BLACK PALADIN

He’s glad Pax is there. Glad Pax is amused, by the whole punching-a-mobster thing. Glad Pax wraps his arms around him and smiles, glad he looks like he’s all pretty much in one piece despite everything he’s probably been through. He’s spent enough of his life in life or death situations to not let himself worry, up front, about whether or not the people he cares about are going to make it out alive, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t let himself feel relieved, on the other side of things, when they actually do. 

     “You’d make a good Indiana Jones,” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of Pax’s head—his hair still wet from the apparently flooded part of the Tower he’d been in—as he says it, before he lets go from the hug.

And he lets Pax lead him back upstairs, following without resistance. He’s been making himself scarce around his own bedroom lately anyway, now that his roommate’s got a metaphorical sock on the door handle more nights than not, so much so that Pax’s room has basically become his, too. It makes things easier that Pax still doesn’t have a roommate, even though there’s a spare bed and everything in there. And he never seems to mind it when Grizzly shows up at his door. 

      “No, no injuries for me. Mimic is pretty good at this whole villain thing, it turns out. He can make forcefields, and…” He’s still not entirely sure what power Mimic was using, with the whole Roulette thing— “made it so bullets didn’t hit me. He’s a good guy.”

He feels a bit like there’s a bond, now, between him and Mimic that neither of them is going to be able to shake. Walking into hell together, facing off against the zombie of some dead villain Mimic had accidentally killed. Not to mention everything else. And that’s fine with him—of all of the people in this place to trauma bond with, Mimic seems like a decent one. Has a bluntness to him that Grizzly appreciates. 

     “What about you?” 

Grizzly follows him like it’s second nature. It’s just upstairs, just toward his bedroom, but Pax likes to think that Grizzly would follow him anywhere, that he could lead Grizzly to the end of the world and that would be okay. It’s a nice idea. One that he would probably never act on, because he doesn’t really have an interest in any kind of dramatic request, doesn’t want to drag Grizzly through endless battles and fight for his own glory. It’s just nice to think that Grizzly would do it, and would come with him. It’s nice, because Pax would do the same. Pax would run after Grizzly at this point, wherever the other man went. 

It might be a little dramatic, but now that he has Grizzly, he doesn’t really want to let go. He wants to make sure they’re together, so they have the time to grow, so that they have time to find out what this can really mean, what they can be to each other. Pax thinks that they could be a lot. Pax thinks that they could be everything. Like his parents are, so utterly devoted, so happy together. He thinks that because he fits so nicely in Grizzly’s arms, because they’ve clicked together since the first time that they locked eyes. 

So he leads Grizzly upstairs, and into his bedroom, and lets out a relieved little hum when Grizzly confirms that he isn’t hurt. Pax would have had to raise those zombies back from the dead a second time to get his revenge, if they had put Grizzly through too much pain. “I’m glad Mimic was there for you,” He says, and finds that he really means it. Mimic has earned loyalty from Pax in turn, for all of that. He’s firmly in Pax’s good books now. He stands there and looks at Grizzly, in the dim light of his room. He reaches up and touches the man's cheek, as if he’s making sure. “No, I’m good. Just a little bruised, and very very damp. If I catch a cold, I’m going to put you through hell though.” 

    the Manor, after the Tower attack, @blxckpaladin​

He and Mimic are some of the first to get back to the Manor, neither having much reason to linger at the meeting point once they’ve dropped off their zombies and fake hostage, and Geo Girl’s found another Guardian to stick with. Once he’s showered and changed, he posts up in one of the rooms at the front of the second floor, with a window that looks out over the entryway, watches the rest of their motley crew stagger back in, two by two, bloodied and limping but mostly in tact.

Pax is in the last contingent to arrive, late into the night. And he looks tired, but there’s a spring in his step that Grizzly recognizes, the energy that comes from a job well done. The look he always wore, when he’d won a hard-fought battle. As soon as he’s in view, Grizzly gets up from his chair, makes his way down the stairs, finds himself at the front door just in time to intercept him there, to pull him into a hug as soon as he steps through the door. 

     “Looks like you had a good time,” he says, before letting go of him. 

He’s sure there are others having far more heartfelt reunions, after the events of the night, but the two of them are still sort of outsiders in the whole thing, and aside from almost getting hit by lightning and temporarily losing the hearing he had left, he certainly hadn’t had all that rough of a night. Still, though, it feels right, to find him now that he’s back, to fall into step beside him as he starts up the stairs. 

       “I got to punch a 1920s mobster. What about you? Sword fight with anyone interesting?” 

He’s bone tired, when he finally makes it back to the manor. Exhausted isn’t even a good enough word for it. But pretty much everyone else in the Collective, who had been at the Tower tonight, is in the same boat. Pax has never minded exhaustion, either. It always meant that he had done something worthwhile, at the end of the day. It meant that he had pushed himself, that he had made himself worthwhile in a fight. It meant he made a difference to someone, somewhere, even just by doing a couple of flashy tricks with his sword. 

He didn’t have the same stakes that some of his other teammates did, walking in to that tower of terror. But he had done his part, and he hopes that none of them were too distressed by what had gone on in there. He makes a mental note, even as he’s dragging himself up the driveway, to check in on Prodigal Son and see how he’s doing.

He feels relief, when he walks through the door. And then a further burst of it, when he sees Grizzly waiting for him. Of course, there he is. Exactly where Pax wants him  to be. Waiting to see him, seeking him out. He lets Grizzly pull him into a hug and huffs out a breath of happiness, squeezing back and enjoying the warmth of him, the strength of his body. And he manages a soft laugh, at the words that Grizzly picks for their reunion.

“It’s got to say something fucked up about me that I’m actually jealous, right?” He says, slumping his shoulders, looking up at Grizzly with warm eyes. Punching a mobster sounded like fun. He’s sure there’s more to it than that, but it’s the detail that they can both latch on to as something truly kind of cool about this strange, strange night. “Got to fight Reptilian. It was pretty cool, actually. The whole room was slowly flooding around us.” He arches an eyebrow, manages a smile, even though it had been rather stressful at the time. “Very Indiana Jones, you know?”

Black Paladin, for whatever it’s worth, jumps directly into the fray without needing to be told twice, though however good he might be with a single sword, Jase isn’t entirely sure he’s going to be able to handle Reptilian and Sergeant Slaughter and—and it clicks, now, the reason the water is so weirdly warm, the reason it’s uncomfortably hot in here, the humidity rising steadily as more and more of the water starts to evaporate into steam, Hot Shot. But he’s right, they need to get the kids out first and foremost, even if the three of them are making a valiant effort at holding off their zombified foes. 

One of them, he realizes as he starts to draw closer, already dropping the ambient temperature around his hands to try to counteract whatever Hot Shot is doing, appears to be half-person, half… fish something, mermaid? where her feet should be beneath the water. One has his attention turned to Slaughter, who appears to be having trouble lifting his legs, or his arms, as if gravity is somehow holding only him in place. And the other is summoning tendril-like vines, each of which seems to quickly shrivel and char at the force of heat that Hot Shot is projecting towards him.

And Jase got over the whole hot-and-cold, fire-and-ice thing a long, long time ago, but it seems like Hot Shot is where he’s going to have to focus his energy here to get these kids out of here, so he wades his way through the water in that direction, dipping his hands into the water and creating a decent sized block of ice as he does, hoisting it in one hand. 

     “Hey Hot Shot,” he calls out, and then flings the block as hard as he can in the direction of the zombie’s head, where it collides with a dull thunk but melts before it can hit the water again. And the closer he gets, the warmer the air is, and god, he hates being hot, the sensation sending an uncomfortable but familiar grip of panic through him, which he tries to let wash over him and not freeze him up. “How about you fight someone your own size?” 

The zombie doesn’t seem to hear him, or to care, turning its attention back to the Youth Brigader, who has taken the spare moment to form some kind of plant-thing in his hands, what looks half like a small, thick tree branch, and half like an approximation of Black Paladin’s swords, but covered in thin green vines. And he manages to beat back a few of Hot Shot’s advances while Jase makes it the rest of the way.

The temperature around his hands is down around negative forty, now, so he reaches out and grabs Hot Shot by the shoulder. He yanks him away from the kid, kicks him back down into the water with a splash, and he looks at the kid while he has a moment.

     “You three get out of here, we can handle this,” he says, and the plant kid furrows his brow, looking like he’s torn between agreeing and fighting him.

      “Fuck you, man,” says one of the others before the one Jase is talking to has time to agree—the one who is focused on Slaughter. “We’re not running. These fuckers will kick your asses if we leave you.”

The fight is a fast thing. Quicksilver fast, all flashing movements and thoughtless, instinct driven violence. Pax is working on pure muscle memory, the thing that he has fought long and hard to cultivate over the years. This is the reason he’s been haunting the training rooms so much. This is the reason that he still gets Grizzly to spar with him every chance he gets. Because he needs to fight things that are bigger and better than him, he needs to stay sharp. He needs to be a blade, just as much as the one he holds in his hands. He’s a warrior, at heart, and this is what he lives and breathes for. 

Jase joins in the fight, and its a little beautiful. Fighting Hot Shot back so that he’s away from the kids. 

Pax decides, pretty quickly, that he likes Jase Courtney quite a lot actually. The Youth Brigaders are things of glory as well, so determined, so tough. But just children, at the end of the day, still people that Pax and Jase needed to protect above all else. They might have been heroes, but they were never supposed to be in a situation like this, with water flooding in and men who would happily hurt them keeping them there. They were trying to help, Pax knew that. But it should never have been their responsibility. 

He fights hard, and he fights fast. And it comes out more in his favor than he had actually anticipated, because before he knows it he’s beaten Reptilian back, the man unconsious now in the water. He shakes his head, water flying off him, and lets out a breath. 

Jase has taken the Hot Shot problem firmly in hand. And the kids are dealing with Slaughter like they’ve done it a thousand times. Pax shakes his head again, and puts his sword back in its holster. He pulls out his stun gun, instead. And takes aim. 

Pax isn’t a marksman. That isn’t his think. He played around with a bow and arrow for a while, because of this hot dude with really strong arms. But he’d never been really good at it. Never would be. But he pulls in a breath and aims at Slaughter. He shoots once. Then twice. And misses. Before he tries a third time, and hits him. Knocking him unconsious. 

The floor is wet in the first sublevel, but he barely processes it as they move down the second flight of stairs and towards the parking garage—at least, not until on the second to last step he splashes into water high enough to come up and over the bottom step, which soaks through his shoes as he takes the final step, almost ankle-deep.

     “Shit,” he says, looking down into the dark water. It’s uncomfortably warm, as it seeps through the fabric of his costume, and he’s not sure what to make of that except that it’s deeply unpleasant. “No, probably not a design choice. Unless they decided they needed a swimming pool since the last time I was here.” 

He looks around for the source of the water, but doesn’t see anything in the stairwell, and so he wades through what water there is and pushes on, shouldering open the door at the bottom of the stairwell and out into the parking garage, where he’s greeted with two equally horrifying images at once.

The first is the source of the water, a pipe running along the ceiling that has burst, an absolute waterfall pouring from it and down the nearest wall. He’s willing to bet it’s not the only water source, but it seems to be the main one, and it doesn’t look to be letting up any time soon.

The second is a mass of people, at the far end of the parking garage—it takes him a second to parse the group of bodies, but he recognizes one of them: the hulking figure of Reptilian, who he’s still surprised to know has gone along with this entire plan and not been one of the defectors alongside Ian and Overload. Reptilian, along with two others—zombified villains, he assumes, one of them strapped with a truly ridiculous number of guns, the other with his back to them—are surrounding three smaller figures, figures Jase doesn’t recognize but assumes, from their age, must be Youth Brigaders here to try to help stop the attack.

And christ, he remembers being that age and in the Youth Brigade and feeling capable of doing real superhero shit, but he takes a split second to just be exasperated that three teenagers came to a collapsing building full of superpowered zombies instead of just staying home where they’d be safe. 

     “Fuck,” he says, as Black Paladin follows him through the door and takes the scene in as well. “Okay. Let’s… get these kids out of here, then I’ll deal with the pipe, then we’ll see if Jet and Catalyst need us.”

It’s not much of a plan, but hey, at least it’s somewhere to start.

Pax has, at times, had the absent thought that his costume is a little bit uncomfortable. Oh, it had been fine, once upon a time, when it had just been something that his mum made for him on her sewing machine so he could play pretend in the park. But then he handed it over to Dr. Green, and it came back changed. Altered for the better, he supposed. A man needs protection if he’s going running around with swords day after day. His chances of getting stabbed have skyrocketed. Not to mention every other horror that he’s bound to face in the field eventually. So it’s good that he has a stronger set up for his suit now. But it’s a lot more unpleasant when half of it is soaking wet, feeling like it's dragging him down.

He really fucking hates water. Bad swimmer. 

And part of him is kind of glad he is here with this guy, with Prodigal Son, even though he has no clue who he is. Because he’s clearly more experienced than Pax, but he doesn’t have that stuffy over competent vibe that some of the other high level villains have. He sounds almost resigned when he evaluates the situation, and Pax is nodding his head, because yeah. He can’t believe these fucking teenagers are here. He can’t believe that the Guardians let kids be heroes. Like, it feels like they should be doing homework or playing on swings, or getting into random relationship drama. It’s fun in the comic books, but the idea of real children risking life and limb for the Guardians, especially at a time like this, makes him kind of hate the institution as a whole. Which, yeah, he probably should have already been doing considering his own career but… well, a fanboy is gonna fanboy.

It’s a little hypocritical maybe, because he was a Teen Terror fanboy just as much as everybody else. But as far as he could tell, most of the Terrors truly didn’t have anywhere else to go. They were the kids that couldn’t just go play in the park. 

He shakes his head, because none of this matters, none of the thoughts matter at all. He focuses on the figures in the distance, and lets the cool calm come over him. It’s the chill before the storm. They have a goal, and that’s when Pax always feels like he’s thriving. He lifts his sword a little in his hand, relishes in the feel of it. 

“I’ll distract them. You lead the kids away?” He offers, and manages one of his quick and savage smiles. “I wanna fight the big guy.” He nods his head toward -- Reptilian, was it? 

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t actually wait for Prodigal Son to agree with him. As far as he can tell, this is all kind of an illegal operation. He’s not sure a chain of command actually exists. And fighting is what he’s best at, so he’d like to get to do some. It’s been a boring few weeks since the car chase, so he feels like he deserves it. He wades his way toward the rogues and the kids with a sense of confidence, grace unbecoming of a man splashing through murky water in a stupid outfit with a sword. 

     the entrance to Guardian Tower, @blxckpaladin​ 

The first time he had ever walked into Guardian Tower, Jase was nine years old. He remembers feeling nervous, not sure what he was supposed to do with himself (”be good,” his mom had told him, her voice low and sharp as she took his hand the moment before they walked through the doors, and he’d been so paranoid about what not being good even meant, in a situation like going to visit your dad at his new superhero work place, that he’d barely processed most of the trip). The last time he’d set foot in Guardian Tower, he’d been eighteen, and that nervousness had become dread, the echo of his mother’s words playing themself back in his mind in Clint’s voice. 

He’s trying not to feel either of those things right now, as he walks through the doors and into the tower, Black Paladin close behind him. Instead, he’s trying to feel focused, and as calm as is possible. Trying not to think about what happens if the Guardian he runs into and is supposed to rescue is his dad, or Clint. Thinking, instead, about the other side of this: of Ian, hopefully coming home. 

That had been the only reason he’d agreed to help out with Catalyst’s plan. Because Ian believed in her, and he knew it was important. And he’s trying to let things like that matter more to him than fear.

     “The stairs to the sub-levels are just down this hall,” he says, looking back at Black Paladin. He doesn’t know the new villain, actually hadn’t met him before today, but Catalyst said he was a whiz with a sword, and she seems to trust him, so Jase has decided to do the same. The uneasiness he’s feeling has nothing to do with Black Paladin and everything to do with the eerie lighting of the emergency lights, and the burn marks and other damage just the entry hall alone has already sustained. They have no idea what they’ll face when they get down there, and he’s not exactly eager to find out. “Catalyst and Jetstream should be close behind us, so we should try to clear the way for them as we go.“

...

Times like this, Pax wonders how he always manages to get himself into some kind of mess. A year and a half ago, he was playing Knight with wooden swords with his friends in the park. Now he’s walking into Guardian Tower next to some dude named Prodigal Son. Someone who Pax had never even met before today, but apparently had a long and storied history. Tin Soldier’s kid, or something like that. He should have figured something like this would end up happening when he made friends with Catalyst. She did have that aura of chaos around her, a half promise that they were bound to get in some kind of trouble sooner or later.

He just kind of wishes it had been later. 

But he was happy to help, where he could. Any chance for a fight was fine by him, he supposed. He got to pull out the nice swords, some smaller knives, and strap them to himself. It made him feel strong, made him feel confident, made him feel like he could probably take on a zombie or two if he tried hard enough. Like, he’s read World War Z. He think’s he can subdue them and drag them home just like he was told to. 

So he nods his head, when Prodigal guides them down to the stairs. It was creepy as all shit, and he frowns a little at the sight of it. But it was their part of the plan, and he wasn’t going to chicken out now. “Right, clean up crew. We can do that, eh?” He says, pulling his sword out to have it at the ready, before he starts heading down to the sub-levels of the tower. The building is groaning around them, and he doesn’t like the sound of that. It seems like the whole thing could come down on them at any minute. But that was what Catalyst was for, keeping it up and running. 

Pax makes it abundantly clear just what he likes, and right now, he has no reason to do anything other than give it to him, to keep his hands pinned down as he meets Pax’s movements under him with pressure and friction, stays close and within reach when Pax finally breaks away, taking the chance to nip at his jaw when Pax pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath. 

     “You can say that again,” he answers, letting out a breath of a laugh himself, letting the kiss grow rough and messy again for a minute before Pax stops it again. People here keep telling him that Grizzly is all too apt a name for him, but with Pax beneath him he feels less like a bear and more like a dog, waiting for orders, eager to impress. He thinks he’d like for Pax to order him around a little. Okay, maybe more than a little. Maybe not thinks. He feels pretty crystal fucking clear about what he’d like, and it’s been pretty apparent from the start of this whole thing that they’d end up here. 

It had been kind of a wild decision, to follow Pax here, after he’d disappeared off the face of the planet. If he’d had literally anything going for him, in the life he was leading before this, he wouldn’t have done it. It would have been stupid to do it. But an opportunity had presented itself, a perfect excuse to take a chance. And he looks down at Pax, whose hair is messy, eyes dark with want, as he catches his breath beneath him, and as far as stupid spur-of-the-moment decisions he’s made in his long and fucked up life, this feels like a pretty good one comparatively. 

      “You gonna kiss me again or you just gonna lay there?”

Pax considers drawing this out, lingering in the moment, pulling Grizzly back down to kiss him messy and dirty again. And the second he considers it, he follows through, tugs a hand free from Grizzly’s grip to wind fingers into his hair and pull him down. His grip is firm, everything about him wanting and a little demanding when he pulls Grizzly to him, kisses him like he’s fighting again, like he knows that at the end of the day he’s going to win.

He’s so glad, distantly, that they both ended up here. He’s liked the Collective, but it was easy to feel like an outsider, like he was the only person in the whole team who didn’t have someone else to hold on to. But now he does, he has Grizzly. Someone who knows him, from before. Someone who it’s easy to talk to, easy to banter with. Even easier to kiss, and feel like the whole thing could consume him. Whatever brought Grizzly to the Collective, whoever gave him the idea to run away and end up here, Pax woudl like to give them a gift basket, to name his first born son after them, send them a card for every holiday. 

He continues to ignore the protests of the assistant as he quickly slides into the car, once Paladin unlocks the door. Buckling his seatbelt, he sees a team of security guards begin quickly descending upon the track. None of them are armed, likely not expecting something like two supervillains to show up that day to steal a car, which gives them an even further leg up as Paladin slams on the gas, throwing him into the back of his seat. 

The first couple minutes of the high speed chase don’t really involve a chase, not yet anyway. He knows that won’t last for long though, not with the price tag this vehicle likely came with. “Not that I don’t trust your driving capabilities or anything,” he says over the loud hum of the car’s motor, “but I’m going to go ahead and give you some luck, seeing as how between the two of us it’s better served in your hands.” 

In order to touch bare skin, and not having the option of Paladin’s hands as they’re on the steering wheel, he goes for the back of his neck instead. Slipping his fingers under the fringe of the other villain’s black curls, he rests his hands against the curve of his neck and establishes a form of “luck link”. He was hesitant just giving him luck, and therefor removing his hand, keeping himself low, and potentially at risk of injury. So instead he keeps his hand exactly where it is, a little bit too intimate a touch for comfort, but he figures it was far better than neither of them having the upper hand when it came to his luck reserves. 

“Geo Girl?” He questions Black, as he whips his head back to look through the rear window of the car. “Does she even have her driver’s license yet?” 

“Yes, and she’s currently in the Bugatti Chiron that Flame Thrower had purchased for the Guardians last year, so I wouldn’t underestimate her ability to catch up with you.” 

Just as the words reach his earpiece, a black and gold Bugatti makes a sharp turn onto the street they were on right behind them, tires screeching as the vehicle rights itself. 

“You think you can help us find an escape route out of here?” He asks Black, trying not to disturb Paladin too much as he does his best to keep the both of them safe and as far away from the Guardian as he can. 

“Of course. I am currently running possible routes now. There are a couple options you have, although they are becoming increasingly difficult routes as police presence in the area grows. There’s a draw bridge approximately five miles west, if we time it right you may be able to cross it just before it lifts again, preventing Geo Girl from following you. There’s also the airfield six miles north that you arrived on, I can try to see if I can hire a cargo plane to get ready to take you and the car away from the area.” 

“Neither of them will be particularly easy to reach, but I’m afraid those are our best options.” 

Fortune slips a hand on to the back of his neck, and Pax fights the urge to jump about it. It’s weird and a little bit distracting, for a split second. “Hey, hey, hey.” He says, mindless, “Buy a guy some dinner first, Fortune.” He understands though, that good luck was better than whatever baseline Pax lived his life by. He got by on pure talent, more often than not, on instincts he could trust. But if the universe wanted to shift probability in his favor, make sure that luck was on his side, he would take it. 

Because he’s never driven a car like this before, and he fumbles less with the process when Fortune has made contact with him, can pick up the pace, a little bit, and trust his gut even more than he usually would. Of course, something always has to go wrong, and Geo Girl is hot on their tails. 

“A bugatti?? What a prick.” He says, voice full of feeling, as he glimpses the car appear behind them. It was flashy, for sure, and he kind of wishes they could have one too, and he wishes even more that he could do more to think about it. But he’s so focused on the road and making sure they don’t die horrible, painful deaths, that he lets it slip away from him. He focuses on the road instead, and distantly on the words that Black is feeding in to their earpeices. 

And the words swim in his head, a little. Bridge, or airfield. Bridge, or airfield. Neither particualrly easy to get to. But one would allow Geo Girl to follow them to the end, and the other one had the chance of cutting her off. It feels like he considers it for too long, but it can’t actually be more than a second or two before he’s saying. “Bridge. We’re going to take the bridge, Black. I’ll time it right.” 

“I’ll keep you both updated.” Black cuts in, and Pax nods. 

And he sounds just as confident as he really is, when he turns the car sharply to shift them heading in the right direction. West, toward the bridge. The tires screach just a little bit against the ground when he turns sharply, and he winces, before shaking his head and getting back to the whole sure and confident thing. Geo Girl is keeping up with them like she was born to do it, like she’s been practicing. And hes going to have questions, later, about how exactly the Guardians always know exactly what the Collective is up to, like they’ve got a direct link to whatever the Collective is planning sometimes. 

“One minute until the bridge is scheduled to lift.” Black updates him, and Pax nods his head. He can see it, in the distance, and he steps his foot on the gas and urges the car to go faster, faster, faster. 

     “Oh, good with swords and observant,” she teases, grinning back at him. They get to the kitchen a moment later, and she snags a seat on one of the stools at the counter, pulls the one beside it out with her foot for him. No muffins yet, but she can smell them, only a matter of minutes, surely, before Jay shows up to pull them out of the oven. “Dark Wing for sure. I take it you haven’t met Jetstream yet? I’m sure he would have been on that list if you had. He moved out a little while before you got here, hasn’t been around much.” 

She’s already half planning it, a party for him and the big guy, the other newbie. It’s one of the things she’s missed most, the past few months, Overload’s little parties. Cakes abandoned at the supermarket, enough pizza for them all to stuff themselves to bursting, bad beer and good music. If Black Paladin had had a party, shown off those beer pong skills, she thinks it would have been harder to not instantly become friends with him. It’s not fair, really, that he’s been floundering socially just because Overload was gone; someone should have stepped up. She should have stepped up, instead of being too busy being heartbroken to look around her and see that this place needed some life to fight off the losses.

     “It’ll be a good excuse for you to meet him. He’ll show up the second I tell him there’s a party. Honestly, I think it would be good for his ego, to get absolutely crushed at beer pong by a newbie. I’ll bet you and I could take on him and Dark Wing, easy.”

     “And holy shit. Grad school? So you’re, like, smart, then? How’d you end up stumbling your way into this?”

Pax hops up on to the stool, stomach practically grumbling at the smell of the muffins cooking. It has to be one of the best things about living here. The food. Jay is a godsend, and it feels weird to say that they’re the person Pax probably likes the most around here. He doesn’t think anyone can blame him for that. Everyone loves Jay, after all. 

“I haven’t had the pleasure.” He says, voice sounding almost fond already. He knows about Jetstream, kind of. He knows what he used to know when he was a teenage boy, anyway. There was at least a few years when he was a teenager where he had been obsessed with the Terror’s, with the Youth Brigade.  It meant that his family and friends were always a little confused about why he never kept up with the super-people as an adult. He just hadn’t been able to find the time for it, for the most part. And he had better things to think about than who was beating up who, or which Guardian was doing what. “But... I can’t lie and say I wasn’t a bit of a Teen Terror fanboy, when I was younger. I might embarrass myself when I do meet him. I would definitely embarrass myself if he could convince Rockslide to come to this party as well.” He waggels his eyebrows, betraying his true teenage crush. 

He likes the sound of the party, regardless of which teenage crush might or might not come along. He likes the idea of getting to know everyone. Which is starting here and now in earnest, as he gives Catalyst a bashful smile. School isn’t as much of a sore subject as he imagined it would be, when he first got here. The explanation was simple, after all. 

“Smart might be a strong word.” He demures, because he never really felt very smart. He was just obsessive, about things, and unwilling to accept when he was in too deep. And naturally talented at other things in a way that made him seem smarter than he is. 

There’s something playful to it, something fun, the way Pax teases, the way Pax leans up and dares him. Pax had been pretty clear from the first time they met that he wasn’t the type to beat around the bush. Straightforward, a little bossy. Buy me a drink, he’d said, the first words he’d said to him after their first fight, both of them still catching their breath from it, a little cut over his eyebrow where Grizzly had hit him particularly hard. And Grizzly, who had always been good at following orders, had done so.

Pax had made it clear what he wanted from that first night, and Grizzly had made it just as clear that he wasn’t going to fuck him until Pax could beat him in a fight. And then, the first night Pax had beat him was also the night he was whisked away to regain his crown as champion and Grizzly had lost him in the crowd. And then he’d been gone, on the run, only those most in the know aware that he had, out of nowhere, absconded with, like, a shit ton of really expensive swords.

So, he owes Pax, now. Or Pax owes him, he’s not sure. 

Pax kisses like he fights: with everything he’s got. He kisses like he flirts, too, pushy and competitive, a little bossy. He likes that; he likes bossy. And god, it’s good, to finally kiss him. To close the space between him when he’s been keeping Pax at arm’s length until now. To shift his weight again and straddle him, as he deepens the kiss, keeping him pinned in place, freeing his own arms so they’re free to find their way to Pax’s shoulders, tracing down his arms until he can interlace their fingers and pin Pax’s hands over his head, too. 

Grizzly presses close, shifts his weight more fully on to Pax, and it’s like a dream come true. For a second, Pax things he could be sleeping. This could be some elaborate and very tactile fantasy. God knows that he’s had his fair share of nights where the memory of Grizzly kept him up at night, where he couldn’t sleep for how much he’d wanted things to have been different, for him to have actually made a move back when he had Grizzly at his fingertips, when he could have reached out and taken what he wanted. 

Grizzly would have let him take it. He knows that, instinctual somehow. Grizzly wanted him too, with the same almost obsessive intensity that had brought him back time after time to fight against Pax. Waiting for Pax to make a move, waiting for Pax to prove himself by winning the fight. He’s proved himself, and now he’s done waiting for what they’ve both wanted for so long. 

So he kisses, and he kisses. He lets out a soft sound, ecouraging, when Grizzly laces their fingers together and pins his hands above his head. Fuck, that’s hot. That’s exactly what Pax has been wanting. And his kisses grow more demanding, under the weight of it, shifting up against Grizzly. He never wants this moment to end, wants to make Grizzly kiss him forever. They could make a career out of it somehow. He’s already left his entire life behind, he would do it again for this. He breaks away for air, for a moment, not even because he wants to. But it’s necessary, and he breathes out a rough: “Fuck.” 

He seems to take it in stride, giving her a smile rather than outright turning her down the second she makes the offer, and she lets out a little silent sigh of relief at that. Like all of a sudden, now that he’s agreed, she realizes that she kind of couldn’t have taken it if he’d told her to fuck off. Christ, when had she gotten so fragile. To used to the way things had been to adjust to the way they were now.

But he agrees, holds out his hand, to shake hers, and she feels a little more like she’s back on slightly firmer ground. 

     “Catalyst,” she replies, leaning forward to shake his hand. He looks like a scrawny nerd but she can tell from his grip—and from watching him fight, too—that he’s a whole lot stronger than he looks. And then, letting to to point back over her shoulder towards the door, she adds, “Not sure how much more training you were gonna do, but I have it on good authority that Jay’s got a batch of muffins about to come out of the oven. We could go grab one, maybe get to know one another?” 

She remembers back when she was a newbie, Velocity had made the same offer, or a similar one. She’d been broken and shy and reserved, terrified, a completely different person to who she was today, but V had taken her to the kitchen and they’d had cake, or something like that, and she’d come out the other side of it with one of the first friends she’d ever made all on her own. It had given her the courage to talk to Dark Wing, and the rest of that was history. Black Paladin probably didn’t need a pep talk to make friends, but… it felt like the right thing to do.

     “You know, Overload used to throw parties for all the newbies on their first night. You missed out on that, I guess, she was already gone before you joined. Are you a party person? We could probably throw one together, even if it’s a little belated.” 

He shakes her hand with a firm grip. That was something his mother taught him how to do. She said it was important, that it could show your strength in a way that didn’t involve throwing a punch. Of course, she taught him how to do the latter as well. And in the club, Pax had begun and ended nearly every match with a handshake. But he’s loose when he breaks away from it, tilting his head at her suggestion. Pax grins a little bit and considers it, dropping the sword and heading down to the kitchen to steal a muffin or two, still warm. He’s actually gotten fairly close with Jay, over the last few weeks. Pax is a sucker for some home cooked treats, and Jay seemed like a sweetheart. They got along pretty well. So he shrugs a shoulder. If Catalyst wants to try, he definitely isn’t going to turn her down. Pax has always been easy going, at times like this. Flexible enough to go with the flow. He can come back and train later, if he really wants to. 

“I was about to finish up, actually.” He says, voice already relaxed. “So sure, that sounds nice.” 

He starts to clean himself up, a little bit. Slip his practice sword back on it’s stand, and carresses the handle with fondness. Someday he’ll show off the real deal to Catalyst, if she’s into the idea. He almost wishes he had the ones he loved by his side now, something to fall back on and talk about if he needed it. But as he walks back to Catalyst, answering her questuon, he doesn’t think it will really be a problem.  

“Oh, I always like a party. Plenty of practice back at grad school, much to my supervisors dismay. But, you know, it’s a little known secondary part of my superpowers.” He starts, playful smile spreading across his face. “I’m supernaturally talented at beer pong.” 

Fortune follows silently behind Paladin and the assistant, humming in acknowledgment and nodding his head wherever it felt appropriate. Paladin’s surefire demeanor, and his own luck, so far seemed to be working, as no one so much as bats an eye as she leads them towards the trailer that held the cars. The two of them were moments away from making every single person at that test track feel like absolute morons, he thinks to himself, a small grin of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips as they continue onward.

Once they reach the trailer its door slides open, revealing the rear of a sharp looking silver coup. The thing purrs as one of the mechanics on stand-by revs it to life, before slowly backing it down the ramp of the trailer and to the track. The thing was a work of beauty once it was fully revealed, so much so Fortune was beginning to understand the certain fascination some had with their cars. Because this thing wasn’t just sharp and sleek, but sexy? He didn’t even think cars could be sexy, but he understood it now.

It almost was a shame they were going to have to give it over to Blue, to sell to some scumbag millionaire, and not just keep it at the manor. But that was the job they signed up for, he just hoped Paladin would be easy on the thing after they got it out of there.

“This is the 812 Superfast- what, don’t look at me, I don’t name these things,” the assistant replies, to the incredulous look he shoots her. “We also have a F8 Tributo still in the trailer. The plan is to do three laps with each, to help us determine some speed specs on them.”

Fortune continues the show of listening to her, while his eyes scan the track for their potential route out of there.

“Attention villains,” Black’s voice cuts in through his communicator, “Geo Girl has been spotted in route to your area, I repeat Geo Girl is heading your way.” 

Fortune shoots Paladin a look before he steps over to the car’s passenger side.

“Oh, our insurance only allows licensed-” the assistant starts but Fortune cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

“I’m just curious at what the interior looks like, darling.” He says as he opens the door and readies himself for a fast exit.

He barely restrains a whistle, when he catches sight of the car. He’s never been one of those guys who was overly fixated, but he can appreciate true beauty when he sees it. And god, that car is a beaut. Maybe when he starts doing more crimes, he can save up enough money to get one for himself. He’s practically drooling over it on the inside, but he keeps himself in check on the outside, aside from a look of appreciation. 

There will be time to fawn over it later.

First, they have to steal it. He thinks about escape routes. Thinking about the layout of the track, thinking about what he saw when they walked in, thinking about the maps and research he had been able to look at before they left for the misison in the first place. Of course, thinks kick into high gear fairly quickly. He shares a look with Fortune Finder, and begins to move at exactly the same moment as they do. 

He shoots the assistant a bright smile, nodding his head. “Fucking freak for leather seats, this one.” He throws out, slipping into the driver seat and flicking the doors locked when Fortune is inside. He has the car started in an instant. “Here’s hoping neither of us get motion sick.”

He decides on confidence, fairly quickly. The bravado to believe that nothing is going to go wrong, as he speeds out and into what he’s assuming and hoping will be their best escape route. They’re driving for a few minutes, but the time speeds by. Pax is just starting to hope that they’ll get out of this without any conflict at all. 

He can feel it the second the impact hits, as soon as Pax doesn’t dodge the oncoming rush: that Pax got sloppy on purpose. And for half a second, his instincts kick in and tell him that the trap was so that Pax could do something else, get one up on him somehow, Grizzly’s body half expecting to feel the sharp cut of a second blade that the sword had distracted him from. But they’re in a fucking training room, not in an alley behind some shitty bar, and Pax is his teammate and not some drunk asshole, and it’s only as Pax looks up at him grinning, panting a little with it, only as his body processes the nearness of them, the feeling of Pax on the ground below him, that he realizes why Pax let him. 

     “Bullshit,” he half-laughs, shifting his weight over Pax and pinning him in place, hands on either side of his shoulders, returning the grin as he catches his own breath. “You let me have that one. You saw that coming a mile away.”

He doesn’t mind it, not at all. Not the proximity to Pax, both of them sweating and breathless and adrenaline-flushed, and not the hollow victory. Pax had fought hard in the ring to try to beat him, where he had the advantage of the close-quarters and, the first night, the element of surprise, quite literally knocking Pax off his footing when he didn’t know what to expect yet. Now they’re somewhere where Pax has the natural upper hand, and that’s its own kind of thrilling, now that he’s on the back foot, now that he’s the one who will have to figure out how to step up to the challenge. 

And, as much as he knows Pax always liked an audience, being watched never held any particular appeal to him; he felt largely indifferent to the crowd, everything in his peripheral vision blurring out as he kept focused on the task at hand. Here, alone, the two of them, in a training room with no one else around, has its own perks too. 

     “Throwing fights now, huh? This place has gone softer on you than I thought.” 

His breath comes out in little pants, and he enjoys the feeling of it, in all honesty. He might have thrown the fight, but he still made Grizzly work for it, and he still tired himself out with the dance. That’s what he likes best about Grizzly, even when he has the advantage, it’s a challange to get around him. The breathlessness hitches a little in his throat when Grizzly shifts on top of him, pinning him down, and then gives way to a laugh to mirror the one Grizzly is making. 

Bullshit, that was fair. It was bullshit. “Not a mile away.” He says, fondness creeping into his voice. “Can’t have been a mile away. More like three feet.”

Pax feels warm, flushed. He feels like his face hurts a little, looking up at Grizzly with a smile. He feels like Grizzly is way too hot to be real, and yet here he is. FInally within touching distance once again. No one could blame Pax for trowing a fight if it meant that he got Grizzly on top of him. Hell, he was sure some people in the Collective would fight him for the chance to be in this spot. That pretty little roommate of Grizzly’s, maybe. Daydreamer seemed to like the big, strong types. But Pax wasn’t about to let anybody else move in on Grizzly, not when they still had so much they needed to figure out, not when he’s been waiting for a day like this for weeks. 

“Naw, I’m two steps ahead.” He says, slow, catching his breath finally. He shifts himself a little, gets closer, leans up into him. He’s a breath away from Grizzly’s mouth, close enough to surge forward and kiss him at a moment’s notice. And he smirks, a slow smile. “I’ve got you exactly where I want you. And I’m not expecting you to go soft on me.” 

the training rooms, a few weeks in, late afternoon, @blxckpaladin

They’d gone longer than he guessed they would before he and Pax finally found themselves facing off in a training room together, the way he’d promised they would on his first day here. There was a surprising amount to do, adjusting to being a full-time super villain, and they’d both spent some time out of the Manor working. Their schedules hadn’t overlapped right. But he hadn’t minded the wait. It feels like it had been worth it.

Because now, finally toe to toe with Pax, they’re both fighting like they’ve been aching for it. 

There’s more space in the training room they’re in than there had ever been in the tight quarters of the ring, and it’s given Pax a distinct advantage, the reach of his practice sword meaning he can keep his distance and keep Grizzly from getting a good hit in, but they’ve been spiraling closer and closer together despite that advantage, and it’s hard to tell if it’s because he’s getting better at luring Pax into his reach, or because Pax wants to be there.

Either way, it’s exhilarating. He can see the calculation in Pax’s eyes, the focus in his expression, the little signs of his superhuman understanding of this kind of thing, the way he catalogues and measures every movement of Grizzly’s body across from his. Pax would demolish him, if Grizzly was all brute force, and so he has to step more carefully than he would with anyone else, has to try to misdirect. 

But Pax has patterns, too, just like anyone, even if he’s superhumanly good at this. And after a few minutes of exhausting back and forth, Grizzly spots one: the way he shifts his weight forward, when Grizzly steps away from him, his balance suspended between his two feet for just a split second. So he starts to take a step back, waits for the moment, and then rushes him, aiming for his center of gravity, trying to see if he can catch him off-balance in just the right moment to knock him over. 

The wait before they could get into a sparring match only added to the anticipation. Pax kind of likes that feeling sometimes, the sensation of waiting for something that you know is going to be worth the hours or days it takes for you to get it. The building pressure, the calm patience, the intermittant daydreaming that he allowed himself to slip into during the quiet moments of the day. Sometimes at night, while they waited, Pax dreamed of the arena and every time that Grizzly beat the shit out of him. 

He really shouldn’t have thought it was as sexy as he did. But god, he did. There was nothing like a man who could overpower you to make you want to get up and fight again. Pax found the push and pull enticing, at the time. The challange, the fact that he had finally found himself on equal footing with somebody else. 

He understood what was keeping Grizzly so busy. Things were overwhelming, Pax knew. He was still settling in to the Collective himself, when Grizzly arrived. Things were starting to get quiet for him, fall into easy patterns. And it’s starting to feel almost like home, now that they’re here together, sweat dripping down his back as he fights Grizzly with every ounce of strength and cunning that he can muster. 

He keeps finding himself smiling, as they spar. It flashes across his face at odd moments, breaking through the intense focus that he’s stepping into. It’s easier to slip around Grizzly’s brute strength here, when he has more room to move. Pax is quick and agile, moving like lightning when he falls into the right rhythm. It’s easier to read Grizzly as well, with no crowd and better light. He can see every twitch of muscle, guess half the moves Grizzly is going to make just as he launches into motion. It makes his stomach twist, makes something like exhiliaration swell inside him, mixed in with the usual low level wanting. 

The fight is starting to feel a lot like foreplay. But that isn’t really new for them. 

Pax is baffled, once again, at the fact that they never managed to fuck when they were both at the club. 

The back and forth goes on, and Pax lets himself fall into easy patterns. He lets himself become a little bit more predictable. And just when he can see the edge in Grizzly’s eyes, he lets enough of his guard down for them to make a move. Grizzly knocks him clean off his feet, their bodies thudding down onto the padded floor beneith them with a heavy thud. He feels winded, for a moment, after his sword clatters out of his hand. And then Grizzly is on top of him, a heavy weight, and he can’t help but grin as he tries to catch his breath. 

He only half listens to the newbie’s response, tuning in for only the information he does need and filters out whatever the hell else he is going on about. He might be a little too bubbly for a professional driver, but Fortune made sure to steal enough luck on the way there that day, that four-leaf clovers were about to start growing out of his ears, so he figures that’s all they really need.

“Right,” he nods, once it seems like he’s done. “Then we’re going to just walk right in there like we have every right to be at this test race. Whenever we get stopped we’ll just explain you’re one of the drivers Ferrari has hired for this little demonstration of theirs, and I’m your manager. As long as we don’t have to use up too much of my luck in getting to the car, this might all be just as easy as that. That is of course until you have to drive said car out of the test track and onto the city street- but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

He gives the newbie a small pat on the shoulder before leading the two of them to the front gate of the test track. The guard standing out front asks them their business, and Fortune gives him the story he’d relayed to the newbie just moments before, until some very anxious assistant runs up to them, clipboard in hand.

“Did I just hear you’re the driver?” She asks frantically as she looks over to Pax. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the last twenty minutes, Mr. Vigna bumped up the start time, and he’s on his way now.”

He tries not to look too pleased at himself by the turn of events, as he glances over to the newbie, and waits for him to respond.

.

The plan is breathtakingly simple, when it comes down to it. Pax has been imagining grand heists with intricate plans, but as it stood, some of his random LARPIng sessions had more intricate planning than this crime. Just walk in like he was supposed to be there, act like Fortune Finder was his manager, and steal the car. Simple. Concise. Pax liked it, actually. It left less room for him to fuck everything up. He can’t help but be hyped about it, suddenly excited about his first deep dive into grand theft auto. Sasha back at school would never believe he could do something like this. 

But Pax believed it, and that was all he ever needed to be sucessful as Black Paladin. 

He follows after Fortune, and plasters a smile on his face when the frantic looking assistant arrives. “Ah, sorry, mate. We ran into a bit of a snag with our cell service.” He says, casual as anything, like they really hadn’t been getting her calls because of an issue with their phones. He fixes her with his most charming smile, kind around the eyes, genuine in every way that matters. 

“You lead on, love. We’re ready to jump into action and save the day.” 

She relaxes, just a little bit. Tries for a smile back at them both. She leads them further into the race course, talking about the test ride and everything they needed to do to get ready. It was quick, because Pax was already supposed to know exactly what was going on. He let the detaisl wash over him, committed it all to memory again, and when 

For a split second she almost regrets it, almost says never mind and turns around and walks back out, leaving him to his swords. She’s got mixed feelings about the whole thing, and a Jetstream sized hole in her heart. right next to a bunch of other holes she’s never been able to fill, V and Banshee and everyone else she’s ever loved who has walked away from her, willing or un-. Maybe it’s a lot of expectation to put on someone who just wants to hang around and hit things with swords. It wouldn’t be the first bad new years resolution she gave up on almost as soon as she made it.

But she doesn’t. She makes herself take a few steps further into the room. And Black Paladin looks kind of puppy dog about it, even with his sword up on his shoulder like he’s posing for a fencing magazine. She hasn’t really seen him hanging out with anyone lately, except the bear guy, who she’s gathered he knew before he even got here. She wouldn’t have survived this place without friends, the handful of people she’d latched onto almost immediately and never let go of. 

     “I’ve been thinking,” she starts, by way of introduction, looking around the room for a second before she makes herself fix him with her gaze, looks over him like she’s trying to weigh whether or not he’s worth the time. “That maybe, you know, you and I started off on the wrong foot, maybe.”

     “Maybe,” she repeats, after a beat. For emphasis. She may be willing to give him a chance but he still has to prove himself worth her time, if she’s actually going to be friends with him. “You sort of showed up at a bad time, for me. And I didn’t really give you a chance. But you seem alright. So… I think we should start over.”

Getting off on a bad foot was certainly one way to put it. But Pax couldn’t blame Catalyst for being wary of the new kid in the club. He’d faced a welcome like that at the Captain’s club, as well. The first few trips Pax had been desperate to prove himself, but he had done it quickly. But he could understand how a new person might step on toes they didn’t even realise. Tornado hated him, once upon a time, because she felt like he was replacing someone who moved on to bigger and better things. Catalyst looks at him a lot like Tornado used to. 

She takes a step toward him, and he relaxes his posture further. Curious about what she might be proposing, here. Her words confirm his worries. He showed up at the wrong time, and he could understand that. He smiles a little bit, because he could never hold any kind of grudge about something like that. And he would like to make friends. Pax has always been a fairly sociable person. He had his LARP friends, and his few stalwart companions from his PhD program. And then in the club, he’d had a few people. Grizzly stood out the most, the person he wanted to be close to the most. A kind of longing that’s sparked up again, now that they’re in the same place at the same time.

He’d like to make friends, that’s the point. If the Collective was going to be his home for the forsseeable future, he might as well get invested in it. He’d like for them to let him inside whatever super secret friendship clubs they had going on. 

“Starting over sounds good to me.” He says, voice light. He nods his head along with her. “I like to think I’m a bit more than alright, though. You seem the type who likes to have fun, I’m sure we can get along just fine.” 

He lets himself grin back, when Pax mentions the training room. He’s looking forward to that. To checking them out, to getting a few rounds in with a few new faces. To getting a few rounds in with Pax. He wonders how different it will be to fight without an audience, just the two of them, nothing to split their focus, no roar of the crowd, no betting pool, no stage lights. He wonders if Pax fights differently when he isn’t putting on a show, or if putting on a show is just who Pax is, audience or not. 

     “I don’t know. Fancy manor, continental breakfast… I haven’t had a chance to check out the digs yet but it looks to me like you’ve spent six months living a life of luxury. Wouldn’t be surprised if you’d lost a little of your edge. And you barely beat me the last time you fought me, so…”

It was funny. He hadn’t come to the Captain’s little fighting ring for anything in particular, except a way to blow off some steam. But he’d found something worth coming back for— at least, until Pax fucked off, and once that had happened he’d found that the whole place really felt like it had lost its luster. 

     “And it was Tornado, for the record. Apparently she kicked up a storm and knocked the Hammer flat on his ass, broke his tailbone in three places. I didn’t bother fighting at that point, I beat Tornado two weeks in fair and square.”

Pax narrows his eyes, expression playful. He’s always liked this about Grizzly, the irreverent tone of his voice and the way he looks at Pax. Like Pax was something worth putting time into, interesting enough to stick around for. From the second they first fought, they’d been a little wrapped up in each other. They fought like a dream, intense and actually challenging. Pax had kind of wanted to climb Grizzly like a tree the first time he laid eyes on him, and then he’d wanted to fight him. He’d done one and not the other, though he always meant to round it out. 

He smirks a little bit, eyes bright. 

“Funny, that’s not quite how I remember our last fight going.” He tilts his head.

He remembers it well. The rush of the battle, the uncertainty of his victory. There were a dozen moments throughout the encounter where he was sure Grizzly was about to obliterate him. There were another four or five when he kind of wished that Grizzly would. But Pax always found a way to win, and this was no exception. He’d been the reigning champion again, actually earning the title, by the end of the night. He should have made his move then, but something had pulled him away and he had missed the chance.

And then he was gone. 

training rooms, late afternoon, @blxckpaladin

She'd tried to get a pot started, on how long the kid with the swords was going to last before he went running back off to wherever he'd fucked off from in the first place, but shockingly few people had been willing to take her up on it. Maybe she'd been unfair, not giving him a chance before deciding she wanted to haze him to pieces. Maybe it had been bad timing, him arriving so soon after one of her best friends was suddenly shoved into the Collective's version of witness protection and not been allowed to contact her since. Maybe a half fucking dozen members of the group she considers her family suddenly fucking off all at once had meant she was on edge, when she met Black Paladin for the first time, and she'd been stung by that, hurt, and lashed out at him instead.

But the problem is, she's decided that she might think Black Paladin is kind of cool, in a big nerd way. And sort of... irritatingly cheerful in a way she's recently decided she doesn't actually mind. The problem is, she feels a little bit guilty that she's been kind of mean to him when he's done nothing but be a pretty okay guy with a bunch of cool fucking swords.

So, she's decided. New years' resolution, a few weeks too late. She's gonna give the newbie a fucking chance.

He's in the training room, when she finds him. Of course he is. A wooden dummy rolled out onto the floor, what looks like a wooden practice sword, or some LARP thing. And he's really going at it. Pure focus, sword moving almost faster than her eyes can follow, the sound of it echoing through the room, along with the even sound of his breath. She has to hand it to him, weird as it is, the sword thing is kind of cool.

"Hey," she calls, over the din of wood hitting wood. And she waits for him to actually look up before she bothers going on.

"New kid. You got a minute?"

Pax likes to think that he’s been settling in well enough. It’s been a strange kind of culture shock, moving from his PhD program to this. The ornate manor home filled with history, and ghosts, and the weirdest people he’s ever met. He doesn’t really miss the stress of school. He has just as much time now to read the things he’s actually interested in, to mull over his old ideas that he never thought were good enough. And most importantly, he had time to practice with his swords for as long as he wanted. No one would tell him that he had more important things to do, better things to focus on. This had suddenly become the most important part of his life. Hell, it was his job. 

He kind of wishes he was doing a better job at making friends, though. He’s been out with Fortune, and that was good. Daydreamer kind of has a mean girl who doesn’t care enough to get to know you vibe, and Pax hasn’t minded too much about that. The dude seems to have a lot going on that Pax doesn’t want to get involved with, especially after watching the footage of the guy blowing up like two full city blocks. Drama queen to the extreme. He thought he would get along with Catalyst, but she’d almost had the same aura at the start, an air about her that implied she was annoyed he was even there. 

And you know… that was chill. If she didn’t like him for whatever reason, he was cool with that. Maybe he’d stepped on some proverbial toes. Maybe she had another dude with swords she had pledged her undying loyalty to. But she kind of seemed like the cool kind, like if she thought he was alright other people would think it as well. 

Which is why he doesn’t tell her to fuck off, when she appraoches him in the training room. He lets her watch for a long moment, working through the last few moves he’d been thinking of. And when she finally speaks to him, he turns to look at her. He tries to paint his expression into something cool, something chill, with his wooden sword resting against his shoulder. 

“Uh,” He says, far less eloquent a start than he would have liked. “Sure. Yeah. What can I do for you?”