deercountry | [open] Oh the weather outside is weather

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.

Paul's opinion of Midoriya is going to be shattered once he learns what "fanboy" or "nerd" are.

"Oh! Yes, we will be even, won't we?"

He hadn't even properly identified the feeling, until Paul mentioned being even: an imbalance, like he owed him. Midoriya was elated to be offered knowledge, but also feeling like they should be learning together somehow. Yes, this exchange would do nicely.

Midoriya takes to the roofs again, evidenced by how fast Midoriya's Omen flies, and the sounds of running and jumping from behind. The Omen circles a building that should be familiar to Paul, the one who picked it out for the demonstration. They veer down and discorporate, rejoining Midoriya as he gingerly steps inside through a wide broken window. Calm, vigilant, unknowable, his Omen never did hang around for long, except when they were training. Midoriya sees the hole in the floor and cautiously stays where he is.

"Can you hear me, Paul-kun?"

"No," Paul calls up out of the basement, "I think you have the wrong place."

So perhaps Paul's opinion will not be shattered, because he is also like this.

If Midoriya chooses to come to the hole instead of leaving after that, he'll find Paul looking up at him with an expression that manages to include gratitude he came, embarrassment he found Paul like this, and anticipation of how Midoriya will get him out. Somehow, he thinks it's not going to involve throwing a rope.

"I'll still owe you for this," he says, half-smiling up from the bare floor. There's no sign of any disturbances besides the one he caused, the house otherwise as it seemed on the call: dusty, but empty of threat.

"...Funny," he sighs in the mildest manner possible. It's a treasure, something even those who get to know Midoriya over a long time rarely see, worth its weight in gold: Midoriya making a sarcastic comment about someone else.

Midoriya doesn't move. The last thing he wants to do is cause extra cave-ins by trampling around on an unstable floor. He can, however, just make out a figure standing below in the darkness if he leans at the right angle. Midoriya doesn't tally owed or owing things, nor is he likely to cash in on a favor, but he does want to spend more time with Paul now that he's here.

"...Can we get some yakiniku after this?" he asks shyly. He's not used to asking things of others outside of work or school, particularly things that could contribute to his own happiness.

It's for the best he's half in shadows. Paul doesn't care to think about how he might look at the question, except that it would likely bury any notion he has any dignity left.

"...I'd like that," he says, and he does fail to keep the quiet, skittish surprise out of his voice, especially when he adds, "I don't know what it is, but yes."

It had never occurred to Paul before he came here that there were areas of socializing he had no experience in. The blind spots were of scenarios he never would have been in, back in his world, that's true - but there are times he still feels fumbling and obvious. Admitting he has no idea what he's agreed to is one of them.

"Does that mean you'll still get me out?"

Midoriya wasn't even aware that the suggestion came from missing eating yakiniku with his class. It was just the first thing that came to mind.

"Oh, uh, it's..." a pause while he reaches for something he thinks will translate and hopes concentration does the rest, "grilled meat skewers. I don't even know if they have that here. We could just go eat anything, really." He grins. "Pretty sure I can't get food with you if you're stuck down there."

He peers at the rest of the room, particularly the ceiling, with a careful eye. He's muttering to himself, a slightly off-putting habit, unintelligible somethings about structural beams and haven't tried that...

"The safest way to do this is for me to carry you out. Keep clear of the hole, please. I'm going to jump down."

Now Paul gets to see his Quirk activate in person. He clears half the room in a calculated leap, arcing down to land on the basement floor. His Iron Soles strike the stone. With super strength, he doesn't need to roll.

Paul steps back from the hole immediately, providing ample space for Deku's landing, which he watches with avid eyes and a wide, closed mouth smile. He has an entire fleet of new questions ready to launch, but he holds them at bay - he can wait until they're out of here.

"I'll pay. I insist." He has a few fairly unusual stones on him, enough, he's sure, to cover the costs of grilled meat skewers or whatever else they find. The concept of paying for things himself is still novel, possibly noticeably so in the emphatic way he says it.

And then there's the idea of been carried. Paul knows, objectively, that Midoriya is right, given his abilities. It would be inconvenient to rig up a rope, and he might not be lucky in a fall again. But.

"...you won't tell anyone about this part, will you?" Paul steps towards Midoriya, studiously averting his gaze, as his Omen scrambles up his pant leg and into his pocket. "How do you want to...you know what you're doing. Go ahead."

He'll let Midoriya manhandle him however he sees fit, and swallow his pride about it. He knows (hopes he knows, an uncharacteristic anxiety) the other boy won't hold it over him.

"No, it's no trouble," he protests automatically. It's polite to. (Either Paul has a lot to barter with, or he's woefully inexperienced with bartering in Trench.)

He knows that in rescues, a victim might be reluctant, too scared, or, in Paul's case, embarrassed. For better or worse, Midoriya has a focus on saving others that eclipses everything else.

"You just have to hang onto me. On my back, that will leave my arms free to--"

He's hardly aware of cutting himself off and bracing himself slightly as a small tremor travels up through his shoes. It's gone before he can be concerned.

"...Earthquake?" he mutters in the mild way one does when growing up in a country that frequently experiences them. Anyway, he should hurry.

"...let's go." Paul circles around and bends to wraps his arms around Midoriya's shoulders, embarrassment superseded by the practical aversion to being underground in a doorless room during an earthquake. (His knife is thrust, for lack of a better place to secure it, loosely through his belt - not entirely safe, but it will be brief.)

Caladan is a seismically stable world, its violence confined to its skies and seas. Paul's feelings about shifting earth are new, and not resigned to it.

There's another tremor. This is when Paul's concern shifts into heightened preparatory alertness, and as the vibration ripples up his body, there is a sense of recognition -

"Now."

The second tremor can't be a coincidence. Midoriya activates his Quirk through his whole body again, as he did on his way here. He follows the orders of both instinct and Paul and jumps high into the air, clearing the basement.

The ground should crack and rumble, but the Unsnakely moves through earth like water. It's large enough to crowd a sitting room and long enough to lunge through the hole after the two humans. Being of earth itself, it takes and leaves rocks as it rises straight up out of the ground to snap its flaming jaws--

Midoriya twists in the air. There's no time to finesse a gentle landing like he wanted. He shoots Blackwhip from his hand at the top of the large glassless window frame he used as an entrance, yanks, and hurls himself and Paul through it.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

MHA spoilers, folks

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

jaws theme plays

no subject

let me know if i can change anything XD