fidus Achates (p)

fidus Achates —

— — (n.) a faithful friend or follower

DODGER BEX

^{imagine my surprise, to see a girl with such fire in her eyes.}

She’d really felt that her life was getting at least a small bit better. After her downfall at the crux of her career, she has been nothing but slammed with the worst rep a fresh hero-trainee could get. Innocent blood on her hands drove off every chance she could get at an internship. There’s little places to get to when half the country wants you convicted, the other half too scared of your power to say anything. So when a local Pro offered her a job, with the promise of getting some notches in her belt where it could count, she was quick to jump on the ball. It was a great start. The Pro was close with some of the top in the country, even the world, so media coverage was all over. Her face was right beside her employer’s whenever a magazine or newspaper chose to showcase their agency. The things people were saying got better, less and less was she known as “that kid from the inner city bust”. Now she’s “that kid from the agency”. It was better. It was nicer.

”And this, I’m sure you know, is Dodger. She’ll be your personal guard, for the evening. It may reassure you that I mention she’s my Primary.”

She idles herself by tugging at the sleeves of her blazer. Even for a security detail, her benefactor barked at her about “looking the part”, proceeding to drag her into several different stores to try something on that may aid her otherwise common unruliness in appearances. It was a big deal, getting to go to these events. Not that she’d particularly know. After what happened… It was unlikely she’d ever get an opportunity like this again. So her adviser gave her a quick slap on her back and told her to straighten up. Dresses definitely weren’t going to fit the bill. Not only for personal preferences, but also keeping in mind what her job in fact detailed. At some point, they’d settled on a simple, well tailored suit. Sleek black jacket over a white button down, tucked into black slacks. There was a silver embroidery pattern on the shirt collar that matched the lapels of the blazer and side seam of her pants. Heels were inevitable and unavoidable, her superior practically holding her down and forcing them onto her feet. She felt uncomfortable, clumsy, and ridiculous, but at least the bargain paid off in the end. Her boss was eyeing a particularly bright red dress, with a split up to the upper thigh. Definitely a better compromise.

Six hours. It took six full hours to prepare for this night. She was educated on the fine mannerisms of speaking and greeting guests, of walking with a proper poise to her back while toeing around on five inch stilettos, of how to detect suspicious actions in people and how to tell when some of them had a bit too much to drink. Two hours in, she was given a thick binder of names and head shots of those who may be in attendance, only to be whisked away another two hours later to be given a rundown of the ins and outs of the building. Blueprint reviews, security panel locations and codes. If she hadn’t been assured of the severity of the mission, she would have made a quip about how her superiors seemed a bit too knowledgeable on the finer details of this assignment. Of course she knows, she muses with a sigh, it’s one of her closest partners’ event.

The banquet was, as Dodger had been informed, extremely important. She was aware of that fact without being told. Everyone knew it. Scoring an internship with a hero meant you’d need the right connections. Parties like these, especially ones hosted by the big shot heroes like the Alfords, offered the perfect opportunity to make a connection and to score a deal with one or more hero agency. Without that kind of support, you could kiss goodbye to any dreams of making it big. A bittersweet thought, for someone like her.

She frowns when the sleeve of her suit jacket doesn’t straighten after tugging on it again and again. At some point she grumbles and drops her arm, lifting her gaze back up. There’s a few others beside her, getting a more brief introduction than she did. They were only here for simple security measures, like watching doors, eyeing guests, and standing there to look intimidating and give their organization a good name. Dodger, however lucky she may be, was assigned to something more… personal.

Yes, life was surely going to be a bit better. In fact, it was great right now.

”I’ll leave you two to catch up. Dodger,” there’s a pause and she waits for eye contact before continuing. ”Mind your manners. I won’t let you jeopardize this opportunity, for either of us, on some high school vendetta. You’re a Primary tonight, my Primary. Act like it.” There’s a stress in her words, and then she’s gone, leaving the two of them alone.

Sam Alford. She’d laugh now if her supervisor wasn’t keeping such a threatening hand at the small of her back. It's been years since she’d last seen his face in person. Even less to be practically two feet from his face. There’s an inkling of fire in her that’s whispering sweet nothings in her ear. The most prominent thought takes the forefront, a crude and blunt, I could easily knock his teeth in at this distance. She tries her hardest to avoid acting on that thought, because what a brilliant one it was. She didn’t hold a personal grudge against him as much as the next person from her past, but getting a solid punch on the prodigal son of the Alford’s is a chance she’s upset to let slip by. She sweeps her gaze away from the woman leaving to scan the boy from head to toes. He’s taller now, a startling observation given she's up a solid four inches with her heels, and he seems to fill out his own suit quite well. There’s a broadness to his shoulders that’s unfamiliar to her. It’d be easier to say it’s intimidating, but she’d never admit it. Nothing was going to scare her, especially not Sam Alford of all things. Dodger purses her lips, before breaking out into her staple wolfish grin, voice thick with a sneer.

”Looks like I’m yours for the night, Princess.”

DODGER BEX

^{imagine my surprise, to see a girl with such fire in her eyes.}

His eyes sweep over her, and for a short moment she wants to snap at him for looking like he doesn’t remember her. How could he not? If not for the short match ups they’d experienced in their early school years, then for the very accident that drove a rift between her and the class. But, before she can comment on it, he seems to blink away that unfamiliarity and stares at her with a new expression. One that unsettles her more than the first for the sole reason that she can’t tell what it is. It’s somewhere between his initial confusion and fondness. It's extraordinarily frustrating to see. Then he’s frowning at her comment, turning away before she can study his face further.

”Tonight is already going to be a pain, so don't add to it. Just play the part of some security detail for the night and then we can move on, alright?”

So that's it? She snorts, rolling her eyes dramatically. Not even a ‘good to see you’? To think I'm the one being snipped at over manners. She muses, watching the back of his head. She hates to admit that he’s right. There’s a lot riding on this night, and she’s got more responsibilities than she has fingers to count them on. As a Primary, her significance tonight could be likened to an intern. She was the face of her benefactor, the prime candidate if someone was interested in their agencies services, but also the sole one responsible for any and all issues for the night. She ruffles a hand through her pink hair, the left side pinned back behind her ear to expose the comm, winding from the earpiece inside to cuff around the outer shell of her ear. She pushes back her bangs, only for them to fall in her face again, and bites on her lip to stop a grimace. If not for the sake of her own reputation, then for her superior. She didn’t deserve the humiliation of having one of her own — her Primary — getting into a fight at the Alford’s exclusive banquet. Although maybe it'd make headlines, she wasn't sure it'd be the type of media she really wanted. Dodger had the slightest decency to give the woman that much respect to her name.

That doesn’t mean she can’t enjoy herself even a little bit.

”Two years,” she says with a short sigh, shaking her head. It sounds a bit like a laugh, looks like it by the way her shoulders shake for a few moments. ”Two years and you still can’t take a joke.” There’s no venom in her words, rather a slight disbelief to her tone. She lifts her hand, popping open the top button of her dress shirt so it’s no longer biting into her neck, before crossing them across her chest. She's glad she's taller now, so she doesn't have to directly crane her neck up to shoot him a glare. ”It’s a party, Princess,” she says the nickname again, this time purposefully stressing each syllable, ”you can let loose. What happened to the Sam Alford that was all punch first, ask later?” It sounds like a rhetorical question, but her eyebrows are raised as if she meant it. She doesn’t exactly know if there ever was a time Sam didn’t act this uptight, especially following the incident, but she couldn’t possibly let herself be stuck with his sour mood the whole night. Is everyone as high strung as him these days? She can’t imagine where the rest of the class ended up if this was the expectation of a future Pro. It suddenly becomes clear that one of Dodger's new objectives of the night was to get Sam to break out of his shell, if even a tiny bit.

She brushes past him, walking towards the direction of the main party where most of the guests have begun to gather. The banquet hall is large, they're standing just off in the lobby that leads into the main reception hall. The crystal chandelier hanging at the center of the room is three stories high, every level open to view the middle and see the center piece, and she imagines the price of it could pay off her rent for the next three lifetimes. There’s an idle chatter that fills the air, just a bit over the music from the live performers, some vaguely familiar shapes that she think she remembers seeing online and over social media. Seriously, how could Sam ever possibly see this as a pain? Anyone would kill to simply be standing in the presence of some of the faces gathered here, and some morbid part of Dodger's conscience reminds her that she technically almost has. It's a tragic irony that she doesn't want to even try to acknowledge. ”Besides,” she looks over her shoulder at him, ”I would never agree to be security without some kind of ulterior motive. Someone's gotta watch out for my own future, so you just go ahead and worry that pretty little head of yours as much as you want, yeah?” There's another short laugh before she's motioning for him to follow her. "Now don't be a buzzkill and come mingle."

DODGER BEX

^{imagine my surprise, to see a girl with such fire in her eyes.}

She doesn’t watch him as he follows up behind her, but she can hear his grumbling. She’s more focused on the party itself. There’s a lot more people than she realized, and they’re everything from heroes to press members to simply members of the higher income society. Probably those looking for Pros they can convince to enter in a contract with. It wasn’t uncommon for a hero to match up with another organization for joint missions. After all, that’s what she was doing right now, wasn’t it? Some Pros had even scored partnerships with big name brands for costume sponsorship deals and support equipment teams. There’s all sorts of people around, all of them engaging in idle chit chat over tall flutes of expensive wines and multicolored cocktails of some kind. She’s antsy to get herself in the crowd, to start setting her own foundation. They don’t make it very far, though, when there’s a new face at their side.

She can hardly hold back a snort when Sam’s face twists in disdain at the girl’s mentioning of his father. Thankfully, or perhaps not, the girl doesn’t pick up on it because she’s already diving deep into a one sided conversation about her short history as an intern. She seems to enjoy talking about herself, Dodger having a field day watching her fall oblivious to Sam’s uninterested expression. It might’ve been rude, she should’ve — could’ve — scolded him to pay a little more respect to her, but it was hard not to when this ‘Gwen’ character was so clueless to her mistakes. Did she say she was a first year? A rookie then. It stings just a little that a kid like her could get in to the party, but her clear inexperience softens the blow. And serves as a good opportunity to see Sam Alford shuffle in discomfort.

”That’s quite interesting.. Gwen right? I’ll keep you in mind.”

Not to anyone's surprise but perhaps Gwendolyn’s own, Sam brushes her off quickly. There’s a nudge at her side, making the pink haired Primary turn away from the girl’s shocked expression from being interrupted to the male at her side. She blinks at him for a few silent moments, before catching on to his discomfort. She plasters on the nicest grin she can, failing at hiding the jeer in the way her lips tug up in a clearly false smile. Pleasantries, she reminds herself. ”Excuse us,” she says with all the charm she can muster, ”places to go, people to meet. You know how it is.” She laughs a little before tugging Sam away with an arm around his, hand gripping just below his shoulder.

”I thought you said you were going to socialize?” She asks with a quip of her brow, squeezing his bicep just a bit more firmly in teasing. If that was what Sam had considered to be ‘social’, then she feared for the rest of the some hundred guests they’ll inevitably have to greet during the night. No wonder he was better off interning at his old man’s place. He was utterly hopeless. ”What, is His Highness too great to speak to a mere freshmen? Or were you perhaps,” she gasps, covering her mouth as if it were something scandalous, dropping her voice to a whisper, ”flustered? Did you think she was cute? Ah, is this my cruel fate — to be the matchmaker for your future bride?” She laughs again, this time slapping Sam hard on the back between his shoulder blades. Putting herself on the burner like this, at the mere chance of getting Sam riled up, amused her to no ends. ”Who’s next? I can’t wait to see how the next one goes with that glorious start.”

DODGER BEX

^{imagine my surprise, to see a girl with such fire in her eyes.}

She doesn’t buy his bravado, not even a little bit. She may not have known Sam all that well, but he was an open book when it came to his emotions. It’s hard to lie to the protege of false pleasantries and fake smiles, and he was attempting to do just that. It was almost endearing, in a way. Almost. Instead she just listens to him, nodding and continuing to tug him along. She wasn’t exactly sure where they should go, but Sam had clearly wanted to get away, and she had to oblige any request he’d make this evening. Well, maybe not every request. She was certain if he’d picked up on her… willingness tonight, he’d abuse it. Anything to stop her from annoying him. And it was obvious that she was doing just that. After all, he was an open book.

”Bold of you to underestimate my abilities,” she shoots him a sideways glare. Her? A bad matchmaker? ”I’ll have you know, I’ve set up plenty of successful dates in the past. After all, in our first year —” She suddenly seems to cut herself off from continuing that thought, grateful that Sam takes to the crowd the moment she stops. Her hands twitch restlessly for a moment, flexing, before she pockets them into her pants. Perhaps it wasn’t purposeful, but she’s thankful for the fact that Sam seems to have not heard her. Or perhaps they were already at the stage of him ignoring her? Jerk, she muses, I should’ve punched you when I had the chance. Her tongue clicks off the roof of her mouth before she saunters back to his side. As if she had anywhere else to go.

He’s eyeing the faces around them, she can see it in the way his gaze darts back and forth across the room. She can hear more of the idle chatter now, some of it perceptible, but he’s already drowning it out himself again with a question. You’re distracting, she wants to tell him. Instead, she rolls her shoulders back, lifting her chin to the crowd from where they stand, like at the eye of a storm. Everyone’s watching them or, rather, him. ”You’re asking me?” She lifts her brows incredulously. Her? Dodger? The outcast, the one that find practically everyone at the party someone worth giving her name to? She wants to laugh, but instead takes his suggestion to heart. Someone interesting, huh?

”Alright, what about…” There’s plenty of strange faces, plenty of men and women dressed to the tee to impress and woo. They’re all interesting, she thinks, but there’s bound to be an odd one in the crowd that stands out enough for her. She feels him, before actually turning to glance over her left shoulder at him. He’s staring, has been for too long for Dodger to just notice, and finally he seems to get what he wants when their gazes meet, if the growing smile on his face is anything to go by. Taking their eye contact as his cue, the man approaches, setting his champagne glass on the table as he leaves. "No way…"

”It’s good to see you again, Dodger Bex.”

He speaks with an enthusiasm she’d typically have no care for, but it makes her face split into a wide grin at the recognition. Now that he’s closer, she can tell the man’s in his late twenties, maybe his early thirties. There’s no wrinkles on his face yet, but the hint of freshly shaved stubble dotting the line of his jaw is an omen of his age. His hair is slicked back, the longer strands of brown neatly tucked behind his ears, and the styling matches the finely tailored blue suit. He looks… ”You’ve gotten older,” her eyes squint with the cocky grin she shines at him. The man laughs, sheepishly rubbing at the back of the neck like some embarrassed school girl. ”Yes, well, I'm afraid that’s how time works.” He says, before turning towards Sam with a warm grin. ”Young Mr. Alford, it’s a pleasure to meet you finally. I do hope dear Dodger hasn’t given you too much trouble yet.”

His smile is all mirth and kindness and familiarity and Dodger’s heart aches at the old memories that surface from seeing it. Yes, they’re both older now. ”Ah, cut the formalities,” Dodger chides, elbowing Sam beside her. ”Ares, Sam Alford. Sam, this is my old coach, Ares Price. I owe him all I know.” She introduces shortly, with a fond upturn to her lips.

DODGER BEX

^{imagine my surprise, to see a girl with such fire in her eyes.}

The man gratefully takes Sam’s hand, nodding with all the kindness of a person who’s never seen or done wrong. He looks between Dodger and him wordlessly as the Alford boy speaks. Hearing the strings of sarcasm in his voice, said Primary gives a hard look over her shoulder at the boy, a crease in her brows though she still keeps the smile plastered on her face. ”You want to run that by me again?” She says, still keeping her voice light despite the very obvious strain it takes to keep her anger at bay. But, she’s blinking widely and looking back at Ares when the man breaks into a hearty laugh, grin wide.

”Yes,” he says, once he’s finally regained some of his composure, ”she does seem to have that kind of effect on people, even now.” There’s a nostalgic air to his voice when he says that, something familiar hanging between the two. He sounds almost like a father, doting on his daughter's behavior. Dodger’s cheeks are dusted with a light flush at his words, pressing her lips into a hard line much like a child would when trying not to smile. She’s turned her gaze away now, facing away from both Sam and the older male, even as he gives another short laugh. ”I do apologize, it seems that was one of the few things I could never change about her.” Dodger wants to smack him, scrutinize him for acting like he was her father and bark at him for apologizing for something stupid like that, but just bites her tongue and folds her arms across her chest.

It’s Sam’s next question that finally draws her attention back towards the two males. She peeks at Ares from the corner of her eye as he seems to hesitate after being asked. ”Certainly not!” He stammers out, before lifting a hand to scratch at his jaw mindfully. He seems to mull it over for several moments, before saying simply, ”I represent an up and coming… recovery enterprise, if you will.” He nods at that, seemingly satisfied with his choice of words. ”We received an invitation and, as the face of our effort, here I am!”

There’s a sharp tsk from Dodger that makes Ares jump. ”You’ve always been bad at explanations.” He looks at her expectantly and she frowns at him, rolling her eyes. Then she glances back at Sam, hands occupying themselves by running through her hair. ”When I mentioned he was my coach, I didn’t mean it like he ran a community team. They call it ‘Quirk Therapy’, for those of us that can’t handle our own selves.” Price gives a defeated sigh, nodding slowly. He didn’t favor the way she explained it, but it made more sense than himself at the very least. He wished she didn’t always paint it in such a negative light, though. He keeps his smile, but it seems smaller. Fonder. There’s an intimacy in his expression more prevalent than before. ”She was my first real challenge. Limits, loopholes, control… I had a lot to teach when it came to Dodger here. Control was the biggest issue and that was even… before.” He lets it go at that, scrubbing the back of his neck again, looking between Dodger and Sam for a few more moments. ”In any case, it’s a surprise to see her here, though I can’t say I didn’t expect it eventually. She’s got the most potential I’ve seen in any of our cases. We could all learn a thing or two from her.”

”Well! I’m glad to have seen you again,” he beams down at her, ”and it was pleasure meeting you too, Sam. Do try and keep her out of trouble?” He squeezes the boy’s shoulder teasingly before he takes his leave, dipping out of sight into the rest of the crowd. Figures. She wants to laugh at the familiarity of the situation, but the desire to instead chase after and ground her old coach into the dirt is even more tempting. He always had a nasty habit of saying something embarrassing, then dipping away before he could face the consequences. She scowls at his receding form, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. ”He… means well. We fell out of contact after — after high school started.” She’s quiet after that, turning her frown towards the ground. There’s a heavy sigh that rattles through her chest, feeling all too tight, hands fisting themselves back into her pockets to try and hide the way they quiver. She’s angry, maybe even nervous, but none of those emotions can fully explain why she mumbles out, quick and breathless, a simple, ”Sorry.”

DODGER BEX

^{imagine my surprise, to see a girl with such fire in her eyes.}

"Sorry? Why the hell are you sorry?"

She flinches. Dodger Bex, who prides herself on being phase-less and fearless, actually flinches at the sudden way his tone changes. Their somewhat tolerable mood quickly fizzled after Sam recognized her last comment. At first, his expression was one of surprise. Ah, really, she wished she had enough time to savor the absolute shock on his face before it was replaced by furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. Accusatory. His words turned bitter, the air between them becoming so thin that she felt like she was suffocating under his scrutiny. Which, by the way her tongue died in her throat, didn’t seem to be the only reason she was stunned to silence.

"There's literally nothing for you to be sorry about, or at least nothing that would matter at this point, so why bother? Besides, I didn't take you for the type who was every sorry,"

For a long moment, she watches him. Her face is neutral, which may look more threatening than any smirk she’s ever thrown anyone's way. It’s not easy to get Dodger to shut her mouth, she herself knows that, and she’s not about to let Sam take the moment to goad at her for having nothing to say for herself. She was many things, but a coward was not one of them. If she was going to speak, or act, she would do it before the slightest hesitation. ”I take it back,” she grinds out, her telltale grin pulling her lips up as she speaks, ”you’re still every little bit the Sam I knew.” Always with that mask, Dodger. Haven’t you learned anything?

Her teeth grinding, she pivots herself on her heels to full face Sam. ”Preaching your opinion like it ever mattered to the rest of us — that’s all you’ve ever done! Daddy must be real proud of you.” At this moment, she’s grateful for the height she’s awarded with her ensemble for the night. Now she stands face to face with the boy, eyes level despite the small inch he still has between them. Always better, a voice from the back of her mind hisses, always looking down on you no matter how the times change. The thought knots her stomach with disgust, so she takes another small step forward so that she’s leaning into his ear. A hand juts out from her pocket, fisting itself in his shirt, just below the collar, to drag him down into her shoulder. Someone beside them gasps, the crowd around them growing as people watch in shock, and she drops her voice to a whisper. ”’I enjoyed sending them to the hospital,’ is that what you want me to say? To be that person everyone claims me to be?” She laughs darkly against his neck. ”Go to hell.”

She relinquishes her hold on his shirt, shoving him back bodily into the people who’ve come over in attempt to understand what the fuss is about. One of the other members of the security detail moves to get between them, aiming to set a hand on Dodger’s shoulder, but she jerks away and sends him a fierce glare that even gets the wall of a man to back off. There’s a low murmuring among the guests who have entertained themselves by spectating. She can’t hear them, but she knows. She knows the kinds of things people say behind her back. Dangerous, explosive, unstable. Villain. They all hurt, but that last one stings the most. That last one is the one that follows her all the way into the early grave she keeps digging out for herself by acting this way.

Her eyes move away from her colleague, who has succeeded in his efforts to coax Dodger in the opposite direction of Sam, to her classmate. Her sneer is gone, the frown cutting deep into her face in a show of contempt she rarely gives another. She wants to beat him into the ground, wants to see him bleed and feel it warming her knuckles, but she also knows she can’t risk making more of a scene than she has already. Hundreds of words tumble up her throat, but she bites her lips closed and whips her head around before she’s compelled to let any of them spill. The man offers to watch Sam until she “cools off”. She doesn’t really think about where she’s going, storming out of the party until she feels the sudden rush of fresh air hit her face. Her eyes sting where the wet meets the cold, cursing herself for almost crying. ”Damn it,” she growls, leaning against the railing of the balcony overlooking the dark city street. She can still hear the dull thrum of the banquet if she strains her ears, picking it apart from the buzzing of streetlights and distant barking of stray dogs.

Damn it, indeed.

DODGER BEX

^{imagine my surprise, to see a girl with such fire in her eyes.}

She leans forward onto the railing, letting the metal dig into her forearms as she hangs her head in freefall. The cool air bites her neck, but it’s pleasant. Slowly, she can feel herself sink away as a sudden but predicted wave of exhaustion ebbs and pulls at the edge of her mind, casting sea foam thoughts across her conscience. She closes her eyes, reveling in the silence. Until that, too, is taken away by the shrieking of metal hinges as the door is tossed open.

She doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. There’s only one person that would have ever dared to come after her while she was in one of her moods. She can feel the eyes boring into her back. For a small moment, she wants to snip at him for just staring. If he was going to push her off, he was taking way too long to do it. There’s a hitching breath and she curses inwardly, shrinking further into herself. A speech, then. Maybe I should just jump off myself, she muses, attempting to distract herself. But the quiet street around them only makes Sam’s words reach her easier, as if the breeze personally carries every syllable to her ears. Without much else to do, she laces her fingers together and decides to entertain him and listen. What did he possibly have to say?

A lot, it seemed.

His short sermon is close to the same kind of content she’d been expecting. Still, she finds herself genuinely stunned at his subtle concern. The attempt at comfort still only serves to dampen her mood and she wilts even further into the railing, shoulders flat against the bar. She’s practically bent ninety degrees at the hip, with her arms hung limply over the edge of the building. She stays still like that, thinking over his words for several moments. She half expects him to walk away, assuming she was giving him the silent treatment or had nothing else to say, but there’s never the sound of the door swinging back open. Just the low hum of party guests behind closed doors, too self absorbed to care any longer about their fight; the buzz of streetlights overhead swarmed with gnats and painting the road and buildings around in its yellow candescence. The distant barking of dogs. A lonely night for a lonely pair.

”You’re certainly no villain, but you’re also no hero.”

”Never thought Sam Alford would pity me.” She meant it as a light tease, wanting to ease the awkward tension, but she can’t bring herself to even try to sound like she was smiling. Maybe it’s for the better. Two years is too long to let feelings fester. By now, her sympathy has turned to rot and she imagines Sam’s isn’t faring much better. In fact, she figures he had thrown his out the moment it started to brown. ”Not a hero, not a villain… Then, something in between?” She sighs, finally lifting herself off the metal bar that keeps the couple story fall out of her worries. She glances over at him for a moment and instantly regrets it. His gaze is steeled, steady, with the slightest indignation flickering between his irises.

She grips the balcony railing tightly and hauls herself up onto it, choosing to sit with her feet dangling dangerously off the side of the building. The heels hand loosely off the toes of her feet, kept from falling by curling her feet upwards. ”Or, maybe, am I nothing?” She leans her head back, stretching her chin to the sky ahead. It’s dark, those few moments just after dusk where the sun’s light barely reaches from behind the horizon. The brighter stars are already visible, but slowly the smaller ones begin to dance into focus. She watches it, in uncharacteristic quiet, again falling into an unresponsiveness. ”I’m through, after tonight,” she says, finally, and pauses with lips pursed quizzically. She’s changing the subject, consciously. ”A Primary, assaulting her ward… I’ll be back on the streets before the night is over.”

There’s a small laugh, but it doesn’t really sound like one, that escapes her lips after that. Her smirk is back a bit stronger now, but it looks more sad than anything else. She drops her head, chin digging into her chest. ”`Suppose that’s karma, yeah?”

DODGER BEX

^{imagine my surprise, to see a girl with such fire in her eyes.}

With her back to him, she can’t see the way he crumbles too, from the effect of her words. Instead, she just sits on the edge of the rail, watching the heels swing from her toes and the concrete below flash in and out of sight every time the lights overhead flicker or a larger bug swarms around the light. There’s a distant chime of a bell. It’s late. She’s tired and stupid and is rambling on about all her mistakes to the one person who she believes could care less about what happened to her. She should go, stroll the streets again hoping that someone will pick her back up off her feet. Instead, she hears Sam’s voice finally pick up again.

”Yeah. It is karma, and it’s finally reached you.” She rolls her eyes, teeth grinding in frustration. He was worse at this therapy game than Ares was. At least he lessened the blow on the truth. Sam never pulled his punches. An Alford could do no wrong. Always speaking his mind. Always preaching his words and being the “perfect hero”. There was more to being a good person than truth and justice. She opens her mouth on a cocky remark, but her words die on her tongue as she registers the words he’d spoken.

”I want to fight you.”

She swings her head around, watching him with still, narrowed eyes for a moment. Her eyes sweep him over, suspicious and searching. But there was a firmness in his gaze, no baiting like she was expecting. He was serious. She laughs a little, breathless and doubtful. ”I don’t believe it.” Impetuously, she turns from where she’s sitting, planting her feet on the ledge and leaning over the railing towards Sam. It’s crazy, her shoes barely let her keep a proper foothold on the balcony, but she still does it anyways. Her smile is nothing like it was before. There’s no arrogance in the way her lips are upturned, no jeer in the way her brows are lifted, but instead there’s an earnest flare in the way she grins. Like she was expecting this response.

She swings her legs over the railing, sitting again but this time with her back to the street and facing Sam head on. She stares at him with a wild, indescribable fire in her eyes. She’s looking at him like he’d just said something unthinkable, which he has in some way. But it’s not that she wasn’t expecting him to challenge her, she simply didn’t expect it for such a reason. ”A fight for honor,” she says with a small sigh, voice still distant like she was talking aloud to herself. ”That’s just like you.”

”Then let’s fight, like you said: no holding back.” She says with a nod, smirk returning but still holding more of that sincerity from before. She places her hands on the railing beside her, leaning back slightly. ”There’s an underground quirk fighting ring in the central city area. You use your… connections, get us in for a fair fight. When you’re ready, I’m sure you’ll find me.” She says, jerking her head in the direction of the central part of their town. She purses her lips for a moment before toeing off her heels and leaning further back on the railing again. ”As my last favor, tell my boss I quit, would you?” She gives him a wink, before her grip suddenly releases the railing and she’s falling. It's a far enough drop that she can use the momentum to flip, landing soundly on her feet with little damage or sound ”Take care, Princess.” She gives a two finger salute in his direction, before she’s sauntering off and into one of the darker alleyways.

She wonders if she should've stuck around, but figures there wasn’t much else to be said anyways. Sam’s made up his mind it seems. She’s feeling generous, and a battle is the least she could do after everything else. It’s been a while since she’s fought someone without any kind of regards. Just the thought of a match off with Sam, finally, is enough to make her fists flex.

If a fight is what he wants, a fight is what he’ll get.

DODGER BEX

^{imagine my surprise, to see a girl with such fire in her eyes.}

When she leaves the party, her head is in a buzz. Things went well, really well. She hardly expected Sam to be as determined about the idea of a fight, even more so to agree to participate in an underground fight with her. She attended the party with the intention to score a deal of a lifetime, and somehow she doesn’t imagine she left with far from it. A match with the one and only Sam Alford, the prodigal son of the Sea Knight. It’s a match up she’s been entertaining for years. Since they went head to head in scoring for the entrance exam, toeing around each other with an equal amount of wins and losses, she’s always wanted a proper fight. It may be her biggest regret about her high school experience, of course second to the… incident, as it’s been so eloquently named.

This is her chance, finally, and it’s just as she hoped it would be. With Sam’s name in the ring, there’s going to be dozens, maybe hundreds, of spectators that are invested. Broadcasters, eager to score a feature on an Alford taking part in what has been so blatantly criticized in media as of late. An underground fight means she’ll garner more of an audience that will forgive, that will recognize her talents and ignore her faults in favor of seeing real power. It’s the moment she’s been waiting for since the hero industry abandoned her. She might even recall being considered for perpetual house arrest — she owes it to Ares, for being there to vouch for her mental stability enough that she wasn’t considered dangerous to the public. Didn’t stop them from giving her a bold “high risk” stamp across her records worldwide, though. That, unfortunately, was unavoidable.

She’s done fights with this ring before. They love her — the few times she actually shows her face around. She does matches once every month, taking on the top fighter that rose up during her absence. She’d be an undefeated champion, if she stuck around enough to be a formal member of the ring. Instead, she’s an intermittent fighter, showing up only when least expected and then taking off without another word. This specific ring is cleaner than the other ones she’s dabbled in, the central city keeps a tighter police force on the presence of their underground businesses. The quirk arena is a bit more structured, stricter rules and more supervised than the rest, but also the oldest and largest within the region. She wanted to recommend her favorite location to Sam, the south end of the city where the real fights are that turn knuckles bloody and no one leaves until there’s a few broken bones and some missing teeth, but she knew better than that. Sam wanted an honorable match, a fair fight. Not one where the fans will throw rocks and assorted rubble from the abandoned warehouse to “spice it up”. She’s disappointed for missing out on getting the Alford boy dirty, but knows her limits. This chance alone, she figures, is enough.

Word travels fast in the ring, fast when the name Dodger is scrawled in chalk and faster with the name Alford beside it. She first hears from curious patrons and passerby's asking her if the rumors are true, some saying she’s a fool for picking a fight with one of a top Pro’s son. Maybe she is, but it puts a little pep in her step to know she’s finally going to get the dream match she’s always wanted. The week passes by in a blur of scattered street fights from those who get a little too jealous about Sam getting the chance at the reigning, undefeated enigma. When Saturday finally rolls around, she wakes up to the scent of stale alcohol and cigarettes of the den she dotingly labels “home”.

Eventually she saunters her way into the bustling, brightness of the city with the usual ensemble she typically dons. Today’s happens to remain a stark contrast from how Sam had last seen her: black tank top tied into a messy knot at her right hip, black athletic shorts with red compression leggings underneath that end halfway down her calf, black sport socks with white vertical pinstripes, and a red baseball cap. Her hair is pulled into her signature ponytail, and she also wears a tattered black varsity jacket with her name and a large triangle across the back in bold red lettering.

Her plain white sneakers are silent on the pavement, not that anyone would hear her anyways over the sounds from people going about their everyday lives within the midst of the town. It doesn’t take her long to find Sam, easily spotting his frustrated expression from across the street as she emerges from one of the outlying alleyways. ”Y’know, I still expected a suit and tie, so I’m a little impressed. You still stick out like a sore thumb in the city though,” she smirks as she approaches him and takes in his appearance, leaving only a foot between them, at most. She pauses, looking thoughtful for a moment then giving a short scoff and shaking her head, banishing whatever idea she was considering with it. ”I told you you’d find me,” she says instead, hands buried in the pockets of her jacket. Then, with a more wolfish grin, failing to contain her excitement, ”Let’s not waste any time, yeah?” She starts walking backwards, in the direction of the path to find the arena, beckoning Sam along with short jerks of her pocketed hands.

DODGER BEX

^{imagine my surprise, to see a girl with such fire in her eyes.}

She shrugs lazily at his response, waving her hand through the air as if to swat his words away. She figures he’s right, he does stick out anywhere. He probably thinks it was because of some family thing, but Dodger isn’t so sure that’s the case. After all, even those who wouldn’t know him could at least garner that he was in the odder part of town for him. His whole air made him look uncomfortable and honestly? She almost felt bad for him. Almost. Tragic to think someone could have a stick that far up their ass. Even the way he talks makes it sound like he has to make an effort to sound some tiny bit entertained with her presence. It’s awkward, to say the least.

She notices he drops his pace a bit to following behind her. Either he’s lost or is just letting her lead the way. She obliges, nonetheless, and they fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence. She hates it, still. They’re literally walking to the place where they’re supposed to settle some years-long grudge, and yet here she is walking with him just like they had those same two years ago in a school building hallway. It pisses her off even more that he’s taller now and she, without her heels this time, feels significantly undermined having to look up at him every time she faces him. She sees some flash of unease pass over him from the corner of her eye, but then he’s talking again to pass the time.

“I know this is a given, and that I already said it before, but I'm not going to hold back. So don't even think about giving me anything less than your best,” is what he mutters and, God, does he ever stop sounding so edgy? She snorts, but otherwise leaves his statement unanswered as she leads them down an alleyway, ducking around random passerby and litter that lines the narrow pathway. She swipes her tongue over her teeth, dragging her fingers along brick walls as she leads them around a corner into a wider street, busier and less of a “back roads” vibe to it. “What, you doubting me?” She feigns the hurt in her voice, but it seems like a genuine question.

“I know what this fight means for you, I can promise you that,” she remarks, glancing back at him so that he might understand the seriousness in her tone. Might be a bit harder to detect with her mouth drawn back in her usual smirk, but there’s a certain hardness in her eyes that can’t be ignored. “But you damn well better be ready to reap what you sow. I can’t be responsible for the danger you’re putting yourself in, taking me head on like this.” She leaves it at that, approaching an archway with stairs that lead underground. There’s a shape pressed against the wall that stands upright but then relaxes when they recognize Dodger. There’s a silent exchange between nodded heads before Dodger is jerking her shoulders down for Sam to follow down with her.

The tunnel leads down a good fifty plus meters before opening up into a startling awning. Already there’s a static hum of cheers and conversation of the audience, no doubt massive, that is anticipating the match up. Where there usually would have been subway tunnels has been excavated into a massive circular colosseum, with the diameter of around football field or two. The ceiling of the arena opens up to a glass dome, showering the arena in light for the matches during the day. The actual arena stage is separated from the rest of the structure, another hundred meter drop down into a pit of water.

Dodger flags down one of the staff that’s manning the crowd of the section they’ve entered in. They seem familiar, Dodger pulling the tall woman into a short hug and then releasing with a hard slap on the back, leaning in to speak into her ear in an effort to be heard over the loud cheering. Some of the audience has taken notice to their arrival, screaming names until the entire arena erupts into an even louder riot of competing voices to be heard the most. The exchange between the two is quick, blunt, and the woman pulls back with a laugh and tugs Dodger’s hat brim down. Then, she’s turning to speak into her radio comm and Dodger is walking away with a skip.

She’s fixing her hat when she addresses Sam again, not meeting his gaze in favor of waving to the fans who’ve spilled over to get a look at them. “We’re a bit late, but Alice is letting Boss know we just arrived.” She says, her grin much wider since arriving to the arena. She seems more eager, her eyes wilder and more eager. The woman, Alice, gives them a thumbs up and Dodger returns it quickly. “Hey, you know how these things work right? You do whatever you need to get ready, get on the platform, it takes you to the field, yadda yadda?” She figures he does, if he organized this fight. She doesn’t wait for his answer regardless. She tugs him back to the way they came in, where the large hallway wraps around the entire colosseum structure. “Take the left wing. Some staff will be there to meet you, they’ll give you the basic run down and you can take any of the gear you’ll need. When they give you the signal, you’ll head out. And hey,” She claps him on the shoulder, all excitement and pent up energy likely leaving a mark in its wake. “good luck, yeah?” Then she’s gone, racing down the hallway in the opposite direction without a moment left to spare.