Dagger Axston

Not unusual in itself. People stopped for all kinds of reasons in the Broken City. Strange architecture. Passing dragons. Arguments that looked like they might become somebody else's problem.

A teal-skinned fae, however, was admittedly less common.

His gaze followed the same figure for a moment before settling on the man who seemed equally distracted by them.

"Dangerous habit."

The words arrived without warning but without hostility, delivered in the same tone someone might use to comment on the weather.

Evander slowed to a stop nearby, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. The evening air was cool enough to be pleasant, carrying the scent of damp earth from the Bayou and woodsmoke from somewhere deeper in the city.

"Staring, I mean," he clarified after a beat, a faint curve appearing at the corner of his mouth. "People either think you're interested in them or planning to rob them. Sometimes both."

His gaze drifted briefly back toward the departing fae.

"Though in your defense, they're probably used to it by now."

He shifted his weight, posture relaxed and easy despite the fact that he recognized the face. Not personally. Just enough.

Dagger.

"You look like you're trying to decide whether to keep walking or follow them," Evander observed. "I'm curious which one wins."

"What? No, I'm not going to follow them." Dagger stated with the slightest bit of shock at the suggestion. "I'm not interested in them or going to rob them either." He added quickly, remembering the earlier remark. "What are you doing on this side of town anyway?" He quickly asked, if only so he would quit making a fool of himself.

Once. Twice. Then the entire building went dark with a low electrical groan.

The cashier swore somewhere behind the counter.

“Fantastic,” Anastasia muttered, holding the chips up toward the dead fluorescents. “Very dramatic. Ten out of ten haunted grocery experience.”

Outside, thunder rolled low over the Broken City, close enough to rattle the windows. The storm had come in fast — thick clouds, sharp wind, the kind of air that made every instinct in her spine sit upright.

And then the emergency backup lights kicked on red.

Not comforting. Never comforting.

Stasia slowly lowered the chips.

“…Okay, now it feels like beginning of horror movie.”

A crash sounded somewhere deeper in the store.

Not human. Too heavy.

The few people inside froze. One woman gasped. Someone dropped a basket.

Anastasia sighed through her nose like the universe had personally inconvenienced her.

“Of course,” she said softly. “Because God forbid I buy snacks in peace.”

She shoved the chips into her jacket pocket without paying for them — priorities — then turned toward the darkened aisle, already rolling her shoulders loose.

“Anybody back there planning to eat civilians,” she called out calmly, accent curling through the words, “this is your warning to reconsider lifestyle choices.”

Another thud answered her.

Stasia’s expression flattened.

“Mm. Bad listener.”

She reached behind her back, drawing a knife in one smooth motion as she started forward through the red-lit aisles.

Then, sensing someone else nearby, she glanced sideways without slowing.

“You armed,” she asked casually, “or are you about to become emotional support?”

He leaned back against the brick wall beside the shopfront, sleeves shoved to his forearms, damp curls sticking slightly at his temples from where he’d clearly lost the race against the weather too.

The smell of rain against hot pavement rolled through the street sharp and earthy, mixing with old stone and whatever somebody nearby was burning for heat.

Dawson glanced sideways at Dagger, catching the upward look toward the sky.

“Honestly? I forgot weather used to happen normally.” A corner of his mouth twitched faintly. “Kinda thought the universe just rotated between apocalypse haze and supernatural bullshit now.”

Thunder rumbled somewhere far off.

He looked out toward the flooding street, watching people scramble under awnings and into doorways like startled animals.

“…City feels different when it rains,” he said after a moment, quieter this time. “Like everybody remembers it’s alive again for a second.”

Then, with a sideways glance back toward him:

“You got somewhere to be, or are we both just pretending we had plans before the sky started falling?”

A gentle thunder rolled overhead and he turned to look the man over. "Can't say I do." He admitted. "Pretty sure I was in the middle of the exact opposite - avoiding things I probably should have been doing in favor of aimless wandering."

he let dagger work through it—the half-formed logic, the frustration of trying to pin something down that refused to stay still—watching with the same quiet patience he gave most things that were… almost there.

“you’re not wrong,” he said finally, voice even, grounding rather than correcting. “it shouldn’t just happen.”

his gaze shifted back to the rain, tracking the rhythm of it against the pavement like it might reveal something if he watched long enough.

“weather follows systems,” he continued. “pressure, temperature, movement. cause and effect. even here, those rules don’t disappear—they just… get interrupted.”

a slight pause, his brow tightening almost imperceptibly.

“this doesn’t feel like interruption,” he added. “it feels like reintroduction.”

his attention flicked back to dagger then, sharper now but not unkind.

“which means something allowed it. or needed it.”

he adjusted his sleeve again, more out of habit than necessity, eyes drifting to the edge of the street where water was beginning to pool in uneven patterns.

“you’ve been in your head,” he acknowledged, quieter this time. “fair. most people are. but the ‘minor’ memos tend to be where the early warnings live.”

not a reprimand. just truth.

a beat.

“storms like this don’t arrive without context,” he went on. “and in a place held together by unstable magic and borrowed reality…” his gaze lifted briefly to the sky, then back down, “context usually means someone—or something—is testing the boundaries.”

he let that settle for a second before his tone shifted, just slightly.

less clinical. more direct.

“so the question isn’t whether it’s natural,” grayson said. “it’s whether it’s controlled.”

his eyes met dagger’s again.

“and whether we’re meant to notice.”

"I don't know." He muttered after a few moments. "This storm doesn't feel as... charged, as the one conjured up by the High Lord. It feels almost normal, but I don't know whether that's more comforting or unsettling." He explained. "I'm sure there are other fae that can manipulate the weather with their magics, but something is just shouting at me that this is just rain."

“yeah, that tracks,” she said. “give people five minutes and someone’s lighting candles and calling it a prophecy.”

her gaze drifted down the street, where puddles were already spreading across the cracked pavement, catching the glow from the lanterns in shaky reflections. when he mentioned sirens, something in her expression shifted—small, but real.

“sirens used to mean someone was on their way,” she said, almost absently. “now half the time it’s just… silence.”

she rubbed the back of her thumb against the inside of her wrist without thinking, the movement brief before her hand dropped again.

“i get the not knowing part,” tonia added after a moment, glancing back at him. “used to be chaos still had rules. fires spread a certain way. storms built before they broke. you could read the signs if you knew what to look for.”

she tipped her head toward the rain.

“this?” a small shrug followed. “this just shows up when it feels like it.”

for a second she just watched the water hit the street, then she gave him a sideways look, faintly amused again.

“but honestly? i’ll take unpredictable weather over unpredictable people.” a beat. “storms don’t lie about what they’re doing.”

"Yeah, storms are pretty telling. Even that freak storm last year only had one thing on its agenda - causing damages wherever it could." Dagger remarked. The High Lord's storm wasn't something so easily forgotten, even months after the fact. A testament to his stepmother's folly that day. "People can lie. Storms don't get that luxury."

“Old athlete is generous,” she said, glancing back out at the rain as it battered the sidewalk. “Feels more like it’s flexing for no reason. Like, we get it. You’re still dramatic.”

When he introduced himself, she tipped her head slightly, rainlight catching in her lashes. “Indi,” she returned, simple. No flourish. No last name.

The bookstore comment earned a faint lift of her brow. “You don’t melt easy, huh? Good. I hate dragging puddles of regret down the sidewalk.”

Thunder rolled somewhere in the distance, low and unimpressed.

She pushed off the brick, stepping just to the edge of the awning, testing the rain with her hand like she was negotiating terms. “It’s only a block. Worst case scenario, we look like we made questionable life choices for about ninety seconds.”

A beat. Then, softer:

“Plus the cat’s brutal. If it approves of you, that’s basically character clearance in this district.”

She glanced sideways at him, that crooked almost-smile back in place.

“C’mon, Dagger. Let’s go see if you survive the audit.”

"Well, if the cat's judgment is so important, I'll be sure to make a good impression then." He remarked as stepped up to the edge of the awning's protective cover. With a nod, he stepped out into the spray of droplets - the chill they carried with them bringing an involuntary shiver down his spine.

Not wary. Just assessing. Instinct before manners.

Then he shifted his weight and took it—firm grip, brief, knuckles rough and calloused. No unnecessary squeeze. No dominance game. Just acknowledgment.

“Sin,” he replied. Not Easton. Not tonight.

Rain drummed harder against the awning, bouncing off the sidewalk in quick silver bursts. He glanced toward the gym again, then back at Dagger with the faintest tilt of his head.

“Free schedules are dangerous,” he said, starting down the sidewalk without checking whether Dagger followed—just trusting he would. “Mind wanders. You start volunteering for things you don’t actually care about.”

His boots cut through shallow puddles like they weren’t there.

“And yeah,” he added after a second, voice quieter but steady, “storm’s still got teeth. Fog, rain—city likes to remind you it’s bigger than whatever you’ve got planned.”

They reached the gym’s side door. Easton pulled a key from his pocket, worked the lock without flourish, and pushed it open. Warm air and the faint scent of old canvas and cleaning solution drifted out.

“Coffee’s terrible,” he warned, stepping inside and holding the door with his shoulder. “But it’s dry. And nobody in here’s gonna ask you what you’re doing with your life.”

A beat.

“That alone’s worth a cup.”

"Ask any of my friends - " His whole, singular friend he had left these days, " - and they'll tell you that I am the absolute worst at having free time. It's like I'm allergic to it, but my first instinct is to fill it with more work rather than 'fun'." Dagger explained with a shake of his head. Footfalls carried him alongside the other until they reached the gym's door. As Sin opened it up, Dagger gave one last look behind them before stepping inside.

"That's a relief. I wouldn't have an answer to give them these days." Dagger remarked back. "That's worth a whole pot." He corrected.

“Normalizing,” he echoed quietly. “That’s one way to put it.” His gaze tipped back to the street, the puddles knitting themselves into brighter mirrors. “Feels more like the city’s testing whether it’s allowed to be ordinary again. Like it’s poking the edges to see what sticks.”

At the idea of the place taking personal offense, his mouth curved just a fraction. “Yeah. It’s got that energy. You try to map it, it redraws itself out of spite.” A beat. “Keeps people honest. Or tired. Depends on the day.”

He shifted his weight, rain misting the air between them, and followed Dagger’s gesture with a glance to the open street. “Recommendations?” Joey considered it like he might a route through bad weather. “There’s a café two blocks that pretends to be dry. Leaks around the windows, but the back booths are safe if you don’t mind the smell of burnt espresso.” A pause. “Or we wait it out here and see if the city gets bored of proving a point.”

His eyes tracked the rain a moment longer before returning to Dagger, easy, unpressured. “Either way works. I’m not in a hurry to be anywhere. Weather like this tends to make its own plans.”

"I shouldn't complain, really. I mean, it wasn't that long ago I was complaining about the New Orleans weather just the same. Maybe one of those Courts we're connected to has a better climate. I'll have to take a look one day." He mused quietly. "You taken the leap of faith and ventured beyond this city?"

He slowed, not crowding the space, shoulders settling as the downpour thickened the air with that clean, wet smell that never quite erased the city’s underlying smoke and oil. Water slicked the street into mirrors, lanternlight wobbling in the puddles like the city was remembering how to look at itself.

“Yeah,” he said, glancing up at the sky with a faint, incredulous huff. “Weather showing back up feels personal. Like the city finally remembered one more way to be inconvenient.”

He tugged his sleeves down the rest of the way, then leaned lightly against the brick beside Dagger, keeping a respectful bit of space between them. No urgency in his posture—just another person waiting out a moment.

“Falls District has a habit of surprising people who think they’ve got the variables mapped,” Joey added, eyes tracking the rain as it stitched silver lines through the air. “You get used to patterns. Then the place decides to change the rules for fun.”

A beat. The street hummed around them—footsteps, rain on metal, a door opening somewhere down the block.

“Looks like the day made the decision for you,” he said, nodding toward the sudden weather. “You riding it out here, or making a run for whatever passes for dry these days?”

"I think that's a habit this entire city's started indulging in. If you ask me, this city's taken personal offense to anyone wanting to understand how things work around here these days." Dagger stated and gave a small smile to the man.

"Honestly hadn't decided yet. Got any recommendations?" He questioned and held a hand out from beneath the safety of the awning; letting the cold droplets sprinkle over his hand.

she leaned back against the old brick, close enough to share the shelter but not crowding it. her eyes tracked the puddles forming, the warped reflections of lanternlight trembling in the water. “i kinda missed it,” she admitted after a second. “thunderstorms were my favorite back home. felt honest. loud when they needed to be.” a small pause. “city’s been stuck for too long. sky included.” her gaze slid sideways to him, assessing without being invasive. “rain’s inconvenient. but at least it’s movement.” she tugged her sleeve down, covering the faint glimpse of roman numerals inked along her wrist. “you sound disappointed,” tonia added lightly. “what, you had a picnic planned?”

"Honestly, I have to. Just little things like a thunderstorm or the sound of the sirens wailing in the distance when the fire department or police were answering a call. This new 'broken' city is just... quiet in all the wrong ways." He frowned. He shot a glance at the ink upon her wrist - a casual motion made by a soldier simply taking in details of his surroundings - yet, her question was what he focused on. "Nah, not disappointed. Not really. Guess I'm just kind of tired of not knowing what to expect these days?" He admitted.

his gaze drifted to the puddles gathering along the street, watching the way the reflections fractured with each drop. candlelight bending. lamp glow distorting. “barometric shifts have been erratic since the last surge,” he added, almost absently. “the ley lines don’t just destabilize magic. they interfere with pressure gradients.” a faint glance toward dagger. “triad logged atmospheric anomalies three days ago. you didn’t read that memo.”

not accusatory. just fact. he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, eyes narrowing slightly as thunder rolled somewhere distant—low, almost swallowed by the city. “the interesting question isn’t whether it can rain,” grayson continued. “it’s why now.” a beat. softer. “weather doesn’t return without permission in a place like this.” his eyes tracked the street again, calculating rather than unsettled. “if you had plans,” he added, tone dry, “i’d postpone them. sudden variables tend to precede deliberate ones.” then, almost as an afterthought— “unless you enjoy standing in storms that don’t belong to nature.”

Grayson's words earned a furrowed brow in response. "You mean the storm's not natural? I mean... obviously, we aren't really anywhere, right? Not really 'real', but we are." He shook his head as he just confused himself. "I mean, weather shouldn't just happen normally from us or just drift through this Veil to us when it connects to who knows how many places." He tried a different assortment of words.

“Right?” he said, tilting his head up to watch the rain sheet down the glass. “Feels rude, honestly. Like the city waited until everyone relaxed and then went, surprise—still alive.”

He leaned back against the brick, shoulders easy, eyes tracking the way puddles caught the lamplight and turned it into warped little constellations. There was something about rain in the Falls District—made everything feel quieter without actually being quiet.

“Free day gets hijacked by weather,” Indigo added, glancing over at Dagger with a faint, crooked smile. “That’s either terrible timing… or the universe telling you to stop trying to plan things for five minutes.”

A beat. The rain drummed harder.

“Awning’s a temporary truce,” he said. “But if you’re not married to the idea of getting soaked, there’s a dry bookstore down the block with a cat that judges your life choices. Could be worse ways to spend an afternoon.”

"Dry bookstore and a judgmental cat? Well, now how am I supposed to say no to something like that?" He offered the woman a small, albeit awkward smile. "Name's Dagger. I think I can avoid melting long enough to find this bookstore if you're game." He mused lightly.

“City lies,” he said, voice low, eyes on the street as rain stitched silver lines across the Falls District. “Acts like it’s done with storms. Never is.”

He rolled his sleeves down, more out of habit than cold, then glanced sideways at Dagger. The jacket, the half-roll like he’d been halfway between plans and none at all. Easton caught the smell of wet concrete, oil, ozone. Familiar.

“You got that look,” he added. “Like you were about to go somewhere you didn’t actually want to be.”

A bus hissed past, tires carving through puddles. Easton shifted his weight, chain at his throat darkening with rain.

“If you’re killing time,” he said, nodding down the block where a shuttered boxing gym glowed dim behind rain-streaked windows, “there’s dry floor and bad coffee two doors over. Storms don’t move fast here. They just pretend to.”

"I'm down if you are. I'm Dagger." He offered a hand and nodded. "Yeah, even before the fog storms had a way of just lingering in the city. Seems that's still true. At least some things stay the same, right?" He shrugged softly.

“It sneaks up on you,” he said. “That quiet. Once you notice it, it’s hard not to chase.”

At the question, he didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushed off gently, matching Dagger’s slow slide without crowding him, skates whispering in parallel. He kept the pace deliberately forgiving—room to think, room to talk.

“I play,” Evander said finally, easy. “Professionally. Center.” A beat, then lighter, “But this part? This is just for me.”

He glanced over, catching the way Dagger was still watching him, still measuring balance and proximity at the same time. He didn’t comment on it—just stayed steady.

“I grew up somewhere colder,” he went on, tone calm, conversational. “Ice was normal. Silence too. When things got loud—” he shrugged slightly, a small, economical movement, “—this was where I went.”

They rounded the curve together, Evander adjusting subtly so the turn stayed smooth. No hands this time. Just presence.

“And you?” he asked, not pressing, just opening the door. “You don’t move like someone who spends much time standing still. Even when you’re trying.”

His smile faltered when the question was offered back onto him. "I -" Dagger started and turned his gaze forward along their course. Letting a small breath, he shook his head slowly; lips curling from awkward smile into quiet frown. "I'm not used to really staying in one area for an extended period of time. I wasn't a military brat, but... it was close enough at times." He explained and finally brought his gaze back to the man at his side.

"My name's Dagger Axston." He offered his last name now. "My father is the CEO of Triad Industries. I'm sure you've heard everything the news reporters and web articles were saying about us before the fog rolled in." He swallowed and redirected his gliding towards the railing perimeter of the rink to come to a stop - as if the weight of the conversation had weighed down the quiet weightlessness of skating. "I moved whenever my father relocated. Never really settled anywhere enough to call it a 'home'." There wasn't any reason to lie to the man. Besides, it wasn't like word wouldn't have eventually reached him about who Dagger was had he tried to hide it. The Broken City was only so large.