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INTRODUCING: ZELDA DARE VENTURA-WEXLER

{monica raymund, thirty-three, cis woman, she/her} || zelda dare ventura-wexler is a mutant with the ability of personal density manipulation. they’ve been in new york for fifteen years where they spend most of their time as an instructor of athletic studies at the xavier institute. when i think of them, i think of t-shirts with the sleeves cut off, pump-up jams blaring from boombox speakers, weekend calls to mom and dad, & always carrying an extra water bottle just in case. they are affiliated with the xavier institute.

He knows when he’s beat on the argument, and raises his hands with a grin on his face. “Hey! It’s not a knock on you, I’m just a hopeless klutz with a healing factor,” Will says, “Probably a miracle I haven’t tripped over something while we talked.” It was a miracle he got into football, with his whole disposition, and even as he grew into adulthood, he had never thought that aside from dancing, his coordination would get any better.

Stretching, Will rolls his shoulders back at the suggestion that he should run that drill with her again. “You got it, Coach.” He doesn’t know what else to do now. With that space shifting, it’s easier to focus on something that the two of them can do together. Dare and Will. Will and Dare. He doesn’t know how to deal with new definitions, but it’s something he’ll have to learn how to do. “Just go real easy on me. I think my arm’s still sore.”

Atticus wasn’t expecting to run into anyone else. It was supposed to be banned for students to be out and about at this hour, but Atticus had once been a student here and wouldn’t even be able to estimate how many times he had broken that particular rule. Seeing that it was Dare, his shoulders relaxed and he offered a grin “Hey” He said before shaking his head “Nah, as long as you don’t tell on me” Atticus held up the cigarette that he was holding. He walked over to where she was standing, and leaned the shed. Atticus lit his cigarette and took a long drag before turning his head to blow it out. “Need a light?”

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Ah, that’s right - Dare spots the cigarette right as he answers in the negative and matches his grin with a somewhat sheepish one of her own. “Pact of silence it is then.” When Atticus offers her a light, Dare looks down and pouts at the realization that hers has gone out. Though maybe that’s a good thing, better not to waste good bud by burning it while talking instead of smoking. She nods and extends her hand, wondering if he’s the type to use the lighter or his own cigarette to get it started. “You can hit it if you want, I shouldn’t finish it by myself anyway. Not on a school night.”

“You’re probably right. It’s my first real relationship, so I’m nervous about pretty much everything, except for the physical stuff,” she laughs. Going on random dates throughout the years definitely hasn’t prepared her for someone like Tiff. There are so many feelings involved, and she doesn’t want to make any mistakes or scare her away. Sex is easy, but navigating love is intimidatingly hard. “Just a little bit, but I don’t mind,” Hale says, grinning. “My sweetie is talking to a friend, so I was going to grab us some drinks. You want one?”

‘I’ve got you,’ Dare says, and Milo thoroughly and patently believes her. Trust has, for obvious reasons, been difficult for him in the wake of escaping Essex House — especially coming to Xavier’s, a place that promised a lot of the same things to him that Essex had. He’d believed those promises because he’d had no other choice.

Trusting Dare, though… that had been a careful, conscious choice. One she’s never let him regret, only nurtured over the past year and a half into the kind of relationship Milo wasn’t sure he’d be able to have again. She made him feel normal, and safe, and at home. Her hand on his back is the one thing he can focus on to pull him out of this spiral and, slowly but resolutely, his sobs ebb. Eventually, they quiet into sniffles. Milo wipes clumsily at his cheeks with the back of one hand, the other coming to settle on Dare’s knee, squeezing like it’s a lifeline — because right now, it is.

“That was so hard,” he finally whispers, shaking his head and swallowing thickly. “Dare- that was so fucking hard. I…” Milo takes a deep, shuddering breath, finally filling his aching lungs to capacity again. “I hated it,” he admits to the quiet of the room. As much as he wanted to put on a brave face, talk about how important it was that they did what they had to, Milo still just has to say: “I… I hated it.”

There’s a box of tissues on the end table, and Dare offers it to Milo without a word as soon as she remembers it’s there. Anything she has to say can wait, and wait she does, the hand on Milo’s back moving in small circles as he begins to catch his breath. What he says when he does start talking makes her want to cry herself; half for sympathy and half for pride at the anger she can hear in his voice. He deserves every bit of the hatred he’s feeling, and her hand moves to his shoulder to pull him closer in response.

He really didn’t expect any thanks for his work. Most of the time, if people just enjoyed the space, that was good enough for him. Getting the garden put back together was an act of goodwill on his part, and he was just glad that it was being recognized by even one other person but himself. “Thank you, I appreciate it. I’m just glad that it came back together so nicely, that’s all I really wanted.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” At least she hasn’t bombarded him with questions about the interview. Maybe she hadn’t even seen it. Doubtful, seeing as it seems like everyone in the world has at this point, but still nice to not have it be the first thing said to him. “I don’t mind the company. I just needed to not be out on the street for a bit, but I hate being inside for too long. The conversation is kind of nice.”

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“It’s amazing, seriously, you should be really proud of yourself.” Dare sweeps another look around at the greenery springing from buckets and raised beds and lands back on Lachlan’s face with a smile. She’s never really gotten the hang of plant care, attention always on something else, so the way he’s coaxed so much life into this space feels a little like magic to her.

The babe bit has him off guard, and it has him go red instinctively, as if his body’s proper reaction to the affection was acute embarrassment. There’s a hot flush on his face, and then, before it’s over, he bashfully looks at Dare, just a little. “I—” Was he going to ruin their friendship? Maybe. Probably. He feels sixteen again, the stuttering steps of a teenager, but maybe with his heart, he’d never learned to be otherwise.

“Sure, Dare,” he says, his grin muting itself just a little, looking at the space above her head, just so he doesn’t feel his ears heat up unnecessarily. “But if I crash into the walls, you’re not allowed to laugh at me!” Will bumps her a little, trying to get back into the ease of things. “And I’m picking you up, movie style. Sound good to you?”

Dare almost doesn't register the blush and when she does, she chalks it up to a combination of amusement and effort. Will's always been prone to flushed cheeks; it's cute and it's familiar and she thinks nothing of it as she bumps him back, communicating as much through touch as she has with words. It’s still me. This doesn’t have to change anything. You deserve to be happy. Let me give you that. All the things Dare can’t say out loud because she doesn’t know if Will is ready to hear them.

          @coachdare​​ !!

          “hey, coach,” she half-teases, offering a bright smile. “feel like a few rounds of HORSE?”

S. CROWE·:

She’ll admit it– being the only one out of her closest group of friends without any possible way to have a physical advantage during their games annoys the shit out of her sometimes. But luckily, what her ability denies her in the physicality, it makes up for with endless options for strategic advantage. While Dare steps up and picks her target, Stevie does her thing. She takes a good, long look at the remaining contestants– the blank expression of her ability really kicking it apparently doing it for two too many of them. Luckily, it doesn’t take long for her to find what she needs. Stevie throws an arm around both Mari and Blake, leaning into Mari’s ear to speak. 

“You cool if I take off-brand Carrot Top?” She asks, gesturing to the skinny one with a mop of red hair and a pervy smile. “He’s got a bum shoulder I would love to exploit.”

M. SANCHEZ​:

“All yours, doc,” Mari says with a small wave of her hand. That leaves her with the mother of all chads. Backwards hat, baggy jeans and all. He stands head and shoulders taller than her— but, so does everyone else —and looks like he expects to win. That is Mari’s favorite kind of opponent. Years of training had prepared her… well, not for this moment, but it didn’t hurt. “Guess it’s just you and me, Chady boy.” Her head turns to Blake before he can give her his real name. Not like she cares for it, anyway. “Alright, ring leader, count us off, why don’t you?”

@the-amazing-blake​·

“Alright!” Blake shouts over the general noise that’d started to rise again, gesturing down the line of four tall bar tables before she moves to stand behind her own. “We’re almost ready.” She points a finger at their crew, slowly sweeping through her options — her finger pauses on their esteemed leader, but Blake winks and moves on. Finally, she lands on someone nearly as stocky, even if it looks like he might crumble into ash for the hours he’s so obviously spent in the tanning booths. “You! C’mere.” Blake pats the table in front of her, and the man steps up with a smirk as he adjusts the sunglasses resting in his icing-tipped hair.

“We ready?” She addresses down the line, far more concerned with the responses of her own squad than the chads opposing them. As soon as she gets a nod from each of them, she clasps the sweaty mitt of the guy standing in front of her — yeah, his breath definitely smells like cheap beer — and calls out, “Go!”

Blake slams his hand down against the tabletop with zero pretense, so hard she can almost hear the bones in his knuckles crack. Destroying his masculinity seems a lot more fun than toying with it, so she immediately laughs in his face to boot. “Looks like it’s back to the gym for you, bro!”

@coachdare​

Dare watches her friends pair off and square off against the douchebros with a hint of pride; she knows they're not losing this, but the way they work together as a team is a big part of what makes hanging out with these three so much fun. At Blake's direction she takes her place across from Mr. Muscle and flashes him an almost innocent smile.

 "You ready to lose to a girl, big guy?" she taunts, knowing all too well exactly how he'll respond. Sure enough, he strips out of his jacket and flexes his massive biceps as he sets one elbow on the table, and Dare has to fight the urge to laugh. She doesn't bother with posturing, just plants her own arm in position and wraps her fingers around the base of his thumb - he'll find out what he's up against soon enough. The moment she hears "Go!", Dare meets Mr. Muscle's forceful grip with an arm like stainless steel. It's second nature by now to add mass exactly where she needs it, to pad the tendons in her elbow and shoulder so the extra weight doesn't strain them too hard. There's no trace of effort on Dare's face even as he starts to strain, veins bulging, in a futile attempt to gain some ground.

There's cheers and groans from down the crowd they’ve accumulated as Blake obliterates her own opponent, a guy Dare’s nicknamed Beef Jerk-y. She doesn't have to look to know exactly how that match ended. Instead Dare keeps her eyes trained on the man across from her and begins to force his hand back an inch at a time, buzzed just as much on his bewildered and embarrassed expression as she is on the whiskey.

He loses - and she wins - in slow motion. Once she's pressed the back of his hand to the sticky tabletop Dare wipes the sweat from her hand with the nearest napkin and offers him a sportsmanlike handshake. "Hey, I'm sure you did your best.”

Will blinks and simply nods; while he’s extremely grateful about the new facts that he’s given, he just thinks that running himself ragged is something that he needs to do. As penance? As a quirk? As the reminder that he’s still alive? Well, maybe all three, but he’s going to take that to his mandatory therapy sessions. “Are you saying my calves look bad?” He clutches his chest in dismay, in horror! “Words hurt, Z!”

Wiping a pretend tear from his face, he rolls his eyes and relents. “But fine. You’re definitely super not wrong, so what d’you want me to do? Relax?” Will shakes his head, “I don’t think I can even remember how to anymore. You got any tips? You gonna take me out on the town like a debutante?”

As Will’s facial expressions grow more and more exaggerated, Dare’s concern gives way fully to amusement, until he gets to the word debutante and she laughs out loud at the mental image it conjures. “Is that an invitation to show you a good time? Babe, I’ll paint the town red with you any day, just say the word.”

“I hope so. I’m kind of nervous about giving it to them, actually.” Logically, Hale knows that Tiff would never reject anything from her, but that isn’t enough to stop the mild anxiety. She makes sure her purse is securely zipped, then glances at the stranger, noticing her slightly flushed cheeks. Giving her a knowing smile, she takes her hand and shakes it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dare. I’m Hale, and I don’t usually leave a trail of silver jewellery behind me,” she jokes.

Dare scoops him up like it’s nothing, and the comfort in the gesture far outweighs Milo’s surprise. It makes him think of his mom carrying to bed when he’d fall asleep watching TV, or his dad carrying him when he six and had a really bad flu — comparisons that might’ve stung more a month ago, but as it is now, they remind him of the simple fact that Dare is family. Dare is safe, and she can be trusted. Not new information, not by a long shot, just important to remember when Milo is feeling so uncategorically unsafe and raw.

His legs wobble slightly when she sets him down again, but he manages to keep them under him until they make it to the old, slightly threadbare couch that’s way more comfortable than it has any right to be for its years. Milo can’t decide if he wants to pace or he wants to sit, finally able to release hours’ worth of panicked energy but no idea what to do with it. Scream? Hit something? Maybe he should’ve asked to go to one of the training rooms, but… violence was never an outlet for Milo, not really.

He strips out of his suit coat like he can’t get it off fast enough, tossing it unceremoniously over the back of the couch before he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt — to help him breathe, but now it just reminds Milo of the fact he’d unbuttoned all of them on national television. He’d shown the entire world his scars, and despite knowing it was the good and important thing to do, he has a rare flash of anger that he had to do it at all.

Milo sinks onto the couch, leaning heavily against Dare even if he can’t look at her just yet. He nods a bit numbly when she says they don’t have to talk, because he hasn’t decided if he wants to or not. If he even can. It feels like he’s done enough talking for a lifetime, the past few hours. Certainly the most he’s talked about Essex to anyone who wasn’t in his suite of therapists.

Milo nods again, swallowing hard, and as he leans that much more heavily into Dare’s side, he plants his elbows on his knees, buries his face in his hands, and finally starts to sob — raw, painful sounds that tear through him with all the force of the trauma he’s forced himself to relive over the past few hours.

Milo doesn’t say anything and neither does Dare. For a moment everything is quiet as they settle onto the couch, but as she moves to wrap an arm around his shoulders Milo takes a shaky breath and lets out a guttural sob. There’s nothing she can say that will help so Dare simply lets her palm rest against Milo’s back with a little extra weight she knows will help ground him. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, more for the vibration of her voice where he’s leaning against her than for the words themselves. “You’re okay, Milo. I’ve got you.”

“Glad you think so,” Lachlan comments, a hint of pride in his voice. He worked hard to make the place comfortable and bright — a little patch of greenery surrounded by all the concrete. It was the one thing he missed about living upstate. “It was a labor of love to get it back from all the weeds to begin with, it’s nice to know someone other than me appreciates it.” Though, he would like it if more than just the two of them appreciated it. Eventually. For now, the quiet was welcome. “Honestly, I’m okay with that lately. It’s nice to have somewhere quiet to just sit and think that isn’t my apartment.”

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There’s something more than plain appreciation in his tone, and suddenly Dare recalls an elevator conversation with Billie about “that nice young man” who’d just moved in and was taking an interest in the rooftop garden. Sure enough, the next thing out of Lachlan’s mouth confirms it, and Dare’s lips twitch into a smile. “You’re the one who did all this? I should thank you - we all should, really, it’s absolutely gorgeous up here.”

At the mention of it being a quiet space, Dare nods sympathetically. She’s kept her little efficiency apartment here despite technically living at the Xavier Institute for much the same reason; it’s nice to be able to step away from the rest of her life when she needs to. “I know what you mean, and please don’t let me ruin it by talking your ear off.” There’s so much she wants to say to him - she owes him a ‘thank you’ for more than just the garden, after all - but it can wait.

“Oh, thank you!” Hale says as she turns around, giving the woman a grateful smile. She takes the necklace from her and slips it into her purse. It’s a gift for Tiff, and losing it really would’ve sucked. “It’s a good thing you spotted it. I’d have looked really dumb later when there was no gift to hand over,” she laughed. “Thank you, again.”

He didn’t know why he asked, he figures he probably should have just come back later. But, he didn’t want to sit in silence in his apartment anymore, and the rooftop was the next best thing seeing as he didn’t really have to leave the building for it. And, he knew this person’s face. He’s seen her in the hallway a few times, and even on the roof. At least she was friendly enough to allow him space to sit, even if they hadn’t shared more than a passing wave in the halls. 

He settles into the seat across from her, sinking into it as he did, and tried not to make direct eye contact. He figured that would only make the situation more awkward than it needed to be, and all he needed was a few moments of calm so he could clear his head. Then he would be on his way. 

Her voice brings his attention back to her, and for a small moment, he’s caught off guard. They were neighbors, of course, so small talk was to be expected, but hopefully he hasn’t pushed the need to share even small passing conversation with him. 

“Lachlan,” He greets. There’s another beat of silence before he continues, “I’ve seen you up here before. I didn’t think anyone else spent all that much time up here other than me.”

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“Great to finally meet you, Lachlan.”

Dare figures if his reason for being here is anything like hers, he’s probably not feeling particularly talkative. Still, it feels odd not to respond when he comments on having seen her before, so she offers a smile along with her confirmation. “It’s pretty great - I’m honestly surprised it’s so quiet most of the time, but maybe the rest of them just don’t know what’s up here.”

“I’d believe you, but I can’t exactly feel low-intensity training on my muscles.” Will’s been running himself ragged, trying to get hardier, be stronger, try not to die all over again. He’s even trying to outpace his healing factor to some degree, all of which has him on the backburner for a good half hour, a good signifier that he’s done some good workouts for the day.

“And I think I should fear them both, Z,” he jokes, laughing to try and get her up there more. He can’t stand the looks. Especially from the handful of people he has left. He can’t break. He’s not glass. “Because their calves are gonna look sick as hell from kicking air! And, I mean, Bruce Lee did beat up all those bad guys in that movie, so you might have a point there. How can I prove you wrong?”

“That would be a problem if drills were about what you can feel.” Dare grins, letting her worries slip a little further from the front of her mind as she puts on her instructional voice. “The point is to train your muscles to move a specific way - the more you practice a specific movement, the easier it becomes. Muscle memory develops even when you’re not ‘feeling the burn’, and skill goes a lot farther than raw power.”

Three simple words, ‘I got you,’ but three words he trusts implicitly coming from Dare. Milo’s been trying to hold in so much of this torrent of emotions for so long that he can feel his resolve cracking piece by piece, and now that he doesn’t have several cameras trained on him, he wants to let it. He sinks into Dare’s arms and in the same movement tightens his hold, some distant part of him relieved to know that he can hug her as tightly as he needs to and he can’t hurt her.

Unfortunately, an absence of cameras doesn’t mean an absence of people. Milo can hear a couple of murmurs from the top of the stairs, quickly trying to blink the sheen of tears from his eyes as he forces his emotions back into the same small bottle they’ve been struggling against for years. “Can we-” Milo takes a stuttering breath, his arms briefly tightening around Dare one more time before he ( very reluctantly ) starts to let go. “Can we go somewhere? … please?”

When she hears voices, Dare glances up to the landing and furrows her brow at the handful of students beginning to gather at the banister. It’s not a glare, precisely, but it’s unusual enough on her customarily cheerful face to be understood; the smarter ones herd the more insistently curious back to whatever they had been doing, and Dare’s palm slowly comes to a stop on Milo’s back as he begins to speak.

“’Course we can, yeah.” When Milo’s hold begins to loosen, Dare listens to the impulsive voice in her head and with one arm still around his torso, slips the other behind his knees and sweeps him up into an effortless princess hold - the same way her older brother had carried her home every time she twisted an ankle or skinned her knee.

Getting up the stairs is no trouble even with a slightly gangly adult in her arms, and Dare doesn’t set Milo down until they’ve reached the staff wing of the dorms on the third floor. There’s a communal lounge that looks out over the lake, with a comfortably worn couch they’ve curled up on before, so that’s where Dare leads them once Milo’s got his feet back under him.