deercountry | who's seen jezebel?

The first week of the month had been challenging, but a challenge that Paul could compensate for. Losing his sense of taste had made eating more difficult than he’d wanted it to be, his inability to sift food for contamination a buzzing anxiety - but he’d had the food he’d made himself, the cans and jars and dried stocks, and he had Kaworu and Deku to sit with in alternation or together while he ate. It had been bearable.

Losing his ability to hear is another thing. It isn’t that he can’t adapt, between House Sign and his other senses, but it’s a blow to his equilibrium. Relearning how to navigate the world without it, even temporarily, is a struggle - and while there is a definite selfish appeal to the way Kaworu and Izuku have kept him cloistered and cosseted, he has never been good at staying inside and doing nothing.

Negotiating an excursion out to the edge of the woods took all of his wiles, from pleading looks to fervent assurances to yearning sighs, but they were finally able to strike terms. Full daylight, with two chaperones, and an ironclad handclasped vow to stay within reach of at least one of them at all times.

So here they are, dappled in the light of the harvest sun, and Paul has only made them stop seven times so far so he can look at an interesting natural occurrence, which he thinks is a fair compromise.

The inside of these puffballs looks like brain tissue, did you know that? he signs, happily, from where he’s crouched next to a log dotted with fist-sized off-white fungal pods. More parallels. Here -

He readies his specimen collecting knife to slit into the side of one of them, positively glowing with ecological excitement.

Kaworu isn't paying attention. He only tends to pay attention to Paul when he gets like this for a few seconds before letting his mind wander. Even now, as Paul signs away, the angel's attention is drawn to excited flurry of long-fingered hands and an upward curve of the mouth that can't be held back. That's beautiful. That's a specimen.

He watches Paul, but not what he's doing, as he goes full ecological otaku, with gentle expression of his own. Slowly, he comes to rest his head against Paul as the other works like a cat settling near a lap. Eventually, he has to turn away to yawn and blow his nose on a handkerchief because he's nothing but sluggish and snotty lately.

Then he blows air softly at Paul's cheek to alert him to the bored angel's presence. He's still here and fungus is fungus!

Paul has kept up a running commentary with his free, ungloved hand as he worked open the puffball with the black gloved other, a litany of observations and asides about the science of the mycological. The details are imprecise in House Sign, a language never exactly meant for discussion of the world down to such detail, its focus much more on the human side of the environment. There are a dozen ways to denote a hidden enemy in the crook of fingers, but only one for fungus.

But he gets by, forming compounds and allusions that he doesn't stop himself to realize will mostly be lost on his companions even if they were paying close attention. He's talking to himself more than anyone as the coiled interior of the mushroom is revealed and he slits a slice cleanly away to decant into a specimen vial - which he almost fumbles at Kaworu's soft intrusion.

"Kaworu," he says aloud, fondly, a little louder than he usually would, and turns to kiss his sweet little angel forehead. "You aren't watching at all, are you?"

The leaves are turning, and Midoriya is a no-longer-camouflaged evergreen. Midoriya is in full Hero costume so that he has all the tools necessary to defend effectively: repaired jumpsuit stitched back together by an expert other than him, Air Force gauntlets, Iron Soles, waterproof (and bloodproof) cloak with its storm collar, and full stock of first aid supplies in his belt pouches. He also packed bento in his backpack, well-sealed so as not to attract creatures.

When Kaworu sneezes, he privately wishes he'd packed all his handkerchiefs. When they get home: ginger honey tea, definitely.

He knows this area, having inadvertently explored some of Trenchwood during his terrible March sojourn, but the seasonal flora has changed. This alone is a fascination. (Paul's happiness is another warm balm that draws a smile to his own face.) His fingers twitch as if they want to be holding a notebook and pencil for fungi notes, but he must remain hands-free. He never wanders more than a few feet away, preferring to keep the emanating point of Danger Sense centered on Paul, to remain standing, and to angle his feet to be ready to move at all times.

The Wayward Watcher, unofficial leader of the Hunters, cannot speak and uses ASL and writing instead. As a precaution early on, Midoriya brushed up on ways to communicate nonverbally within the scope of Hunter work even before he met Paul. Before conversation, he expects a tap on the shoulder or a wave to get attention. He knows eye contact and taking turns to communicate is both necessary and expected.

So, in his diligent habit of paying attention when he's addressed, Midoriya is looking at Paul attentively with occasional nods and no interruptions, even if, unseen, he keeps one mental finger on his Quirk, Danger Sense's door open and ready to detect anyone's ill will in the vicinity--

When he feels the stabbing sensation in his head, he jerks in a pivot, weight in the balls of his feet, and his Quirk's Full Cowl emerges with sparks around him. He signs for Quiet, and to indicate the direction of the unknown danger. It's not moving, he adds.

Maybe they can get by with remaining still and non-threatening, and whatever it is can decide to move on. Since March, his fighting stance has modified slightly from the proper forms, especially when out in nature. He crouches in a little more of an animalistic way, and the remembered scent of cherry blossoms--out of season now--plays tricks on his nose.

"I was watching you."

He signs along with his words, most correct, but the form of some changed to better fit the flow of his fingers, putting them together like notes in a chord progression. But the catlike grin gives him away, giving more context to the slightly angled way he signed "you".

Then Midoriya signs and he glances towards him, reaching out to wrap his arms around Paul protectively. He can protect him. That's about all he can do.

Paul is trained for exquisite violence, equipped from before birth to spring into action in the face of any threat. That's exactly what he does here, a dozen processes and subprocesses of the self triggered into readiness for one decisive move:

He goes still and coiled in Kaworu's arms without a sound, attuning himself to his companions and their environment as he watches Midoriya for guidance.

Sometimes the best choice in the face of danger is to do nothing. Paul has hidden from more than his fair share of Beasts and other hazards in these woods. If they don't draw out a reaction from the threat, it may pass them by, and they will leave without bloodshed on anyone's part. He hates spilling bloods in these woods, watching the soil bubble and the undergrowth wilt as poison seeps down to the roots of the trees.

So, patience and observation. Paul focuses in the direction Midoriya indicated, honing his senses for anything he can discern in the fall of distant shadows and the faint scent being carried on the wind. He breathes slowly and evenly in Kaworu's arms, the best reassurance he can offer without word or sign, and he will do nothing - or he means to do nothing.

When the sting of salt and molten prophecy burns behind his eyes Paul has to bite back an unbidden retch, silver closing off his vision in a rippling veil. He twitches in Kaworu's arms, gloved hand tightening with a warning creak around the glass vial in his palm. His bare fingers move with pressured quickness, a mercury flow of insensible sign.

The fifth. Dead and alive again. I eat, I am eaten. The sea is here.

In the trees, something trills, a fluting note of alarm.

Paul's hand signs like that of a different person. Not now, he thinks. This frightens Midoriya more than any external threat. He could just grab the other two and spirit them away from a physical danger.

Danger Sense scatters into nothingness as quickly as it came, as if the threat can't decide if it wants to be one or not. Then--once again--it sears sharply against Midoriya's alarm as a noise registers its awareness--of them? It's too close. Midoriya won't take chances. Sir Nighteye taught him the value of waiting to make the right move. The world and its dangers aren't accommodating enough to indulge a Hero's impulsive wants.

He prepares to move but doesn't move yet. He slowly extends tendrils of Blackwhip towards Kaworu and Paul. He's got that and Float to make a quick getaway if they need to.

Edited 2022-09-13 23:40 (UTC)

"Stop-"

Kaworu snaps, completely forgetting that Paul is unable to hear him for the moment, and then completes the demand by reaching out and grabbing Paul's fingers to stop him from signing. At first, long pale fingers grip tightly in annoyance, born from fear, then the grip softens, and the fingers entwine in an attempt to comfort.

He keeps his arms tightly around Paul as though their connected hands form some sort of invisible shield. He will not see Paul or Izuku harmed. He will not.

Something sounds in the distance, something odd and eerie that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he has to hold back a shudder. He is glad in that moment that Paul can't hear it.

Paul doesn't hear it. What he reacts to, twisting in Kaworu's embrace with fingers twitching in his gentle restraints and mercury eyes fluttering in alarm, is something far less tangible. He does not understand, for a swept away moment, why they don't feel the shadow of the wave that swells above them - but there is no wave, no shadow.

His mouth opens. It forms words that he can't hear, that he can't divine from the movement of his tongue and teeth and throat alone, and that is the taper touched to the gunpowder trail of his alarm: "I know you, I know you."

An unforgivable lapse of silence under threat, but when it's done, and his tongue is his own again, he looks to Midoriya with flashfire fear at the approach of Blackwhip.

"We have to go in," he pleads, as the shimmering awareness of the Other flits at the corners of his eyes, "Please. You have to let me - I have to go."

Paul is the one having visions and suggesting the worst idea, so he is the one Midoriya snakes Blackwhip around. Danger Sense continues its worrying erratic lapses.

"No," he breathes in reflex before remembering Paul can't hear him, though it's a simple enough word to read off lips. We're leaving, he signs with his free hand before starting to reach for Kaworu.

"No."

Kaworu snarls, echoing Midoryia's soft breath, but filled with fury and lightning, like a roll of thunder. He digs his nails into Paul's arm and begins to pull him away from wherever he wants to go.

Or is being told to go.

"We're not supposed to do this anymore." They're supposed to fight fate. Deny the paths drawn for them.

"They need our help," Paul insists, which is where he should have begun, as Kaworu and Midoriya combine forces on the precipice of tearing him away. He can't evade one of them, let alone both, and the knowledge spurs him to desperation.

Paul jerks back, colliding with the tendrils of Blackwhip, throwing himself and Kaworu off-balance - and as they stumble, Paul twists towards the forest and whistles, a high note followed by a low, the keening call of a native bird sounding alarm.

The forest is still, and Paul is a held breath, a long, horrible, unbroken moment - until the call echoes back, and he faces his beloveds in a frantic pyrrhic triumph.

"That's Epsilon," he says, because he has no other name for them, "The Bugge is there, it's close - I can't leave them behind - please."

Their position is given away. He's seen that desperate, electric look on Paul's face before. It was in the face of "victory" as Midoriya cradled Kaworu's unconscious body on the beach, the two of them covered in blood. Midoriya experiences this kind of fear more when he has others to protect.

Now he doesn't know if what he's sensing is Epsilon or the Bugge.

"Use your A.T. Field, Kaworu-kun." We take a look, he signs and ducks into the trees towards danger rather than away from it, using his intermittent sense as a guide.

Kaworu nods, preparing to utilize his AT Field if needed. He knows he can protect Paul if he stays close. It's keeping him close that he's concerned about. The angel digs his nails into the boy's arm, as though attaching himself to him via hooks.

"Who's Epsilon?"

He may not have Paul's prescience but... he can't help but shake the feeling that he wishes he didn't have to hear the answer.

Midoriya's Danger Sense will continue to oscillate faster and faster as he approaches the source of the noise, followed by Paul more or less pinned to Kaworu's side as they trail after him. Paul pulls against the shortness of Kaworu's strides without meaning too, so wrapped up in his mission he barely feels the nails in his arm or glances at Kaworu in time to catch his question.

They're someone I was trying to save, Paul signs, after a sticking hesitation, A Beast.

It's more complicated than that. The unintended signs nearly shout it as Paul averts his eyes back to scanning the forest ahead, guilt setting his jaw in a tight, tensed line.

They don't have to go far before the sounds of the Bugge's procession may be heard. Paul feels its passing in the vibrations of the earth, lifting the fine hairs at the nape of his neck as he cranes for a sign of the pale-furred, many armed Epsilon, their face covered by a folded pair of hands that sprout from its side, but of course, Midoriya, in the vanguard, will see them first - a barely more than man-sized Beast huddling under the lip of an overhang, their bright hide giving them away through trailing moss.

The Bugge's hulking form is visible over the very tops of the trees, its great, snorting breaths taking on a snuffling, searching tone as it works its way closer to all four of them.

Midoriya's guess is that Paul somehow found a way to communicate meaningfully with someone he knew who turned into a Beast. It must be frustrating, he thinks without saying it aloud. He knows the feeling.

After gesturing for a regroup, he summons a medium blast of Smokescreen. With it hiding them from the Bugge for now, he takes aim at a distant tree with an extended arm and flicks his fingers. The wrist parts on his gauntlet snap forward and concentrate the air blast, leaving the surrounding foliage alone. Air Force is hard to track, but the crack of the distant tree is unmistakable.

The Bugge's head snaps toward the sound, and it tromps over there to investigate, flattening undergrowth in its wake. That's the diversion taken care of... Midoriya hesitates. He makes no move towards Epsilon, who seems to be thinking about hurting them (Danger Sense still flickering strangely in pinpricks) or running away (silver-haired body jerking and shaking fearfully) in turns.

When Paul spots the shivering Epsilon, he stills, submitting to Kaworu's restraint at last. He has none of the tools he would use to lure them, and no safe way to use them if he did, with the Bugge so close. But if they can capture Epsilon quickly, and then make their escape...Paul can concern himself with the legends of the Bugge later.

Can you bubble them? He signs to Kaworu, eyes still on the Beast. Does he see black streaks of Beastblood on them, or only muck and shadow? Pick them up, and bring them with us?

Epsilon stops shivering under the overhang. Their teeth rasp, almost too quietly to be heard, as they sink down on their splayed wrists of their too many arms. The weight of probability swings towards harm, directed especially at the boy discussing their rescue with short, jerky movements of his hands.

Kaworu isn't listening. His eyes ignore the flourish of signs in front of him and instead focus on the distance on the trembling form. Then the beast... no, the being stills and stares at Paul. Then Kaworu's eyes met theirs.

Blood red irises meet. It's like looking into the mirror. Kaworu sees the confusion, the anger... all the pain. The vestige of someone who has been held against their will and everything they are stripped to nothing and rebuilt by someone else.

Suddenly, Paul doesn't matter. Kaworu loosens his grip and then... lets the other boy go. Paul isn't the one who needs protecting.

Using his Dark Blood has always been easy for him. A step forward and reality bends to his will effortlessly. He pulls himself through time and space like wading in a shallow pool. He steps onto the shore in front of Epsilon.

The beast reacts as a beast does, no line between anger and terror. It reaches great hands forward grabs at Kaworu's shoulders and forearms, nails puncturing his soft pale flesh. He makes a pained noise but reaches forward a small, pale hand to offer connection.

I understand. I understand and it's okay.

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Paul treads deeper into the shadowed forest on the lightest of feet, kitted for stealth. A dun-colored cloak obscures his form as he slips between the trees, all of the gear he carries with him bundled and secured so as not to clatter. Even the spear strapped to his back is muffled by wrapped cloth.

It’s more caution than even he would usually take on a hunt, but he also isn’t usually wearing a tightly fitted black blindfold over his unseeing eyes.

He knows that it is a mistake to be out here alone, that it goes against what he’s promised to the people who care for him, but tucked in a velvet lined bag is a promise he made before those promises to someone that he has done as much harm to as any of them, if not more. Someone whose name he’s never heard and face he’s never seen, but who he owes a debt he can only begin to repay if he finds them first, before the vision that drew him to these woods comes to pass.

This time, he won’t fail.

The sea medallion under his leather breastplate crackles with potency as his eyes glow silver, bleeding around the edges of his blindfold despite his best effort to conceal it. The future rolls in waves before him, every step picked out in invisible light as he sifts through them for direction - but now that he’s found the trail, he would hardly even need that. The Bugge has left a broad streak through the forest of trampled earth and broken branches, tufts of its matted fur dangling from the catching crooks of trees. He can smell it, the ancient reek of a forest thing, mingled with the musty spice of pine needles. He is on the right path, the closest one, spiraling closer and closer to its end.

And he is not alone.

Paul stills in place as soon as he senses the other presence, all but vanishing as soon as he does so, a trick of survivalism he learned in these very woods. He turns his head in the direction of whoever it is and breathes, slowly, as he probes the limits of his awareness.

“Oh,” he says, shoulders falling, “It’s y-”

Ahead of them, something trills, high and fluting and terrified, and Paul snaps towards it like a magnet.

“If you’re here for the Bugge,” he says, with chill iron in his voice, and when he looks back to Bakugou his jaw is set in a tensed line as he unshoulders the spear on his back and jerks his chin to the sound, “There it -”

A roar crashes through the branches, from a creature much larger and more furious than the source of the first noise, and Paul spits something untranslatable but plainly vulgar.

“Don’t hurt the little one,” he says, and with that obscure instruction, he takes off along the broken trail.

Paul isn't the only one who knows better but has done the opposite regardless of that fact. If his friends knew that Katsuki was out here by himself with every intention of taking a notorious beast out by himself, they would probably be livid with him. But he has no intentions of falling victim to that motherfucker, nor does he have the desire to drag any of them into more bloodshed after everything that's gone on in the last couple of months. And if he's being honest with himself? He doesn't want to risk them trying to talk him out of this. He needs it. Needs to do something good, to try to fucking... balance the scales of his own destruction or whatever. This isn't just going to save lives in the immediate sense and yeah, it's more killing to avoid more death. Not exactly logical, but nothing is fucking black and white when it comes down to it. Not here, not anywhere. And according to the locals, this helps the increase the fruits of their harvests. While Katsuki a year ago back home might not've bought into that kind of bullshit without seeing it first... he does here and now. He's seen them be right about plenty enough to be willing to believe it. He's also struggled with finding food and knows first hand how goddamn important that is.

Stealth isn't exactly Katsuki's forte. Not only does his quirk offer him absolutely no favor in that regard, it's just never been his style. It's ingrained in him by his own design to be a fearless and noticeable presence to enemies and audience alike, so when a situation calls for something more covert... well. Can't do everything flawlessly, as much as he likes to fucking think that he can.

Maybe it's the light crunch of leaves beneath his boot that catches Paul's attention, he doesn't know or give a shit because it's actually Katsuki who has been caught surprised here. Paul is apparently more skilled in this aspect of the hunt than he is, because his focus was pinned more to the destructive trail the creature has left, and didn't even realize that the other teen was crossing into his vicinity until he was practically on him. Even the shadow that the hood of his own cloak casts over his face doesn't hide the fact that he's caught off guard by the sudden voice, crimson eyes are wide and alarmed for a second there. But before he has the chance to try to express his displeasure with being obviously unaware? They're interrupted by the high pitched trill up ahead and his attention, fiercely focused and ready, diverts in that direction instead until he's addressed again. There's only time to spare Paul a glance as he reaches up to pull his hood down--that way he can see the the slight affirming nod of his head without the cloth getting in the way. The Bugge is why he is here.

The bone rattling roar of his mark cracks through the air like thunder, booming and menacing. It's got the blond's expression cracking open wide into a toothy, thrilled grin as his gaze searches ahead of them. Reading the path like a book and analyzing quickly, every step he will take as soon as he takes off, exactly what move will be made first and what the potential follow ups may be. Paul's voice is there again, Katsuki's head cocks so he can watch him sidelong for as long as it takes for him to say what he needs to. Obscure as it may seem, it's not hard to put together. One of these shitheads screeching in the woods ain't like the other, right?

The signs are there, that Paul's about to take off. Katsuki breaks into a sprint at the exact same time as him, rough voice calling out as they move in sync together across the forest floor. "Do what you gotta do, Pretty Boy! I'll get started on the big one!"

Paul takes Bakugou's momentary pause to listen to him as sign enough of agreement, even before he joins Paul in heated pursuit. Paul can trust in his competency as much as he trusts in Midoriya's, even with the briefness of their acquaintance - it's really Midoriya's trust that he adopts, a token of respect for both of them.

And this is what necessity demands of him, anyway, because there is no chance in this or any other universe that Paul will waste time on hesitation today. His cloak sheds behind him, sloughed off to reveal close-fitted blackened leather and cloth, a mask hanging around his neck not unlike a variation of Deku's own hero gear. The blindfold comes into sight, as does the gleam that ekes out around its edges, but it doesn't seem to affect his ability to dart across the uneven terrain to the clearing ahead.

"Understood!" Paul calls back, crisply tactical, when they're on the verge of contact with the hulking Beast that can already be glimpsed through the trees ahead by anyone with eyes to see it - and then they burst into the open space, and the situation clarifies itself.

The Bugge of legend towers above them, a solid wall of muscle under matted fur, slavering gobs of dark saliva from a maw pulled back in a rictus of hunger. In front of it, trilling frantically, quivering in every limb, is a much smaller Beast, barely larger than either of the two boys. It's a silver furred thing itself, a radial arrangement of overly jointed humanoid arms around a knuckle of a torso, with a head that is almost human in shape, except for the pair of hands that sprout from its sides and fold over its features to conceal them. On one wrist, a charred, dull band of metal sits, with a cracked stone in its setting. It cowers under the dread gaze of the Bugge, with old wounds raked across its limbs that match the thing's claws.

Next to the Bugge, Paul is a slip of shadow, his spear no more than a splinter. He skids to a halt at the periphery, levelling it at the titan, and draws his lips back in a snarl of his own.

"Alala!" His voice lashes out like a heavy chain, shockingly forceful from such a slender frame - a voice made for command, for the rallying cry. "Come here, if you want it!"

The words themselves don't matter. They mean nothing to the Beasts. But they do catch the Bugge's attention, and its baleful stare twists towards them in a wash of icy, unnatural terror.

"Come on," Paul says, with quiet, bitten off intensity, "Come on, come on -"

The Bugge snorts. It rears back, pivoting its bulk to face them, and lowers its mighty head - and then it charges.

Opposite of Paul, Katsuki does have a sense of caution when it comes to charging straight into battle with him. It doesn't come from a place of doubt--he knows personally that Paul can fight. Instead, it centers from the memory of their mutual green haired companion in the blond's own first days in Trench. Corrupted, weakened from self neglect, distraught because of the weight of his own failures as a hero. They had had to track his ass down and drag him home, he'd watched Izuku sob his eyes out over his inability to stop Paul's death while Katsuki washed his back for him. It was a really hard pill to swallow, being the one to receive the burden of Izuku's grief back then... and here, in the now, he's already decided that he won't be allowing it to happen again. Not on his watch. Paul is competent, and he's not going to tell him to stay back or coddle his ass here. He can do whatever the fuck he wants... except that. Dying. And so... that is how Paul Atreides gains Katsuki Bakugou's full loyalty in the battlefield.

When they hit the clearing and the explosive teenager gets his eyes on the towering beast, he falters. Skidding to a complete stop for a second, expression shocked and beyond alarmed. Paul is blind folded and it becomes immediately apparently that that is an advantage Katsuki does not have. Just like the black-hole at the end of the catacombs stint with Vi, the moment he looks into the face of this absolute fucking monster his blood is running cold. Heart stuttering in his chest with an immense sense of terror. Fuck! Fuck! Move! Move you fucking idiot!! Over and over in his mind, limbs still refusing to cooperate even through his own mental berating.

It's the sound of Paul's voice, Paul who he has just vowed to himself to protect, saying'Come on, come on' and the thundering sound of the charge itself that disrupts the hold on him. Tearing his gaze down from that drooling, snarling face and those horrifically mesmerizing eyes, Katsuki springs into action with arms that swing back behind him to release a blast that rockets him up forward with great speed, to get in front of Paul and the beast he aims to protect.

The Bugge closes on the trio just as the young aspiring hero snaps his arms forward, hands coming together in front of him to seemingly form around an invisible ball in between them. A red hot glow emits from his palms, and then--

FWOOMSH

Point Blank Stun Grenade! An immense, blinding flash of light emanating in the clearing has the Bugge rearing back with a bone shaking roar. Got him! Katsuki's stance changes again, those explosive hands behind him once more and angling downward towards the ground but before he has the chance to release his quirk and start his attack, the Bugge moves. It has better response time and is faster than Katsuki anticipated for an opponent so large, and the heavy swing of claws bats him to the side before he can do anything else. The teen flies through the air, and smashes into a tree hard--enough to have bile forcing it's way up into his throat and out of his mouth, then to the ground with an audible thud as he chokes for the air that's been knocked clean out of him.

The creature's attention zeroes back in on Paul and the smaller beast. Boom. Boom. BOOM. Each crashing smash of it's feet shake the forest floor, closing in on them. The enraged snarl comes with a sickening sloughing off of a drool and blood mixture from it's sharp, hungry mouth and it's drawing an arm back to crush them in a blow--

BOOM!

A large, heavy explosion hits from the side, sending Bugge flying out of their immediate vicinity just as it had just done to the teen. Katsuki drops from the air to the ground, just a few feet from where he previously stood in front of Paul, down on one knee for just a second. The blond looks fucking pissed as he shakily straightens up--he's covered in dirt and crushed dried leaves, there's blood starting to drip down the side of his face as he's wiping at his mouth to clear what he'd ejected moments ago. Panting heavily with his deadly glare staying pinned to the creature he's gotten put at a distance. Last time he was hit hard enough to literally spill his guts out like that, it was a punch from All Might, and this? This piece of shit ain't even remotely comparable to the power of fucking All Might. It's unacceptable.

He has limited time to get his bearings, prepare for his next attack and bark at his companion.

"Whatever the fuck you're gonna do with that thing, do it!" The blond grinds that out harshly as he undoes the clasp to his own cloak, letting it drop to the ground unceremoniously as he swings his other arm up to take aim with one of the large grenade shaped gauntlets he wears. The other hand moves to hook a finger in the pin, but he doesn't pull it right away. He's waiting and still watching, for the Bugge to get back on it's feet and charge its way back, and for Paul to act. Katsuki bought a minute for them, if that, and when their time is up and the beast is bearing down on them again, he's going to see how it likes the full power of his quirk straight to the face.

And then the real fun will begin. He's gonna fuck this motherfucker up.

From the start, Paul understands that he and Bakugou operate on two very different levels of combat. It isn't even a matter of raw power or finessed skill, but the nature of what they are capable of. Bakugou may be better understood as mobile artillery than a single combatant, Paul thinks - highly mobile artillery, he amends, as Bakugou wrests himself from where he was flung and throws himself back into the midst of chaos with those thunderous blasts.

They have no method or moment of communicating to each other that both of them are aligned in the conviction that the other won't be felled here, and it may be for the best that they can't, with how it might slow them down in insistence that the other be the priority. Unspoken, it aligns them better towards the same goal, although they fall into very different means of seeking to achieve it.

Bakugou flings himself at the Bugge like a meteor, and Paul flits between the currents of the other three parts of the battle - Bugge, Epsilon, and Bakugou - like a seed spiralling ahead of outstretched fingertips, untouchable and intent in the radiant near-now.

Speed is one of the most critical aspects of a battle like this. To strike the Bugge down as swiftly as they can reduces the risks for all of them, the skeins of possibility penned in safer waters, but Paul and Epsilon impose limits on the force Bakugou can bring to bear at close range. This is the problem Paul sets himself to solving as he weaves for time, herding and provoking in turns the smaller Beast as he can to stay out of reach of claw or flame or baleful gaze.

The sea medallion on his chest glows through his armor like a heart, like the lighthouse of his eyes, and in the precious minute Bakugou buys for them with his blood and breath, Paul sees exactly what he has to do.

His spear arcs over Bakugou's head trailing ephemeral black smoke, lightened by the possession of his Omen as it flies unerring into the Bugge's left eye. Paul does not watch its path, pivoting on his heel and sprinting to the hissing, furious Epsilon, fist curled around a far more valuable weapon as he throws himself into the embrace of the rearing Beast's outstretched arms.

Epsilon seizes Paul up in their grasp and snarls, the fingers of their face tenting as they recognize their tormentor. On its hindarms, it powers them both towards the closest hard surface, and it is Paul's turn to strike unyielding bark and break against it. Pain electrifies his left arm, but what he needs is in his right, and as the Beast parts its hands to reveal its rasping maw, Paul smiles serenely at it.

"Clear!" He calls out to Bakugou, and slaps the Moon Drop against Epsilon's convulsing heart.

who's seen jezebel? | september catch-all

Paul Atreides

closed

in the woods somewhere | kaworu nagisa and izuku "deku" midoriya

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me forgetting to mark whole threads for my canonpoint spoilers like a champ

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this is not the fun with blackwhip they wanted

BOOO

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idk if he knows who epsilon is yet

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interlude to set up Kaworuvention

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bugge hunt | katsuki bakugou

I'm gonna let you lead the scene for at least the next tag, but I promise ya won't have to carry all

hell yeah, let's BUGGE FITE

rubs a big fat middle finger in dreamwidth's faaaaace

cw: eye injury (non-graphic)