The world outside was dark as Chester wandered back into his erstwhile bunkroom, the window beginning to glow with the sunrise. Chester looked at his unsullied bunk, cover still tucked in neatly at the corners, and sighed. Difficult to sleep these days. Too often he dreamt of his mother. He missed dreaming about the ranch.
He was snapped out of his stupour by the crackling of his room's intercom sparking to life. Chester wondered if it was supposed to wake him up, or if his mentor knew he was already awake. Either seemed in character for Bruce.
"Chester. Gymnasium. Canteen. Training Room. That order."Gymnasium. Chester had just come from there - if he couldn't sleep, he theorized, he could tire himself out until he could. Again, he wondered if Bruce knew. Again, neither option seemed out of character. He sighed, and changed his t-shirt before turning around to leave the room - but not before grabbing his Stetson, rooting it firmly on his head. He glanced at himself in the mirror, nodded once, and left.
-
A few hours later, after Chester's 'warm-up' and breakfast/brunch/lunch combo (he had found himself
particularly hungry after his own overnight workout and Bruce's morning regime), he found himself in the training room - or a training room, at least, he was sure that the Justice League had more than one, given their inflating ranks of late - and meeting, for the very first time, one of his apparent peers. 'The Rookie', apparently. Humble, if nothing else.
Obviously, this man was suffering under Batman's doctrine as much as Chester was, but it was apparent that the two of them weren't exactly recieving similar treatment. Chester studied his face -
wasn't this the guy who punched out Metallo? He looked down at his own chest; firm muscles, to be sure, and protected beneath the thin-but-strong layer of underarmour that comprised Chester's 'Recruit-Suit', but a far cry from the sheer steel of his comrade's previous opponent.
Batman was out of the room within seconds - as was often the case when Chester attended training - but Chester could still feel Bruce's eyes on his back, and today's 'commanding officer' seemed just as fierce.
Wildcat. The man had a hell of a reputation behind him, and it showed in every bristling muscle that shaped his body. If the passage of time had fatigued the aging vigilante, he refused to let it show. He stood tall and proud, greeting each recruit before standing back to size them all up. Wildcat looked to Rookie, and then Chester.
"Alright you two, let's see what I'm working with here, why don't you two go a round or two and then I'll step in."Wait, what?!Chester...gulped, mentally. He let nothing show in his demeanour as he took off his Stetson, carefully placing it on a nearby bench, before following Rookie to the center of the room. He thought about his armour, and Metallo's chest, and then his
own chest, and then he looked at Rookie's arms, hands curling and uncurling as he warmed up fists and took a stance, ready to engage. Chester responded with a guarding position - he thought to try and minimize damage to himself, rather than attack a man who could take on living titanium. Apparently, Rookie was thinking much along the same lines.
"Hey, uhh... don't take this the wrong way, but... how tough are you, exactly?" He asked, opening his hands and shrugging, though still holding his stance
"Because there may be a few... ground rules... we wanna lay out before we do this."Chester nodded carefully.
"Ground rules seem...sensible." He said slowly, thinking how best to explain the situation.
"I'm no meta, alien, or paranormal, so don't paint me across the back wall. Other than that, don't damage the hat, and, uh...try your best." He smiled slightly before dropping into stance - and then, just as Rookie fell back into his position, Chester jabbed forwards. Sparring, he often found, was fun; sparring with a
meta?
It felt like the Justice League was really welcoming him into the fold.
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