. In her mind, the coordinates might as well have been a string of random numbers dropped onto an unfamiliar globe. She had passed through the country once, years ago, under circumstances too fleeting to leave much of an impression beyond the airport walls and the heavy, processed air. It was not a place she had ties to, and certainly not where she expected a lead connected to Hercules to point.

Tobias already knew the answer to her question… or at least part of it. But the paranoid part of him was always hesitant to say it outloud. Speaking anything into existence seemed to be a risky gamble with everything going on. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Elle, on the contrary, she was the only person he trusted. But he didn’t trust the businessman beside him, or the stewardess, or the middle aged sweaty man two rows back that snuck a peek at Helena’s legs whenever she turned to face him and hypothesize another theory. That last time Tobias pulled his hoodie over his head and draped it across his niece’s lap before giving the man a less than friendly bit of side eye.

Rather than say anything, Tobias adjusted the backpack between his legs, turning it slightly to face Helena. He leaned down and feigned going for his bottle of water. As he zipped it back up, his left hand fell and tapped a weather patch sewn lopsided and off-center on the front pocket of the bag. Age, wear and tear had taken its toll on the bit of fabric, but the words ‘Descendant Academy’ were just barely visible.

He leaned back in his seat and drank what remained of his water before looking over at Helena. "That’s all I know," he offered with a small shrug that made the bullet hole in his shoulder sting and remind him of its existence.

Helena’s eyes followed the motion of his hand to the patch, catching the lettering before his arm moved away. Her gaze remained on it for a moment longer, though she didn’t comment. Instead, she let her focus shift to the subtle tightening in his posture when he shrugged, the way his jaw set for a breath before relaxing again.

“Is it the same pain?” she asked, tilting her head just enough to keep her voice low. “From before?” She pictured the specific injury site beneath his shirt, remembering its exact location and the feel of damaged tissue beneath her fingers.

There had been other times, nights in cramped hostels or borrowed rooms, when she’d cleaned grit from a wound, stitched a torn muscle, or braced an injury so it wouldn’t tear again. Her hands had learned the work through repetition and necessity, her pattern-sense sometimes nudging her toward the right pressure, the right knot, the right moment to stop. Once or twice, she’d even tilted luck in his favour without a word, the bleeding slowing just enough for her to finish what she’d started. It was never perfect, never painless, but it had kept them both moving when stopping wasn’t an option.

Her eyes narrowed now. “You said you would let me look when we were done. It is… nearly so.”

"I know…" Tobias replied with a sigh. His gaze fell to his hands that rested in his lap as he rolled his shoulder once, grimacing at the low aching pain. It was healing… slowly. Getting shot was not something he ever really thought would be a concern of his. But he also never expected to be hunted by people smart enough to avoid metal either. If he was careful, he hardly noticed it. The bullet wound drilled straight through the fissure between his deltoid and pectoral muscles. When he was at rest, he was fine. But any movement of his right arm sent a flare of deep searing pain through his shoulder.

His other injuries were mostly healed. All that remained was the faint remnants of bruising. Faded yellow ran across the bridge of his nose while a blue green darkened the circles that had been living under his eyes for months. Tobias was fine. Even his shoulder would heal, with time. But Helena worried… She always worried. He imagined it had something to do with him being the last family member she had around. And while it was a little smothering, he couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed he’d be just as insufferable.

He sighed once more. "Once we land and get to the car you can look. Promise."

Thankfully, they only had to remain cramped in the airplane for one more hour before landing at JFK airport. The moment they were free to stand, Tobias was up and in the aisle, finally able to stretch his legs and free his knees from being pinned against the seat in front of him. He also conveniently body blocked the creeper a few rows back from worming his way up near Helena. Even sore, he helped her get her carry-on down from the overhead compartment and carried it in his left hand along with his own backpack. He followed her out of the airplane and into the terminal.

The airport in New York was significantly more chaotic and crowded than Athens International. Tobias immediately dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone as they snaked their way through the crowd. He pressed redial on his most recent call and brought the phone to his ear, while plugging the other one so he might be able to hear.

"Hello?" a female answered from the other end of the call. There was the faint sound of shifting and hurried footsteps that likely carried her to somewhere more secluded. "Tobias?" Mystique whispered, quiet enough he barely heard it over the crowd around him.

"Hi, mom," he replied while slipping his way through a large family that felt standing in the middle of the walkway to decide what overpriced airport food they were going to buy was a good idea. One of the men turned around just as he passed, slamming the bag on his back right into Tobias’s bum shoulder. "Fuck," he muttered behind clenched teeth as he shoved the man and his backpack out of his way with a less than friendly glare.

"What is it? What’s wrong?" She immediately began to panic. "Toby, are you hurt?"

"I’m fine, mom," he replied with the same annoyed tone children often got when their parents fussed over them.

"You don’t sound fine."

Tobias sighed. "Elle and I had a run in with some… I don’t know." His voice trailed off as he struggled to find the words to describe what exactly came after them beyond no name assholes in black. "They tried taking her. I got shot. But I stopped them. We’re fine," he rushed through everything like a grocery list, hoping she’d miss the little truth wedged in there.

"You were shot!?"

Ok, so she didn’t miss it.

"Mom," he groaned, desperately wanting to get the conversation back to the reason he called in the first place. "It was just my shoulder. It went straight through. I am fine." Before she could drill him with more questions or demand to talk to Helena, Tobias continued. "Is everything ready, like I asked?"

Mystique sighed on the other end of the line. "Yes. Your car has new plates and should be parked in E8. The key is under the hood, on the battery."

"Thanks," he replied while nodding his head toward Helena, motioning for her to follow him toward the parking garage.

"Promise me you’ll be safe?"

"I—" Tobias started but the words got stuck in his chest. How could he keep a promise like that when he had no idea what they were going to run into? The academy could be filled with heroes trying to make a final stand, sure. But it could also be filled with whoever was behind the disappearances, preying on the weak, isolated, desperate heroes that remain. He didn’t know what they were about to walk into and if he was about to die, he couldn’t make a promise that his death would break. "I’ll try."

Mystique was quiet for long enough that Tobias checked his phone to make sure the call didn’t drop. "Ok…" she finally spoke up, quieter than before. "I love you, Tobias."

Tobias stopped dead in his tracks, staring at a spot on the ground as he tried to swallow the forming lump in his throat. "... I love you too." He cleared his throat. "I uh… Shared my location with you. If you don’t hear from me by midnight, give it to Dad." The last thing he wanted was to get Magneto involved. But if he went missing too, maybe the Brotherhood was a necessary evil… at least to intervene, if nothing else.

"Ok…" she said once again. "Don't make me have to involve him."

"Yeah, I know," he agreed with a sigh. "Keep your phone close. Bye, mom."

"Bye, Toby darling."

The line went dead. Tobias stared down at his phone for a long moment, before shoving it back in his pocket and looking over at Helena. "E8. In the parking garage," he said while pointing towards one of the directional signs overhead that said parking was to the left, through the glass doors.

Helena moved smoothly to walk beside Tobias through the bustling airport corridor. She stayed quiet about Mystique’s phone call for now, understanding crowded places were terrible for private talks.

“You did not tell her everything,” Helena stated calmly once they finally escaped the packed terminal into a hallway. Her words weren’t meant as criticism, simply recognizing a fact she’d observed.

She knew which dangerous details Tobias had skipped: the frightening preparedness of those fighters, how they’d seemed to expect Tobias and Helena specifically. Her mind replayed terrifying split seconds where a wrong move could have meant capture for either of them. He’d left out how truly close the fight had been, edge-of-disaster close. Crucially, he’d also mentioned nothing about the pager or the truth that they were now heading towards an unknown threat in a country she did not have much trust in. Mystique had received just enough information to be concerned, Helena judged, but not nearly enough to grasp the full, immediate danger closing around them both like a trap.

"I know," Tobias replied with a sigh, adjusting his hold on their bags. "She’s too close to my dad and I never know if anyone is listening. I tell her what’s important… She understands." Or Tobias at least hoped she did. There was a part of him who selfishly didn’t tell her specifics because he didn’t want her to worry more than she should. He was alive, that’s what was important. There was still the child inside him that wanted to tell his mother everything, seek her guidance and compassion. But it was better this way… for both of them. Someday, he hoped he’d have the opportunity to tell her everything. Just not at that moment.

Helena’s gaze moved toward the glass doors ahead. “E8, you said?” she confirmed, her voice practical. Seeing that his arms were full from carrying both their heavier bags, she stepped forward quickly and pulled the door open for him as a small gesture of courtesy. Stepping through, the damp heat outside hit them instantly, carrying the smells of car exhaust and baking, but not overcooked, concrete. The loud airport sounds faded rapidly behind them, replaced by the echoes of the multi-story parking building.

They walked in silence between rows of parked cars before Tobias halted beside a black Jeep Wrangler. Helena’s eyes scanned it, its old-fashioned, square shape and shiny metal trim catching the overhead lights in flashes. However, the vehicle’s age was apparent in the faded patches on the paintwork and the scrapes marking the corners of the doors. Helena instantly understood its value; this Jeep looked too ordinary, too weathered to attract unwanted stares in a busy lot, yet its condition spoke of consistent maintenance. Mystique, Helena reasoned, would have chosen this exact vehicle. It blended perfectly into traffic, unremarkable, but its tough build promised it could handle rough roads or sudden trouble. Her eyes noted the only obvious change: bright, new license plates fixed firmly to the bumpers.

The ghost of a smile played on Tobias’s lips as he caught sight of his jeep in perfect condition sitting in E8 exactly as his mom said. He expected it to look a little worse for wear sitting in storage for the better part of a decade but it looked exactly like the day he left it behind to fly overseas and find Helena. As he approached he could swear that it had newer tires and had been recently washed. While Mystique was on Genosha, he wasn’t surprised she did everything in her power to help him… Even if it was as simple as having someone make sure his car got the proper attention and tune-up it needed.

Without speaking, Helena took her bag from him and placed it onto the Jeep’s warm hood. Seeing him carefully trying to adjust the heavy backpack strap near his injury, she reached up and gently steadied his arm. “Here,” she said softly, her fingers loosening the strap just enough to lift the pressure off the bullet wound beneath his shirt.

Her hands stayed resting on the strap for a moment longer than necessary. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes, staring instead at the fabric under her fingers. “I am sorry… again,” she said, the words hard to get out. “About the fight. About you having to defend me after—” She broke off before forcing herself to finish, “after they tranquillized me.”

The words seemed to weigh more in her mouth than they should have. It wasn’t only the fight. Somewhere beneath the noise of that situation, she could almost hear a different place: the fading sound of her mother’s voice, the harsh scrape of stone under her knees, that strange, building hum in the air moments before destruction. More than the actual explosion, she remembered the sudden, terrifying void where her mother had stood just an instant before. The images were shattered, though – a burst of red light, the icy metal clamp on her wrist, then utter blankness until she woke up utterly alone. The tranquillizer had scraped against those broken pieces inside her mind, inside her.

“It… reminded me of my mother,” she finally confessed, subdued. “Only pieces. Never the whole.”

They didn’t have much time to waste before they needed to be on the road, but they had the luxury of taking a moment or two to digest half of the shit they had been through. Tobias’s sore but strong arms pulled Helena into a gentle embrace. His hand tenderly rubbed her back as he rested his chin on top of her head. "It’ll come back… with time," he tried his best to reassure her. He was always there for Elle to give her comfort, support… or kill someone when she needed it but his sympathies only held so much weight when he couldn’t relate to the kind of pain she was going through. If Mystique went missing, he’d destroy half of the world to find her, but Magneto? He’d only be disappointed he didn’t do it himself. She’d lost both parents, a majority of her family. Tobias was never really sure how to help… beyond just being there.

After a long moment, he slowly pulled away to look down at her with a stoic face but soft gaze. "Stop apologizing." He squeezed her shoulder gently. Tobias didn’t say what he was thinking because he didn’t want to make Helena feel worse. But if dying that night would have kept her safe, he would have paid that price. Her and Mystique were the only family he still had that mattered to him. His own existence was pointless if he couldn’t keep the people he cared about safe. That’s what he was doing and what he’d keep doing. The world would keep turning without him in it, but without the two of them he’d lose his own will to live. It was the dark truth of the matter. But he didn’t dare put that burden on her shoulders.

"Here… Before you get angry again." Tobias reached over his head with his good arm and pulled his T-shirt off. Nearly all of his skin beneath the fabric was covered with dozens of tattoos. Most of them he got during their travels across Europe, some had meaning while others got meaning by existing on his flesh. Every time the ink touched his skin was another way he separated himself from Magneto. People could have been forgiven for thinking he looked fine. Sickly yellow remnants of bruises vanished beneath the dark markings and the coin-sized hole in his shoulder was camouflaged by the swirls of ink that surrounded it.

He leaned back against the side of the jeep and looked down at the small wound. It didn’t look infected. There was no pus, no odor, no blood, just an angry scabbed gash. "I think it just needs time."

“Time will help,” Helena agreed, “but it will not do all the work.” She reached for her bag, pulling out a small kit she kept on hand filled with clean bandages, antiseptic, and the sort of things they’d both had to rely on too many times before. “Hold still,” she instructed, her tone firm but not unkind. “We can save time for the road…and still not be careless.” Efficiency mattered, but so did doing the job right, she felt, especially with a bullet wound involved.

Her hands moved with the smooth confidence of practice, yet surprisingly gentle as she cleaned the area around the injury. This practical act felt like the only apology she could truly offer now, the one he wouldn’t let her voice aloud. As she carefully dabbed antiseptic onto the reddened skin, her gaze drifted over the patterns of dark ink covering much of his shoulder and upper arm. She recognized each design, having seen them countless times before. Still, her eyes couldn’t help but trace the familiar lines – symbols of locations visited, allies encountered, and narrow escapes survived. Helena understood these markings weren't always meaningful when first etched into his skin; their significance had merely grown over the years, accumulating history like the scars beneath them.

Watching her fingers work near the ink, a thought she’d had a few times before surfaced. She sometimes considered getting a mark of her own, not as an imitation of Tobias but to claim something solid and lasting, a choice etched permanently onto her body. Something that couldn't vanish without warning, swallowed by forces beyond her control like her mother had been. Perhaps a unique symbol, her own sigil, or maybe a pattern woven in violet to mirror the rune always present on her wrist. The idea held appeal, a declaration of self. Yet, she always pulled back. Now wasn't the right moment, especially. Besides, she needed to be certain, to choose a mark she could look at years later and know it belonged to her for the right reasons, not born from fear or impulse.

Tobias winced, taking in a sharp breath between his teeth as Helena cleaned the wound. His eyes squinted, but the rest of his body remained frozen like a statue to not mess her up. It wasn’t the first time she had patched him up and he doubted it would be the last. He learned the drill, the steps of her process, and the associated pain that came with it. While he was more of a ‘rub some dirt in it’ type of guy, if it helped her worry a little less, he often obliged. She’s kept him from getting an infection up to that point, so whatever she was doing was working… Even if he was stubborn when it came to accepting help.

After a moment, without looking up from the fresh bandage she was securing, Helena asked, “How far will we have to go?” It was a simple question on the surface, but there were a few more hiding behind it: how many miles of road before they reached the academy, and how much time before they crossed whatever unseen line separating safety from possible danger.

His gaze shifted over to her as she fastened the fresh bandage to his shoulder. "Two and a half hours drive, maybe less," Tobias answered plainly. He ran the route through maps a dozen times before they got on the plane in Athens and a couple more as they waited on the tarmac to get off the plane. New York traffic was fickle, so they were going to be cutting it close. He might just have to speed… a little.

Once Helena was finished, Tobias carefully put his shirt back on, being sure not to overextend his arm and mess up the bandaging. He grabbed both of their bags and walked around the back of the jeep. His right hand waved subtly at the trunk, willing the metal inside the lock to release and the door of the hatch to swing open. He discarded their bags in the trunk before popping the hood with his powers and grabbed the key. It was risky using his powers in the open like that, but it was easier and faster. And perhaps a part of him wanted to warm up his abilities that had been lying dormant for several days, just in case he needed them.

Tobias unlocked the doors like a regular person that time and slipped into the driver's seat. After putting the key in the ignition and giving it a turn, the engine roared to life, sounding just as good as the day he left it behind. A genuine little chuckle escaped his lips as he patted the dashboard. It was stupid. It was just a car. But it was also a little piece of home that tethered him in place, making him feel the tiniest bit more stationary, not like a wandering vagabond backpacking across Europe without any real roots.

"Seatbelts," he instructed Helena while fastening his own. They might be mutants who could probably save themselves in the face of a car accident. But road safety was still important.

* * *

The jeep turned onto Descendant Drive. A wave of nostalgia overcame Tobias as the sparkling sunset reflected off the distant windows of the Descendant tower. While he knew he should have been more anxious or concerned about it being a trap, there was an overwhelming sense of excitement that built in his chest. The Academy was the one place that really felt like home for him. And while he missed his mom while he was there, he was also out from under Magneto’s oppressive thumb. He had friends there, a life. He wasn’t Magneto’s son or progeny. The only legacy he forged within those walls was his own.

His knuckles went white as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Tobias didn’t know what to expect, but he prayed it wasn’t a trap. He’d rather be attacked on the road than lured into a trap in his own home. If the school had been defiled, he didn’t know if even Helena’s kind demeanor could keep him in check. It needed to be something good… It had to be.

He slowly pulled into the small roundabout-like area that surrounded a large garden with an ornate metal ‘Descendant Academy’ sign spotlighted in the middle. Tobias brought the car to a stop on the far edge of the roundabout, beside a black Harley and the curb of the walkway that led to the entrance. The building had been unused and presumably abandoned for the better part of a decade, so he didn’t feel overly guilty for parking in the drop-off zone. Especially with the other vehicle parked there as well. It wasn’t like there was a line of cars following him up the drive or honking at him.

"Looks like we aren’t alone," Tobias commented as he put the jeep in park and turned it off. His hands remained firmly on the wheel as he sighed and looked over at Elle. "Are you ready?"

Helena’s eyes moved past the Jeep’s windshield to the motorcycle before finally settling on the massive academy building ahead.

“I think so. But…” Her tone was soft and mellifluous as she spoke, her next words catching as if shy to leave her lips. “I want to see it as you remember it. Not what it…might be.” If she could glimpse even a tiny piece of the place Tobias cherished, maybe then she could grasp why this tower ever felt like home to him.

The jeep’s doors shut behind them, the sound carried off by the restless rush of waves colliding with the rocky shoreline just beyond the academy grounds. Helena remained beside the warm vehicle for a few seconds longer. Then, she drew in a deep lungful of salty air, her gaze inevitably lifting to take in the sheer scale of the glass tower from ground level. Up close, it felt overwhelmingly large and artificial. Its mirrored walls caught the slowly dying sun, throwing broken pieces of light everywhere and smearing the sky's colours across the tower’s dark, modern surface. The strange platform sticking out from its side – a helipad, Tobias called it – looked equally stark, its shape blending oddly with the slow-moving clouds high above them.

The whole structure just felt so….alien and imposing to the young woman.

She tried to imagine Tobias here, younger, a student disappearing into the glass doors with the others who had also belonged to this place. The thought didn’t sit easily. He’d always been a story half-told, even now, and it was hard to picture him as part of something so polished and towering. She wondered what this place had taken from him, and what pieces of him it had shaped. And though she had pressed him with questions before they’d gotten here, standing here at the threshold of his past only made her both curious and afraid to discover more about it.

While Helena was visibly filled with dread or perhaps just overwhelmed at all of it, a tether somewhere within Tobias’s chest tightened and lured him in closer to the familiar tower. He was only a few feet from the one place where he felt accepted for who he was, not where (or who) he came from. It wasn’t going to be the same. He knew that. Yet his pulse still raced with every step closer. There was a part of him that was excited for Helena to see another side to him that most people rarely saw or knew existed, but there was another part that grew anxious like he was more vulnerable… exposed.

Tobias first noticed an angry-looking woman storming out of the tower and parking herself near one of the flowerbeds off to the side of the walkway. There was a brief moment he considered asking if she was ok, but the sound of soft brushing of a broom across the cement caught his attention. He wandered toward the entrance, first noticing the shattered glass and mangled doorframe, but then he saw a familiar, silver-haired man in a black suit standing before the door, cleaning up the mess. "Alfred?"

The older man looked up from his task at hand and a warm, welcoming smile crossed his face. "Mr. Lehnsherr. It warms the heart to see you alive and well." Alfred leaned the broom and dustpan against the closest glass wall before closing the distance between them. In other circumstances, they might have greeted each other with a handshake, but it had been a decade and until that moment, the man had no idea if Tobias had disappeared like a lot of his previous classmates.

Tobias leaned down slightly and gave him a gentle but firm hug. "It’s good to see you." He gave the man’s arm a light pat as he pulled away and stood up straight. He then turned to face Helena, motioning a hand toward her with a smile. "Alfred, this is my niece, Helena. Helena, this is Alfred Pennyworth. He’s one of the Academy’s caretakers."

Alfred took a step forward with a gentle smile and extended right hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss?"

"Maximoff," Tobias answered with a smile between the two. "You can trust him, Elle. I promise," he added, hoping to reassure her.

Helena hesitated at first, her gaze moving from Alfred’s extended hand to his face, measuring him with the same caution she had shown the tower itself. Politeness tugged at her, but so did wariness. Trust wasn’t something she gave freely, not when she’d only just stepped into a place that already felt like it could swallow her whole.

Eventually, however, she placed her hand in his, giving it a light shake.

“Helena,” she offered, the name spoken with a shy composure that belied the dread still knotted in her chest. Her voice was soft enough that the wind nearly carried it off, but the effort in meeting his gesture was plain.

While they got acquainted with each other, Tobias snuck around Alfred. He waved his hand at the dented doorframe half ripped out of the support beams. The metal slowly straightened and lodged itself back in place, no longer creating a hazardous barrier for people to walk under. It’d still need to be replaced, along with the broken door but this way it wouldn’t fall on someone either. He then grabbed the discarded broom and dustpan. "Let me get this for you, Al."

"Such a good lad," Alfred commented toward Helena. He then held out his arm, offering to escort her inside. "I’d be happy to help you inside, Ms. Maximoff."

Helena hesitated, her lips parting as she considered refusing Alfred's offered arm. Yet, the old man's undeniable kindness radiated from him, making it impossible to label his gesture as anything but genuine concern. So, this time, she accepted it less tentatively than the first, laying her hand against his sleeve and allowing him to guide her further inside the building.

Before taking in the place’s interior, Helena’s gaze strayed back once more to the fractured glass scattered beyond the door before she decided to pose the question it and the motorcycle outside brought to her mind.

“What happened at the doors? Did someone here cause this?” she asked, her voice carrying equal parts curiosity and caution.

Alfred let out a breath through his nose, tilting his head thoughtfully.

“An… exuberant arrival, Miss Maximoff,” he began, his tone dry but not unkind. “You see, the young lord Magni, son of Thor, announced himself with all the subtlety of…well… a thunderclap.” His lips twitched, his humor held back but present all the same. “One might hope his father’s sense of restraint comes to him in time, though I confess I have learned not to wager on it.”

He adjusted his arm beneath her hand, guiding her deeper into the lobby. “Rest assured, the damage is no reflection on the hospitality you will find here. Merely on our guest’s, let’s call it, enthusiasm.” He cleared his throat, a signal Helena interpreted to mean that the topic was best closed. The mess was inconvenient, but not a sign of inherent danger within these walls. She hoped.

“Now then,” Alfred announced, his tone shifting to something more welcoming. “Allow me to introduce you to the others.”

Meanwhile, Tobias made sure to sweep up every shard of glass he could see into the dustpan. When the ground no longer glistened from shattered specks of glass, he walked around the side of the tower to where he knew the dumpsters resided and tossed out the debris. He felt a little guilty it wasn’t in a bag or anything, but it was still better than leaving it lying around on the ground for someone to slip on or something… And it wasn’t fair to Alfred to always be cleaning up others’ messes. It bothered him ten years ago and it still did.

He followed them both inside with the broom and dustpan clutched in his right hand. Tobias froze, a bit surprised at how many people lingered in the lobby. It was nothing compared to the number of people at the academy in its prime, but they were never all congregated at the entrance. He cleared his throat as he tried to be as invisible as possible… Although the whole room seemed to be watching them enter with bated breath.

"I’d like to introduce Tobias Lehnsherr, a former student of the academy, and his niece Helena Maximoff," Alfred spoke up loud enough for the entire lobby to hear and give him their undivided attention, if they somehow weren’t already watching. He then turned his attention to Tobias, who stood behind him and took back the cleaning implements. "Thank you. Feel free to make yourselves comfortable."

Tobias motioned his hand for Helena to go ahead and pick a seat. But for what felt like a long, silent moment, Helena remained utterly still, rooted near Tobias while a powerful internal tug-of-war held her captive. The easiest path shone clearly. All she had to do was slide into the empty chair beside her uncle the instant he sat down. There, she could fold inward, make herself smaller, invisible, and let him absorb the curious stares around the room. Yet, that easy choice always came with a hidden cost: suffocation. Choosing to follow Tobias meant shrinking her own space to breathe, and she knew, with painful clarity, it meant shrinking his space too. Admitting this truth to herself still felt like…a lot, even now.

She understood, deeply, how overwhelming she could be for him. Some days, her very presence, more than likely, felt like a constant demand. She was trying. Truly. She practiced giving him room, resisting the desperate urge to cling like she had in the earliest, darkest days. But each attempt at independence felt terrifyingly like stepping off a cliff into a vast, starless night with an endless, smothering darkness waiting below for her. That darkness wasn't new either. It had stalked her relentlessly since her mother vanished in that crumbling, decrepit chapel years ago. A lot of time had passed since then, but that frightened part of Helena remained forever sixteen, standing alone in choking dust and rubble, surrounded by broken stone and the fading sound of her mother’s voice in her mind. Waiting. Hoping someone, anyone, would find her, claim her, shield her from the terrifying emptiness stretching ahead. Tobias had been that person. That person she’d felt had stepped into those ruins, offered a hand, and given her a role. Niece. But now, surrounded by these strangers, putting even a few feet of polished floor between herself and him felt like crossing a chasm.

And yet despite that chasm, Helena forced her muscles to unlock. She took one small step. Then another. And another. Her feet carried her, somewhat stiffly, towards an unoccupied couch. An island of independence in the sea of unfamiliar faces. It wasn't perfect, but it was the farthest she could manage without divine intervention. Lowering herself onto the soft cushions, she smoothed the fabric of her skirt and folded her hands carefully in her lap.

As Alfred walked off and Helena found somewhere to sit, Tobias’s gaze drifted over toward a pair of blondes, one of them none other than Thorson himself. "Oh shit," he cursed under his breath. It wasn’t that he was unhappy to see his old friend, but more that he was mentally preparing himself for how much the impending hug was going to hurt like a bitch. He was never very good at reunions.

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... myla & magni ............... collabs ....|.... @Qia}

The Sibling Project

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Sibling 2746 - Ivy ( WIP )

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I V Y...

.................................................... __________________________________________ S I B L I N G - 2 7 4 6 ________________________________________________________ 25 | female | bisexual __________________________________________ ▹ hair color | blonde ▹ eye color | ice blue ▹ height | 5' 6" ▹ build | slender

. A B I L I T Y siphon - description goes here S T R E N G T H S strength - description goes here strength - description goes here strength - description goes here W E A K N E S S E S weakness - description goes here weakness - description goes here weakness - description goes here __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y trait .... | .... trait .... | .... trait .... | .... trait .... | .... trait Brief description Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Vestibulum volutpat bibendum molestie. Donec nec laoreet diam, vel euismod libero. In posuere scelerisque augue et scelerisque. Vestibulum at ipsum at lacus imperdiet aliquam vitae ut mi. Phasellus eu consectetur elit. Integer fermentum massa eu nunc vestibulum, sit amet egestas arcu gravida. Etiam fringilla elit a enim pharetra, eu rhoncus est egestas. Ut sodales, lorem in sagittis dapibus, urna mauris posuere lectus, ac tincidunt justo arcu et quam. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed tempus diam nec eleifend molestie. Cras lobortis, mi ac tincidunt malesuada, massa odio commodo tellus, at pulvinar nunc ipsum vulputate eros. Nam sit amet neque enim. Vivamus lobortis viverra finibus. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #87bdff ........ faceclaim . | . saoirse ronan ........ creator . | . Mjolnir

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Descendants

^{#962929 ....|..... hell's angel ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower}

While it might have seemed like Myla was distracted with Imogen’s introductions, she heard every word exchanged between two of the others on the far side of the lobby. Now sitting on the overpriced leather sofa, the whispers rattled around her mind, painting the picture of her current company. The man had compared them to Harry and Sally and made some snide comment about them making room in their busy schedules. The irony in his commentary was laughable considering the way his heart rate elevated when talking to the woman that smelled like jasmin and the way they both skirted around flirting, even though their pulses and spiked pheromones said otherwise.

It wasn’t like she and Theo had done anything wrong. Was holding hands such a crime? It was for comfort and courage, considering there still wasn’t enough evidence for Myla to believe they hadn’t stepped into a trap. Just the thought made his palm feel hotter against her own. Part of her considered pulling away and crossing her arms tight over her chest in the typical way she shut down and shut others out. But she wasn’t going to let someone’s sour mood take away the one stable thing she had in that moment.

Either way, they were there, punctual, and answered the signal. What else did he want? Myla and Theo actually did have to carve time out of their busy schedules but it wasn’t to steal kisses or whatever else the guy thought, they were trying to keep Manhattan off the precipice of spinning into chaos. Kissing was never part of the equation. It wasn’t even on Myla’s mind… most of the time. It was no worse than their comments about breasts, dressing or undressing. The subtle judgement made something in the back of her mind twinge with guilt like she had done something wrong.

The silence in the lobby was still tense but Myla found herself easing slightly as each passing moment meant they were alive and still there of their own volition. That was until the sarcastic man reached into his pocket and put on some sort of glasses. He was quiet, but the way his heart rate settled then shifted to a rhythm of excitement when he looked over at them made her grip on Theo’s hand tighten. The way she felt his gaze intently on her made Myla wish she could disappear into the recesses of the leather couch.

The clap of his hands was abrupt and loud enough it made her jump, startled as if it could have been a gunshot or bomb, not a sharp shattering of the tentative silence. "Phil, why don't you get Ms. Murdock and Mr. Parker here some water before we start discussing family matters. They had a long trip down from Manhattan, and I wouldn't want them to feel like strangers."

"Anthony James Stark!" Imogen called out from across the lobby.

The blood drained from Myla’s face as a cold chill flooded down her spine like the man had dumped ice down her back. Her body tensed, clutching to Theo’s hand until her knuckles went white. Cold sweats covered her skin and clung to the hair that stood up on the back of her neck. How dare he. How dare he out her secret identity like it meant nothing. Her head was spinning. She felt somewhere between passing out and blowing a gasket. Whatever poise and politeness she had reserved crumbled to ash as her secret identity went up in flames.

"Up from Manhattan," she corrected him with a cold, almost robotic-like tone. "Bridgeport, Connecticut is Northeast of Manhattan. I figured a Stark would know how to read a map." Myla’s words were sharp like the edge of a blade as her head slowly turned toward the man, her face an expressionless visage of cold, patient rage.

"No wonder you’re desperate for allies," Myla continued, her voice level and calm, betraying the bitter bite of her words. "I can’t imagine an invasive, judgemental prick like you has many friends."

Without another word, Myla released Theo’s hand and stood up. She left her belongings behind on the sofa as she made her way toward the exit, the deadening silence of the lobby filled with the angry clicks of her heels. "I need air," she muttered under her breath as she passed Imogen. As two more people arrived, she slipped through the entrance while a man that smelled like hotel shampoo and brimstone held the door open. "Excuse me. Sorry."

Alfred stopped in the middle of sweeping to offer his hand to her. "Here, let me help you, Miss." He didn’t try to stop her or talk her out of leaving, just lended a hand so she wouldn’t fall.

"Thank you," she whispered with a shaky breath. She took his hand and traversed what glass remained, then slipped her fingers free.

Myla’s anger carried her halfway toward the road. She stopped as her breath constricted in her throat and detoured for one of the large flower beds. She lowered herself to sit on the wide concrete wall surrounding the garden. Her hands pressed into her knees with locked elbows and straight arms. She closed her eyes and her head sank between her shoulders as she tried to steady her breathing. The cold cement chilled her thighs through the leather skirt as her heart raced in her chest, dulling her senses. "Fuck," she cursed to no one but herself and the wind.

^{interactions ....|.... theo, jim, imogen & james ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... none}

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^{#a8f9ff ....|..... prism ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower}

"Magni Thorson has arrived."

"Fuck me." Imogen’s stomach did a summersault as a name she had done her best to purge from her mind, electrified repressed memories. A decade’s old image flashed in front of her eyes of when she was a younger, more naive woman freshly arrived at the academy. She could recall with vivid detail the first time she saw him, as tall as a redwood, built like an ox, with hair as golden as the sun. He looked every bit the God he was. His laugh was contagious, as was his dumb charm. And half of the women within the tower were enthralled, including herself. But unlike the others, she was never one that caught his eye. And now… He just smashed a giant fucking crater thirty feet in front of the academy.

A decade older and a decade aged like a fine Asgardian mead, the behemoth of a man approached the tower. Imogen’s gaze traced his body taking note of the longer hair, larger muscles, and… smaller shirt? The ‘I love NY’ tee actually elicited a soft chuckle from her lips as he tossed his hair over his shoulder. He approached the first set of double doors, pushing where he should have pulled causing glass to shatter under his touch with ease. She winced slightly, but couldn’t pry her gaze from him either.

"Philip! Son of Coul! And Alfred! I had feared I would never again be graced by thy company!" the Asgardian shouted with glee as he made his way toward the men in question and swept them into a hug.

Imogen subconsciously found herself fixing her hair and adjusting her bustier in hopes that maybe... just maybe the son of Thor would remember her too. Magni turned to face the rest of the room with both men still swept up in his grasp. His gaze lingered on her for no more than a second or two, then moved onto the next person. Not even his thoughts betrayed him, his own vague memories of her were no more than that… vague. He thought she was beautiful, which made her heart flutter slightly, but even so… he didn’t remember her.

Whatever confidence Imogen initially had quickly melted away as her welcoming smile faded and her shoulders slumped slightly. She didn’t dare spare a glance toward her brother knowing full well he’d only use it as some ammunition to ruin her day further. Instead she turned her back to the lobby, resting her hands on the receptionist desk as she tried to come to terms with a wave of emotions she had buried away that threatened to resurface. A decade’s old crush forgetting her existence was the least of her concerns… Or it should have been. But between Jim’s inability to contact her first when their father went missing and someone she used to think of fondly not recalling her existence, her struggle with inadequacy was bubbling up in her stomach.

"Hail, and well met. I am Magni, son of Thor. And I come with a matter of the utmost import." Imogen glanced back over her shoulder at Magni, getting a glimpse of his wide smile. "Have any in your number uncovered, by chance, a hammer on these grounds?"

"You!" June gasped. The initial shock startled Imogen enough that she spun around, sparkly diamonds covering her ivory skin like a shield, prepared for whatever hell was about to be unleashed on them. "That hammer is yours?! Do you have any idea— Oh, when I— I’m going to shove that hammer up your—"

"Miss Wayne, please," Alfred interjected trying to diffuse the situation.

"Jesus fucking christ," Imogen cursed as the prismatic flesh disappeared as quickly as it appeared. As if she wasn’t already on edge enough as it was, her heart raced in her chest as the adrenalin was already coursing through her veins.

Of course, Jim had to go all knight in a maroon cardigan and step in front of June, like that was going to do much of anything when he didn’t wear his suit. "Ok, woah. Let's take a moment, June. He's on our side... I think. I don't think a little hot water is going to do much against an extra-dimensional god, no matter how well you aim."

"His hammer is on the brake pedal of the Batmobile." Imogen’s gaze drifted from June to Magni with a curious raise of her brows. Had it been there for the past decade? "Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to have a hammer that weighs a billion pounds sitting on your brake pedal? I’ve been having to use… other vehicles."

"Is that why there’s bullet holes in my driver's side door?" Phil asked, looking far less than pleased.

"Well, technically it wasn’t a bullet… Plasma gun, very clean shots. Throwing the coffee would be therapeutic for me, but I’ll reframe," June’s voice got more quiet as she shot a glance toward Jim.

"Sorry," her voice softened as she directed her attention back to Magni. "If you could get that thing out of my car, that would be great."

Imogen’s gaze drifted to Jim as she caught him in the cycle of thoughts when he tried to refrain from laughing or the denial when he noticed a fluttering in his chest. "I… can't say I've been through that. Once our rather large friend here graciously removes his toy… I can give the vehicle a once-over." A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she heard him immediately chastising himself in his mind, wondering why he offered to help when he was so busy or somehow turning the blame back on her? Well, that was uncalled for. It wasn’t her fault if he actually let himself give into some of his desires. It’s not like him and June haven’t been friends forever and have had lingering thoughts. Imogen wasn’t even around them often and she still noticed. She was just nice enough not to throw her brother’s little crush, or whatever the fuck it was, back in his face… Unless he deserved it.

She did her best to let her thoughts wander as Jim and June’s conversation got a bit more intimate in a way where Imogen felt like she was intruding. Even though she loved giving her brother a hard time and was a telepath, that didn’t mean she wanted to be privy to every conversation and thought. Over the years she had gotten fairly skilled at being able to switch her mind reading on and off like a light, but sometimes it also came with her shutting her ears off as well and letting herself zone out at will.

It worked for a bit until she caught some fragments about coffee syrup and the taste of June’s lipstick which led into the faint fantasy of tasting her lips… her tongue… Imogen’s eyes shifted from half glossed over to alert and a bit stunned as her gaze snapped to Jim. She did her best to refrain from smiling, but the little tug at the corner of her lips gave the faintest hint of knowing. What a fucking idiot? All he’d have to do is kiss June and she’d be his, but his dense analytical brain found every angle to a situation besides the right one sometimes. If he didn’t act soon he was going to miss out. June was a catch and he was moving at a corpse’s pace.

The crunch of broken glass caught everyone’s attention as their gazes darted toward the entrance. Dipping beneath the broken doorframe a blind woman attempted to traverse Magni’s mess but her male companion took one look at her struggle and swept her right off her feet like he was carrying her over the threshold on their wedding night.

"I'm so glad Harry and Sally could make time out of their busy schedules to answer the call," Jim bitched in that dry, sardonic way he did when 99% of the world annoyed him for existing.

"Jealous much?" Imogen snapped at him, giving him that knowing look that said she had been hearing his thoughts and he had no right to lash out at others because he was bitterly alone.

Imogen put back on her welcoming, diplomatic smile as the pair entered the lobby and… Theo? set Myla? back down. She definitely wouldn’t call them a couple. There was far too much internal turmoil over their whole closeness that whatever they shared lived in the realm of ‘will they, won’t they,’ and it was absolutely adorable. The pair’s thoughts, aside from the whole ’Oh my God, this could be a trap,’ were like getting one of those sickly sweet Hallmark romances directly from the source. She’d happily sit in a room with them and watch the romance novel unfold in real time, but unfortunately she didn’t have that luxury. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t check in on them a little more than normal.

"Well would you look at that," she said with a sweetly amused grin. "Chivalry isn’t dead after all. That’s the kind of love women want. Take note TJ. You could learn a thing or two," Imogen added, not so subtly, as she pointed at Jim across the room.

She smirked as she watched Jim tense and his nostrils flare. Imogen didn’t need to be a telepath to know he wanted nothing more than to snap back with a jab of his own, but he bit his tongue when he knew his thoughts could do the heavy lifting. It was funny how his narrow little mind found a connection between her fashion sense and romantic advice. He was free to take or leave whatever advice she gave him, just like he was free to be a fucking idiot. And not taking your telepathic sister’s advice on romance was definitely idiotic.

Imogen pushed off the vacant receptionist’s desk and made her way over to the pair of fresh faces that joined them. She held out her right hand in a friendly greeting, figuring people would only be willing to introduce themselves if she broke the ice first. "Imogen Frost."

Her head tilted to the side slightly when Magni’s thoughts caught her attention as he mulled over her name, the vague recognition and the thoughts her last name invoked. Then a few words stuck out and created a strange tickle in her stomach… Endearing. Kind. Her? The juxtaposition between the Godling’s mind and her brother’s was a bit startling, but painted her in a better light, even if he still didn’t remember her.

The blind woman reaching around the man brought Imogen’s attention back to the strangers before her. The girl went to accept her proffered hand but pulled away at the sight of a droplet of blood on her own finger. "I—Sorry. I nicked my finger on the glass. I don’t want to get blood on you."

Hearing that, Alfred immediately wandered down the hallway, opened a hidden janitor’s closet and grabbed a broom and dustpan. He slipped past everyone silently to step outside and start cleaning up the mess to the best of his ability. He didn’t want anyone else getting injured, not on his watch.

At the woman’s hesitation because of a little nick, Imogen smiled and dipped her hand into her cleavage. Thumb and index finger slipped beneath the white floral fabric and under her breast retrieving a linen handkerchief. She took a step around the protective man to hold out the warm piece of cloth to the woman. "Think nothing of it, darling. Us women are used to blood," she quipped as she took Myla’s hand and shook it gently.

"I… Don’t know if I should say my name," she admitted while pressing the handkerchief against her finger.

"Theodore," the man introduced himself as he took her hand. "You could call her…A, until she feels it’s safe to share her name. Were you the one that sent out the signal?"

Imogen nodded her head in acknowledgement. "Fair enough. Well, welcome Theodore and Miss A. Hopefully we can gain your trust… In time." She understood the necessity of secret identities and while none of them had any goals on outing them, the precaution made sense. The pair didn’t know them or their motives. Secret identities didn’t remain secret if you shared them the moment you met someone, hero or otherwise.

Bingo, Jim’s mind rang out like a blaring alarm that grabbed Imogen’s attention and snapped her gaze to him. She shot him a glare that said don’t you fucking dare but he was already hidden behind those god damn glasses. He was an immature dick seeking their identities as a distraction from June. Jesus fucking christ, if everytime her brother needed a distraction rather than facing whatever feelings he had about June, they would have no allies left to help them. She could only hope he kept his mouth closed and let her do the talking… as discussed.

"Where did the pagers come from? Why did my…where did Spider-Man get his?" Theodore asked, getting straight to business.

Imogen reluctantly peeled her eyes off of Jim and turned her attention back to the new arrivals. "We sent the signal," she waved her hand generally at everyone else. "Well, everyone but the oaf who broke the door. Sorry about that, by the way. You handled that exceptionally well for a blind woman in heels." Relatively blind anyway. The woman’s head was such a sensory overload of sounds, smells, and touches that Imogen had to shut her out to be able to hear anyone else’s thoughts, or just be able to avoid a splitting headache. "We’re all friends here, right?" She posed the question toward the tense pair in front of her, Jim, June… Everyone. She couldn’t ease tensions in two seconds, but she could try to paint the tower as a safe place… hopefully.

The shift in Magni’s thoughts made her pause, turning her head slightly toward him in silence. While her comment was sarcastic and fairly surface level, perhaps her own frustrations at being forgotten made her more vindictive than intended. He rolled through every word that lived in the realm of idiot, each one chipping away at his confidence and esteem as memories of childhood bullying were brought to the forefront of his mind. One single word took him from jovial to feeling no more than an inconvenience.

A knot twisted in Imogen’s chest as she tried to swallow back the guilt. She cleared her throat and turned her attention back toward the expectant duo. "Why don’t you both have a seat while we wait to see if anyone else arrives. I’d rather only go over everything once, if possible." She attempted a friendly chuckle as she motioned to the plethora of available seating.

Once they made their way to a sofa, Imogen pivoted on her heels, turning to face Magni who now looked like a giant pouting golden retriever. She chastised herself for letting a part of her mother slip out of her mouth in that moment. She always tried to be more caring and compassionate than her mom, but sometimes it was still difficult to shake the little pieces of her parents that hooked themselves into her… Similar to how Jim’s harsh sarcasm was a spitting image of their father. But she wanted to be better than Emma Frost, kinder.

Imogen hesitantly approached Magni, stepping beside him, facing the wall while he looked forward. Her left hand slowly reached out to rest on his incredibly massive forearm. "I am sorry." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper so only the Asgardian could hear her words. No one else needed to know how she wounded his pride and her own in the slip up. "I was trying to ease tensions at your expense and that is not ok. You are not an oaf or an inconvenience. I regret saying it." She never meant to hurt his feelings and perhaps the remnants of her old crush made the guilt unbearable to the point she was ready to grovel for forgiveness. Magni was a friendly man, from what she recalled, the last thing she wanted was to be the first person on his avoidance list.

A loud clap echoed through the lobby, startling her, yet again. Her hand reflexively gripped Magni’s forearm as her head snapped over her shoulder in the direction of the sound, fighting the urge to shift to diamond form… again.

Catching her brother as the culprit, Imogen quickly sifted through the filing cabinets of her brother’s mind trying to find the intention behind his bid for attention. She was too distracted that she didn’t catch it fast enough to stop him before he opened his stupid mouth. "Phil, why don't you get Ms. Murdock and Mr. Parker here some water before we start discussing family matters. They had a long trip down from Manhattan, and I wouldn't want them to feel like strangers."

Stunned, her jaw dropped. "Anthony James Stark!" Imogen turned to face the rest of the room, releasing her hold on Magni’s arm. Her gaze jumped between Jim, then Myla and Theo.

The blind woman sat in silence, tense, poised and unmoving. Even through the sensory overload of her mind, Imogen caught glimpses of her rage and the overwhelming dread of being stripped bare in a room full of strangers. She winced and severed the connection, unable to handle the mental load. But not a moment later the woman spoke up. "Up from Manhattan," she corrected him. "Bridgeport, Connecticut is Northeast of Manhattan. I figured a Stark would know how to read a map." The girl found a flaw in his jab and pried at it with startling equanimity.

"No wonder you’re desperate for allies. I can’t imagine an invasive, judgemental prick like you has many friends."

Without another word, Myla stood up and headed for the door. "I need air," she whispered toward Imogen as she passed. And who was she to stop her? She wouldn’t blame her for wanting to leave entirely after an act like that. But the belongings, and Theo, left behind led her to think that Myla knew the meeting was important, even with JIm’s absurdly giant mouth.

Imogen rested her hands on her hips as she glared across the room at Jim. "What the fuck happened to me doing the talking?" She cocked her head slightly to the side. "Diplomacy and trust is how you make allies, Jim. Not this," she added, motioning her index finger in a circle at the whole lobby. "Just because we don’t get the luxury of anonymity does not give you the right to strip that away from others," she scolded him, thoroughly disappointed in his lack of respect for other’s privacy.

She sighed and turned her attention toward the newest arrivals, who happened to witness all of that. Imogen did her best to flash them a welcoming smile, but her patience was waning and frustration rising.

Luckily the guy took it upon himself to address the room and skip the awkward formalities. "Jameson Blaze, James. Got the message, so I assume this is the right place?"

"That is correct. We’re just waiting to see if anyone else arrives," she answered with a sigh.

"Cool," was all James said in response before finding himself a seat.

The woman with him lingered behind, searching the room, hoping to find a man named Logan to no avail. Imogen wondered if that was the same Logan who was known as the Wolverine, but she wasn’t going to ask and pour salt into the wound. Instead she remained quiet and let the blonde ask the questions she feared she already knew the answer to. "I was hoping… Is this everyone that’s arrived?"

Imogen shifted her weight from one foot to the other, a sad smile crossed her lips as she knew her answer was not the one the girl sought. "This is everyone."

"Oh." Her voice was soft as her gaze fell to the ground. "I prefer to go by Aria, I guess I’ll just…wait too."

After the girl went to sit down, Imogen pinched the bridge of her nose, her mind still reeling from the bullshit her brother pulled. "I need a drink," she muttered to no one in particular. She shrugged off her white jacket that hung draped across her shoulders and threw it over the receptionist’s desk. The open back of her semi-transparent bustier revealed a faint, dainty tattoo along her spine. It was a thin stem of two roses, one for each parent, and two leafy plants that represented herself and the jackass on the other side of the lobby.

Imogen wandered deeper into the tower, turned left down one hallway and right into the lounge. She weaved her way through various chairs, couches, and tables, making her way to the bar. Alcohol was the goal, so she wasn’t going to be picky about what kind. She grabbed the first bottle her eyes settled on, some sort of Polish Vodka. Her thumb slipped into a clean, empty glass, and three fingers into another, pinching them together to carry.

It wasn’t long before Imogen returned to the lobby. There was no way she was surviving the meeting without some liquid courage. She didn’t want to drink alone, but there was also no way in hell she was giving her brother alcohol and letting his inhibitions drop further. Instead she wandered over to Magni. She had some groveling to do and if one person in the room could hold their liquor, it was a fucking God. Plus… She could die knowing she at least shared a drink with the son of Thor, if nothing else. During her time at the Academy it was low on her bucket list, compared to… other things that also involved Magni, but it was there.

"Peace offering?" Imogen asked while wiggling the empty glasses in front of her slightly. She looked up at the towering man with a friendly, yet apologetic smile. When he seemed amiable to the idea, she set a glass in each of his hands for him to hold. "I’ll make you a deal, handsome," she started as she unscrewed the top off the bottle. "You forgive me for being an inconsiderate bitch—" she filled the first glass with far too much vodka, "—And I’ll forgive you for not remembering me." She filled the second glass equally as full as the first.

Once done, she put the cap back on the bottle and set aside on the nearest table. Imogen took a step toward the thunder Prince himself and reached out to take one of the drinks from his steady hand. "Deal?" She lightly clinked her glass against his. "Cheers." Then without a second’s hesitation, she chugged the entirety of the glass, not spilling a drop or pausing for a breath. She only pulled the glass from her lips when it was bare aside from the maroon crescent left behind from her rich lipstick.

^{interactions ....|.... everyone in the lobby ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... none}

Descendants

^{#cb6b06 ....|..... #d13b00 ....|..... ghost rider ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower ............ #00674f ....|..... sentinel ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower}

It was no secret that the Ghost Rider wasn't always the most revered hero nor was he kept in tight circles of other heroes. Maybe it was because his dad wasn't always the most amiable. But when James took on the mantle of Ghost Rider, he wasn't kept in close communication with other organizations. He often wandered around the country, going wherever his bike carried him. It rarely steered him wrong, taking directly toward whomever the spirit craved most. It wasn't a particularly glamorous job like Superman or Iron Man who both had international fame. But he did his part... whatever that was worth.

He knew about the heroes that had been disappearing. He couldn't go anywhere without hearing it, but it hardly affected him. No one he knew was gone, and even if they were what could he do? James had no connections, no network. And most people saw him as a monster, the type of shit children had nightmares about. Not a hero. It didn’t matter what good he did. So, rather than meddle in business that wasn't his place, he kept to himself and did what he did best... smiting assholes and dragging demons back to hell.

James was somewhere on the Pacific Coast Highway between Santa Cruz and Los Angeles when he got a phone call. If it wasn’t for the vibration in his pocket he never would have heard the ringtone over the roar of his engine. He pulled over on the shoulder of the highway and turned off his bike. He pulled off his helmet and tore off his leather glove with his teeth. His hands fumbled for his phone in his back pocket and just managed to answer before the call was sent to voicemail.

He didn’t get a chance to look at the caller I.D. before pinning the phone between his cheek and shoulder. "Hello?"

"James?"

Stunned at the sound of his dad’s voice, James nearly dropped his phone as it slipped from his shoulder and bounced between his hands. He was barely able to catch it a foot from the asphalt, nearly tipping over his motorcycle in the process. "Dad? Dad, is that you? It's so good to hear your voice! I thought with all the disappearances that maybe—"

"I got a message." He sounded pained to have to speak with James, like he was merely doing it out of formality and wished to end the call as soon as possible. "It's for the Ghost Rider... Which is you, not me." He then began to read out coordinates, a date, and time. James furiously dug into a saddle bag off the side of his bike, searching for something to write with. He found a sharpie, pulled the cap off with his teeth, and quickly tried to scrawl it all down on his arm. He did his best to get it all down because he knew his dad would only relay the information once. He didn’t seem to care less if James got it down correctly or not.

"Dad—"

"If you go missing, don't think we'll come looking for you. You're already gone to us." Click. The line went dead.

James sat on his bike on the shoulder of the highway, staring down at the black screen of his phone. He didn’t move for the better part of an hour, lost in bewilderment as he stared at the scratchy information on his forearm. Part of him wanted to wipe it away and forget he ever heard about it. He didn't want to give his dad the satisfaction of him going and disappearing. Or maybe he should go, get captured, disappear... die. Then that'd be one less fuck up in the world. He could go straight to hell taking the vengeance spirit with him where they'd no longer be anyone's burden.

It was a tempting option. But a part of James, the little boy inside of him, still wanted his dad's approval… Wanted to prove that he was a better person than the man his family thought he was. He wanted nothing more than to make his dad proud, which only made him hate himself more. He sighed, running his hands back through his shaggy black hair before he put back on his helmet and gloves. He started up his bike with a strong kick and sped off down the highway.

He pulled over at the first gas station he found, went inside, and grabbed an atlas. For the next hour, James sat on his bike with the map spread across the gas tank. He flipped through it page by page, until he came to Connecticut, where the coordinates finally lined up. Bridgeport. This city was nearly as far away as possible within the damn country, but he had to try... for himself. James had a little over fifty-two hours to make his way from the West coast all the way to the East coast. He made a shitty roadmap and then took off, making his way toward New England.

* * *​

Sometimes, when she was in places such as a truck stop bathroom staring at old, moldy tiles, Zaria really missed the comfort of home. She’d had a glorious bathroom, a bathtub big enough to fit four people and a shower that cascaded over her head like rain water. Her bed had been big, and soft, not unlike how she’d imagine a cloud might feel. It was easy to get lost in those memories, because they were better than the memories of being beaten black and blue until she could protect herself and had learned to fight back.

She’d preferred Logan’s method of teaching as opposed to her father’s, he hadn’t been needlessly brutal to teach her a simple lesson. Logan had wanted her to succeed, hadn’t judged her for who her father was, and had always been there to pick her up when she fell down. Logan was crass, and he could be brutal, but he cared in a way that was gentle in its quietness. She missed him more than she ever would miss her bathtub, and if she were still with him perhaps she wouldn’t care about shitty gas station showers.

The water was lukewarm, the tiles beneath her flip-flop clad feet were likely once white but had taken a greenish hue, and the fixtures inside the shower were rusting. There was an odor in the bathroom barely overshadowed by her personal hygiene products, and it made the fresh smell of rainwater and fig barely surpass the very clear mildew smell. There were speakers in the bathroom, out of place country music being played across the entire station, and she was being really brave about the water quality itself because there was a slight yellow tinge to it.

Overall, Zaria would not be giving this place a five star review. It was the only truck stop for miles though, and she was unwilling to rent a motel room for a night so she could take a shower. She’d hitch hiked here, but already decided she’d need to do something else once she’d left because she was tired of sleazy drivers hoping to get a prize.

She let her mind wander as she rinsed out her conditioner, thinking about the group of motorcyclists that had been loitering outside of the truck stop, the teenaged girl who looked close to sleep behind the counter, and the old man who was reading the labels on the Monster energy drinks when she passed by. She couldn’t responsibly steal a car from any of them, it would be needlessly cruel, maybe a local junkyard had a clunker she could pay for with one of her cards? Chris P. Bacon still had a pretty good amount of money left on that line, and Sircole Jerkin was untouched.

A new song came on over the station as she flipped off the water, wincing when the pipes squealed in protest. "Stand on the bar, stomp your feet, start clappin’. Got a real good feeling somethin’ bad about to happen." Honestly, who listened to country music like this? She grumbled to herself, rubbing the towel a little rougher than necessary over her hair before she wrapped it around herself.

Zaria heard the door open, but she didn’t rush, there were plenty of other stalls to choose from if someone wanted. That was weird though, it sounded like there were a lot of people coming in…

James lost track of how many hours he had been riding when he finally reached a shitty rundown truck stop outside of Allentown, Pennsylvania. Traveling cross country, especially on a motorcycle, was no easy task and was nothing short of exhausting. Somehow he managed to only get two speeding tickets, which was a feat in and of itself, and he only stopped to eat or use the restroom. James was a little ahead of schedule and decided to make a quick stop to take a shower before heading out on the last leg of his journey. If he was going to die when he reached his destination, he’d at least smell good and not like gasoline and sweat.

As someone who traveled light, he rotated three outfits that were basically identical and used whatever soaps were available in the various truck stops and motels he stayed at. It wasn’t glamorous. Spending years on the back of the bike he quickly learned what was a necessity and what wasn’t. In typical male fashion, soap was soap. He did have deodorant and cologne, James wasn’t a savage. But liquids like shampoo and body wash added unnecessary bulk and weight to his bag. Sometimes he’d splurge on the little travel sized ones. But traveling across the country in two days flat was not a time for him to be picky.

He had to wait over fifteen minutes for an available shower to open up and while he had an hour or two to spare, it still made him second guess his decision to stop. James waited patiently, although his bouncing leg and tapping index finger said otherwise. He watched as two heavy set truckers that looked overdue for a shower a month ago proceeded him, followed by a blonde that looked a little out of place when it came to truck stops. His head cocked slightly, but he quickly brushed it off, having no room to judge.

Finally, a few minutes later, his number was called. After stepping into the private stall area, James was surprised to see it was one of the nicer rest stops he had been to recently. Careless of the gross or germs, he kicked off his boots, stripped and stepped into the shower barefoot. It wasn’t like he had room in his bag for shower shoes… He also hated the concept of sandals on men, so there was that too. Between the potential athlete's foot and shitty grade truck stop soaps, it was probably a woman’s worst nightmare.

The sound of shuffling feet filled the bathroom, sneakers slipping and squeaking on wet tile, Zaria ignored them in favor of getting dressed, though she’d only gotten into her undergarments when a man's voice cut through what would have been a relatively, if questionably sanitary, evening. She paused, a hand on her folded shorts.

"Why don’t you come out here, sweetheart." His voice was gravely, like he’d smoked one too many cigarettes, and there was something in his tone that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Zaria’s mind kicked into overdrive, questions and scenarios running over each other in her haste to make sense of the sudden situation.

"Uhhh," she said, very eloquently. "I think I’ll pass, actually. Thanks!"

There was a snort and a snicker, both at the same time, and she rearranged the odds from one on one to three on one, which was less than favorable but doable in a pinch. There was a pause, as if the man wasn’t actually sure what to do with her response, but when he spoke next he sounded angry.

"We can do this the hard way, or the easy way. Either you get out and come with us, or I’ll drag you back to Latveria by your hair." Zaria let out a soft breath, shoulders relaxing even as the muscles in her stomach clenched in anticipation. This wasn’t the first time he’d found her, it wouldn't be the last either she was sure. But there was a reason she hadn’t been dragged back yet.

"That changes things," she allowed, undoing the hatch and letting the cheap blue stall door swing open. She’d been wrong, it wasn’t three. The group of motorcyclists she’d seen outside earlier weren’t as normal as she’d assumed, and there were at least eight of them. Zaria left her arms loose at her sides, ignoring the lecherous looks the men were giving her as she appraised them and the gravity of it all set in. "Those boots have rubber in the soles?"

Her tone was a little too bright, and one of the bigger men in the back shifted as if it was a question that made him uncomfortable. Most of them were wearing cowboy boots, which along with the music made no fucking sense to her. Were they in Texas? Last time she’d checked a map, they weren’t. The water collected on the floor wasn’t much, but it was enough.

"...What?" The man who had spoken was, well, he was fugly. His beard had missing patches, skin yellowing and sagging. The others looked like they were in better shape at least, they’d be more of an issue, but their supposed ringleader looked like one smoke break away from dropping dead. That was great.

"I guess we’ll find out." Zaria smiled, and they caught on a second later. The lights flickered, going dim and then frightfully bright, as the energy she’d stored up sparked between her fingers, arcing across the damp ground. Only two of the men fell, twitching and letting out deep, gurgling screams. She’d barely had time to focus on that, because one of them was fast. The man was gangly, and he overtook the overs in just three strides, the glint of something sharp clenched in his hand.

Zaria let her muscle memory take over, eyes narrowed in concentration as her all too familiar game of barely there began. There was a sort of thrill that made her heart flutter each time she stood still for just a second longer than necessary, when she could see the whites of their eyes, and then she’d dart away. It lasted less than sixty seconds, bobbing and weaving around the man's calculated swings. He wasn’t trying to kill her, just hurt her enough to put her out of order.

"Fucking, stand still!" He finally snarled, looking like he was ready to throw the knife at her. Zaria caught the glimpse of another of the men coming up behind her, her chest rising and falling quickly, and she made a decision. She stopped, stood still for even longer than she had before, and the knife soared through the air, glinting off the luminescent lights. She ducked at the last possible second, feeling a few strands of her hair cut free and trailing down her back.

There was a startled yelp from behind her, and then a thump. Zaria twisted, hands and knees slipping against wet tile, and caught a glimpse of one of the men on the floor, the knife sticking out of his eyesocket. She had a second of dim realization that maybe they were trying to kill her, and it was just enough of a distraction to not get away from the boot that slammed into her side with enough force to bruise. Her scream was cut off as her back hit the edge of the stall behind her, but she rolled out of the way of the next kick.

Anger made the men sloppy, but it made her mind cool and calm. A quiet part of her brain registered that there were five of them left, and then more electricity was leaping from her palms, a lightbulb burst over the sink, and another man fell, his chest charred and smoking. One of the men leapt at her, his hand curling around her ankle, just as the bathroom door slammed open.

James had just finished rinsing the shitty truck stop shampoo from his shaggy black hair. As he stood beneath the stream of lukewarm water he could have swore he heard some rustling or a bump against the side of his stall. At first he thought nothing of it. It wasn’t that uncommon to catch people getting in a quickie in the showers. He had heard his fair share and learned to just tune it out. But then he heard a shout that was indiscernible from the water. It wasn’t his place, but he felt the spirit inside of him stirring which only meant one thing…

He turned off the taps and stepped out onto the slick wet tiles. James quickly grabbed a towel, tied it around his waist and tucked in the outer corner to keep it from falling. He pulled open the stall door and poked his head out into the hallway. The moment his eyes fell on a group of greasy, smelly looking bikers, steam rose from James’s skin, evaporating the lingering water that dripped from his nose. A deep and sinister laugh emerged from the caged beast inside and rumbled his chest. The spirit’s voice rang out in his head, rattling the bars of its fleshy prison. I smell sin.

James sighed, stepping out into the hall. "Guys, this isn’t a peep show. If you aren’t showering then get out." Annoyance, but mostly exhaustion, painted his words as he took a step forward while motioning toward the exit. He shoved his way through the group of bikers, towering over most of them and twice as lean as all of them. He managed to get just within sight of the adjacent stall to see a blonde woman get kicked and thrown into a wall.

A meaty hand covered in faded tattoos and far too many superbowl sized rings wrapped around James’s arm before he could take a step further. "Go back to your shower, pretty boy, and you can keep that pretty face." The other three men out in the hall turned to face him with sickening golden and gap toothed grins.

"He thinks you’re pretty, James," a voice deeper than his own scratched at the back of James’s throat.

The man’s grip tightened on his arm, vying for control and dominance, while his face looked confused and a little disgusted like a gay man had just hit on him and he couldn’t be more offended. "James? I’m Larry."

James’s gaze fell to the man’s hand, grip tight enough to make the skin beneath it go white. "He wasn’t talking to you," James’s own voice rang out, higher than the last tone that left his lips but still deep and somber.

There was a stillness in the air for a fraction of a second, before James’s arm broke free of the man’s hold. His hand shot up and grabbed a hold of Larry’s throat before slamming him backwards into the tile wall. Fire engulfed James’s hand as his grip tightened, the ivory bones of his phalanges curled into the meaty flesh of the biker’s neck. The flames trailed up James’s arm and ran down his body like he was doused in gasoline and Larry’s existence lit the fuse. The pretty boy face was gone, replaced with a hollow eyed skull set ablaze.

Larry let out a scream that sounded more in line with a woman coming across a spider, rather than a man of his stature and ego. "That’s right, squeal little pig." The Ghost Rider laughed manically as he lifted the fat bastard off the ground and watched his feet flail around. The biker begged for mercy and clawed at the skeletal hand to try and get free, while his friends watched in a terrified silence, stumbling a few feet backwards.

The Ghost Rider pulled the man from the wall and brought him in close, hovering in the air, until his blotchy, sweaty face was mere inches from the sinister skull. "Look me in the EYES!" The fire crackled and grew like the man’s fear fed the flames. Larry fought and squirmed until his eyes finally squinted open and locked onto the black voids of the Ghost Rider’s stare. The man let out a blood curdling scream as every pain he had ever inflicted in his life was turned against him seven fold. Every punch, stab, lie, and murder came crashing down on Larry, chipping away at his mind and soul. The spirit held his gaze until the fight drained out of him. All that was left was a sobbing, pissed stained lump of shit that fell into a useless heap on the ground.

The other three men looked between one another, terrified, before trying to run for the exit. The Ghost Rider grabbed a small silver chain around his wrist and whipped it back behind him. In a flick the bracelet grew into a twenty foot long chain covered in hellfire, launched forward and wrapped around the men’s ankles. "Not so fast!" the demonic voice rumbled with a malevolent enthusiasm as he gave the chain a swift tug and knocked the bikers to the ground.

Zaria didn’t notice what was happening at first, the man who had caught her ankle had dragged her back across the slick floor toward himself. He had the advantage of weight and height, his hold bruising as he manhandled her. There was a moment when his other hand, out of sight for her, had dropped to his belt and the color from her face had drained, assuming the worse, and then the sharp kiss of a blade was pressed to her side and she felt an absurd sense of relief. Then, a scream that wasn’t hers and that she hadn’t caused cut through the air.

Both Zaria and the man froze from their scuffle, gazes reflexively moving toward the door. One of the men she’d electrocuted when it all first started seemed to be waking up, but that was barely registering for her. The thing that really caught her attention was the flaming, talking, skeleton. Her mind went blank, uncomprehending, and behind her the man stiffened.

"What the fuck?" She mentally echoed her attacker’s confusion, uncertain if she should be glad for the help or terrified of the new variable. Zaria was no novice when it came to fighting men, she’d even fought other people with powers like she had, but this? It was like something out of a nightmare. Had her father sent him? No, she shook the thought as soon as it came. If he had, there was no reason for them to be fighting.

She needed to get away, if she could slip away now she could hopefully fall under the things radar, but the man was still holding the knife to her side. She just needed to move fast, as long as she did then— a sharp, biting pain followed the thought, and a choked sound dragged from Zaria’s throat as the knife sunk into the delicate skin of her waist. The fucker had actually stabbed her. She had a second to register how unbelievably pissed off that fact made her, and then the knife was being twisted and she was trying not to scream.

"What kind of freak are you traveling with?" He snarled, grappling with her when she kicked out at him, hand slipping from where he’d been holding awkwardly to her ankle to jump at the more suitable spot around her throat. "What did he do to Larry, you bitch?"

That was an excellent question, Zaria conceded. Not really any of her business, but the whole thing had spiraled pretty fast. Her vision was dimming around the edges, and desperation clawed up her throat like a monster begging to be set free. There was a split second where she knew what she had to do, but really, really didn’t want to do it, and then Zaria did it anyway.

The shock of electricity that jolted through where the knife was connected inside her body to the man’s hand wasn’t nearly as strong as any of the others. She was in pain, and flagging, and it hurt her too. Their screams twisted into the air together in the mockery of a symphony, and he let go of the knife but not her throat. His eyes were wild now, and he kept Zaria between himself and the bag of fire bones, smart even as he got some electric therapy.

The mystical chain tightened around the men’s ankles and dragged them along the floor toward the flaming horror. While the sin pouring off of the bikers was palpable enough that the Ghost Rider could feast for days, James, while in the backseat, tried to steer their attention toward the woman being attacked. But they couldn’t very well leave those men to run off like the cowards they were either. Opting for the quicker solution, he walked up to them, kicked one in the jaw and slapped the other two’s heads together, leaving them unconscious in a pile on the floor.

Hearing the shouts of another angry man caught the Ghost Rider’s attention. The skull slowly pivoted beneath the flames to look in the direction of the stall. One man stirred in the corner while another was beneath the woman as sparks of electricity danced across the damp ground around them. With a flick of his hand, the chain relinquished its hold around the three cowardice men on the floor. A skeletal foot stepped through the door and into the puddle of standing water without a moment's hesitation. His free hand took the waking man’s head and slammed it back into the wall, knocking him unconscious before he could attempt to fully awake the first time.

As he stepped closer to the woman and man beneath her, electricity climbed up the skeletal form and along his chain, yet the Ghost Rider seemed unphased. He willed the chain to loosen its grasp on the unconscious biker’s ankles and shorten, snaking its way into the stall until it dangled, a few feet in length, at his side. The skull spared a glance at the blonde before he whipped the chain at the man and it constricted around his throat.

"Do you want him dead?" Two deep voices mingled, speaking over top of one another. One was James’s, caring, protective, and seeking approval, while the other was gravelly and menacing, causing sparks to flicker in the hollows of its eyes.

Zaria was left stunned for a moment, chest rising and falling quickly as she stared up at the…man? Skeleton? She shoved her attacker's hand away from her throat when the chain locked around his own neck, eyes wide and startled. She wasn’t sure why, but she hadn’t expected help. The question sat heavy on her shoulders, and for a moment she wasn’t sure.

But Zaria was in a lot of pain, and she was scared, and confused, and he had stabbed her. Say what you will about her father, but he would have never condoned her being killed. He would sooner lock her up and attempt to reform her in his perfect image than lose years of work shaping her. The moment the men had shifted from trying to kidnap her to trying to kill her, they stopped working for Doom.

The thought of her father and all the conflicting emotions surrounding him and home, alongside the throbbing pain in her side, made Zaria’s bottom lip wobble traitorously. She didn’t look down at the man, her eyes set on the sparking holes of where the skeletons' own eyes ought to have been. "Yes." The word was little more than a whisper, but she meant it reverently.

Her left hand curled around the handle of the knife sticking out of her side, but she didn’t pull it free. Instead, Zaria sort of…rolled off the man, closer to the skeleton, until she was half sitting, half kneeling in front of the creature as she tried to catch her breath. She didn’t want to be on top of the man when he died.

The words had barely left the woman’s lips when the skeletal hand jerked and snapped the man’s neck. With the attackers unconscious or dead, James could feel the spirit’s control waning as he slipped back into the driver’s seat. Before the flames dissipated, the Ghost Rider squatted down beside the woman and placed a bony hand on the hilt of the dagger. "Brace yourself." The demonic voice was gone, leaving only James’s calm words to contrast the nightmarish visage of the flaming skull. In a steady but quick motion, he pulled out the knife and covered the wound with his hand. At first the flames were cool, but then he let the heat rise and sear her skin, cauterizing the gash. It was the best he could manage.

As the vengeance spirit slipped back into its cage, the flames died. All that was left was James, no longer damp from the shower, pale and muscular, with dark circles under his eyes from two days without sleep… and naked. At some point in the scuffle he must have lost his towel out in the hall. Every part of his body was left bare and in full view of the unknown blonde woman. James cleared his throat and dropped his hands between his legs as redness flooded to his cheeks. He quickly stood up and slipped into the hall to find his towel. After wrapping it around his waist, he poked his head back into the stall with an apologetic smile. "Are… Are you ok?"

In none of the scenarios that Zaria had ever pictured in which she saw an attractive stranger naked did they also transform into a flaming skeleton. Honestly, that was her bad. She didn’t have an imagination that good because reality was, apparently, just better.

She hadn’t been expecting to have the wound cauterized, she healed freakishly fast and hadn't been all that concerned about the actual stab wound, so the burning had startled a cry of pain from her. One of her hands automatically snapped out, fingers curling around a forearm that was suddenly more flesh than bone. Her eyes had automatically lowered, surprise taking over in the place of pain until Zaria realized just what she was ogling and ripped her eyes away from the sight. She let go of his arm like he’d burnt her again, her own face flushed and hot.

She didn’t blame him for simply standing up and leaving, though her eyes bounced back once on his retreating form, catching sight of his ass and then bouncing away again. She fought down the urge to laugh, it was so ridiculous and apparently skeleton shifting men were very fit. Zaria sat there for a second, rubbing her fingers delicately over the tender and raised skin on her side, before everything that had just happened caught up to her.

She slapped a hand over her face, diligently not thinking about the naked man who had easily wiped out what had been left of the group of men, rushing to get dressed herself. None of it had been quiet, and it was more than likely someone had called the cops. It wouldn’t be long before someone was coming around to ask her questions that she had no desire to answer.

Zaria had just started for the door, shorts on but her jacket and bag in both hands. The bra she’d been wearing was sewn in a lace pattern, black snakes placed perfectly over the sheer fabric to protect her modesty but still was revealing all the same. She stopped short at the reappearance of the man, eyes automatically dropping to the towel before back up toward his face. Her cheeks heated up again, a rosy flush crawling down her chest and dipping into her visible cleavage.

"Yeah, I’ll heal. Um, thank you for..." Zaria waved a hand behind her, clearly meaning the situation as a whole. She shifted, the dog tags clinked together over her bra, and she juggled everything in her hands to absentmindedly shove the necklace down beneath the fabric and out of sight. "Sorry that it interrupted your shower, I..."

Her nose scrunched up some, little more than a delicate crinkle that rippled across her face like water for a moment, and then Zaria was fishing a bottle out of her bag. It was all white, a blue label etched into the plastic, and she thrust it into his arms unceremoniously. "Here, take my bodywash. I literally don’t have any money to pay you back, I’m really sorry. I’ve got to get going before… well, yeah. This will smell better than the crap they have here. I’m sorry."

Zaria spoke quickly, feeling rushed and flustered. She didn’t like owing anyone anything, but she most certainly owed this man a debt now. All she had were fraudulent credit cards and nice hygiene products though, so she had to choose one. She squeezed past him in the doorway as she spoke, stepping over bodies carefully, chest brushing against his. She could feel the sheer warmth radiating off of him, and her side throbbed again making her feel lightheaded and dizzy.

"I’m..." Zaria paused in the doorway, head tilted back to look up into his eyes. She wanted to remember his face instead of the nightmare fuel from before, so her gaze swept slowly over the ridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw, lingering on how his dark lashes framed his eyes. He smelled like cheap gas station shampoo, and a fire on a cold night. The smell of her own shampoo mixed in the air, her hair still damp and falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Well, he wasn’t nearly as intimidating when he was only wearing a towel. Her lips quirked into a half smile, cheeks dimpled, and before she could stop herself she reached out. The tip of her pointer finger pressed into his chest, and she nodded to herself as if pleased to find that he still had skin. "Thanks again, bone man."

And without another word, Zaria twisted on her heel and fled the gas station.

The woman was a whirlwind. More than once he tried to interject but the words never quite made it past his lips. His dark hooded eyes followed her as she frantically grabbed her things and shoved a bottle of, what he could only assume was expensive women’s bodywash, into his hands. James wanted to mention that she didn’t owe him anything. Hell, that was half as bad as the shit he got into in Vegas a few years back. One death at his hands was minimal, whether or not he agreed with the spirit’s killing. But again, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. That time his attention was distracted by the embroidered black snakes that just barely covered her—nope. No.

James looked anywhere else but there as she slipped past him in the doorway. His hand reflexively caught the towel around his waist before she accidentally took it with her as she brushed past him. His gaze fell to the finger that poked his chest before looking up into her eyes as she thanked him before she disappeared out into the convenience area of the gas station. He was left a bit dumfounded, bodywash in one hand, the other clutching the towel to cover his manhood while his bare ass was out in the open… again. "You’re welcome?" he muttered to her retreating form as the door shut between them.

Zaria had rushed out, not making eye contact with anyone as she hurried from the building. There were sirens very far off in the distance, little more than a haunting echo in the afternoon, and so she wasted no time in beelining for the motorcycles lined up outside the truck stop. They were all nice, but one that was parked a little further from the rest was nicest. Matte black, leather seat well cared for, highlights of red around the rims. She grinned as she slid onto the bike, running her hands across the handles with a soft hum of appreciation.

She’d done this enough times with Logan to know exactly how much of a shock a bike needed to jumpstart it, and so it was with careful patience and precision that she ran her fingers across the side of the bike. Little sparks jumped from her fingers and the motorcycle roared to life, engine rumbling, and she wasted no time in peeling out of the gas station gravel kicking up behind her.

The air was refreshingly cold after the warm shower, gooseflesh spreading across her body as Zaria’s hair whipped behind her hair in the breeze. Riding motorcycles always reminded her of Logan, of feeling the shock of freedom for the first time. It was addicting.

Ok, so James was confused. Who was she? Who were those men? Why were they after her? What was with the electricity? And at least twenty more rattled around in his head as he stood there frozen like a statue. He didn’t manage to get a single one out before she was gone. His gaze drifted across the various unconscious men before landing on the one killed by his own hand—er, chain? "Fuck," he cursed under his breath. He dipped back into his own stall and locked the door behind him.

While the bodywash was a nice gesture… he guessed? James definitely didn’t have the time to attempt a second shower. So, shitty gas station soap and all, it had to suffice. He could only hope he didn’t smell too bad. One positive to the whole flaming skeleton thing was not needing to dry off. He was able to slip into his clean clothes quickly, bundle up all his shit into his arms, including the bodywash, grab his boots, and hurry out of the shower area. Wandering and judgemental gazes from various customers and the clerk behind the counter were trained on him as he darted for the door, bare feet slapping against the floor in the heavy silence.

He burst out the exit and headed to the side of the building where several weathered Harleys were lined up without their riders. James’s pace slowed as his gaze frantically sifted through the different bikes until he found his black helmet discarded on the ground and his motorcycle nowhere in sight. "Son of a bitch!" he shouted and threw his boots on the ground in frustration.

The hum of sirens rang out ominously in the distance as he paced back and forth, running his hand back through his hair. James sat on the edge of the curb, quickly and aggressively shoving on his boots, not having the time to waste on lacing them up or socks for that matter. He scooped up his belongings and hastily started walking down the shoulder of the state route in the opposite direction of the closing in sirens. What the hell was he going to do!?

Gravel and shards of glass from long forgotten car accidents crunched beneath his combat boots as he trudged forward as fast as his feet could carry him without running. James’s mind ran through the various possibilities and solutions, but whoever took his bike was easily miles away by then and the distance was only growing.

Summon it, the spirit demanded inside his mind.

James’s pace slowed. "I can’t," he replied outloud. "If I light up now the cops will only find us faster."

...Summon it, the voice demanded again, fueled by urgency and rage.

He sighed, glancing back over his shoulder toward the truck stop that was around the bend behind him, obstructed by a small patch of woods and a parked semi. James’s feet carried him a bit further until he could no longer see the gas station at all and then he stopped. He waited until the road was empty and quickly released control. His body went up in a roar of flames and smoke as his right hand shot out in front of him. "Come!" the spirit commanded with a low growl that rumbled in the Rider’s throat.

Once the summon was sent, the fire fizzled out as quickly as it ignited, leaving behind James, flustered and pissed as he continued down the road. He could only hope the bike showed up… before the cops did.

One second she was enjoying the literal joyride of her life, and then everything…got really weird, really fast. Zaria yelped as the bike reversed, scrambling for a better hold on the handles as her hair whipped into her eyes and mouth. She tried to put on the brakes, to turn the steering, and was just starting to contemplate how long it would take to heal if she jumped off when the bike screeched to a halt. She knocked into the handles, winded from the impact, trying not to grow panicked as the sirens grew louder in the distance, and then she spotted him.

There was a very awkward moment where Zaria stared at him, and he stared at her, and she tried to not look as confused and flustered as she felt. "I’m guessing this isn’t one of their bikes?" Her whole face was scrunched up in a wince, noting how angry the stranger looked and hurrying to try and scramble off the bike. She fumbled with the kickstand, planning fully to jump off and create some space between them in case he decided to go all Skeletor on her. Did his clothes vanish each time he did that? Zaria’s cheeks were already flushed from the cold and the rush of riding, but they darkened further at that thought. "I didn’t think it was yours or I wouldn’t have taken it, here, I’ll just uhh…"

James exhaled, rolling his eyes as his Harley-Davidson Night Rod came speeding around the corner with none other than the blonde from before sitting on it. He took a step in the way as the motorcycle slowed as it approached him, coming to a stop with the front tire between his legs and his hands on the handlebars. "This was the nicest bike in that place and you thought it was their’s?" If James wasn’t already pissed and worried about being arrested he might have been insulted at the insinuation.

The sound of sirens was closing in and couldn’t be far around the bend. He needed to go, but he wasn’t letting her out of his sight without answers either. When the girl went to stand, James shoved his helmet at her. "Scoot," he demanded. He shoved his belongings haphazardly into his saddlebag before climbing onto the bike in front of her, making sure not to hit her with his leg as he swung it over the chassis. He flipped up the kickstand and revved the engine in one swift move. Then, just as the flashing blue and red lights peeked around the edge of the trees, he peeled out of there and sped up the street going nearly one hundred miles an hour.

Zaria was dumbfounded as she moved the helmet onto her head, not having bothered with it before or ever in the past. She’d had only a few moments to feel a wave of panic at the new arrangement, and then he was going twice the speed she’d been driving only minutes earlier. Her hands reflexively found a hold on his shoulders, catching the fabric of his shirt between her clenched fists. It was clear that she was trying to keep some space between them, flustered by the turn of events and by the fact that she’d seen him naked not very long ago, they probably looked like an ad for a church’s motorcycle group with how she was leaving room for the Lord or whatever.

They rode faster than what anyone would consider safe for several miles before James felt comfortable enough pulling off the side of the road down a dirt path. He finally came to a stop once they were fully out of view of the state route, deep within the woods. He shut off the engine and flipped down the kickstand before getting up. Turning around to face the girl still on the back of his bike, James leaned down slightly and flipped up her visor to meet her gaze. His eyes squinted. "You owe me answers," he said, making demands of her a second time.

Her breath hitched for a moment as the visor was flipped up, and she blinked in a way that was both dazed and astonished. He wanted answers, but hadn’t asked any questions? Zaria waited until he retreated some before tugging the helmet off and quickly sliding off the bike, setting it on the seat so her arms were free.

James walked around to the side of his bike and squatted down. His hands sifted around the dirty clothes to pull out a pair of socks and her bodywash. He held out the white bottle to her with a little nudge. "Keep it," he said gently. After she took it back he sat down on the ground a few feet away and pulled off his boots. Since they weren’t going anywhere until he got an explanation, James figured he could take the time to finish getting dressed… properly.

She took the bottle with an offended sort of frown, it was way better than gas station shit. Honestly, men and their lack of appreciation for good hygiene. Well, he wanted answers? Fine.

"One point seven seven two. Are you going to ask me an actual question? Or do you want me to list the entire square root of pi?" Her tone was tight and defensive, arms crossed across her chest and bag discarded at her feet. Zaria realized then that she was still wearing her shower flip-flops and she felt a rush of embarrassment, the adrenaline was only just starting to fade.

She could feel the ache of her muscles more clearly now, the slight stiffness in her fingers from having used so much electricity so quickly, the throbbing pain in her side where she’d been stabbed and cauterized. She was trying not to look as exhausted as she suddenly felt, and a fresh wave of grief made her eyes water some. She missed Logan.

James rolled his eyes in a slightly mocking gesture as she skirted around the question. She knew damn well what he was asking, but fine, if she wanted it spelled out, then he’d spell it out. "Alright fine." He sighed as she started putting on his socks. "Who are you? Who were those men? Why were they trying to kill you?" Those three questions felt like an easy place to start and summarized the bigger gaps in his knowledge, for the time being anyway.

He had his right foot half way in the boot when he looked up and noticed the water building in her eyes. "Woah, hey," his voice was more gentle than the questions he rattled off a moment earlier. James wasn’t trying to be a complete dick. She did, after all, try to steal his bike and got him into a little more trouble than he cared to be. But he wasn’t trying to make her cry either. It wasn’t like he was going to go all Ghost Rider and smite her or something… Or, at least not without a reason. She hadn’t set off the vengeance spirit so there was no reason to jump to that conclusion. He didn’t like the idea of getting aggressive with a woman. He usually kept his dealings to shitty men, if he could help it.

"Look," he said, holding his hands up innocently. "I’m not gonna go all flame-skull and I’m not going to turn you into the cops. Ok?" James studied her face. "I don’t think either one of us is a fan of a night in jail," he added with an exhausted laugh. He wasn’t the best when it came to cheering up people, and even if he was pissed she stole his bike, James wasn’t trying to scare her or make her cry. The last thing he wanted to do was make a woman cry. Fat assholes like Larry? Well, that’s a different story.

Zaria waved the man off, she could appreciate the kindness but he hadn’t caused her distress, not really. He was right, she could think of at least fifty other things she’d rather be doing than spending a night in jail, and it was reassuring to know he wasn’t planning to kill her. She ran a hand through her hair, wincing when her fingers got caught in a few knots.

"You can call me Aria," she spoke after a long pause, having weighed her options. She really did owe him some answers, he’d helped her get out of a tight spot and not expected anything in return up until now. And she’d stolen his bike. "Those men weren’t supposed to try and kill me, I don’t know what that was, I think I just pissed them off too much…my dad sent them to bring me home."

She took an unsteady breath and looked toward the man, his name still unknown to her. It added a level of discomfort to the whole thing, and she found herself absentmindedly pulling the dog tags free from and holding onto them, a gesture that brought her a soft sense of comfort. "I don’t go by my full first name, so Aria is all you’ll get from me but…my last name is von Doom."

Victor von Doom was, unfortunately, the closest thing to a household name a villain could be. Unless this guy lived under a rock, well…actually, maybe it would be nice if he didn’t know. She was watching his face closely, knowing she should be tense and ready for the judgment that usually followed, but was too tired to find the energy to care.

He finished slipping on the boot and worked on lacing it up as she gave him her answers. James was thankful he didn’t have to argue or pry to get something from her. He didn’t expect an essay, but considering he was letting her off pretty easily, it was the least she could do. "Your dad sounds like a dick," he replied as he slipped on his other boot. Of course he knew the name von Doom, he wasn’t a simpleton. But he was also living proof that no matter how good or bad a man was, he could be entirely different towards his children. Case and point, his own father. A decent man by all intents and purposes, yet now he wanted nothing to do with James. He wasn’t going to draw conclusions based on who her father was or wasn’t.

"Jameson Blaze—James," he added as he finished lacing up the second shoe. James figured the least he could do was give her his own name. Although his name carried little to no weight. He pushed off the ground and got back to his feet, dusting off the back of his pants as he made his way back over to his bike. He grabbed his deodorant and cologne from his bag and put both on before shoving them back away somewhere between the lump of dirty clothes.

He looked down at his watch, noticing he was now a half an hour behind. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath. James looked back up and met her gaze. "I’m running late. Is there somewhere I can drop you or…?" It definitely was not the smartest thing he had ever done, offering a ride to someone who seemed to attract problems and stole his bike. But he also couldn’t leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere either.

That startled a laugh out of her. Her dad was a huge dick, it was nice to have that validated by someone other than Logan. A smile tugged her lips up some. "Wait, your last name is Blaze and you can turn into a blazing Skeletor? Are you fucking with me?"

Then again, her dads last name was Doom and he was a notorious villain. Maybe Zaria ought not to judge, and she could appreciate the fact that he didn’t seem to be judging her on her past. Maybe she could…

James actually let out a mix between a laugh and sigh as he zipped up his leather jacket, preparing to set off. "Trust me, the irony isn’t lost on me either. And technically it’s Ghost Rider… Although Skeletor sounds cooler," he added while reaching around her to grab his helmet from the motorcycle’s seat.

"That’s nice of you, but I’ve already inconvenienced you enough." His question broke her train of thought, and she squatted down to pull out her own socks and boots from her bag, trading out one flip flop at a time but doing a sort of balancing shimmy act instead of sitting in the dirt. The movement unconsciously pressed her cleavage tighter, the little sewn snakes doing minimal to hide everything with the change of angle. "Unless you’re going to Connecticut, you can’t really help me. I can just walk until I find someone to hitch hike with, or a bus stop. Wouldn’t be the first time."

He froze after spinning around the helmet in his hands. James’s gaze drifted over to her, being sure to avoid anywhere below her face… Even if the black snacks fought to steal his attention. "I am… actually," he replied, apprehension apparent in the questioning way he dragged out the last word. "Bridgeport specifically," he added, fishing to see if it was more than a simple coincidence.

"You’re fucking me." She said, voice perfectly deadpan. She wobbled some, almost losing her balance with her foot sliding into her last boot. Zaria stood up straight, stomping her foot into the ground until a small dirt cloud puffed into the air and her foot slid in all the way. "Why are you going to Bridgeport?"

There was caution heavy in her tone, and her eyes darted to her bag where Logan’s pager was and back to James. Genuinely, what were the odds? The realization that there were too many things that made this entire meeting unlikely was raising alarm bells in her head.

James… didn’t know what to say. He lightly smacked his helmet into the palm of his right hand as he sucked in his lips in thought. After a long moment of contemplation, he sighed, figuring what the hell at that point. If Aria really wanted to kill him, being secluded in the woods was a damn good time to do it. "I—Well, my dad, got a message for the Ghost Rider. Just coordinates, a date, and time. I don’t really know why." He shrugged his shoulders. The way things were lining up was definitely freaky to say the least. Who the fuck would have thought?

Zaria stared at him for a moment, a strange look taking over her face. She looked almost pained, her left hand clutching at the dog tags again. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence, Logan had said before that weird shit usually happened for a reason. It was still deeply unsettling though.

"My…mentor had a pager in his bag, he went missing a while ago and I don’t know what happened to him. I’ve been looking for him, but the coordinates..." Her voice trailed off, and she looked away from James down the dirt road. She shrugged one shoulder, bending down to lift her bag up. "I-I was hoping it was from him, but I guess if other people got the message too…it’s not."

The heartbreak was almost palpable, and her voice trailed off at the end, shoulders slumping. Zaria almost didn’t even want to go anymore, if Logan wasn’t going to be there what was the point? He’d been all she had left, and without him she just felt lost and aimless. The thought that maybe she was missing something rose up inside of her again, but she resisted the urge to dump the bag she had out and sort through their combined belongings for the hundredth time this week.

He was halfway through pulling his leather glove onto his left hand when he stopped noticing the shift in her demeanor. James had been lucky. Everyone in his family was safe, or so he thought. He at least heard his dad on the phone anyway. It wasn’t the easiest thing for him to check in with them when they wanted nothing to do with him. He couldn’t relate to the pain behind all the disappearances but he could understand the grief behind it. He could only imagine how crazy it’d drive him if someone he cared about went missing. And whoever this mentor was seemed to be pretty important to her.

"I… I’m sorry." James was definitely not the best person when it came to comforting others. It probably stemmed from him living in an emotional void since he sold his soul to Mephisto. It didn’t actually change anything about him, beyond the whole being possessed thing. But being cut out by his family for doing something to save his father and living alone on the road for over a decade had a weird way of warping the softness and optimism that once lived in his heart. Still… There was a part of him that wanted to give her a hug. But that was wildly inappropriate. He barely knew her.

"You never know," he continued, trying to find the old optimism he had as a boy. It felt strange coming from his lips when he rarely took things at anything beyond face value. "Could be people who need help… Like a distress signal? I think if I was sending out a message asking for help I wouldn’t be picky about who it went to." James shrugged his shoulders, finally finishing pulling up his glove. "Could also totally be a trap. Haven’t really given much thought to how I’d die, but in a blaze of glory could be fun. Less keen on getting dragged to hell but… I don’t get a choice in that." And there was his usual dark pragmatism turning its ugly head. It wouldn’t do either of them any benefit if they didn’t also accept the possibility of death upon arrival.

James pulled on his other glove before grabbing hold of the handlebars and swinging his right leg over the body of the motorcycle. He sat back in the seat and rested his hands on his thighs. "You can come if you want," he added, looking over toward the blonde lost in mental turmoil. He held out the helmet toward her with a sympathetic smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "Or I can call you a cab or something. Whatever you want." His shoulders shrugged. There wasn’t much else James could really offer, but he was trying.

Suddenly, Zaria felt like a complete and utter idiot. The idea that it could be a trap had barely crossed her mind, she’d gotten so stuck in the idea that it was Logan that she hadn’t considered any other scenarios very seriously. The weight of it all was crushing now, because now she knew the chances of it actually being Logan were at an all time low. He would have never trusted other people enough to send out a signal like this, only her.

There was still a small chance, so tiny and inconsequential, that it was barely there to begin with. So, this was a trap or a genuine call for help. Neither were very appealing to Zaria, she didn’t care if someone else needed help if it didn’t help Logan, and she especially didn’t care to end up back under her father’s thumb. If it weren’t for James standing there, looking uncertain and sad for her she would have just…well, there wasn’t much else for her to do other than to keep retracing their steps.

"Are you sure?" Because she wasn’t actually sure, she didn’t want to go anymore. She wanted to find a bed and lay down and maybe cry and then eat some ice cream. Instead, Zaria adjusted the straps on her bag and cautiously approached the motorcycle. "If it’s not a bother, I mean, I’d like that."

James held out his helmet toward her. "I don’t know how big of a bother it can be if we’re going to the same place," he reassured her with a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. "Make sure you fasten the strap under your chin. We’re thirty minutes behind schedule so… There’ll be no stops and we’ll be going fast."

At the very least, she knew with James she’d be safer than she was alone. There was another thing he’d said though, voice resigned and tired, and it made something in her chest twist uncomfortably. She reached out, and accepted the helmet tentatively. "You sound like you need someone to keep you from being dragged to hell, anyways. I’m not useless in a fight, so if we run into trouble…we won’t be alone, at least."

A genuine, deep chuckle resonated from deep within James’s chest as he turned on the motorcycle and revved the engine. The thought of someone keeping him from his inevitable descent to hell was humorous, in a sadistic and fatalistic sort of way. The only way someone could save him was by signing a bullshit contract like he did. He might be impulsive and rash, but that was never going to happen if he had a say in it. But Aria was welcome to think she might be able to help him if it made her feel less indebted to him.

"I don’t know if anyone has that power," he said as he looked over his shoulder at her with a smile of morbid acceptance but slight appreciation that she’d try nonetheless. "But having someone watching my back doesn’t sound terrible," he admitted. James flipped up the kick stand with the heel of his right foot and rocked the chassis so the bike was upright and balanced for Aria to get on.

There was something in James’s tone that made her pause for a second as she adjusted the helmet over her head, not sure if she should tell him it was a little unnecessary. Unless he was planning to drive them head first into a truck, her healing factor would protect her from any minor crashes. It would suck, but she would live. He sounded so sure that there was only one destination for him after death though, it made her frown. They hardly knew each other, but for some reason that thought irked her. Zaria slipped onto the bike, trying to distract herself from the sudden wave of discontent at that thought, hands fluttering on his shoulders for a moment, before she frowned deeper beneath the helmet.

There was no way they could ride with the same distance she’d kept before, it wouldn’t be comfortable in the slightest and they had a long drive ahead of them. She hesitated for only a second, and then Zaria let her body slide closer to James’s on the bike until her chest was pressed to his back, arms wrapping uncertainly around his waist, thighs pressed to the sides of his legs. She could feel the warmth radiating through his shirt, the flat of her palm pressing over his stomach for a moment, the fine contour of muscle making her stomach flip. She shifted her hands, trying not to accidentally feel the poor man up.

"Is this okay?" Her voice was muffled by the helmet, the subtle edge of embarrassment hopefully lost to him as she wiggled a little on the bike behind him. She’d left her jacket in her bag, and the chill in the air was affecting her in a way that was clearly noticeable with them so close together. Zaria was hoping he was just hopelessly clueless to it, because otherwise she’d have to consider actually jumping off the bike once they’d reached a high enough speed. At least his body heat would make the ride more comfortable.

James couldn’t recall the last time he had a girl on the back of his motorcycle, well… before like five minutes earlier anyway. He was going to be driving faster than what most people were comfortable with so she needed to hold on, which meant using him for support. While he tried to focus his mind on making sure he was ready, he was also very aware of the way her body molded to his like a little spoon. His gaze fell briefly to her hands as they wrapped around his waist, but he quickly looked away checking some switch or other bullshit near the handlebars.

He didn’t really know how to answer her question. It had to be ok if he was giving her a ride. It had been far too long since a woman’s arms were around him, but he did his best not to let his mind wander. She did steal your bike, he reminded himself. James gave her a small nod of acknowledgement that he heard her question and that it was, indeed, okay. His feet slowly guided the motorcycle backwards and turned it around to face in the direction they came from down the dirt path. He gave the engine one last rev as he looked over his shoulder at her. "Hold on." He warned her before speeding off toward the state route at an ungodly speed.

He drove like a maniac. Zaira squeezed her eyes shut when they first really started to gain speed, her breath catching in her throat for a moment and holding there. It took some time before she was used to it, eyes peaking open to catch sight of how the scenery around them whipped by before she squeezed them shut again. Her hands had reflexively caught onto the fabric of James’s jacket, what little grip she could manage, and she held tight until the feeling in her fingers faded.

There was no talking on a motorcycle that was going that fast, they could shout back and forth maybe but there would be no point. She was left with only the roar of the engine and the cool sting of fast wind kissing along her arms and legs, the rest of her body sheltered by his own. It took close to an hour for Zaria to relax against James, slowly but surely lulled into a sense of safety with his driving skills. She’d always preferred to be the one driving when it came to bikes, knowing her own judgment was sound, but he was steady and calm as he navigated.

Eventually her mind wandered into a place that wasn’t quite sleep but not quite consciousness either, nestled against his back but still holding on with a certain degree of firmness. Zaria hadn’t been sleeping much lately, and her body was recuperating and recharging from the earlier fight, so she didn’t fight the exhaustion as it rose up to wrap around her like a familiar and comforting blanket.

He drove at an alarming rate that made the drivers they sped past crane their heads in shock and the cars they slipped between blare their horns in protest. Ok, so it was reckless to others, but to James his motorcycle was an extension of his body. He couldn’t help but laugh a little as Aria’s grip on him tightened, not fully prepared for the trip ahead of them. If they had more time he would have followed the street laws like a good boy, but unfortunately she got a trial by fire.

When he felt her grow more relaxed he wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t asleep. James grew a little more cautious becoming hyperaware of every movement and shift she made. Whenever he made a turn his hand reached back to gently hold her leg or side and keep her from slipping off. During the rest of the ride he kept his left hand firmly on top of hers ready to grab her if her hold waned. He couldn’t deny that he was jealous of her ability to get some rest. He had been awake for so long he was past the point of exhaustion to some mix of being wired or in a zombie-like state. It fluctuated from moment to moment. But he could sleep when he was dead… or something like that.

* * *

James slowed the motorcycle to a respectable speed as he turned down Descendant Drive. His left hand lightly tapped Aria’s arm that was wrapped around his waist, trying to rouse her. When the solitary glass skyscraper came into view, illuminated in the warm glow of the setting sun, he turned his head slightly to look back at her through the blackened visor of the helmet. "That’s it," he spoke up loud enough to be heard over the roar of the engine.

As they approached he saw a sign that directed them to go to the right and under the tower for the parking garage but something in his gut told him to keep going straight. The place looked abandoned like it was some futuristic ghost town. The last thing he wanted was to get both of them and their way out trapped in the parking garage. He’d deal with the parking ticket if it left him a quick escape… just in case.

They slowly rolled into a roundabout drop off area in front of the tower. James led them around the circle until they faced back down the road they entered on and decided that was a good place to park. Closer to the exit was always the safest bet. He killed the engine and flipped down the kickstand before slowly letting his Harley tip to the side until it was supported by the stand and not James’s legs. He rolled his neck and a loud crackling of pops ran down his spine. "God I’m fucking tired," he muttered under his breath to no one in particular.

"I could have driven some." Zaria’s voice was alert and warm, she’d been more awake for the last leg of their journey but remained relaxed against James basking in the warmth that he exuded, not unlike a cat who was enjoying a patch of sunlight. She wasn’t exactly well rested, her body felt like one big cramp, but she didn’t feel quite as exhausted as she had been before.

She slid off the bike, using James’s shoulder for support for a second as feeling rushed back into her legs in the form of pins and needles, and she grimaced at the sensation. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but the tower wasn’t quite it. Despite the revelations she’d come to about the message, Zaria couldn’t help but hold onto the hope that Logan would be waiting for her inside. She pulled off the helmet instead, running a hand through the waves of her hair. It hadn’t dried correctly in some spots because of the helmet, the hair at the base of her skull still damp and smelling strongly of her shampoo.

She took a moment to stretch, working warmth back into her arms and legs, before tugging her bag off to retrieve her jacket. The desire for a higher level of modesty for whatever situation they were walking into was prevalent, and it was nice to have something more on than just the bra after such a long drive. "You’re pretty comfortable," she said absentmindedly, looking up at the tower with one hand over her eyes. Was that a helipad? "Though my ass is numb, that takes away from how nice of a pillow you make just a little."

Zaria turned toward James, a playful smile tugging her lips upwards. She was trying to distract herself from the waves of anxiety she felt, to not think about what would be— or wouldn’t be —waiting for them inside. It only half worked.

"If I had a dollar for everytime a woman told me that," he started, looking over at her with a tired but lightly teasing smile. "I’d have a dollar," he added with a soft chuckle.

Once she was off, James swung his leg over the back of the bike and stood up with a groan that made him sound a decade older than he was. Similarly he stretched and nearly every joint popped at the new found movement. He couldn’t fight the yawn that escaped his lips as he took his helmet from her and hung it off one of the handlebars. "I wish it was just my ass," he sympathized with an exhausted laugh. He unzipped his leather coat, thankful to get a cool breeze beneath the fabric as he removed his gloves and shoved them in his pockets.

He was stalling. The building was right there. Everything was silent. There were no other cars. James didn’t know what to make of it or how to feel. The only comfort he had was that the spirit was dormant. There was no whisper of sin at the back of his head or steam rising from his collar, so that had to be good… Or at least better than the asshole at the truck stop anyway. Still needing a little more security before he took that first step onto the curb, James ran his hand back through his hair and asked, "Do you sense anything?"

The vengeance spirit stirred in the back recesses of his mind like he too was stretching within his cage. Let me out and I can tell you.

"Yeah right," James mused before stepping up onto the curb. He met Aria’s gaze and realized how crazy he must have looked, having a conversation with himself. His cheeks redded slightly as he cleared his throat. "The uh… other guy has a bit of an attitude. But I’m not steaming so that’s a good sign." That wasn’t much of an answer but they needed more time if she really wanted to open that can of worms.

He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a sigh. "Ready when you are… I guess." Ah, yes, very convincing.

She’d opened her mouth, confused if James had mistaken her for a fortune teller at some point, and then he started talking to himself. She paused, face going sort of slack with concern and a hint of wariness, but then he explained and she was left with more questions than answers. She was just as eager to put off what was going to be inside, though they could play delay for so long.

"Wait," Zaria held up a hand, as if she could physically stop this moment in its tracks. She looked James up and down, not thinking about his naked ass, and tried to readjust her thoughts. "Does he have a name?"

There was genuine curiosity there, the idea that there was someone else inside of him who he could hear and talk to with a concept that she’d never considered. How exactly did his powers work? Had he eaten a possessed chili pepper, or did he just have really bad luck? Or good luck? There had been a lot of lonely nights for Zaria, times where she’d have given anything to have someone else to talk to. Especially after Logan vanished, the idea of knowing she wouldn’t have been alone, even just in her thoughts, would have gone a long way. Though, if the other guy was a dick, it probably wasn’t much of a blessing.

Yes, James. Do I have a name? the voice rumbled at the base of his skull.

James sighed, turning to face Aria. He didn’t mind the questions, he’s answered them before. It was pretty common if someone happened to be around to see him go all Ghost Rider and then come back down from it. But that question was a first. Most people were usually freaked out about it or wanted to know the mechanics, not if there was a name or personality to it. "He’s never told me his name," he confessed with a slight shrug.

You’ve never asked.

His hand raised to pinch the bridge of his nose as he exhaled deeply. "Fine. What is your name?" James asked the void, aggravation and annoyance evident in his tone and mannerisms.

"Hand over control and I can tell you," the deep, almost demonic-like voice slipped from James’s lips for Aria to hear, followed by a sinister laugh that rattled against his ribcage.

"Well there you have it," he conceded with a lazy wave of his hand. "You’re welcome to ask him the next time I go all Skeletor. He might be more amiable to you."

Well, she is prettier than you, the spirit mocked within his mind once again.

James sighed. "Yup," he groaned. There wasn’t much else to say. Somedays the spirit hardly existed, living silently like the ghost of a migraine at the back of his skull. Then other days he was like an intrusive thought bringing all his baser and more vile thoughts to the forefront of his mind. It was like the old cartoons with the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other. But the vengeance spirit was the devil and James’s own conscience was the angel. It used to be more of a battle but as each year ticks onward the angel grows more timid and compliant.

A strange expression flickered across Zaria’s face as she heard the more demonic voice emerge from James, but instead of taking a step back as any sane person would, she took a step toward him. Her brows furrowed some, a winkle in her forehead, it looked like she was trying to work out a puzzle but hadn’t been given all the pieces. She wasn't scared, there was something familiar about being close to someone who was perceived as a monster.

"Can he hear everything I say?" Her eyes were on James’s, trying to see a flicker of anything that may hint at the fact that he had a deity of sorts riding shotgun in his head. She was almost overtaken by the urge to reach out like she had in the truck stop, to feel that there was more than bone to his body, but she managed to resist.

"Yes…" the spirit spoke up once again from beneath his meat-suit.

"He’s always there," James added while tapping his index finger against the side of his forehead. "Sometimes he’s more dormant… Sometimes he’s not." The corner of his mouth twisted in an unsure expression like he didn’t fully understand but he had long since accepted it.

"Well," Zaria spoke slowly, as if she were still working out the puzzle, getting closer but not quite there yet. She took another step closer, tilting her head back so she could still look up into James’s eyes. "I have a thing about names. It’s sort of a respect thing, so if you don’t care about that, whatever. But, I would like to refer to you as something other than the other guy or…Skeletor, so a compromise? Give me a nickname for you, and I’ll owe you one."

Zaria paused, considered she was working with a demon, and then added hastily— "As long as it doesn’t have any sort of negative affect on James. " That seemed fair enough, a nickname for a favor. She wasn’t expecting much, maybe it would laugh at her again, but it was the effort that mattered.

She could remember how her father hadn’t cared for names, not for people that were beneath him. There had been a time, before their mother had left without a trace, that her brother and she found a nest with unattended eggs. The mother bird had flown away, leaving them for dead, but despite Doom’s best efforts his children were kind. They’d taken the eggs inside and spent weeks trying to get them to hatch, all under his nose. When they did hatch, it turned out they were blue jays. Zaria had been enthralled by the little birds, she spent all of her free time with them, and had been so proud of having given something the means of survival.

She’d named one Hope and her brother had named the other Chance. Silly little names that wouldn’t have even mattered once they were released back into the wild, but their mother had insisted. She’d told them that names gave them the potential to be free, even in death. It likely wouldn’t be an advisable idea to give a demon freedom but it had to be suffocating being stuck within a body that was not your own, only able to have control sporadically.

Zaria knew how that felt. The day they’d planned to release the birds, their father had them served as lunch to the twins. He’d considered the birds a distraction, it had been a cruel power play to show them even when they thought they had control they didn’t. "Everyone deserves to have a name," she said softly, the hint of some sort of foreign accent slipping into her voice for the first time since they’d met. "Or I could make up a nickname, I suppose."

James remained quiet as he let the spirit decide how he wanted to reply. He didn’t understand the necessity of a nickname. It wasn’t like he imagined it would make the spirit heed his commands more or something. There was power in a name, but he knew that was the exact reason it’s never been shared. He didn’t know how it all worked with spirits or demons, but one thing he did know was having the being’s name meant you could control it… or banish it. He doubted that would ever be knowledge willingly given.

"You may call me… Judge," the spirit finally answered Aria. No laughing or snide comments.

If James had to guess it was almost like he… appreciated someone cared enough to ask. Although a small pang in his skull told him whether or not that was the truth, it was a thought he needed to keep to himself. His face scrunched at the small twinge of pain at the base of his skull. "I get it," he muttered under his breath as he rubbed the back of his head.

Zaria’s smile was practically blinding as she bounced on her heels, she was a little short in the friends department and while neither James nor his demonic partner could be considered her friends there was an unmistakable yet in her mind. It likely wouldn’t last, either they were walking into some weird and elaborate trap, or it would end up being nothing and they’d go their own ways. Either way, she knew this entire encounter would be one that she held close to her heart.

She’d only met one other person whom she wasn’t related to that had been willing without question to help her, and so the fact that James had without so much as expecting anything in return…it was a kindness she could never repay. Zaria wasn’t meant to be around other people, though. She knew that now that Logan was gone, other people were at risk if they stayed around her. Just like the little birds, no one would be safe from Doom and she could only run so much before the inevitable happened. I could just kill myself, it was a quiet, private thought that made the brightness in her eyes dim a little. If there’s no other way out…

"Thank you, Judge." Zaria took a step back, still smiling up at James even if her own internal monologue had killed her mood. "You can call me Ari, if you’d like. Just you though, bub."

She patted James’s chest, winking at him as she did so. "You both saved me, back at the truck stop. So, thanks too, Judge. I’m not sure if I would have…" her voice faltered some, and she turned toward the building. "Wouldn’t have been the worst outcome, but I’m here instead of dead. So thanks."

James couldn’t keep from smiling slightly at Aria’s excitement. Never would he have thought someone would attempt to befriend the spirit… Judge?—

She can call me that, not you, the spirit corrected James’s own thoughts.

That time James actually belted out an annoyed, yet hearty laugh. Now the fucker was interrupting his thoughts. There was no peace. And, of course, only a pretty girl would get the luxury of calling him by a name. The spirit and him didn’t get along, never have. Why would he be allowed the same courtesy? He scoffed and kicked the toe of his boot against the ground.

"He won’t say you’re welcome, but—"

"You’re welcome."

"Jesus fucking christ, of course." At that point, Judge—Shut the fuck up. Don’t you dare interrupt me—was just trying to find any additional way to piss off James. It was one of his favorite pastimes. "He’s just making fun of me at this point."

The way the two of them argued like that startled a laugh out of her. It reminded Zaria a little of her younger brother, or how she and Logan used to banter back and forth. There was a sort of reluctance in the relationship between James and Judge, but it also seemed natural. She wondered if James would remember how to live without Judge there in the back of his mind, a constant presence even when the silence stretched.

"At least Judge has a sense of humor," she said lightly, taking a few tentative steps toward the building before pausing to look back toward her unlikely friend. "What if you’d gotten stuck with a spirit that liked Bingo, going to bed by seven’o’clock, and only driving the speed limit? "

James snorted. "I wouldn’t be so tired," he contradicted with an exhausted but slightly amused smile.

Her grin was as light as the sunshine, lopsided and careless in a way Zaria hadn’t been since Logan disappeared. James reminded her of him, in his own ways. It was easier to fall into old mannerisms and habits around him, but he wasn’t Logan. She took a steadying breath, and nodded toward the building. "Shall we?"

"Yeah," he sighed softly in acknowledgement as he took the first step toward the tower.

The closer the pair of them got to the building the more imposing and ominous it got. The skyscraper was so tall it nearly touched the sky with glass windows like mirrors that reflected the world back at them. It almost existed in that uncanny valley where at some angles in the right lighting it practically disappeared until James caught a glimpse of his and Aria’s reflections as they approached. Seeing his lazy stride, messy hair, and the dark circles under his eyes staring back at him made him groan and avert his gaze. He looked like shit and felt worse.

As they approached the entrance an older gentleman with silvered hair in a black suit stood beneath a mangled doorframe and swept up shattered glass like that was a normal day for him. James hesitated for a minute trying to understand what the hell happened or who could have fucked the door to shit like that. But he didn’t have the answers and he wasn’t a fan of awkwardly creeping around the man as he cleaned.

James cleared his throat and took a step forward with a small awkward wave. "Uh, hello?"

The man stood upright, appearing to be a little startled at their arrival. "Oh, good evening. Apologies." He shifted the broom to his left hand before approaching and holding out his right hand in greeting to them both. "I am Alfred Pennyworth."

James took the man’s hand with his own and gave it a firm yet gentle shake. "Jameson Blaze."

A surprised and slightly curious expression crossed the man’s face. "I hadn’t realized Johnny retired," Alfred replied after hearing James’s name.

"Unwillingly," was the only answer James was comfortable giving as his posture tensed and an uncomfortable, almost pained expression crossed his face.

Zaria hesitated a little behind James, chewing on her bottom lip and trying hard not to fidget with her hands. There was a brief burst of internal debate, sharing her full name offered a level of vulnerability that she wasn’t comfortable with. James had helped her get away from those men, she knew undoubtedly that he wasn’t someone her father had hired. There was a heady sense of paranoia when it came to other people though, and they didn’t know what was going on here yet.

Zaria had followed Logan’s advice diligently, she kept her head down, didn’t make a name for herself. She travelled under false names and never stayed in one place longer than four days. People knew that Doom had children, but had her father made it public knowledge that she’d run away? If so, how had he framed it? Knowing him, he’d have simply said she was missing and offered a generous reward to anyone who could provide information while hiring scumbags to track her down on the sly.

"I go by Aria," she offered impulsively after a moment, noting how James had gone tense and still, she inserted herself in an instinctive effort to distract from his sudden unease. "Do you need help, Mister Pennyworth? What…happened to your door?"

Zaria stepped forward so she was beside James instead of awkwardly lingering behind him, her hands rising as if to take the broom but pausing in uncertainty. She’d…never used a broom before, actually.

"That’s very kind of you, miss," Alfred said, acknowledging her offer of assistance but he was content handling it himself. "It’s quite alright. Not the first time I’ve cleaned up broken glass here and I doubt it’ll be the last. Mr. Thorson is just an easily excitable fellow." He flashed them both a smile as he stepped aside and motioned toward the entrance. "Go right ahead. They’re already waiting."

James spared Aria a brief glance. Who was waiting? He tried to catch a glimpse through the glass walls but the brightness of the reflecting sun made it too difficult to make anything out. He stepped forward, boots crunching on the shattered glass as he took hold of the handle, and pulled open the left door for Aria to enter. If she insisted on him going first he would, but his mother did instill him with some manners and taught him to always hold the door for a lady. At that point it had become second nature. He was right behind her. There was no way he’d come that far and turn back now. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"Did he just say Thorson as in Thor the God of like, thunder and oak trees and shit?" Zaria hissed at James, eyes wide with equal parts alarm and confusion. She was also, very privately, relieved that she wouldn’t be subjected to admitting she’d never touched a broom in her life. What was the proper way to hold it? Maybe she’d ask James later.

She stepped past him, through the shattered remains of the door, glad she’d swapped her sandals for boots long before they’d arrived here. Trying to get glass out of her feet was not on her idea of fun evening activities.

James shook his head slightly at Aria’s less than subtle excitement at the prospect of an Asgardian lingering behind the door. Sure enough, as he followed her through the doors a giant, lumbering man with long golden hair and an imposing figure lingered in the lobby with a handful of others. "No shit," he muttered under his breath, a bit in disbelief. Otherwise the lobby was filled with a nervous older man, glowering with his arms crossed over his chest, a wiry looking guy protected by a slightly intimidating black haired woman, another attractive blonde, and presumably a couple quietly tucked away on a far off couch.

Not really being a big fan of the whole introduction and hand shake situation, James decided to nip that interaction in the bud before he had to repeat himself seven more times around the room. "Jameson Blaze, James. Got the message, so I assume this is the right place?" While the question was somewhat rhetorical, his eyes still scanned the people in the room waiting for any objections or acknowledgements.

The blonde woman dressed in a classy, yet provocative white outfit answered with a charming smile. "That is correct. We’re just waiting to see if anyone else arrives."

"Cool," he replied with a nod of his head. With or without an invitation, James wandered further into the lobby toward the nearest unoccupied sofa, desperate for a seat that wasn’t an uncomfortable bike wedged between his legs. He groaned with exhausted content as he sunk into the leather and slouched back into the cushions. Give him five minutes of silence and he could have been out cold. Feeling his eyes grow heavy the moment he reclined, he sighed and shifted to shit up straight. It wouldn’t do him any good to fall into a coma for the next twelve hours.

Whatever excitement she’d felt at being near a literal fucking God, which was absolutely valid her in opinion thanks, stalled in the face of the crowd. She hesitated where James spoke up before he moved further into the room, her eyes flicking across all the new faces with a swelling sense of panic rising in her chest when the one she wanted to see wasn’t there. She actually wasn’t supposed to be here, the message hadn’t been for her, it had been for Logan and he wasn’t here.

The hope she’d been clinging to felt so fragile now, brittle like a crystal clutched between clumsy fingers. Zaria could feel the exact second that hope began to fracture and break, and her hand rose to clutch at the dog tags hanging from around her neck. Everything felt fuzzy around the edges suddenly, and she found herself focusing on the blonde woman that seemed to be the official greeter, her face riddled with uncertainty.

"I was hoping…" the words seemed to lodge themselves in her throat, squeezing until she felt like she was choking for a moment. "Is this everyone that’s arrived?"

There was a sort of raw desperation in her tone, and Zaria didn’t want the answer. She already knew what it was, if Logan was here he’d have been waiting for her right here in this lobby.

The blonde shifted her weight from one foot to the other with a sympathetic smile. "This is everyone," she confirmed tenderly like she knew the meaning behind the question.

"Oh," her voice was soft, and her eyes slid away from the woman’s to settle on the floor instead. If Logan wasn’t here, then he…Zaria let her hand drop, her right hand wrapping around her left wrist, and she gave herself a sharp zap. The skin beneath her fingers bloomed red with agitation, but the pain grounded her. "I prefer to go by Aria, I guess I’ll just…wait too."

Zaria trailed after James, dropping down beside him on the couch before a quiet groan slipped past her lips. "Leather, why is everything leather." She muttered, scowling at the exposed and chaffing skin of her thighs. She glanced at James, and muttered from the corner of her lips. "Next time, we’re trading pants."

James’s head rested in his hand, elbow on the armrest of the couch as Aria sat down beside him. He snorted at her whispered comment, the vague image of her half swallowed in his jeans painting a funny image in his mind. "You’ll have to try harder than that to get in my pants."

"Oh," she snorted, nudging him before she let her head fall back, eyes slipping shut. If he was going to be diligent, she could get away with being lazy. "Judge isn’t the only one with a sense of humor after all, I knew it."

* * *

Nearly two hundred miles away, in a dimly lit morgue in some backwoods town a woman leaned over an autopsy table, humming to herself as she filled out a clipboard with her left hand. She had on old headphones, the wire connected to a walkman that lay haphazardly on the table beside the corpse of a very naked, very dead man.

The coroner seemed in her element as she worked, writing out the man’s proposed cause of death before she tossed the clipboard onto the table, scooped up the walkman, and turned toward the other body in the room. The knife had been removed from this man’s eye, his cause of death less confusing than the strange marks around the other man’s throat and the angle that his neck had been snapped.

So engrossed in her work, oblivious to what was going on around her, the woman missed the moment when the man’s neck seemed to realign itself, when color slowly flooded his pale frame once more, and when the man sat up on the table behind her. She’d turned around, not at the rustle of noise that was coming from where a corpse ought to be, but to grab her pen.

Standing behind her was that naked, dead man, come to life again. He was adjusting the cowboy hat that had been discarded on one of the nearby tables atop his head, blue eyes shining with malice as he took in her surprised expression.

"Finally," he rasped, reaching for the discarded knife that had killed his colleague. The woman turned to run, her walkman snapping the connection to her headphones as the sound of classical music filled the morgue. "A real challenge."

^{interactions ....|.... imogen ............... mentions ....|.... everyone in the lobby ............... collabs ....|.... @Sleepy Tani}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#86a8ad ....|..... outfit .....|..... party}

"I've never been a party person too. Still I am glad I came tonight. It's been fun meeting new people. There are a lot more campers I don't recognize now. I want to meet all of them, but probably not tonight. One step at a time. I hope you enjoy the training here. Our last leader, he had us duel each other using our abilities. The duels were all random. I lost my duel since my opponent exploited one of my weaknesses, so I hope to learn from that so I can get better."

River adjusted slightly on his feet. He was definitely not the most social person in the world. His social battery was depleted about two seconds after setting foot into the party and Iliana’s mild ramblings made his head spin a bit as he tried to keep up. He cleared his throat before replying to the first part of her statement. "I’m in no rush to meet everyone." he laughed awkwardly and shrugged his shoulders. "I’m sure I will, one way or another." Whether he liked it or not. He couldn’t very well avoid it being the new leader and everything.

"A random duel isn’t a terrible training method," he continued. River had already considered duels as a potential training exercise, so it was nice knowing that the seasoned campers would have some experience with that. He wasn’t chomping at the bit to be hated as a hard ass drill sergeant. Insight into the previous leaders at least helped him feel the tiniest bit more at ease. "Sparring is always a good way to hone your skills… As long as you switch up your opponents." Fighting against the same person all the time doesn’t help someone become a well rounded combatant, just skilled against that particular opponent.

"Aw, I just ate, but I can show you where the food is if you're hungry. There are not too many people over there either." Iliana looked a little concerned when he mentioned he hadn’t eaten which made him feel a bit uncomfortable. It wasn’t like he said he was starving or something. He was pretty sure he saw the food table at some point, but hanging out under the radar was more optimal than finger foods.

"No, it’s ok," he said while holding up his hand to hopefully stop her from insisting on taking him toward the food. "I’m alright." A little nauseous actually. But he wasn’t going to say that. If she got that concerned about him not eating, the last thing he wanted was her fussing over him feeling sick to his stomach. "Thanks though," he added, trying not to be a total dick.

"My mom is very nice, but you never want to get her angry, that's for sure." River didn’t have much experience with the Gods beyond his father and whatever he managed to read about them in his downtime. Getting confirmation that Demeter was nice wasn’t all that surprising.

"I think that could be said for most Gods," he replied with a weak laugh. "Except for maybe Eirene, goddess of peace." River shrugged his shoulders. "Although I’m sure even she can get pretty pissed."

"So you're Poseidon's son?" Iliana asked after his ‘Poseidon hard ass’ comment. "Yeah, I've met your dad since he came to the camp once. He's very intimidating."

"I’m sorry," River interjected. While there was some light sarcasm in his tone, overall it was fairly genuine.

"Also, are you Ocean's brother? You said you had a sister and she's Poseidon's daughter. I met her this morning. She's very nice."

River nodded his head, his gaze absently finding her in the crowd talking to a guy he hadn’t met yet. He wasn’t all up in Ocean’s business which made him happy and it looked like she was no longer carrying around the leather jacket either. He didn’t know the reasoning or meaning behind it but it alleviated a little tension from River’s chest at the sight. Although, he hoped she was ok. He might have been overprotective and judgemental, a lot, but Ocean’s happiness was important to him as well… Even if he was terrible at showing it.

His gaze moved back to Iliana where he finally acknowledged her question. "Yeah, she’s my little sister. She is nice," he added pointedly. "Far better at socializing and making friends than me. That’s for sure."

The conversation had started to lose its fuel and that is where River really started to struggle. He could answer questions easily enough, but thinking of topics to keep the dialogue going or his own questions was a skill he failed at more often than not. Unless there was something nagging at the back of his head, he usually drew a blank.

River tapped his hands against his legs within his pockets. "I… uh, hope you’re able to meet a lot of the people you’re wanting to and make new friends. It looks like there should be a lot of options," he said while looking around at all the people at the party. Luckily whatever spectacle was going on at the bar had subsided and for the time being, at least, everything seemed to be a little more calm. Not that he imagined parties remained calm for long. His gaze found the countdown clock on the side of the arena and a sigh escaped his lips when he noticed there was nearly two hours left before midnight. Gods it was never ending.

^{interactions ....|.... iliana ............... mentions ....|.... ocean & paul ............... collabs ....|.... none}

---

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^{#0bbdaf ....|..... outfit .....|..... party}

Tapeesa had no doubt in her mind that she looked a little wild in the way she spun around by herself. She was never someone who needed anyone but herself to have a good time and that party was no different. Sure, having a friend or someone to dance with always made things better but after getting lost hiking up a mountain, she’d rather enjoy her time in whatever way she could rather than awkwardly bounce around and meet new people. She never seemed to struggle too much with making new friends, but that initial conversation was always a bit awkward.

There was a part of her that had hoped maybe Elias or Anissa would have joined her, but maybe dancing wasn’t really their thing. That was ok. There were at least a handful of people on the dancefloor, so she wasn’t alone per se. There was the guy who initially got the party started, so to speak, and whoever he was arm and arm with. Then there was another woman twirling around alone, similarly to herself. Tapeesa contemplated joining her for a minute, but it looked like a redheaded male had a similar idea as he danced and spun his way across the party and right up to her. Tappi couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the cheesy armwave thing he did into a handshake. She had to give it to him, he was original if nothing else.

For a while Tapeesa resumed twirling around, minding her own business. With her attention elsewhere or eyes frequently closed, she missed the show at the bar which was better for her anyway. She was still in her own world when the redheaded guy from before stumbled backwards and landed on his back across the ground in front of her. She took a quick step back, barely avoiding getting thrown into the scuffle. Her gaze flicked back and forth between the people involved as the guy on the floor shouted toward the retreating man and woman. "Guess they don't teach manners here."

Tapeesa took a step forward and started to hold out her hand to help the guy up, but somewhere between the confusion or bruised ego he didn’t notice. He got up and made his way to the bar while the girl he was dancing with was now distracted by a tall, dark, and grumpy type. There was still the original pair that brought attention to the dancefloor but with just them and herself, Tappi grew a little self conscious dancing around by herself. She contemplated slipping away at the end of the current song, unsure of what she’d do instead but she could always figure it out. Or, if worse came to worse she could go back to her cabin. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t a little tired. It wasn’t like she got a chance to really relax between arriving at camp and the party.

Luckily, another redhead made his way out onto the dancefloor as her saving grace. Contrary to the other ginger that just left, this one had a different tactic when it came to approaching a dancing woman. Rather than shimmy his way over to her or something, he instead walked right up to Tapeesa with a smile and a little wave. "Hey, I was just walking around and saw you were alone here and figured you could use some company. If you want company, that is, and my name is Leo."

"Hi Leo," she beamed at him with a warm, welcoming smile as she still bounced around to the beat a little. Her left hand reached up to brush her long black hair out of her face as she extended her right hand out for a shake. "I’m Tapeesa." Her voice was radiant but gentle like someone who only saw the goodness in others and the glass half full. "Were you wanting to dance?" she asked, motioning to the mostly empty dancefloor around her.

^{interactions ....|.... leo ............... mentions ....|.... elias, anissa, daniel, rosalia, andy, nate & mason ............... collabs ....|.... none}

Descendants

^{#962929 ....|..... hell's angel ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower ........................... #feffb5 ....|..... redback ....|..... outfit .....|..... descendant tower}

Manhattan had quickly become a mess with the absence of some of its most predominant heroes. The average crime rate was hard enough for Myla to handle alone, but then the audacity of criminals only seemed to rise with each new disappearance. When things really started going sideways was when her and Redback kept crossing paths enough that they eventually just teamed up. Still, with just the two of them it was nearly impossible to keep up with the crime rates, but having a companion through it all made things a little more bearable.

Myla had been so focused on trying to help pick up the slack, and keep New York safe, that her work suffered. Until, eventually, she lost her job... Which caused her to lose her apartment as well. Luckily, her Uncle Foggy had been spending all his free time helping her search for her father and he let her stay with him rather than be homeless. For several months Myla hadn’t been doing anything beyond fighting crime 24/7, so she was rarely home enough to call it that. His apartment became more of a glorified base camp to eat and shower before she had to leave again.

The only other heroes she had heard of that were still... around were the mutants on Krakoa, and Redback, of course. Tony Stark was no stranger to the media, and whether or not Myla would call it smart, he had been using it to his advantage. It wasn't hidden knowledge that heroes were more myth than fact those days, but civilians were happy in their ignorance rather than accepting the truth. She had tried on a few occasions to contact him, but she also couldn't help but worry if it was a ploy to pull more heroes out of the wood work. That was until he went missing too. She even tried reaching out to the U.N. and I.H.A. to no avail.

It was the anniversary of her father's disappearance and crime in New York was at an all time high. Myla was exhausted. She couldn't remember the last time she got more than a handful of hours of sleep before she heard more sirens or police scanners in the distance begging for her attention. Sometimes her and Redback would take turns taking a brief nap but it was always just that… brief. Without the Avengers, Defenders, or Fantastic Four, and half of the New York Sanctum empty, whatever heroes remained were pulled in several directions at once.

They had stopped five separate crimes in Midtown Manhattan already that night and the sun had barely set. Myla made a detour back to her Uncle Foggy's just for a quick bite to eat and to address some wounds. With no sirens or distant cries for help, she allowed herself a moment to collapse on the couch. Just a minute of rest. No sooner did her head hit the pillow than she heard a foreign beeping.

With a groan, she sat up and followed the sound to a box shoved in one of Foggy's closets. It was full of what they could muster up of her father's belongings before his apartment was seized after his disappearance. Myla had all but forgotten about it. Neither herself nor her Uncle had the heart to sift through its contents. But if she had hoped to get any sleep before she was needed again, she had to silence the damned beeping.

Hidden beneath a jacket, a few braille books, and trinkets she had given him as a child, Myla found a small device the noise was coming from. It felt like a pager, of sorts. But if there was a screen, there was no way she could read it and her Uncle wasn't home. She cursed under her breath, trying to understand the device best she could. There seemed to be only a single button, so she pressed it. Then a robotic sounding voice spoke out from the small box.

41.158558, -73.166693 September 23, 18 00 hours

Myla's eyes widened. Was this a message from her dad?! Could he be at those coordinates?! She quickly searched the apartment trying to find her phone or a recorder, repeating the information over and over in her head so she wouldn't forget it. As she felt around, her hand accidentally pressed the button again. "No. No. No," she panicked, thinking she erased the information. But like before it repeated the data.

She let out a sigh of relief, clutching the pager close to her chest like it was the saving grace she had been praying for. "I’m coming dad," she whispered.

* * *

Theodore didn’t know how his dad did it, juggling work and being New York’s web-slinging vigilante. It was exhausting in a way that he was unfamiliar with, showing up to shifts in the lab only to turn around in an alleyway and go to the closest police sirens. He’d been cutting back at the lab more than usual too, dropping to part time and working the bare minimum of hours in order to scrape by so he could focus on what was really important…stopping crime, and making sure Hell’s Angel didn’t get herself killed.

The chocolate brownie was in two ziplock bags, held as gently as possible as Theo swung between buildings, worry sitting in his chest like a balloon filled to the brim with cement. He was supposed to meet up with Angel at their usual spot, an ill lit alleyway that seemed to be a magnet for petty thieves, but she hadn’t shown. It wasn’t common for either of them to miss a scheduled meet up, not with heroes going missing left and right, and she’d seemed excited to try some of his homemade baking when they’d worked together yesterday.

This was the downside of secret identities, they had limited ways of contacting one another. He had the impulsive thought that he should upgrade the batteries on the web-tracers and stick one on her permanently, but it was a fleeting idea. She would probably punch him for even thinking about it.

It took Theo twenty minutes to make it home, mostly because he had to stop a bank robbery, a kidnapping, and help control traffic for a car accident on the way. He tossed the brownie on the table, it was already crumbled to bits from his less than fun activities, head full of what-if’s and guilt about having left her to go to work, and was heading to his room when he heard it.

Beep...Beep…Beep

He paused outside his dad’s office, mask off and in hand. He hadn’t been home since the day before yesterday, having spent most the day at work and then most the night with Angel. He knew his mom was out of town at a convention, and neither of them went into the office anymore. Theo hesitated a moment longer outside the door, frowning at the dull mahogany, before pushing aside his concerns and shoving into the room.

It was in utter disarray, just as Peter Parker had left it. The sight was nostalgic and it hurt, the faint smell of his dad’s cologne lingering in the office. Bookshelves had been built into the walls, filled to the brim while papers littered the desk and even the floor. One of his sweaters was slung haphazardly over the back of his chair, a bag of cheetos left open and half eaten. The beeping was coming from the desk, one of the bottom drawers, but when Theo tugged on it, it was locked.

Beep...Beep…Beep

The sound was relatively quiet, and it wouldn’t bother him if his senses weren’t constantly dialed to one hundred. It was setting him on edge, the desire to grind his teeth together so strong that it took all of his will power to push it aside, it would only give him a migraine. "Fuck it." Theo muttered, giving the handle of the drawer a sharp jerk, but instead of the lock popping loose and the drawer actually opening like he’d hoped…the handle broke off.

"Right, fuck me then, my bad." He chucked the handle over his shoulder, the rounded metal lodging into the wall behind him with a solid thunk, he silently apologized to his dad, before he pressed the tips of his fingers into the wood of the drawer and dug them in. Wood splintered beneath his grasp, slivers digging into the suit but not penetrating, and after a second of working at it, Theo managed to brute force the thing open. "Ha! Desk drawer, zero, Thedore, one. I won, dumb piece of..."

41.158558, -73.166693 September 23, 18 00 hours

Theodore stared down at the pager blankly for a long moment, face riddled with surprise at the sight of it. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, maybe some sort of tech with a dying battery, or a cleverly placed pipebomb, but not this. The drawer had been locked, there was only one person that could have left it there, and…

His eyes slid up, to the little yellow sticky note that was pressed against the pager, his dad’s familiar and messy scrawl was on it. Only one word was written, nothing that would have been incredibly helpful, but it made all the difference to Theo.

”Promise me, no matter how bad things get, that you’ll always hold on to hope. Being a hero isn’t easy Teddy, we have to be greater than what we suffer. I know it’s a lot of me expect of you, and I’m sorry for it, but my wish is for you to become hope. People need that.”

His dad’s words rang in his head, and Theo clutched at the side of the desk until the indent of his hand was pressed into the wood. On the sticky note, the same color as his favorite raincoat, was the word Hope.

"Dad…" he sucked in a sharp breath, and pushed up abruptly. There were things he needed to do first, pack a bag, call his mom, leave a note for Angel, but his mind was made up. "I’m coming."

* * *​

Myla could smell the sea salt in the air as her taxi turned down a drive towards the coordinates. It felt different than the city. Everything was more open and quiet. She could hear the sounds of the waves against the shore and the wind whipping around a singular sky touching tower. To the best of her ability, she couldn't sense any other buildings in the general area. So, she could only assume that that was her destination.

She hoped that she would step out of the taxi and there her dad would be, like nothing had changed and it was all part of some elaborate ruse to fool some big bad that was threatening the world or something. But she knew it was wishful thinking. She still found herself saying a silent prayer before the car came to a halt and the driver announced that they had arrived. "That’ll be $92.65, miss," he said, turning around in the front seat to look back at her.

Her left hand reached out to the seat beside her, feeling around for her handbag. Once in her grasp, it was like muscle memory unfastening the zipper, slipping her hand inside, and pulling out her wallet. Her fingers ran across the few bills that remained, each one folded differently to identify the denomination. One, two, three… Myla only had four twenty dollar bills left in her wallet. She had emptied her bank account a week ago and that was all that remained. Her breath caught in her chest as her hand started to tremble.

"I’m—I’m sorry. I seem to be a little short," she confessed sheepishly. Myla didn’t even think to check how long the drive would take or ask her Uncle for more money. She was so used to always having enough money to get by that poverty was a foreign circumstance for her.

"You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me?!" the man exclaimed. "I drive yous over two hours out in da middle of nowhere and you don’t even have enough money?!"

Myla flinched as he spat his words, literally and figuratively, at her. She had been strong, putting on a brave face for so long that the small inconvenience seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. She could feel the knot tightening in her throat and the heat rising to her cheeks. If she were Hell’s Angel she would have broken this guy’s nose in two seconds flat, but she wasn’t. She was just Myla Murdock, a jobless lawyer, lost in the middle of Connecticut… Or so that was her plan if this all turned out to be a trap.

Her right hand fell to her left wrist, toying with the cuff of her shirt when the cool metal of her bracelet brushed her fingertips. It was a lightweight 24 karat gold tennis bracelet her father bought her when she graduated law school. It was one of the few things of value, and from her dad, that she had left.

The driver’s hungry gaze fell to the bracelet and a sinister grin crossed his face. His thick sausage of a finger hooked around the golden chain and tugged her hand closer to him. "Gimme the bracelet and we’re square."

Myla’s eyes widened. It wasn’t rare for people to try and take advantage of a seemingly naive and innocent blind woman. Her father’s Yggdrasil batons sat beside her on the seat begging for her to crack him over the head, but the last thing she wanted was to accidentally reveal her secret identity over a measly thirteen dollars. "No—Sir, please—"

Theo liked to think he was a calm and rational person, his temper was slow to rise and he liked it that way. There were moments that tested him, though. It almost always involved women or children, there was something about people taking advantage of the innocent that set him on edge. Maybe it was because he just didn’t understand it, kindness went a long way and sometimes it was just baffling to Theodore that other people didn’t know that.

He was exhausted, there were no buildings to swing from and having to use the trees was tiring in a way he wasn’t used to. He hadn’t eaten in two days, unsure if this was some weirdly elaborate trap he’d been unwilling to risk anyone else’s life in traveling here, and his brain felt a little foggy. He blamed all the surrounding circumstances on his reaction to this scene, it wasn’t like he was eavesdropping. The cab driver’s window was rolled down and he was pretty loud, it was really the other guy’s fault.

"Here’s an idea," Theo said, tone falsely cheerful as he leaned into the window, uncaring about personal space or the other man's questionable hygiene—seriously if he could swing from trees for days and take baths in a fucking river with a bar of soap, you’d think a cab driver could take a shower once a week—because the sight of the fat man’s fingers curled around the woman’s wrist made him feel cold with anger. "I pay what’s left, and you let her go before I break your nose. Just a thought, though the breaking of your nose bit is less than negotiable if you don’t let her go now."

It didn’t matter that he wasn’t in his suit right now, and it never would. If Theodore saw an injustice, he wouldn’t let it go. He’d acted before really thinking about it, but it wouldn’t change the outcome, he wasn’t letting this loser steal some girl's bracelet over a few bucks.

Myla’s anxiety left her distracted to the point she didn’t notice the other man’s arrival until he spoke up. The threat rolled off the man’s tongue as calmly as it would if he was asking for directions. His tone was upbeat, almost friendly, like he was waiting for the cabbie to give him a reason to smack his head against the steering wheel. Myla raised her right hand and slapped the fat sweaty finger, maybe a little harder than the average damsel might, but it got the man to release his hold.

Freed from his greedy grasp, she didn’t hesitate to gather up her handbag, batons, and long white cane and scoot toward the door. With her hands full, Myla slipped out the opposite side of the car and slammed the door shut with a swing of her hips. She hopped up onto the curb with the ease of someone who knew exactly where it was, temporarily forgetting to pretend to be a little less aware and fumble. She clutched her items haphazardly against her chest as she turned to face the taxi, but more specifically her white knight.

It was strange being on the other end of the equation. Myla was always the savior, not the victim. It made her uncomfortable in a way she hoped to never experience again. Vulnerability was not a state she often let herself be in. She’d chastise herself for some time over her own blunder. She couldn’t recall the last time her own nerves caught her off guard like that. But the man that paid the rest of her fare made her feel calm, in an odd, familiar sort of way. She lingered on the edge of the walkway, the pointed toes of her stilettos hanging just barely over the edge of the curb as she waited, listening to their exchange.

"Hey, this don’t concern yous, she—" Thedore was officially distracted by the sight of the woman who had jumped out of the cab, eyes darting up as she moved, getting herself out of the other man's grasp and leaping to the curb in a move that was graceful and familiar. The familiarity of the movement was lost on him though, because she was beautiful. There was a moment where alarm bells rang in Theo’s head, the sound akin to something like: Pretty Woman! Pretty Woman Detected! Keep Foot Out Of Mouth!! but he was able to push it away just long enough to fish a twenty dollar bill from his wallet and shove it into the cabbie’s mouth.

The fat man sputtered, spitting out the bill to cuss Theo out, but he was already out of the window and crossing—behind the cab, he didn’t want to get run over today—so he was beside the woman, a hand tentatively rising to her elbow. "You’re a little close to the edge, here." He guided her back a few steps with an air of utmost gentleness, only moving her when her body responded to the soft nudge.

Myla barely managed to free one of her hands without dropping everything she held to push up her sunglasses and tuck a wild curl behind her ear. She didn’t pull away from the light touch that guided her backwards a step or two. Her head turned slightly toward him very aware of their closeness. She could feel the heat that radiated from him like a beacon amid the cool damp breeze rolling off the shore. He smelled like fresh rain and leather, with the faintest hints of lavender and lilac. He smelled like…

"Can I help you carry anything?" Theo let go of her elbow, adjusting his backpack and shoving up the sleeves of his sweater, feeling ridiculously flustered for no reason. There was something about the woman though that made his chest feel warm, he’d been so angry before that he hadn’t really focused on who she was, or what the sound of her voice had been. It was strange, standing beside her, she almost reminded him of… Angel. His chest felt tight because he’d been trying not to think about her that whole time.

Theodore was most likely tap dancing into a trap right now, and all he’d done had been leave Hell’s Angel, the person who felt most important to him those days, a note on a receipt for pizza with an apology scribbled on it. He hadn’t been willing to risk her getting involved, hadn’t wanted to put her in any more danger than she already liked to throw herself into head first, but he missed her in a way that was uncomfortable. Though, Theo had to wonder if he was waltzing to his death with open arms… Why the hell was a blind woman doing the same?

"Are you… supposed to be here, ma’am?" Worry colored his tone, and he beat down the desire to fidget. Was there any way to get her somewhere safer without giving away why he was there? "I could call another cab if he brought you to the wrong place, and pay in advance for you."

The man was speaking, asking her questions, and trying to help, but Myla stood frozen. "No… I-I couldn’t ask that of you. I’m embarrassed enough as it is," she finally spoke up, letting out a soft, awkward laugh. There was a comfort in his presence but also a tingling, knotting sensation that twisted in her chest. Cloudy eyes shifted back and forth behind the dark tinted lenses as her mind raced, collecting the tiny little pieces, weaving them together into a large image. His immediate action, helping without expecting something in return, his smell… his voice…

Myla took a slight step forward, tilting her head upward as if she was able to look right through him, into his soul. Her eyes squinted as she whispered, "... Pineapple?"

Theodore’s brain felt as if it were short circuiting, the soft, warm breath of her whispered word brushed over his throat, rising goosebumps across his skin. He swallowed hard, blinking down at the woman, taking in how her hair curled around her shoulders, the familiar cupid’s bow of her upper lip, how her cheeks were ever so slightly flushed, how her lashes brushed over her cheeks when she blinked, and then the word she’d spoken registered. There was a five second pause, a strange, sort of strangled sound leaving his throat.

"Angel?" There was so much relief in his voice, it was practically oozing from his pores, and he wasted no time in scooping her up and pressing her against his chest. Arms wrapped securely around her, as if he was scared she’d vanish from his hold, he spun them in a short circle as a brilliant and golden laugh ripped from his throat. She was there, she was safe. The thought brought tears to Theo’s eyes, and he held her tighter, bowing his head until their foreheads were touching, breath mingling, a smile tugging his lips upwards.

Everything fell from Myla’s grasp and clattered to the ground as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. He lifted her up, her feet slipping off the ground as his always contagious laugh made soft chuckles escape her lips. She was no stranger to being close to him or in his arms. How else could he swing her around New York to get from one crime to another in the blink of an eye? But this was… different. More vulnerable… More raw. There was no mask hiding her face. She could feel the warmth of his skin on the back of his neck when her hands brushed against it, embracing him. There was no leather or spandex between them… no walls.

A familiar body, lean but strong, melted from a single word. He was so close. His forehead touching hers sent a foreign tingle down her back that made her hot and cold at the same time. A new anxiety she wasn’t prepared for tightened in her chest and stole her breath. Firm muscles pulled her in tighter, pressing into fresh bruises from the night before. It ached, but it was a pain she’d happily accept.

Myla wasn’t sure how she knew, perhaps it was the slight change of inflection in his laughs, or a small shift in his breathing, or maybe she heard the faint moisture beading against his eyelashes with every blink. But she leaned back, just enough to be able to cup his face in her hands. His jaw was square with a gentle curve and covered in the short stubble of a couple days’ old shave. Her thumbs tenderly reached up to wipe beneath his eyes before he dared to shed a tear for her. "Hey. None of that," she chided him softly with a little laugh.

For a moment, nothing else mattered. His Angel was here, he wasn’t alone, she hadn’t vanished, everything was okay. But then, several things clicked at once. If she was here, and Theo was walking into a trap, it meant she was also walking into a trap. Angel was beautiful, but without her suit there was something so delicate about her, it made his hands start to tremble. Her eyes, the eyes he’d always wondered about, daydreaming that maybe they’d been like a soft and warm chocolate color, were grey and blank as he stared into them, and Theo’s breath caught in his throat.

"Angel?" His voice was agonized now, and it took everything in Theodore to not shove her back into the cab and throw the man a hundred dollar bill, if it meant she could get as far away from this tower as possible. "What are you doing here?"

She tensed and her hands fell, pinned between them, as she felt the shift in him. "Myla," she corrected him quietly. At that point, what was the harm in him knowing her name? He could see her and they were likely two steps away from falling into a trap. The least she could do was let him know her name before they died. "What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" she asked, shoving him gently as she spun the question back around on him.

Trying to hide the rising panic that clawed up her back, Myla crouched down. Her hands fumbled around on the ground trying to gather her things. "I didn’t tell you on purpose. I wasn’t going to lead you into a trap… New York needs Redback. They need you." One of the batons attempted to roll away several times before she managed to get her trembling fingers around it. Her heart raced in her chest making it hard for her to focus on anything but the constant thrum of the blood pulsing through the veins in her ears.

"Myla," he said her name like he was tasting it for the first time, something slow and sensual in the way his lips wrapped around it. There was something reverent in his voice, he’d never thought that he’d get the chance to know her name. "Theodore, but just… Theo."

"Theo," she repeated his name softly, like the whisper of a secret that only she knew. It was weird calling him by his name. It was weirder hearing her own name uttered in his voice. She had wondered what it’d sound like coming from his lips… if she was just Myla. She liked the way it sounded… probably more than she’d admit to herself. But it was greedy for her to enjoy the tenderness of sharing something as simple as their names. He shouldn’t be there. He needed to leave while he still could.

The joy of learning Angel’s name, of finding her here and getting a chance to know she was alive and well, of feeling how her heart had fluttered in her chest like the wings of a hummingbird when he’d swept her into his arms, it all faded away like watercolor on a canvas, drowned by the very element that gave it life. "I wasn’t going to lead you into a trap either, and I’m not the only one who New York needs, I–"

His breath caught in his throat, the words I need you, choking him for a moment. His mouth hung open for a second, and then it clicked shut, the sound of his teeth snapping together louder than he would have liked. Theo bent down, easily and carefully gathering up her discarded things, muttering an apology as their hands brushed and heat filled his face. "I’m happy you’re here, Myla. I just, " the man stood up after everything had been gathered up, one hand curled gently around her upper arm to help guide her back upright, fumbling a little to give her the white cane but stubbornly holding onto everything else. "You scared me."

The admission was softer, timid and uncertain. Theo wasn’t used to speaking with Myla like this, no masks to shield themselves behind. It all felt so vulnerable, but he wasn’t upset about it. The relief was still there, lingering like smoke in the air, but so was the fear. How could he walk into a trap with her by his side? Was he even strong enough to protect her if things went sideways? The unknowns were the most frightening part, it felt like too much to admit to himself too soon, but if he lost Angel, Theo was certain he would lose something fundamental in himself, too. "Just, please don’t vanish on me again."

Myla’s hands froze as her finger tips found the leather of her handbag. Her head tilted slightly, taking in each of his words carefully and slowly. Then he stopped, not finishing the thought. What was he going to say? Why was she so desperate to know? Instead he lowered himself to her level, gathering her things before she could. She sucked in a sharp but quiet breath when their hands brushed. Her head was spinning, trying to piece together the puzzle and make sense of it all. What the hell was wrong with her?

When he spoke up again, he didn’t continue his thought but filled the silence with lighter words but a heavier confession. Her heart sank. Guilt festered inside of her as he took her arm and helped her back up. She didn’t fight him or pull away, but followed his guidance like a bewildered animal lost in their own thoughts. She never considered how her leaving would affect him. All she knew was if she left a note behind Redback—Theo would follow her and she refused to be the reason something happened to him. She selfishly kept him in the dark to keep her own conscience clear. Myla was disappointed… in herself.

She absently took the cane when he held it out to her. She attempted to take some of her other things from his arms, but he was stubborn. Something she could relate to. Myla sighed softly as her head fell and she clutched the handle of her cane in both of her hands. "I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking," she confessed, tapping the stick on the ground beside her feet. "I mean, I was," she continued with a weak laugh. "But I was just trying to keep you from doing something… impulsive." She turned her head toward him slightly with a raised brow. "Like following me here."

Myla mulled over his last words. Don’t vanish on me again. She knew they had clung to each other like a lifeline as the world around them tried to swallow them whole. But she hadn’t realized how deep it had gotten until that moment. "I…" she started but found herself at a loss for words. How could she promise not to vanish? Given everything that was going on, that was the one thing that was coming for them both. It was only a matter of time before they disappeared off the face of the earth like their fathers. "Ok," was all she could bring herself to say with a nod of her head.

She turned slightly toward the imposing skyscraper that reflected the warmth of the setting sun. Between her elevated heartrate, the strong breeze, and the distance breaking of the waves against the shore, Myla struggled to focus. But she could have swore she heard a couple indiscernible voices coming from the tower, one being louder and more boisterous than the others. "You know—" she cleared her throat before once again trying to steal her things back from Theo’s grasp, "—Normal people exchange phone numbers so when one of them vanishes they can just call them," she teased gently.

Her jaw dropped and head cocked slightly to the side when she realized she might have just asked for Theo’s number. Myla cleared her throat and awkwardly tapped her thumb against her cane. A rush of heat started building in her chest, flowing up her neck and across her face. "Because we’re totally normal." She tried to play it off as a lighthearted joke, but everything about her anxious body language betrayed her.

Theodore couldn’t help it, a laugh fell from his lips. It was an unapologetic sound, filled with actual mirth. "I didn’t follow you here, I found this weird old pager in my dad’s stuff, sort of ripped his desk to shreds. Sometimes, I forget my own strength." He paused, rearranging everything in his arms very carefully so it all was in a more orderly fashion.

"You’re right though," Theo muttered softly, knowing full well that she’d still be able to hear him clearly. "I would have followed you."

Myla couldn’t help the soft laugh that fell from her lips as she twisted the cane in her hands. No matter how hard she fought it, just his presence and laughter always seemed to bring some levity to her clouded mind. "I knew it," she whispered, poking his chest with her index finger.

It was an undeniable fact, if Myla had vanished from his world everything else would have fallen to the wayside. He wouldn’t have been able to rest until he found out what had happened to her, he just couldn’t stand the idea of a world where she didn’t exist. The very thought made him feel sick to his stomach, and he had the sudden urge to pull her back into his arms and not let go. It was ridiculous, but she was his…his best friend, and most trusted comrade.

"I’ll make it fair though, Angel" the endearment fell easily from his lips, voice warm and filled with something that was equal parts undeniable and uncertain. "I won’t pull any vanishing acts on you either, I promise."

Theodore meant it with every fiber of his soul, nothing short of a God would be able to rip him away from her, not after the fear and uncertainty he’d held like a loaded gun all week as he traveled to answer this message. Myla simply meant too much to him, and he couldn’t leave her when the world around them was already filled with disappearances. He wouldn’t.

Angel. Hearing Theo call her that after knowing her name felt… different. Intentional. She swallowed as a small fluttering stirred in her chest. It could have been a slip of the tongue. It probably was. There was no other reason for him to call her that. Or that was what she told herself anyway.

"My number?" The man grinned, teeth a brilliant white flash against his tanned skin. He hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from her this whole time, except for when he’d scooped up her belongings. He tried now, glad that she couldn’t see how his eyes seemed to commit the curve of her cheek bones, how one of her cheeks dimpled when she smiled, or the color of her eyes, to memory. "I thought you’d never ask, want a key to my house too? I have fruit snacks in the pantry."

A soft chuckle rose from her chest. "I just spent my last dollar on an asshole cabbie. I might raid you for everything you own," she teased him. Although the lack of hesitation and willingness to just give her a key caused the heat to return to her cheeks. "Maybe we should start with phone numbers?"

Theo grinned down at Myla, trying not to get distracted by how her cheeks flooded with color, the soft shade of ripe strawberries. How had he never realized she was so beautiful beneath the mask? It didn’t really matter, he’d cherished her even before he’d realized that looking up Myla’s name in the dictionary would lead to the definition of beautiful, but it was an added facet to the woman whom he knew and considered very important to himself.

Her smile grew as she took a step toward him and tucked her cane beneath one of her arms. Myla didn’t fully realize until she was closer to him that she wanted to be closer. She cleared her throat as her hands reached up to open her handbag clutched in his arms and pulled out her archaic flip phone. There was a time when she tried a smart phone but the lack of buttons made it nearly impossible for her to master. She carefully traded her batons and bag in exchange for placing her phone gently in the palm of his hand. "Here." Her voice was quiet and a bit apprehensive in the off chance he was only just joking.

Myla wasn’t certain where this new found confidence was coming from. Maybe it was because, underneath all the reintroduction nerves, Theo was still Redback and her best friend. Or maybe it was the unknown stirring in her chest that made her want to hug him again while also wanting to bury her head in the sand. Or maybe... maybe it was because exchanged phone numbers felt like one more tether that would keep him from vanishing too.

"Make sure you send yourself a message too… So you have mine," she added with a sheepish smile as she slid her purse up onto her shoulder.

This time, he relinquished her belongings without complaint, but a silly little smile set on Theo’s lips. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to see that she had a flip phone, though he did wonder for a moment if she’d ever given a smart phone a chance, and if so just how long did that last? He’d put his money on no less than two days, despite the added features. He understood it, though, and couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic as he looked at the phone, remembering the first phone his dad had given him and how similar it was to this one.

”As you wish," Theo said, swallowing loud enough that it was audible when her fingertips brushed across his palm and trying not to bask in the warmth that lingered. They’d never touched like that before, his suit always created some form of barrier, and he’d never been one to initiate physical contact with anyone else. His sensory issues always caused problems, with all his senses dialed to one hundred sometimes it could be too overwhelming, but there was something about Myla that brought more comfort than discomfort. "If this isn’t some horrible trap that gets us both killed, I’ll be sure to call you and arrange a pizza date."

Had he said date? Fuck. Theo resolutely, but gently, as he remembered the desk, tapped his number into her phone and then navigated, sending himself a text from her number. Olive and pineapple pizza, please! He grinned at the text before handing her the phone back, feeling his own phone buzz in his pocket.

"Promise?" she asked, tentatively. Her fingertips unintentionally brushed the palm of his hand as she took back her phone. Without the fabric of their suits between them, the brief touch of his warm skin electrified her nerves. Everything always felt like… more for her. With her enhanced senses something that was no more than a fleeting moment of contact for one person was like listening to a song on full blast to Myla. Her nerve endings were heightened, aware, and receptive. She noticed every crease and every callous. While the touch of his skin was foreign, the size of his hand, shape of his palm, and the length of his fingers were familiar. Myla didn’t know how to describe it, but it was like she was meeting him all over again, but also like coming home after spending what felt like forever away.

"I promise," Theo’s tone dropped an octave, and the promise hung between them for a moment as if it was suspended in the very air they breathed. It was more than a promise for a pizza date, it was a promise that even if they both died today, he would find her in the next life. Theodore wouldn’t say it out loud, couldn’t, but he knew what he meant when those two simple words fell from his lips. She was his best friend, the closest thing he had to any form of family other than his mom. They were probably walking into a gruesome death, and it felt like the time for such declarations, privately done or not. "It’ll be the highlight of my week."

"Just the week?" she teased. Her cheeks remained flushed as her smile grew bashful, but no less genuine. Myla couldn’t help but hope that a pizza date with her would be a little better than a weekly highlight. A month at least.

Theo’s smile was back, as bright and warm as the sun, and though Myla couldn’t see it, it was very likely she could feel the heat nonetheless. It would probably make his year, actually, but he didn’t want to come across wrong. Their pizza parties were just some of his favorite meals, that was all. "You know me too well." He laughed.

Myla’s laugh mirrored his as she slipped her phone back in her bag. She slowly pivoted on the balls of her feet, turning to face the tower on the far end of the walkway. "So… Are you ready to go die?" While there was a light sarcasm in her tone, there was a looming sense of dread that hung on every syllable and made the last word catch in her throat.

That jerked a surprised laugh from him, and he stepped beside her, one of his hands sliding to curl around Myla’s free hand. "Absolutely, I’ve been looking forward to it, actually. Hold my hand though, won’t you? Not because I’m scared, of course. It’ll just give me a boost of confidence, that’s all." And, he could yank her out of the damn building if needed. Not that he was going to tell her that, though.

His hand was warm against her own chilled skin. The intentional touch caught her off guard and pulled a faint gasp from her lips. Myla hesitated a moment before allowing her fingers to slowly curl around the sides of his hand. She slipped her batons beneath her arm where her cane previously resided then held out the long stick and began tapping it back and forth, more out of habit than actual necessity. She let Theo guide her toward the looming building as silence hung between them. Waves crashed against a rocky shore ahead of them and wind whistled as it hugged the tower. Theo’s steps were light like a skilled acrobat ready to move at a moment’s notice. They thudded softly against the cement in sync with the sharp clicks of Myla’s heels and tap of her cane.

Halfway to the entrance with a sweep of her cane to the right it bumped something sturdy and unmoving. Myla’s head tilted as listened to the breeze that curved around the large, square structure and rustled the thin branches of the bush within it. "Give me a second," she whispered before slipping her hand from his grasp. She sidestepped toward the large planter, placing herself so the bush hid a majority of her from whomever or whatever could be watching from within the tower. She placed her hand on the cold concrete to steady herself as she lifted her left foot and feigned fixing her shoe. As she did that her other hand shifted from the planter and sneakily slid her batons into the bush. A little backup plan. Even if it was unassuming they were still weapons. She could recall them if needed. So rather than walking into a potential trap already armed, she opted to keep up the innocent facade.

Myla stepped out from behind the bush, keeping up the charade by twisting her foot in her shoe like she was wiggling her heel back inside. When she returned back to Theo’s side, she flashed him a small smile as her hand slid back into his. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was subconscious or not, but one moment their palms were cupped together in a relaxed hold then her fingers slipped between his. It had to be for confidence in the likelihood of death… nothing else. That would be ridiculous.

As they grew closer, her heart raced and adrenalin pumped through her veins. Her grip on his hand tightened as the voices from within grew louder. Just as she went to focus on what was being said something louder and closer crunched under foot. Myla’s brows furrowed as she twisted her shoe on the ground studying the sound and the feel of it grinding under her weight. "Is that glass?" she asked, turning her head slightly toward Theo.

He hadn’t questioned her, more interested in whatever Myra’s plan was than anything. It was something Theo had always admired about her, she always tried to plan ahead where he was more of a… well, swing in web’s-ablazin fellow. It was a good balance, reminding him to think before he acted instead. He blinked slowly at…uhhh…"Well, yes. That would appear to be glass, and the doors are…um…do they have a Hulk?"

It felt like a fair question, because the doors had been absolutely destroyed, the metal frame twisted inwards. "It looks like someone crashed in through the doors, which isn’t a good sign, right? It doesn’t make me feel good." Theo squeezed her hand, trying to reassure himself that it would be okay, that whatever they were about to step into, they would be doing it together. It helped.

A dry, bordering on pessimistic laugh escaped her lips. She couldn’t fight a hulk! The fuck was she going to do? Climb on its back and smack it in on the head? Nausea boiled in her stomach. There was a part of Myla that wanted to turn back but she knew if she didn’t see it through she’d forever wonder. She had to remind herself she got coordinates from her dad’s pager. That had to mean something… right?

Myla took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves as she took a step forward. Heels, shattered glass, and blind made a bad combination. Even with her heightened equilibrium, she wasn’t exactly prepared to traverse anything that wasn’t flat. That was her first mistake. They stepped through the set of destroyed doors, dipping slightly beneath the mangled frame. She held the handle of her cane wrapped between her index finger and thumb while her other fingers held the dislodged doorframe to balance herself. Her focus was split between the sounds of crunching, shifting glass and not cutting her hand on any places that remained.

She nicked her finger while shifting her hold from the broken frame to the glass wall in the breezeway between the broken door and intact second set of doors. Myla’s eye twitched slightly at the sharp sensation, but she forced herself not to wince so she didn’t alarm Theo. Annoyed at the wobbling of her heels and ankles on the uneven glass, she stopped and started scooting as much of it out of her way without cutting her foot in the process.

Theo followed Myla for fifteen seconds, could see her struggling, and decided that the bloom of crimson and smell of blood that filled the air was as close as he wanted to be to seeing her bleed. "Nope." He said, tone firm and unflinching as he let go of her hand and unceremoniously scooped her up into his arms in the typical princess hold, mindful of her cane.

"I’m sorry, Angel." He whispered close to her ear, mindful that there were other people just on the other side of the doorframe. Something warm coiled in his stomach as his lips brushed over the shell of Myla’s ear, the soft scent of what was either her perfume or shampoo filled his senses until all Theo could smell was her. For the rest of his life, the smell of cashmere, roses, and the woods he’d just spent a week hiking through, would remind him of her. It was both too much, and not enough all at once. "It’s not that I don’t think you could have made it, I just don’t like watching you struggle."

A mix between a gasp and soft squeal escaped her lips as Myla was swept up into Theo’s arms before she could make heads or tails of what he was doing. Not knowing what else to do with her arms, she wrapped them around his shoulders trying whatever way she could to help the shoulder the burden of… well, her in his arms. Even if he had super strength and she already knew she weighed little to nothing for him. While her finger was barely bleeding worse than a papercut, her hand rested precariously on his shoulder making sure she didn’t get any blood on his clothes. They both might have had more than their fair share of each other’s blood on them, that didn’t mean she wanted to ruin his sweater.

Her heart fluttered in her chest when his whisper warmed the side of her neck and tickled something at the back of her mind. The faintest touch of his lips along the edge of her ear made her breath hitch in her chest and her hold on him tighten slightly. It wasn’t the first time he carried her. Hell, it wasn’t the fiftieth either. But she usually half supported her own weight as one of his arms held her close and the other swung them through the streets of New York. This was different, closer, more intimate. They weren’t racing against time to stop another crime. It was just them, which triggered all her nerve endings and left her senses alert. His hands were hot against her waist and the bare skin of her waist. His face was inches away and radiated warm magnetism. She had to focus to keep her head turned away from him… Just to hide the flustered redness of her cheeks. Nothing else.

"I was ok," she finally spoke up, barely above a whisper. Her constitution caved, for just a second, and her head turned toward him briefly. Myla quickly caught herself, cleared her throat and turned back away.

Theodore stepped over the threshold, holding Myla close, curving himself ever so slightly over her so that none of the broken glass at the top of the doorframe could fall on her, and it was only once they were both over the obstacle and away from the broken glass did he very carefully set her down, eyes bouncing around to take stock of the room they’d entered and the other people within it. If he very intentionally placed himself in front of Myla, he wasn’t going to make a comment of it.

When she was set back down a different wave of nerves and embarrassment washed over her as Myla could sense all eyes on them. Theo stood protectively in front of her prepared for the ambush they both expected. She brought the tip of her right finger up to her lips to stop it from bleeding before awkwardly smoothing out her skirt… Which she quickly realized was unnecessary because it was leather.

It was in that silence that she got a proper count of everyone in the room. There were six heartbeats beside their’s, all but one of their pulses raced nearly as much as her own and Theo’s. Two people had stronger scents than the rest of them. One had the faint smell of almond and jasmine mixed with a freshly brewed cup of coffee which led her to believe the person by the Keurig was a woman, most likely. And the other’s perfume was richer and more lavish laced with hints of various fruits, florals, and bergamot. Among the rest of them she caught faint traces of deodorant, after shave, bourbon, aspercreme and a strong metallic smell like the air after lightning has struck.

"Well would you look at that," a voice like the velvet on rose petals spoke up from the left side of the room. "Chivalry isn’t dead after all. That’s the kind of love women want," the woman added, pointing a finger at them. "Take note TJ. You could learn a thing or two."

Myla’s face somehow managed to grow more red as she stood up straight, clutching her cane. She tried to wipe the emotion from her face to appear more confident and brave than she felt, hoping the act would convince even herself.

Heels clicked against the tile of the large room as the woman made her way toward them. She extended her hand out toward the both of them in greeting and a handshake. "Imogen Frost." Myla had heard that name before, on the news or something. She was some heiress or something, but she couldn’t remember how exactly she knew the name Frost.

Myla reached around the side of Theo to accept the handshake but caught herself just before she did and clenched her hand. "I—Sorry," she apologized. "I nicked my finger on the glass. I don’t want to get blood on you."

Like a magician, Imogen slid two fingers between her cleavage beneath the cup of her bustier and pulled out a linen handkerchief. She took a step around Theo and held out the small piece of fabric as an offering with a smile. "Think nothing of it, darling. Us women are used to blood," she quipped as she took Myla’s hand and shook it gently.

"I… Don’t know if I should say my name," she admitted out loud as she withdrew her hand with the handkerchief tight in her grasp.

Theodore coughed, trying not to feel flustered and awkward. It had nothing to do with Imogen, sure the woman was beautiful, but having Myla in his arms like that had been different from all the other times. It felt more intimate, and he could still feel the heat of her body lingering against his chest. His heart was fluttering, and he could very faintly hear that he wasn’t the only one, even Myla’s heart was beating faster now…most likely from the adrenaline. Yeah, that was why his heart was beating so hard.

"Theodore," he shook her hand, not too hard because he didn’t want to hurt anyone if they weren’t planning to hurt him, but firm enough to be considered respectful. Imogen had trusted them with her name, it was familiar in a way that was distant and fuzzy, but that was all really. "You could call her…A, until she feels it’s safe to share her name. Were you the one that sent out the signal?"

Straight to business, because he hadn’t hiked through the damned countryside for a week to beat around the bush. Theo shifted to the left some, moving back only ever so slightly so he was more beside Myla than in front of her. He was resolutely respectful, keeping his eyes on Imogen’s and very pointedly not following the movement of her fingers sliding into her bra. Was it normal for women to hide things there? Did Myla—Theo squashed the thought before it could fully form.

The other woman in the room shifted behind Imogen, and his eyes automatically jumped toward her. She’d seemed to have placed herself in front of one of the men, the movement jarringly reminiscent of how Theo had stood in front of Myla just a moment ago. There was the sharp glint of something between the knuckles of her fingers in her left hand, and the sight had Theo’s eyebrows rising. Were those…bat shaped knives? Cool. She didn’t say anything, but her gaze met his and there was a steady, calculating look in her gaze.

A shiver rolled down Theodore’s spine, and he quickly looked away. Jesus, these people were intense. Then again, it made sense to be on high alert. They were all tense and ready for someone to make the wrong move, he himself felt as tightly strung as a bowstring, his eyes bouncing between each face and then back to Imogen’s. "Where did the pagers come from? Why did my…where did Spider-Man get his?"

Reflexively, Myla’s left hand reached forward and grabbed Theo’s again when he nearly called Spider-man his father. It was respectable that he was comfortable enough to give up his name, but until they knew what was going on… fully, secrets like that needed to be kept close to his chest. While they all seemed tame, for the time being at least, she wouldn’t be too quick to trust.

"We sent the signal," Imogen waved her hand toward everyone who stood opposite Theo and Myla. "Well, everyone but the oaf who broke the door. Sorry about that, by the way. You handled that exceptionally well for a blind woman in heels," she commended her with a slight smirk that said she knew more than she let on. But she did not say. The blonde turned slightly to face the dark haired woman standing protectively in front of one of the other men and gave her a gentle calm down hand motion. "We’re all friends here, right?" she asked with a quirk of her head.

Theodore tried not to laugh, because the other woman didn’t look like she agreed with that sentiment in the slightest and to be fair he wasn’t sure he did either. No reason to jump the gun though, no one was attacking them, there weren’t like…weird zombies rising from the pits of hell, or whatever. Beggars couldn’t be choosers and considering the fact that he had been prepared to die right away, he was feeling pretty jazzed with the whole still being alive part.

"Why don’t you both have a seat while we wait to see if anyone else arrives. I’d rather only go over everything once, if possible." Imogen chuckled in a soft, genuine way someone did around company they trusted.

Myla nodded her head slightly. "Sure," she replied before giving Theo’s arm a gentle tug in the direction of the seating area. "Come on." Her senses were on such high alert she forgot to use her cane as she led them toward one of the farthest, more isolated leather sofas without bumping into a single thing. She turned to face the small crowd and took a seat on the edge of the cushion. Her hand gently tugged him down beside her, sitting close enough that the entire left side of her body pressed against Theo’s right. Myla’s ears were tuned to the faintest sound of a pin drop as she attempted to look a little more at ease, crossing her right leg over her left and rested their interlocked hands in her lap gently.

"Thank you, Imogen." Theo murmured as they passed, following Myla without a single complaint coming to tongue. Actually, he sort of liked how her warm hand curled around his, pulling him exactly where she wanted him. Once they were seated, her hand held securely in his, Theo tried not to smile. It would be utterly inappropriate, but a small, private part of him was unfathomably pleased by the new arrangement. He kept her close, eyes moving from the other people in the room to the busted door, and then back again. It would get exhausting, waiting for the other shoe to drop at any point. At least he wasn’t alone.

^{interactions ....|.... imogen ............... mentions ....|.... june, jim & magni ............... collabs ....|.... @Sleepy Tani}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#0a6d6b ....|..... outfit .....|..... party}

"All right, I'll see what she wants. Thanks for letting me know. Can either of you watch my food please? I'll be right back." Heath was as pliant as room temperature butter. His constitution was more flexible than even Anissa’s, luckily for Sylas. He wasn’t really in the mood to have to put extra work into getting someone to fuck off. He could only hope his ‘right back’ was slow enough for Sylas to get a little more out of his conversation. It was the one time he found himself actually hoping for Blair to indulge her baser needs for one more round.

When they were alone once again, Sylas waited patiently for his powers to loosen Anissa’s lips and for her to offer up any more information she was reluctant to share. "Well, I already agreed that he was attractive, but I guess he’s also a little… awkward." Then a small, subtle smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, catching his attention. "But honest. Really deeply honest. He said something that could have sounded like a pickup line, except he immediately looked like he wanted to punch himself in the face for letting it slip out."

Ah, so an awkward, honest, and humble leader. Sylas had to refrain from scoffing. Part of him had to wonder if that’s how the man actually was or if Anissa was projecting her own rose tinted perceptions and fantasies on him. "Well, he sounds charming." Not really. But if he wanted her to keep talking he couldn’t very well shut her down mid-thought either.

"I know you mentioned thinking he’s probably the dominant type." Oh, that’s the route she was going? Sylas found himself intrigued, raising a brow slightly, beckoning her to continue without daring to interrupt. "But honestly? It’s difficult to see him acting that way around me, at least." She shrugged. "I was the one who chose to keep talking, to walk further. And he respected that, kept his distance physically the whole time. He matched my walking speed without making a big deal about it, and he didn’t crowd me." She looked across the table, meeting Sylas’s gaze. "You know… things like that. It didn’t feel like he was trying to lead or take charge of the situation between us."

"You’d be surprised in the duality of men. I’ve seen my fair share of… gentle men turn quite dominate within the private confines of a bedroom." Sylas right hand ran along the top of the table like he was flattening out a table cloth that wasn’t there.

"There were some… weird things that happened, though."

"Oh?"

"“When I made a joke about the gods right beside him? Actual thunder rumbled over us, and the surface of the lake… I definitely remember it moving in an unnatural way. Which tells me, if I’m interpreting it right, that someone powerful is probably keeping an eye on all of us here. But I’d bet he’s watched the closest of anyone. He never actually asked for this leadership role, you know? Poseidon basically just… dumped it on him."

He laughed, tapping his fingers on the wood of the table. "The Gods are most certainly watching us. Just wait until we do something they disapprove of. That’s when things get especially interesting." Sylas wasn’t going to go into further detail. If Anissa wanted a rundown of how much the Gods did or did not meddle in camp affairs, she’d be better off asking one of the other more seasoned campers. Although he doubted anyone would be willing to rehash any of it while at a party.

"But anyway… that’s genuinely all I can tell you. There’s absolutely nothing happening like you suggested between us."

He watched her turn to look at River and noted the subtle wave he sent back to her. But once the new leader locked eyes with Sylas he seemed far more interested in anything else. "How silly of me," Sylas mused.

"Do you see it now? How wrong you were before? He's not the dominant type. He helps...everyone. Like he's supposed to."

Sylas held her gaze, even leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I can’t tell if you’re trying to convince me or yourself." He cocked his head to the side, studying Anissa’s face and the shift in her facial expressions. "Whichever it is, there is a part of you that feels the need to paint him in the appropriate light… as a good man. That’s high praise after a single conversation." He shrugged his shoulders. While he got some useful information, all in all, there wasn’t much that he’d deem as helpful beyond River being awkward and having some sort of connection with Anissa. Whatever kind of connection that was.

"I’ve met a lot of people and I don’t know if I’d consider a single one of them good... I doubt water-boy over there would change my mind," he said with a cold sincerity, offering Anissa a rare taste of truth from his own lips.

Before he could continue the conversation further, a flash of sparkles twinkled in the corner of his eyes as Blair approached the table with her hands on her hips. "You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?"

Sylas sighed. He leaned back in his seat, turning slightly to face her and rested his bent arm on the back of the chair. "On occasion," he replied, monotone but faintly amused.

Blair’s face scrunched as she gave a mocking nod of her head. Her attention then shifted to Anissa. "Hey cutie." She smiled. "Is this stick in the mud holding you hostage?"

Her gaze shifted back to him with a mischievous smirk. "It’s a party, Sylas. Let the girl have fun, don’t bombard her with twenty questions."

"Guess my invitation to the bar orgy got lost in the mail." He didn’t hide the snarkiness in his tone or the little challenging smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Come on. Let’s go have some real fun." Blair turned her attention back to Anissa and took her hand, lightly pulling her from her chair.

"Nice meeting you Anissa," Sylas called after the pair of brunettes with a small wave of his hand. While he was definitely annoyed that both Athena spawns felt the need to crash his conversation, at least Blair had the decency to do it after he got all he could from his interrogation.

His gaze drifted over toward Heath’s plate that he left behind for them to ‘watch.’ Yeah, Sylas had no plans in doing that or being anywhere near that table by the time blondie got back from the stables. He wasn’t particularly in the mood to get a stern talking to from one of camp’s softies. How would he ever recover from the hit to his ego after hearing Heath was ‘disappointed in him’?

Sylas scoffed to himself, grabbing the half eaten cookie left behind by Anissa and stood up. He took a bite of the chocolatey dessert as he resumed strolling around the party, circling the new campers like a predator sizing up his prey.

^{interactions ....|.... anissa, heath & blair ............... mentions ....|.... river ............... collabs ....|.... none}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#667c0c ....|..... outfit .....|..... party}

While Wes’s face painted the perfect picture of the happy-go-lucky guy he was as he watched Rae study the map and decide on her cabin, his mind was elsewhere. Trinity, specifically. She was doing her Ares thing that he was used to, but that night she held onto it like a lifeline. Why did everything have to boil down to someone’s usefulness on the battlefield? She drilled Rae about her combat skills and even when he tried to reassure Trinity about his love for her, she had to bring up his abilities… again. And while she dug her heels in on the subject, it only reaffirmed his own securities. He was useless at camp, little more than eye candy, and a trophy boyfriend.

He was in a good mood before that whole conversation. Wes was happy making new friends, happier seeing an old friend had come to camp. He was excited to introduce Trinity to Rae… Was. He couldn’t help that his friends were oftentimes girls and while he might have been a player before Trinity, he wasn’t anymore. He changed. But his past always seemed to hover in the background, sneaking in at the worst times, never letting anyone forget the person he used to be.

And Trinity looked so beautiful. Wes knew that night was the perfect time for him to ask her to officially move into his cabin. But now? The thought sank like an anchor in the pit of his stomach. Maybe another time.

"There," Rae spoke up, pulling Wes out of his thoughts. She tapped the map and claimed the cabin as hers. "Thirty-six. Looks perfect."

"Looks like a solid choice to me," he replied with a smile that betrayed the roulette of depressing thoughts that plagued his mind. Wes noted the distance between Rae’s, his and Trinity’s cabins. He sighed, a bit relieved. One less thing to argue about later. "The farther away from Trinity, the better," he muttered under his breath. An internal thought that accidentally slipped out. He cleared his throat and quickly tried to brush it off. "Sorry. Ignore me."

Wes didn’t notice the newcomer approaching until he spoke up. "Hi," he paused for a second before continuing. "I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but did you say that device is how we pick out where we’re staying?"

Before Wes had a chance to answer, Rae switched into tutor, probleming solving mode. "Yeah, here, let me show you," she spoke up. She then opened the map and stepped beside the new guy to show him how it all worked.

No stranger to the speed of Rae’s explanations, or lack there of, Wes set her suitcase back on the ground and waited patiently. He watched as she simultaneously showed the tall archer how to claim a cabin while also trying to solve the inner mechanics of how the map worked. It was all magic, but she described it like a tinkerer reverse engineering a machine. If he didn’t know better, Wes could have almost confused her enthusiasm for her own nerdy form of flirting. He was much more aware that her flirting actually involved stuttering, cheeks redder than her hair, and clumsiness. The natural closeness and ease could work, if she’d let it. But the moment she knew it could be flirting she’d mess it up anyway, so he remained quiet.

"Your turn. Just touch an empty one you like."

"Congratulations," Wes finally spoke up with a lighthearted chuckle. "You’ve survived your first Rae Kowaleski tutorial rambling," he added, smiling teasingly at his friend. "I’m Wes," he introduced himself to the late comer, holding out his fist for a bump rather than attempt a left handed shake.

Seeing Rae’s new found interest in helping the tall, dark, and attractive archer, Wes figured he could give her an out if she wanted it. He could always regale her with stories about camp later, when she wasn’t completely blindsided by his presence or suffering the ego blow of Trinity’s prying questions. "If you’ve guys got this under control, I can always head back." He motioned over his shoulder toward the party, although his interest in it had significantly waned. Maybe he could just go back to his cabin. "Don’t know how much help I can be when you have a map," he added with a slight chuckle.

^{interactions ....|.... rae & idris ............... mentions ....|.... trinity ............... collabs ....|.... none}

Camp Athens - Closed

^{#c9bef3 ....|..... outfit .....|..... party}

Blair let one last moan escape her lips as the final waves of ecstasy subsided. Panting and glistening with sweat, she rolled off of Ace and landed on the pile of hay beside him. Her chest heaved as she draped her right forearm across her forehead, staring up at the wooden slats of the stable’s ceiling. "Fuck... I needed that," she confessed between heavy breaths and a soft chuckle.

After a few minutes of restful silence, Blair rolled over on her side to face him, propping her head up on a bent arm. Her free hand traced the outline of the various tattoos that covered Ace’s chest. "I hope you don’t have a girlfriend," she said with a slight smirk, filing the silence. "Because I plan to use the fuck out of you." She leaned in and gave the side of his chest a playful bite, not hard enough to bruise but enough that the ghost of her teeth would linger on his flesh for a couple moments. While still close, her gaze drifted up his body. "Or at least your cock," she added, barely above a whisper when she met his gaze. As she spoke, the hand on his chest moved down and gave his still sensitive and exposed body a teasing touch.

Her grin only grew like a silent challenge before she pushed off the ground and moved to her feet. Blair struggled for a moment to find her balance, using the wooden gate of the stall to help stable herself. She couldn’t help but laugh, unable to recall the last time she was with someone so… feral. It was hot. And if she didn’t intend on enjoying at least some of the party, she might have mounted him again, right then and there.

It took a little time for her to brush off the straw stuck to the sweat that clung to her skin. When she thought she got every piece, Blair refastened the halter part of her dress behind her neck and found her heels on opposite ends of the stall. She leaned her back against one of the stable walls and put her shoes back on. In hindsight she probably should have gone for something simpler, not strappy stilettos that she had to fuss with wrapping around her ankles and tying into a bow. When she finished, her eyes scanned the stall until she saw the faintest glimmer of silver hidden beneath Ace’s leg.

Blair took a few steps toward him and slowly crouched down. Her right hand slid beneath his thigh and retrieved the metallic thong. Rather than putting them back on, she took the small bit of fabric and tucked it into the front pocket of his jeans. She met Ace’s dark gaze as her fingers lingered between the denim. "Something to remember me by." Without another word, she gave his leg a gentle squeeze before standing up and heading out of the stall.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she pulled open the stable door and found, none other than, Heath standing outside waiting. "What the—" Blair took a step back looking between him, the stable, and the surrounding area which only proved he was alone, lingering or eavesdropping. She crossed her arms tight over her chest feeling uncomfortably exposed. Which was funny considering her and Ace’s earlier exhibitionism, but this time it was different. It was just her half-brother, creeping less than twenty feet away from where she was having wild, and not quiet, sex. Intended or not, it made him look like a peeping Tom.

"What the hell are you doing, Heath?!" her voice raised, demanding answers.

"I know there's no excuse for me being here Blair, but Sylas insisted I find you, claiming you were looking for me frantically. Still, I do apologize to you both. Just tell me what you want Blair and I'll leave you two to your business."

Blair let out one of those annoyed, you-gotta-be-kidding-me, laughs and rolled her eyes. "Do I look like I need help?" she asked, raising her shoulders and squinting her eyes. Either way, she said nothing else, nor did she intend on remaining in that awkward… whatever that was. Blair scoffed and stormed off back toward the party.

Fucking Sylas. Meddling prick.

When she reached the edge of the field her gaze scanned the party until she found him sitting at a table near the bonfire with a girl in white beret. She beelined straight for him, not paying any attention to anyone that might be talking about her reappearance behind her back. As she approached the table, Blair’s lips pursed and her hands rested on her hips. "You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?" Her voice wasn’t raised but there was a sharp bite in her tone.

Sylas sighed. He leaned back in his seat, turning slightly to face her and rested his bent arm on the back of the chair. "On occasion," he replied, monotone but faintly amused.

Blair’s face scrunched as she gave a mocking nod of her head. She rolled her eyes before looking over at his company. A pretty girl with beautifully tan skin, dark hair, and in an outfit far more coordinated than half of the people at the party. "Hey cutie." A genuine smile replaced her annoyed expression. "Is this stick in the mud holding you hostage?"

She looked back over at Sylas, her smile twisting into something a little more sinister as she had every intention on stealing his company. It was the minimal amount of payment he needed to suffer for sending her obnoxious half-brother to creep on her sexual escapades. "It’s a party, Sylas. Let the girl have fun, don’t bombard her with twenty questions."

She reached out and took the brunette’s gloved hand in hers with a friendly smile. "Come on. Let’s go have some real fun." If the girl refused her offer, Blair wasn’t going to force her to come along but anything was better than sitting around letting Sylas grill her to death.

When the girl let herself be pulled away, Blair hooked her right arm through her new companion’s left and started leading them toward the bar. "So, first, I’m thinking a three shot minimum to get us loosened up and in the partying mood," she said while wiggling her shoulders playfully. "Then we can do whatever sounds the most fun to you… Dancing, torturing men, or if you're feeling adventurous there’s ice skating and sledding." Her head leaned in slightly so that only her new friend could hear. "Although I’m no longer wearing underwear so it might cause a second round of rumors." Not that she really cared what the other demigods whispered about her behind her back. That was their problem. She knew who she was and wasn’t going to apologize for it. "C’est la vie," she said with a casual indifference.

"Oh, I’m Blair, by the way," she added, looking over at her with a friendly smile. "Daughter of Athena and camp slut." Blair said the titles with the same amount of gravitas like both were a badge of honor she wore proudly.

^{interactions ....|.... ace, heath, sylas & anissa ............... mentions ....|.... none ............... collabs ....|.... none}