deercountry | [open] Oh the weather outside is weather

cw: teens in danger

Nothing makes fast friends like accidentally entering someone's memory and averting trauma. At first Midoriya was worried they wouldn't be able to track each other down again, but he did give his hero name. Deku is also his screen name on deerNet, because a hero should at least be somewhat easy to contact. Life finds a way.

He's at home video chatting. His Omni's camera shifts wildly as he brings it closer to watch. Midoriya's hair is getting scraggly; it could use a trim. He's in a boring gray-blue hoodie bought in Trench. Behind him is the wallpaper of a plain Crenshaw district apartment. He flashes a grin.

"OK Paul-kun, I'm ready. What are you going to show me?"

"Hold on."

Paul fidgets with his own Omni, disappearing from frame as he checks the visible screen again. The camera is focused (more or less) on an empty, wide room - perhaps a studio, once - largely free of furniture, but thick with dust. Paul chose it for the wide broken windows that flood it with natural light.

"That's...better," he says, coming back in view. His hair is as messy as Midoriya's, and he's wearing a loose black shirt and pants, coat discarded for the sake of the demonstration. He spins the long knife in his right hand absently and smiles at Midoriya.

"It's a swordmaster drill," he explains, kneeling on one knee in front of the Omni, a few inches too close to the lens, "I finally found enough space. Can you see the room?"

He sits up straighter. Once, maybe a year ago, he would have stared in awed anticipation or made high-pitched noises of excitement. Now, learning about pro moves is routine. He simply opens his notebook where it rests on his coffee table offscreen.

"You only need to back up a bit, if it's not too much trouble."

He honors Paul's wish to be referred to by his first name with no title. However, since learning of Paul's role back home, there has been a slight shift in Midoriya's speech. Not all of it translates all the time, and Midoriya wants to be friends foremost, but he still uses more words to say something he could in less.

"Of course." Paul flashes another quick smile, this one as cocky as the one he wore when they first discussed sparring.

The slight shift of politeness in Midoriya's way of speaking is something he notices, and in an odd way, it feels like more of a familiarity than a formality. Perhaps it's because Midoriya is one of the few people who knows even that much about Paul.

Maybe that's why he's doing something as frivolous as this, instead of anything else he could and should be doing. He considers that as he stands up and walks to his starting point, glancing back at the Omni and nodding before he takes a simple stance with his feet hip width apart, right foot slightly in front of the left.

Maybe he wants an excuse to talk to someone, and that's a thought that's fuel for motion. Paul begins the flow of the drill, a series of specific forms: a block, a guard, a parry, a thrust, a slash. Each gesture is exquisitely controlled, measured to a deliberate tempo. It's a demonstration of technique as close to perfect as the human body allows. Once he reaches the other side of the creaking floor, he turns around, flipping the knife in the air and catching it in his other hand.

"That's one of the Ginaz school sequences," he calls out to Midoriya, rolling back his shoulders and ticking his head from one side to the other, loosening his joints, "It's the basis this one is elaborated from. I'll try to keep it slow enough to see."

And Paul bursts into fluid, twisting motion as he starts back across the room, a much more intricate rendition of the forms interwoven with steps of advancement and evasion. Even slowed it's all but a blur, and Paul exalts in the glory of easy, painless motion so much that he decides to add a flourish of his own, arcing into a showy and useless back flip that he lands on one foot because he can -

- and he drops out of view with a startled expression as the floor gives way underneath him.

It's like a shared secret, though it's mixed with some terrible things. It's not the first time Midoriya's had that kind of secret. No one but the small handful of witnesses in an alley in Hosu City would know that one of his friends chased down a violent criminal to kill him in revenge. It's not a hero's job to take vengeance, except perhaps to capture a villain for someone else's safety. Saving people always comes first.

He grins back. He often studies on his own, but he treasures his friendships, old and new. He didn't have any in junior high. Being friends with Midoriya means helping each other out and growing stronger together. Not long after arriving in Deer Country, he sought sparring partners to help continue the practice he'd be getting with his classmates. There's another imbalance he's been subconsciously trying to even out: Midoriya keenly feels the absence of his main rival. So, if a touch more fierceness than strictly necessary creeps into his grin, it's because he's channeling him.

He scribbles Gii-na-zu down in Japanese syllabary, wondering if he's spelling it right. He's mentally listing the merits and demerits of allowing a weapon to leave one's hand. Then he focuses with rapt attention on Paul. Slow enough to see? That makes him want to measure the speed of his Full Cowl against its true speed. He forgets himself as he sucks in a quick breath. He's analyzing which moves he might be able to adapt, and which would be impossible without some serious dedication--

CRASH!!

He's up out of his seat in an instant.

"Paul-kun!! Are you OK?!"

A dark desert mouse hops into view, nose twitching as she looks at the camera, and then she bounces across the room and dives into the hole.

A new message request is sent to Midoriya's device, Omen-sent, and when he opens it he will find Paul's face - again, too close to the lens, even when that lens is a magical mouse's eyes - dusty and deeply sheepish, cheeks flushed pinkish and eyes slightly averted.

"I'm fine." It's a new colloquialism he's picked up, muttered more than said. He does have a light scratch on his cheek, and he's going to be bruised, but in a way, he's fortunate. The fall into this deep basement was long enough that he had time to fall properly.

"That wasn't exactly how that was supposed to go." He almost wishes he had been knocked unconscious, or broken something. At least he would be distracted from wanting to find an even deeper hole to sink into.

I'm fine is Midoriya's line, usually said when he is absolutely not anywhere near fine. But, neither of them are grievously injured at the moment. He counts his blessings.

Paul had chosen an abandoned building of some sort, and there were plenty around just rotting away. Still, Midoriya hadn't expected the whole floor to give. Because Midoriya is a good friend, he does not laugh at him, though Paul looks ready to melt into the earth and never rise again. Midoriya is more concerned about cave-ins. He shifts his head from side to side, as if that will magically broaden the "camera" angle and give a clue to what's behind Paul.

"Where are you? How far did you fall?"

"I'm on the edge of Lumenwood. A few meters."

The view rotates as Sophia turns herself around, revealing a wide room with frost-coated stone walls. The light that comes in through the hole above only reaches so far, but it seems structurally sound enough, save for the fact that as the mouse finishes her spin to come back to Paul it's clear the cellar has no exits.

"...it might take a while to get out of here." Paul is looking up at the hole above him with flustered frustration, and to not have to meet Midoriya's worried eyes. "You should get back to what you were doing. I apologize."

Edited 2022-01-08 09:25 (UTC)

Midoriya squints sharply at the room. He supposes any proper exit must be blocked off by already existing debris or handled by a trapdoor which would be of no help to Paul anyway.

"No--I'm coming over there."

Midoriya darts away from view. No more niceties such as if you want or if it's alright. His voice is low too, businesslike. Training, and a little field experience, taught him to be clear and curt when time is of the essence. He feels it's urgent. From his bedroom, the sound of rustling clothes and clatter of gear can be heard. He calls out,

"You don't want to be stuck in a weird place too long in Trench. The last time I fell somewhere underground, I was attacked by a monster."

"I'll be -" Paul raises his voice when Midoriya goes out of sight "I'd be all right!"

He's sure he's making an excellent case for that, given the circumstances. Of course it's not reasonable to reject freely offered help, especially when he's not immediately certain how he would get out of here (Sophia almost immediately told him good luck, archly, and oh, they'll talk about that) on his own. Midoriya assumes a trap door, but Paul looks around this room and assumes it wasn't designed for anything in it to get out, which does add some weight to Midoriya's concerns about monsters.

"I'm not talking you out of this, am I?" he asks, more sulkily than he likes, but there's awkward gratitude underneath it.

It's just a routine safety precaution. He's even running through various rescue training scenarios based on what he's seen of the place. He'd do the same for anyone.

He strides past the Omni in his dark green jumpsuit. It isn't until he's in the entryway putting on his shoes that it occurs to him that nothing about his growing apprehension is routine. He can't figure out what's different now, nor does he have time to.

His dread of seeing others hurt was tested back home, but really came to a head in November. It burrowed deep and never went away. There could be no danger at all today, but there's nothing like fear of the unknown. He's in a hurry.

He almost misses what Paul says next. A close friend said that to him once. The words are so similar to Iida's that they catch him by surprise, even if Paul's tone is different. He can just see Iida following it up with an admonition about his past recklessness while straightening his glasses. It's a memory of a good friend. It bolsters him and sets him straight.

He appears in frame again to retrieve his Omni, and he cracks a smile.

"No, sorry." The Omni and its view disappear into the darkness of one of his belt pouches. "Switching the call to my Omen when I get outside."

There's not much Paul can say to that in protest, so he says nothing. Instead, he moves over to a wall while Midoriya heads outside, and when the video aspect of their communications resume Paul is seated with his back to it and his short blade across his lap. His Omen is further back from him, instead of crowded to his face or tipped at a dizzying angle, and Paul tries his best to look composed in front of her judging little eyes.

"I'm sorry." He might as well say it up front, even if it's quietly. "Thank you."

Midoriya's quiet, relentless determination is a thing that snuck up on Paul last time. This time, he recognized the look in the other boy's eyes, and Paul has decided to give up while he's ahead.

"I've sent more directions to your Omen." Paul tips his head back against the wall, not quite hard enough to thud. "I'm sure this will make for great notes."

He locks his door and runs lightly up the stairs to the roof.

"I-It's fine, don't worry about it," he says awkwardly. The last thing he wants is a fuss.

Midoriya appears again, through his Omen's eyes, wearing a cloak with a Hunter's badge and taking a running leap off his roof with super strength. The cold, crisp air smacks his face and dispels the last of his apprehension. He can see his breath.

"Is it freezing in that basement, Paul-kun?"

On rooftops, there are less bystanders to worry about avoiding. The snow would make this slippery, but his Iron Soles act like cleats. He doesn't have the liquid fluidity of a traceur, and given that he stole these moves from his rival, the only grace present is an aggressive efficiency. The energy from his Quirk seems to spark and cut the air around him, but it touches nothing. His Omen, only seen as the blurry shadow of a bird with a long flourished tail, keeps pace behind him.

"I'm -" Paul sighs, stopping himself from finishing the sentence. "It's not so bad."

The way the air flickers around Midoriya draws Paul's attention, as does the rapid purpose and confidence of his movements. As many times as Paul sees a new facet of the ways people have power here, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to take it for granted. Every time has been as fascinating as the first, and he sits up to watch the projection Sophia shows him more closely.

"Paul-kun," he echoes, since Paul never settles for being curious about one thing at a time, "What does the modifier mean? I've been meaning to ask you."

Or: he'd rather talk about anything other than how cold this basement is, or how he's stuck in it, and linguistics is always an interesting subject.

"No frostbite then," he confirms as he soars across an alley. He wanted to know how long Paul could comfortably last without his jacket against something that could set in within minutes. He isn't coddling, but neither does he give Paul's pride much room to move either. There's no real emotional danger that he can see, just a physical one that must be attended to sooner than later.

"Oh--uh--"

His businesslike demeanor drops, and he's an awkward high schooler again. He grimaces a little in surprise, wondering how to explain the meaning of something he always knew the nuance of. He had been Izuku-kun, then Midoriya-kun, to most people ever since he could remember.

"It's like... what I use for other guys around my age or younger," he says between breaths and running leaps. "Adults call me that too. A young child wouldn't though, since I'm older. The elderly can use it for an adult if they want. It can be used for friends, equals, or juniors that are men or women, but it's mostly used for guys."

Cellar Door's Lamp Location at The Red is closer to where he lives than Crenshaw's own. In the distance he sees Central Line, the wide street that marks the border. That could be quicker... and good practice too...

Those are impressive jumps, to say the least. Paul leans forward avidly, even though it makes no difference to what he can see, splitting his attention between visual and audio information streams. (Paul could have mentioned being able to stave off frostbite better than most, but he guesses that Midoriya would ask why he can, and how, and then he would look completely stupid for being here instead of only partially so.)

Galach has its own subtle ranking markers in inflection, Atreides House sign has its referential forms for different relationships between signers. Paul doesn't believe in the theory of psycho-linguistic determinism, but that doesn't mean he dismisses the weakly reciprocal relationship between language and culture. Knowing this is knowing more about Midoriya, too.

"So there are other modifiers for differing relationships and ages," Paul infers, "So, if I were to use them for you, would it be Midoriya-kun?"

He smiles. That's kind of charming. Another friend here, Luz, from the US, calls him Midoriya-kun. She got it from anime.

"You could..." he says noncommittally. "If you wanted to use anything. It would be pretty normal between us. But we don't really expect foreigners to, unless they speak Japanese."

He wonders if the other polite forms in his speech have been translating over too... Oh well.

"And anyway it depends on who you are, how you want to speak, and how the other person wants you to refer to them. Some of my friends use my name without anything, because they're on the more casual side. Or assertive? Like when they use 'I' instead of 'I', or 'you' instead of 'you'."

...That last bit didn't translate at all. He has no idea. The wide street is coming closer, but he doesn't slow his pace or change course.

Paul wonders how much of his own speech is being compressed the way Midoriya's is. He does know that certain words of his own have not translated, as obvious as they are, while others are technically correct, but fail to be fully understood without explanations like this. He's tried switching languages before to see if it makes a difference, it hasn't seemed to. It's frustrating, yes, but also - it's an isolation, in a way.

"I'm going to learn Japanese," Paul decides, casually, as he assesses Midoriya's speed and momentum against the gap looming ahead of him. He must know something Paul doesn't, and Paul trusts that this isn't all an elaborate exercise to teach Paul a lesson about looking before you leap.

Or he did, until he thought about it, and a sliver of doubt crept in. He's almost completely sure that's not what's going to happen. He still leans in further with a touch of apprehension.

"Are you - ?" Paul lets the question be half-finished, ambiguously hanging between sure about this and going to jump.

"H-Huh? Just like that?"

He can't really protest. In fact, he wants to help. He's not the best teacher, as evidenced by his rambling out loud, but he is a fantastic ~~nerd~~ note taker. Very organized and concise. Maybe Paul could help him navigate the Archives in return. He could get some proper books on English, the language he'd been taking at school back home.

"Back to honorifics, then... Uh, they're required in some cases, but they can be something personal between you and another person. Like nicknames. There's only one person I call by a nickname, someone I've known ever since I can remember."

It used to be that he had to consciously imitate the person who was always, in his mind, the image of victory. Now, that fierce grin in the face of a challenge comes subconsciously. The cold air on his sweaty face and the thought of his rival make him feel alive. He can't answer Paul's question, because the answer is happening right now. He leaps off the edge of the last building. Carriages bustle below, and a few pedestrians look up and point. He soars high and far--but not quite far enough.

The grin on his face widens, and he fixes his eyes on his target: the side of a large, stalwart building across the street, familiar to him from patrols. He throws one arm forward, and a black, whip-like energy shoots from his knuckles and sticks to the wall. With a shout, he yanks himself the rest of the way, hurtling across the street towards it with room to spare.

"YES!!" he can't help yelling in midair. His Blackwhip dissipates. He kicks off the wall and lands to run across the neighboring roof. He knew he could do it, but... it is his first time trying it.

Paul trusts Midoriya not to throw himself off a building without a plan. Paul trusts Midoriya not to throw himself off a building without a plan. Paul trusts -

He whoops in time with Midoriya's cry of triumph, then laughs, bright, relieved, and amazed. He's bent over his knees in eagerness when the other boy lands, the question of language forgotten (he means it, though, maybe especially now) as he excitedly wills Sophia to preserve the memory as back up for his own.

"What was that?" Paul asks, almost as soon as Midoriya is running again, his sour mood discarded too. "Is that what you do at home? Are any of these powers from here? How far can it reach? Can you do more than one at a time?"

He stops himself from adding more questions to that, yet, but they're lining up inside his thoughts as he turns what he witnessed over and over like a much-appreciated gift.

"Too--Too many questions!" he laughs breathlessly, struggling to remember them as he keeps up his pace.

"It's a small step. I know some people who could clear that without having to think and juggle multiple things. Naturals. One in particular can move perfectly, like you."

He can't help the very slight wistfulness creeping into his voice. It's as close to jealousy as he gets. He'd have told Paul this earlier, had he not been distracted by him falling in a hole. Finally he starts making his way down from the rooftops, zigzagging down the walls of an alley. He waves apologetically at two very surprised chefs on their smoke break.

"I still have to work to make this Quirk mine. Almost everyone in my world manifests a meta ability when they're little, but mine appeared just a year ago. This is a new move. I don't know if I can do two at once yet. But that's about as far as it can reach."

His Omen alights on his shoulder (Is it smaller now?) and the view is eye level again. Midoriya's flushed, sweating face is on one side, and the Lamp Location at The Red draws closer in front. Midoriya weaves past concertgoers milling about in the portico.

"I'm a Warmblood. I was told we have no magic but the Omen."

"I can teach you how," Paul offers instantly, when Midoriya references his movement, almost fierce with anticipation of the idea. He's more thrilled by that image than the praise, even if it is flattering, his thoughts already flashing ahead to possibilities.

It's not so overwhelming a prospect that he doesn't catch the wistfulness. Paul tamps down his envious frustration at that with a reminder to himself that power is relative. On a world where everyone is like this (and there are so many of those, more of them than worlds like his, it seems) coming into your power late must leave scars.

(The fact the gentlest people he's met here have been the ones who have seemed to have suffered the most, and still chosen dizzying, worrying kindness, hasn't been lost on him.)

"I know it was too many. I've never seen anyone do that before. Or that, the running -" Paul taps his fingers on his knee, almost humming with energy "- better for you to be a Warmblood, I think, so it doesn't interfere with what you already have. It's called a Quirk?"

"Really?! I mean--" He should probably cut back on sounding like an excited puppy. Trenchies around him turn their heads in confusion, then see he is looking at his Omen. "I would be glad to learn, if you would teach me. My moves are too easy to read in a fight, even if I've increased my speed."

He wants to be an honest person. That's the impression he gives as well. But in certain circumstances, he's ready to lie. He was not born with his Quirk, like he claims. It is transferable, and no one can know that. The danger he could bring to people around him if someone decided to come after it with violence ensures his secrecy. Some of its previous wielders were hunted down and killed for the powerful Quirk that can stack the strength of its previous holders.

In the brief time he didn't know his Sleeper blood type, he had been worried that it would affect the Quirk that had been entrusted to him to defeat a great evil. If he went and lost it, he would be letting everyone down.

The view cuts out as he puts his hand near the Lamp. Midoriya and his Omen burst into existence again at Lumenwood's Lumenarium. He's already visited the hospital multiple times, so he only spares it a small glance. Then he disappears from view as his Omen takes off flying again, this time in front to lead Midoriya in Paul's direction. His voice comes from behind.

"Yes. I'm not sure how that* translates into other languages..." He never thought about it before, how much of his speech might be lost. The whole of his society is influenced by this one word. "It's like your self in a way. Something unique to you."

*Kosei, lit. "Individuality". Quirk is the officially used translation.

It's as if Midoriya is infectious. Paul has long been past puppyish excitement, but somehow, when Midoriya bursts into his fits of delight at the simplest things...Paul remembers what it was like so vividly he feels it, too.

"You'll pick it up in no time," Paul promises, his hands around his ankles as he grins, swept along with Midoriya's point of view, "You're a good student, aren't you?"

He's teasing, but not meanly. He knows Midoriya has the potential necessary to learn what Paul has to teach. It does take a good student, a diligent one, who pays close and careful attention. He has the physical aptitude, the right way of moving. And - it would be a reason to spend more time around him.

"And you'll teach me the word properly, so we'll be even." A brisk, certain nod. That's that, then. Midoriya will teach him Japanese, and Paul will teach him the way he fights.

For Paul Atreides - Sick Moves, Bro

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MHA spoilers, folks

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