Athwart History (Closed)

"I get that," Elias says. There's compassion in his voice. He reaches over and clasps Jenna's shoulder with a broad hand for a moment, then lets it, and the topic, go.

"The Ring - formally the Saturnine Ring, but nobody calls it that - is just a bunch of people that nominally do what Caliban tells them to do," Adamant explains, a touch of asperity entering his tone. "It's stupid, but he does a lot more to keep them in order than the Tower does. He just wants them not to do explicitly stupid shit, and in exchange they get all kinds of benefits, recognition, funds. Not blow up cities on this continent, stuff like that."

He gropes in a drawer, and pulls out a newspaper: Al Jazheera. It looks like some English-translated current events newsletter about the Middle East. The lead page is what has to be at least three miles of precious farmland in that arid land, set to the torch. It burns, all of it - and caught in blossom within the frame, fire birthing from thin air to rain down upon the crops yet again.

"Make no mistake: their business is death. Destruction. The Ring hires out villains as paramilitary forces around the globe, 'political consultants', whatever people, or despots, will pay for. It's a tremendous amount of money. It gets swept under the carpet because Caliban doesn't conduct 'conflict operations' within this country at all, and has a formal contract with the government guaranteeing intervention should a hostile parahuman force engage with the armed forces. For them, this is just corporate policy, it's just close enough to home to be a problem."

Adamant snorts, harsh. "I don't think it'll be quite as smooth this time - this was a bad fight - but if no one says anything, and I'd bet you money Cid won't, this'll fade away just the same. The Ring's too productive to shut down."

Elias didn't know the story-no one did-and Jenna wasn't about to go into it, but...it made her feel better.

Jenna's takes the newspaper, seeming to recognize part of the photo. This had been reported as a terrorist attack a few weeks ago-not meta human involvement.

She is very clearly distressed as she listens to what he tells her. Bad meta beings using their abilities for hire rather than for their own purpose doesn't make it any less -bad- when they do evil! If anything, that just might make it worse!

"W-well I'm not going to just let it go. I don't care if they DID open a door and prevent me from being lunch or if Cid IS supposedly the end all be all of heroes right now-" Tch.

"I don't have my bearings yet-but this isn't okay. This whole thing might be a nasty can of worms but it is NOT okay." Another glance to the newspaper and Jenna shook her head, folding it up to return it to him. She's upset. It'd been a pretty intense day, nothing was what she had thought it was, and she had no idea where to go from here or what to do about any of it. But she knew right from wrong. And this entire mess was wrong, wrong, wrong.

"Shit, they could have LET me be lunch, I doubt that would have made much difference in the rug sweeping you think is about to happen."

"Well, it'll be good having company on the soapbox," Elias says, rolling his neck as he tries to ward off drowsiness. His eyes flutter despite himself and with a groan he straightens himself up, leaving the seductive comfort of the padded chair. "You would have been more of a mess - you're directly under Cid's supervision, and a big part of this deal I think they've got going on is that none of the heroes get hurt. It's been eight years of active service and aside from me and Rowan, I can't recall an active hero who's gotten seriously hurt, and Rowan got burned in a wildfire prevention effort - that was just shit luck on his part."

Rowan - one of the retired heroes, now settled in California. A man whose had complete control over the rowan tree. He could force them to grow, alter their genome, alter the genomes of anything that ate their bark, berries, whatever. Capable of systemically creating fantastical ecosystems, and protective of his groves and his solitude. Fire and insect blights were the only things that could shake him.

For a moment, Elias looks lost. Then he shakes his head and continues. "My point is, even Cid can't make a kid's death look good. Fuck 'em anyways. You're not here just because you're useful."

That made things a little less intimidating-Elias wasn't part of this messed up conspiracy. She wouldn't have to go it entirely without direction or alone.

She nodded slowly. While in the immaculate unending hallway, that feeling of conspiracy, of powers at work had been undeniable. Things beyond her scope. Things Elias was aware-or at least had suspicion-of.

He went quiet and Jenna glanced over to him-he looked out of it. It seemed to come and go in waves, and just as she was about to ask if he was still with her he spoke again.

"Well, at least you think so." She had been so excited to be part of the League. To be included, validated by what she thought was the last of the best.

Instead, she was rapidly coming to regret ever signing on or even awknowledging the invite. There had to be some way to salvage things, surely...Cid wasn't the only hero at the Tower. Maybe things weren't even quite as bad as he thought.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elias' head dropped forward.

"H-hey now, you can't sleep, not yet-" She's on her feet and giving his opposite, uninjured shoulder a light shake. Up close she can see his powers at work, the light slowly stitching him together. There's the smell of smoke and soot on both of them, of lake water and sand-but there's also a vague hint of a sugary vanilla scent to the speedster's skin, something sweet and at odds to the perfumes most women wore.

"Elias?" She had hesitantly touched his face to lift his head up, her dark eyes filled with concern. "We have to at least get you home, you can't...you can't sleep in a boat with a concussion."

Vanilla. He inhales the scent for a moment, eyes lidded. To be honest, it's the first time he's had cause to notice a woman this close in - a long time. He shakes the thought off without considering it.

A wry quirk touches the corner of Elias's mouth, instead. "Had a lot of people tell me I can't do a lot of things," he says, as the boat pulls into the dock they had left with the whine of unwinding engine. Even at this distance, the smoke of Muskegon's docks hangs on the horizon, the black fog rolling out over the lake waters and sinking into the depths. Beneath the orange light of evening, it makes a grim sight. "Guess how well that works."

Nevertheless, he unbuckles himself and stands - staggers once, briefly - regains himself, and strides out of the boat. A moment of orientation has him heading south along the docks, past the crowds gathering by the biers and worriedly talking about the disaster on the horizon. "I can make it home from here," he says, moving steadily now that he's got physical activity to keep him occupied. "On the other hand, it's damn near night, and I don't know how long a run you've got back to wherever you call home. I've got a spare room if you want it, Jenna - anyone that walks through and back out of that kind of mess at my side is welcome at my house."

He also doesn't want to dump Jenna into Association hands exhausted from two long runs, a major fight, and all the emotional upheaval he's dumped on her already. He knows without asking that's shaping up to be a hell of an argument, and she doesn't seem the sort to let it go quietly at all. That's not his business to ask about, though, no matter how intense this one day of working together has been, so the offer is all he can give.

"Probably doesn't. They call you the 'Man Against', after all." He's pretty solid. She feels a little foolish for worrying-but he had said it himself-he'd almost died.

She steps back as he unbuckles, watchful-and zips to the dock a blink after him. They draw a few glances, but the attention is across the lake, hands to mouths and furrowed, anxious brows.

Even Jenna spares a look. The devastation and loss of life-it stings at her eyes and she looks away, forcing the thoughts away. Later. She'd process it later.

"C'mon, I'm only like, a hundred odd miles away." She says with that pixie-ish grin-a little dimmer, but still with a bit of magic to it. But he might notice that while she's not limping, she's moving at normal speed several paces behind him. A 'hundred odd' miles was a long away with an injured leg.

"But...I am a little whipped." Jenna admits as the grin fades. It'd been a while since that had happened. And she was worried about him. He might be Adamant, but he'd taken some hits. "So that'd be appreciated, thank you." Going to a man's house was uh, not really something she did, but she can trust him. He was a hero, after all.

Plus, sleeping somewhere other than the cot in Laura's base would be great, even if all he had was a couch in that spare room. She needed sleep, and she needed time to think, and...she needed a shower. She still felt grimy from the smoke and flames, and mostly-Paul's creeptastic mind fuck.

Elias nods in acceptance, somewhat amused by the nickname. It's been years since he last heard that, somewhat sequestered by both his hometown's familiarity with him and his own preference for using his personal name over the hodgepodge of titles most long-term heroes tended to pick up. "Shit, I forgot that one," he says, striding forward against the work hour pedestrian flow, splitting it with raw bulk and looming presence. With blood still staining his chest and the shining stitches lighting him up like a macabre Christmas tree, he doesn't have to try very hard to get some space. "I remember Brannigan called me that back in, what, '04? Washington Post interview, big deal at the time.

He rolls his good shoulder and settles into the story. He still didn't know Jenna well - he needed to fix that - but she seemed a sucker for the highlight stories. Time to dispel a little darkness, at least. "Was after Aeneas and I wrecked that rogue battleship Haywire hijacked. I stood on a cement mixer plate and he threw me probably three hundred meters to that ship off-shore. Still, to this day, the most certain I've ever been that I've made a terrible mistake."

Adamant chuckles. "You can give yourself a Greek name, and a Greek costume, and superhuman physiology, but none of that will give you aim worth shit." He scratches his chest idly, then pulls out a tiny chunk of rebar that had been lodged in it. He frowns at it and tosses it aside. "Not that I'd have been much happier if I hit the ship dead on, but at least it would've been over sooner."

Their destination peeks around the corner at them as they leave the city suburbs and slide into a more forested, murkier area, heron calls croaking in the evening distance. A lodge slides into view behind a forested glade, its thick log walls and green, mossy roof blending into the environment naturally. There's a curved gravel road leading in, and a single-car garage whose door is mottled to match the undergrowth it passes by. The entire home fades into the forest from the approach angle - even the windows and porch are darkened, but with the light of a lantern at the door to welcome its traveler home. Glimmering pools of water gather in the misty woods about them, with the calls of nesting birds: bitterns and egrets, cormorants and gannets, mixing with the croak of frogs.

"Welcome to Heron's Coulee," Adamant says, with a long sigh like coming home.

"How long ago?" Jenna teases. She'd tease him further but she sensed a story coming on-and Elias had judged her correctly in thinking she was a sucker for them. He immediately had her full attention, the petite heroine moving in his wake.

"What, like a discus?" Fitting for a Greek hero, but holy shit! "Did...did it skip?" That sounded awesome. And maybe a little terrifying, riding something without seatbelts or steering across the waves. "Or did it just like, slice into the water? Did you have to swim the rest of the way?" Oh jeez.

They were leaving the busier part of the suburbs, getting to where there were more trees and fauna, wild life. She couldn't deny being curious about where the Great Adamant kicked back and took refuge-where any of them did.

She hadn't entirely expected the fairytale-esque setting of his home or the restful sort of sigh he made-but it made her happy. Clearly, this was home for him. Not just a base or war room, not just...somewhere to be between hero patrols and missions.

"Do a lot of bird watching in your old age?" Another teasing comment, harmless, mirthful. She was tired, but always very companionable this Jenna Paige.

"Oh-four, catty child," Elias replies with good humor. "So it would have been just over twelve years ago. Way back near when I got my first start, younger than you. So respect your elders, especially when they do extreme sports - because yes, like a discus, and yes, it did skip, and yes, it missed and I went about a half-mile out into the surf and got to swim back to the ship in full uniform. It really sucked."

It's easy to forget that Adamant is in his mid-thirties, sometimes; his invulnerable crabbiness and rocky features lend themselves to a sort of ageless masculinity. Swathed in heavy fabric and his dark, curly hair, people more often see the imagine he projects than the man himself, and Elias encourages it as a matter of course. It's easier to be a symbol when people aren't looking for humanity.

Adamant - or just Elias, for now - leads Jenna to the door, where he rests his hand on the handle of the thick, camo-patterned door. There's a single, featureless hole in the handle, and he closes his eyes and lets a glimmer of starlight pierce through it, before the contraption clicks and his home opens before him. The interior of the lodge has two levels, a gallery-cum-kitchen healthily stocked, and a larger open living area with two couches, an entertainment center, several chairs, and a wide space that sits empty in the center. A pair of staircases fold back into a second level above the kitchen, with a descending set heading towards a presumed basement level. The far wall is a wide fireplace, the mantle decorated with photographs, laminated news articles, awards - a tapestry of hero history that probably tells a fuller story of the League than any biography.

It's surprisingly luxurious, all told, and Elias smiles as he wanders over to the fridge, taking out a cold compress and taping it to his own head with a total lack of self-awareness. "I used to host five or six friends at a time here, back then," he says, gesturing around. "No hero bases back then, government funding, paychecks, any of that shit. Volunteer work only. A lot of us were dirt poor. That was the start of the endorsement contracts, and while I'm not fond of them, I won't pretend they weren't necessary. Day jobs are a joke when you might be out a week healing from a bad fight anytime."

He glances around the fridge door at Jenna, already pouring himself a tall glass of apple juice, then draining a third of it in one long swallow. "Shower's upstairs if you want that first, and there's a bunch of sweatshirts and sweatpants in the closet up there. God knows it's not the first time everyone's come home in crusty-ass costumes. If not, make yourself at home."

Dispel the darkness indeed; the petite woman laughed. It's a rewarding sound that grew from a silvery giggle to an infectious, delighted feminine laugh, lighting those guileless dark eyes and enhancing her features with that inherent vivaciousness.

Some women were beautiful when angry, some when they cried, but with Jenna, it was when she laughed.

"That sounds like it sucked-but also a little fun. ...and maybe a little terrifying." She wasn't sure she'd opt for it. Or maybe she would-sometimes she just got that daredevil itch...

He opens the door with the best key a hero could have-himself. Reflecting on Laura's ten thousand spin handle to the tunnel, she wondered if all heroes did things like that-made entrances and ways to get inside specific to them and only them, rather than a combo lock or high tech eye reader.

It's a nice house. More modern seeming than the one she grew up in-Jenna's thoughts veer away, the heroine not wanting to ruminate over that any more than she had been doing, last few months.

He wanders in with an almost boyish smile, happy and light-and Jenna smiled too, though she paused at the door to politely remove her silver boots. Habit.

At odds with her costume, Jenna was sporting navy blue socks with pink llamas on them, of all things. Or were those alpacas? Give the cartoonish nature of the things, hard to say.

"That's what I used to think of it as-" She comments, imagining the house full of heroes shooting the breeze, taking some well deserved downtime. "My side gig, my volunteer job." She pauses. "Suppose it's still all volunteer, but that just might be me continuing to duck sit down meetings, haha."

She hadn't really considered the possibility of being -paid-. Laura's base was secure and in need of no real upkeep. She ate for free in the city-no one would have taken her money even if she insisted. Probably for the best-she didn't have a lot of it.

Still though...paid hero work? No, she didn't like it. She wasn't faulting it of others if they needed it, but that...wasn't for her.

"I'll just start a delivery service, push comes to shove." She decides with a wink-only for him to offer up a shower. That sounded -heavenly-, for sure. "Yeah, I'd appreciate stealing a shower-thanks Elias. And...thanks for having me over. You have a lovely home." A nod.

Elias waves her thanks off with one hand, grabs a granola bar and chows on it for a minute, and then while his guest is in the shower wearily begins to strip his outfit off. The shirt and jeans are a writeoff, the former soaked through with blood and torn from Paul's bolt, while the bomber jacket has an interior lining and is specifically reinforced. That, at least, he can save; the rest goes in the trash. Gingerly he uses a wet towel to work off the worst of the smear across his chest - some evil combination of magic bug gut, blood, and ash - and has to give it up halfway through when the tingles of pain start to become real agony. Whatever damage is on the outside is nothing compared to what that fucking thing did inside - it cracked his sternum in half, collapsed a lung, and tried to climb out through his aorta. From experience, Adamant knows, he can replace increasingly large amounts of his physiology with his starlight over time, the friction and grind of interlocking body mechanisms increasing his durability exponentially once initiated.

Eventually, he knows, he survives everything.

Instead, he tosses on a set of long johns and an overshirt, then calls it a day. wearily shambling to one of the couches and carefully collapsing into it. He digs into the basket beside it, produces a warm set of blankets, and swamps himself in it. A flicker of his power kicks the fireplace to crackling and he slumps into the blankets, fishing out a digital reader and typing out notes in the quiet between the pop of knotted wood burning and the frogsong outside.

When Jenna gets back, the scene is picturesque; Elias, kicked back in an armchair under what has to be five pounds of blanket, compress still taped to his head, still wearily typing on his tablet. Out of his day wear and costume, the formless clothing isn't flattering to anyone - but there's a long slice of firm collarbone and shoulder exposed opposite his closed cut, cast warm and orange under the firelight, and the sharp angle of his chin and cheekbones contrasts it nicely.

The acid burns were looking a little better-not quite so deep or so ugly. Jenna hesitated a moment-then touched the nasty stripe on her side.

!

"Ow, ow, ow, no-" Yeah, that both looked gross and hella hurt. The one on her calf wasn't much better. She was glad she wasn't running home tonight. She was also glad those were her only injuries-she hadn't been dinner and none of those nasty spiders had chomped on her face, so life was almost good.

Ya know, if it weren't for all the people incinerated and homes destroyed, back there.

Jenna finished peeling out of her costume, wondering if the tube would really be able to repair it. If not, she wasn't sure what she was going to do. Maybe stop and see the Costumer at the tower? What was his name...Victor? Walter? Something like that.

Cranking on the water, she stepped in and very, very tenderly let it run over her healing burns-it stung like a bitch, but she didn't want a secondary infection or...whatever. The antibiotics would have helped though, she hoped.

The Tower. The next generation of heroes...was it really being led by a wet blanket of a hero? Was she -really- only alive because Cid 'couldn't make a dead kid look good'? What about all those people? Those buildings? How was he possibly going to make that look good?

Had Nergal really acted out of turn? And even if he had, did it matter? This shadow group had harbored him knowing he wasn't reformed. What were the state of things however, if it was the bad guys who were supposed to keep villains in check? If all Cid was really interested in were photoshoot battles with one off low level bad guys-all Jenna had kind of thought was left-what hope was there?

There was the Tower itself, the next generation of heroes. If other people started to find out about this, if the public knew-people would demand action, and she was confident the other 'new' heroes would want to answer that call.

She certainly did.

Elias had called it a game changer. Did he think the villains were back in force, or just that Cid would have to do something? She hoped Cid wouldn't really just...let bygones be bygones or whatever. She hoped Elias was wrong about him, even just a little-though she couldn't quite hope as much as she had before, knowing what she did about Daybreak.

How awful. It was...an eight year old sin, but just...awful.

...

Jenna snapped her head up, a shake. She'd nearly fallen asleep there, water pounding against her back, rinsing sweat and soot away for clean, pretty russet brown skin. Ugh, she better wash her hair and get out of here-still, it felt just as nice as she had imagined it would.

..............................................

"You look like you belong on a Christmas Card." The speedster was back and dressed in the baggy grey sweatshirt and pants he'd offered, looking a little frumpy but comfortable. The sleeves were too long for her and she hadn't bothered to roll them up, the fabric draped over itself as she leaned on the back of the couch opposite him, elbows in the back cushion.

Her jet black hair was free of it's perky ponytail she wore in costume, the damp straight locks cut into some sort of stylish bob that had grown out to barely brush her shoulders, side swept bangs mostly still intact. She tucked one side behind her ear and flopped over to lie on the couch, a slight grimace as she sank into it-her side was stiff.

The petite filipina was briefly, comically sprawled out on the plush piece of furniture, one ankle just at the back of it, her arms open-before she settled in neatly, her legs and small feet together and her hands clasped over her flat stomach. There was a decidedly female shape beneath the loose material, more than her compressing costume had hinted at.

She took a deep breath and then exhaled. She was definitely tired. Whether from the activity or the anxiety, hard to say. "S'good thing I'm so short." She comments, mostly out of nowhere. She made a gesture to where she was laying-solidly on the cushions without danger of needing either arm rest. "Sleep anywhere."

He wasn't so short-but he looked snug and comfortable. Good. He deserved it. She looked back to the ceiling, listening to the frogs and the crackle of flames. "It's a little weird. Hanging out like this, in the quiet-with a real hero." Who would have thought?

Amused, Elias points out a square piece of paper on the fireplace to Jenna, mostly hidden in one corner. It's a Christmas card, indeed - one featuring the League. Laughing, Adamant pulls a sleigh by himself while Daybreak, Clarion, and Velocity whoop from the back in elf costumes, and big Machinist, normally greasy-haired and bearded, fully committed to his wild biker routine, as Santa with his beard dyed white and bells woven into it. Merry Christmas, it reads, to my personal hero.

"Machinist - Jerry - never lived that down," the older man says with a faint smile. "We used to sneak bells into his riding leathers, then off he'd go down the road, on a badass Harley, jingling all the way. We did some others. I'm pretty sure Sarah still has a few around. I could never get her to do an Easter Bunny though."

He sets the reader aside for a moment, glancing over at his guest. The firelight sets off her skin nicely - she's all burnished bronze where it touches her skin, still a little damp from the shower. "It used to be my favorite part," he says, quiet. "I mean, you've read the profiles, probably. I didn't come from anything worth mentioning. The League was my first family. It wasn't just propaganda - we really loved each other. There was unity, and peace, in knowing that goodness was a thing we could make with our own hands."

Adamant had initially come from the streets of Gary, a hollow-eyed wraith, and commenced annihilating every speck of the Los Dovos cartel he could find from the state. The sisters of the League, Daybreak and Whisper, had traveled west from New York to find him living in a homeless shelter by night, and by day fighting a one-man war against the Dovos and their parahuman masters, Strain and Oblation. After laying their operation to waste, he'd agreed to come back to the Big Apple with the sisters, forming the core of the League between them.

"Besides," Elias says, side-eying Jenna. "Don't tell me you've never just sat around with Sarah and shot the breeze with her. She'll talk your ear off. Don't tell me that's changed."

Jenna's eyes flick to where he points-an instant grin. That had looked like a good day. It was also so ridiculously wholesome you couldn't help but smile. But...those were better days.

It's sombering.

Jenna's dark eyes shift back to his face, her expression open and listening as he spoke. In the firelight-well, she felt bad for him. Like she should say something, but what that something would be escaped her. It wasn't her place. It also wouldn't have been enough.

"...I never thought that was propaganda, Elias." She responds just as quietly after a moment, studying him in the firelight, her lips a soft bow as she thought.

"Don't tell me you've never just sat around with Sarah and shot the breeze with her. She'll talk your ear off. Don't tell me that's changed."

Jenna blinked, that soft bow becoming a slight frown. She turned her head and resumed staring at the ceiling, quiet a moment. Better days...

"...she honestly doesn't talk much. About herself, or...things. I wanted...I like stories, but with her, it just seems...cruel to ask?" She slid the sleeves of the sweatshirt to her elbows, fumbled with the smart watch on her slender wrist. "But she's worked with me some. I didn't know how to fight before. I mean, why would I have? But she worked with me a bit so I could at least throw a punch, sans speed-and then a bit at controlling the speed of my strikes once I knew how to not break my wrist."

Jenna's delicate fingers left the watch to trail along the knuckles of her right hand.

"I was afraid to hit anybody, you know, at the beginning. I didn't have as much control and I didn't want to lop someone's head off." She was staring through the ceiling a moment. "I was fast, so fighting still wasn't really a thing. But with Rush..." Jenna shook her head, returning to the topic at hand.

"Miss Sarah is super nice. Very focused on training, very, very involved with everyone at the Tower, but she just seems so...tired, I guess. I figured she was just kind of quiet, personally. Often mentally far away, if that makes sense."

Things that were much more worrying now, in retrospect. She feels bad telling him this. He can't go there. She wasn't talking to him, wasn't as close as the Christmas card and their histories indicated. Troubled anxiety settles in the pit of her stomach as she searches for something else to say.

"To be honest...I haven't spent a lot of time at the Tower. I've got Miss Laura's...I mean, my own turf to tangle with, not just tower business. I...may have made a lot of assumptions about the state of things being good, okay?"

Jenna worried at her bottom lip a moment.

"I just hope I can find a way to help." She murmured.

Elias shakes his head, biting his lip - and then firms. "Enough," he says, directly, meeting Jenna's worried eyes. "Things are wrong. The world is flawed. For today, we have righted one thing. There will be others tomorrow, but tonight, we rest, so that the next day we can fight again."

He sets aside the reader and sits up. The collar of his nightshirt shifts to show the still faintly-glimmering gap in his chest, by now just a line of light. "You aren't responsible for everything," he says, compassion melting his voice. "You are a hero, but to reach inside and save someone's heart, and not just their body, is the hardest challenge you will ever face. You can begin to face it, tomorrow - but for now, you've done well. You understand me?"

For tonight, he's had enough of trampling on the dreams and misconceptions of this young woman. Perhaps she didn't know, but she didn't know; how would she have corrected her ignorance, with everyone that matters scattered or withdrawn? It makes him want to cringe, thinking about how badly his generation had failed the next one - failed to prepare them, teach them, now that their counterpart villains have grown fat and mighty in their ebony towers, and all that's safe is the meaningless preserve they've been given. He's complicit in this too, as much as he walked away when confronted with it. There were reasons - but he could have been a better man, and should have been.

It firms his resolve.

"Sarah Locksley is not just a victim," Elias says, soft and sure. "There was a time when Sarah's will shook mountains and turned aside armies. She might seem quiet now, but that is because she is lost. Find her a righteous way, and she will lead you through it. I have faith in her. Let her know she is loved, not just earned."

His expression and words were so serious, so firm Jenna could almost feel the residual steel coating her own spine. This was The Man Against after all. She felt chastened somewhat but also better, inspired.

Yeah...yeah, they did do some good today! People had been spared and a serious bad guy had been knocked down a peg, stopped before he could cause even more destruction.

And then his voice and expression softened, the words both realistic and encouraging. It was...it was kind of strange. That there was a man behind the legend, the image she and everyone else had of him. For as tough and seemingly invincible as he was, he was surprisingly introspective. And he called her a hero. Adamant. Jenna felt her face get a little hot and she looked away, her mind still heavy with all of...everything, but she felt a little more hopeful, at least-and embarrassed.

"Sarah Locksley is not just a victim. There was a time when Sarah's will shook mountains and turned aside armies. She might seem quiet now, but that is because she is lost. Find her a righteous way, and she will lead you through it. I have faith in her. Let her know she is loved, not just earned."

"She's Daybreak." There's more than a little admiration and awe in her statement, Jenna glancing back at him. He was right-she'd been nearly unstoppable. Maybe time and trauma had caused her to withdraw but...but it didn't have to stay that way. It couldn't, it wouldn't.

She hoped.

"And...and we did do good today." The petite heroine said with a hint of fatigued sleepiness. She covered a small yawn, looking even sleepier but a mite less worried. "I didn't say-but thanks for knocking Nergal aside like that. Didn't have much of a plan when I zipped down there, ya know? And I'm so glad you're okay, heal so fast."

Her eyes were drifting closed, a sleepy smile curving her lips. "But ha, I kicked Paul or Ahasver or whatever in his creepy ass spider face, so a little bit of payback for that nasty bolt, if it helps."

Elias laughs a little, quietly. He pushes himself to his feet and carefully walks across the room, taking an afghan with him that he spreads over Jenna with a careful toss. It's warmly-knit and brightly colored, swallowing her in a warm swaddle that her feet poke out under. "I am indeed reassured," he says, eyes soft and crinkled. "Get some sleep, Jenna. I'll see you in the morning."

He returns to his own armchair and burrows back into his own set of blankets, and takes back up his reader as he begins to type; begins to privately send out word of what happened to all his compatriots from the old League, with firsthand photos and a bootleg videotape that had been shot from a building in the distance of the actual fight itself, short as it was. Not quite call to war, and not quite a gossip network, he gets the message out unfiltered, a quiet warning - something to stir them in their slumber, all his friends and comrades that have gone silent. They should not forget the things they sacrificed, saw taken away, to have this world they've so easily let slip from their fingers.

Adamant glances at the fireplace - at the very centre, where there's a photograph of another woman, a little shorter and slighter than Sarah's All-American beauty. Her hair had been dyed black, and touches of mascara applied beneath her eyes; her older sister's raw physical beauty and curvaceous form intimidating her, driving her into shadow until she learned how to walk between them. He remembers how she walked between his thorns and taught him grace, in a way he will never duplicate - forgiveness, for other's sins. Hope, despite suffering.

For all those that held Daybreak on high, he never understood how no one really remembered her sister, for she had held his heart in her hands, and gently blessed him with all things that gave him courage rather than mere stubbornness in these times.

He inhales, slow, and closes his eyes, and offers a moment of prayer. Then he returns to his work.

~*~

The next morning dawns with Elias already up and mobile - his chest healed, his sardonic verve restored, pancakes already simmering on the pan by the time the herons begin to croak their sunrise songs out on the waters nearby. Rather than prematurely wake his guest, he lets the smell of warm batter and butter lure her from sleep; Velocity used to eat something like five or six pounds of food at a sitting after a big fight, and he doubted Jenna would be much different. There's sausage in another pan cooking, biscuits in the oven, and he's skinning oranges when she begins to stir - a balanced breakfast he's grown fond of over the years.

"Morning," he says, letting her adjust to the strange location. The windows have been parted and light falls in gentle orange spills down into the lodge's wide lobby. "Breakfast will be ready in five if you want it. You drink coffee or tea, or are you a caffeine heretic?"

There's a headphone in one of his ears, the music player tucked into a shirt pocket, and he's silently grooving around on socked feet over the linoleum, gliding about in time with the music. Evidently, he's a morning person without peer.

Halfway across the world and leagues and leagues beneath the sea, a daughter of Atlantis sat down at her vanity in her cavernous room to prepare for yet another dinner with her brother. He was King now-ascended just last year.

It'd been a long, long time since Deep Blue had fought with the Heroes United Front. A very, very long time since she had left the surface in disgust, gone home where she was both loved -and- needed, battle wearied and mourning.

So when a blinking green light started flashing in one corner of her vanity's mirror, she saw it and then did an immediate double take, freezing up. What the hell? No one had contacted her in years. She hadn't paid attention to surface matters in just as long. Not since she had returned to the depths.

Well, whatever it was, she wasn't interested.

She brushed through her long red hair a little more roughly, eyes narrowing as memories drifted through her mind. Who would it even be? Someone from the League? Who was even left, these days? Her luminescent yellow eyes flicked back to the little light. Delete it. All she had to do was swipe.

She reached her webbed hand forward to do exactly that-then hesitated, meeting her own gaze. "Don't. It's none of your concern." She told her reflection firmly. She lowered her hand. And then with a growl she reached forward and tapped the mirror in spite of the self issued command.

It was a message from Adamant. This was surprising. She'd heard he lost his shit on El Cid. Was something of a pariah nowadays. But what did she know? That was eight years ago, after all. Whatever the state of things, he wouldn't be sending out something for no reason. Lana hit play and watched the grainy footage with a frown. Nergal?

Nergal had gone toe to toe with Adamant? He looked stronger. More powerful than she remembered him being. She squinted at the screen as things worsened, sucked in a breath as a beam of yellow light struck the large man down, pinned him for Nergal's next attack. And then someone else entered the fray, a familiar shimmering blue blur...

"Laura?" Impossible. But maybe...

She paused the video after the figure had spirited the wounded Adamant away, rewound and studied it. She couldn't quite tell, things were so grainy. But this hero looked to be smaller than the six foot tall brunette, judging by the frame where she was beside the larger Adamant.

Lana watched the video again. Wandering Jew? and Nergal. She leaned back, frowning. After a moment she tapped the mirror to clear it, faced with her own reflection once more.

All was quiet in her luxurious room beneath the sea.

Very quiet.

Bothered, Lana opened a drawer and retrieved a gold shell pendent. Did the communicator still work? She pressed the small button on the back and heard it crackle.

"Marie? It's Lana."

She lowered it again, not entirely sure why she was bothering. Surely Marie had long ago abandoned her own communicator. The channel had laid dormant and unused for years-no one alive or interested in using it. She was calling out into nothing...they were the only two survivors of the Front...and they had parted on less than friendly terms. It was possible that even if Marie had her communicator, she wouldn't respond, not to her.

Which is why she jumped when it vibrated in her hand.

"Protagonist." The voice was a little rough, the correction terse. Always to the point, straight to business. And never, ever surprised. "The video?"

"Yes. Wondered what you thought."

"I think things are about to get a lot worse."

Lana turned the shell in her fingers, her gaze distant and remembering. "I've missed a lot, I'm guessing?"

"Maybe we all have." She heard the sound of keys tapping away in the background. "Halwell. Hn. Been working alone since Immolation."

But working, at least.

Lana frowned at the thought. Where had that come from? She had been of the opinion they -all- should retire. That had included the great Adamant. "Then...who's the kid?"

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The young heroine was little more than a colorful bump on the couch, the blanket drawn tightly around her as she slept a dreamless, blissful sleep. Someone was cooking something, somewhere. For a brief moment-she almost thought she'd just gone home for the weekend. It'd been a long time, specially with finals...wait.

She opens her eyes and pushes the blanket down, briefly puzzled by her surroundings.

Breakfast? Coffee?

Jenna blearily looks around again, the modern yet fairytale setting making her briefly wonder if she -might- still be sleeping. "Little coffee with my sugar'd be great." She mumbles, a hint of an accent that had been absent before.

She folds up the afghan and neatly tucks it into the corner of the couch, feeling slightly stiff around the middle-but mostly itchy.

She drops the shirt back into place and stands, rubbing at her eyes a minute, her black hair a little mushed but shiny-and after running her fingers through it, smooth and sleek once more.

"This feels like-I don't know, a morning at somebody's grandma's." She says and then yawns, a brief stretch of her arms over her head, on tip toe- "!" Her expression snaps to awake as a sharp tugging pain is felt along the back of her calf and side. Ouchies- Jenna lifts the shirt partially up to touch and look at the acid burn-the skin was black but looked a lot better, was healing fast. Well then-check another thing off the 'oh shit' list, she guessed.

"Good morning-are you making pancakes? ...Elias, you could be somebody's grandma." She wanders over almost curiously, calmer than she'd been when he had met her yesterday- but that buoyant energy and inherent happy disposition was rapidly gaining traction in her eyes and movements, though she stayed mostly at normal speed.

And she was clearly interested in some pancakes. They smelled delicious.

"Alright, but I'm not going to eat you out of house and home." She climbs onto a bar stool, studying him a moment. He was just...a normal guy. Having a good morning. She admired and all but worshiped Adamant-but she was really liking Elias just as he was too. Maybe they could be friends.

"You don't even want to know my calorie intake now that I'm fast-boy is it unladylike." One of those buoyant grins again, a bit of self depreciating humor. "You need any help?"

"If your grandma could beat every ass in a hundred-mile radius, then sure," Adamant says without remorse, as he finishes with the oranges and sets them onto a plate, adds a stack of, at a minimum, six pancakes to it, tops it with a sausage, then pokes her in the gut, a sharp smile glinting down at her. "I'm a grown man. I make my own food. You know what the problem is here? You a lazy teenager, ain't even awake 'fore the sun rises. Why in my day, rabble-rabble."

His accent is coming out; not the curious clearness of the great lakes states, but something far more southern. Elias glides around her, checks on the biscuits, then shebangs his way across the polished floor. "Pour yourself something and make sure to flip the sausages," he calls, and begins to make his own stack of doughy goodness. "And for Gawd's sakes, don't even start with this diet shit. I saw Laura eat a watermelon once. A whole goddamn watermelon. She nibbled on the rinds too. We are past shame here, that's for when we put spandex back on and do backflips over the cameras and really hope nobody has a cameltoe that day."

Ridiculous statement delivered, he bustles back over with his plate, dumps it on the central table in the lobby, then moves directly to Velocity's side, checking on the biscuits and deciding them done. "Recovering well?" he asks, as he pulls them out of the oven. "No lasting harm done from last night's rumble?"

"Well, there IS a story about my lola driving my father away with a wooden spoon, so..." She blurs a step back and sticks her tongue out at him after the poke and jab, but she laughs and gives a nod, suddenly at the coffee pot-two of her pancakes missing from the plate.

"Hey, you get hungry running all over." One of the pancakes remained completely missing, the other turned up rolled up in her left hand, a bite taken out of it. "I used to be a one slice of pizza, maybe half a donut type of girl. Now I could sling back enough pizzas to rival a frat house, no joke." Jenna had not been entirely exaggerating about her preferred sugar to coffee ratio-he'd see several spoonfuls go into hers, turning it into a sugar drink rather than a respectable cup of joe. "Now see-that's just one of the many ways Miss Laura was practical-Velocity's costume has very little chance suffering THAT sort of wardrobe malfunction."

The thicker light blue material was similar to the gear motorcyclists wore to prevent road rash-if that gear was capable of re-entering the stratosphere without burning up that was. It also had some kind of something molded in it-not glitter but...well, it shimmered when the light hit it just right. Went well with the silver accents. And, best of all-no chest window.

Remembering the plunging neckline on Mistress Rush's costume, Jenna could only imagine what Laura must have thought of it. She flips the sausages, a long draw of coffee following. Did she do that too late or too early? Eh, they looked okay...He had joked about making his own food, but cooking was definitely a skill Jenna lacked. She'd gone from her mother's delicious fare to campus food to half the city's restaurants wanting to feed her-so her bad timing and haphazardly tossing together of ingredients had never really needed straightening out.


He checks on the rolls and then moves to take them out, briefly bent shorter than her. For some reason, that only made it that much more apparent how big he was-not just compared to her, but in general. Just...like a bear.

"Turns out acid burns heal quick on me too, so check that off the list." A cheeky grin before her eyes dart to his chest as he rises. "But I wasn't the one coughing up spiders. Are you okay?" She had been so stupid scared when he'd gotten lanced. More than when she was trapped on the roof even-though that had been a more instinctive fear.

"They eat those you know, in Cambodia or Thailand or something. Blech." She didn't need that caffeine OR the sugar, she was already wide awake and brimming with energy. The rolls stacked themselves neatly in a little bowl stolen right out of a cupboard-save the one his guest was currently partaking in at his table.

"The stronger the Gs you pull, the more durable your suit has to be," Elias says knowledgeably. "Yeah, Sarah and Laura got lucky - they pack some kind of aura effect that spreads their power about an inch around the surface of their skin. Makes outfits pretty easy to keep together. Then there was me, course."

Adamant's silent braggadocio had been his costume - elaborate greatcoat and mail, the twining dogtags and medals clinking heavy with every step, every millimeter of it reinforced by his starry aura until it was bulletproof. He'd flouted the unspoken preference towards simple, easy-to-repair costumes, single layer outfits, with his militaristic perfection. It had been part of his undying image, something greater than mere spandex and latex. It was also part of what made whatever Nergal had worn so vaguely terrifying, because that had not been cheap to produce.

"We had a wind user join up once - Cordonazo - worked mostly out of Mexico and the gulf, stuck with Deep Blue and Anhinga mostly. Her joining day she brought some kind of big woolen outfit," Elias says, beginning another yarn as he joins . "'Cause her schtick was she could alter the temperature of her winds, right? Wanted to stay warm. Thing was, she was always wearing something thin when she did flying, and the wool when she practiced her arctic breeze thing. Did not mix the two, didn't even think about it as a problem."

He takes a long drink - then starts giggle-snorting, completely undignified. "She comes up and tries out, freezes some stuff, challenges Daybreak to a flying contest - lifts off - and when she pulls her sixth G, her whole outfit just tore off. Then she was just flying in her skivvies. Guess how long that lasted in the open wind."

The giggles evolve into open laughter, and Adamant half-turns and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to regulate himself. "Now, they're like a half mile up, so I'm not paying attention, I'm just on the ground doing whatever. Talking to her mijo. Then this wool outfit comes down, and we're both looking at it, and her momma, my god, she thought we'd zapped her kid or something. Started yelling and screaming and throwin' shit at me, swearin' eternal vengeance. I say what the fuck lady, I ain't even up there. She don't care much for that. Then Daybreak, she comes down, nabs the outfit, says she's fine and takes off again - says the girl'll meet her mijo by the car. I say like, we gonna take her in the League or what?"

Elias laughs, "Sarah, she tells me, "Shut your mouth, man baby" and I was so fucking confused. I didn't even know this girl'd gone streaker a mile up, but they were both absolu-fucking-lutely sure I'd been sitting down there watching with binoculars or something, like I care that much. Flying's Sarah's wheelhouse, I just - I dunno, jump really hard."

Shaking his head, he concludes, "So anyway, Cordonazo, she does join, but her joining condition is that we make her a better suit and we mail it to her before she even makes the trip up to meet any of us again. Then she joins up and calls me El Cagado for two years - until Anhinga finally tells me what it means, anyways. Then I dunked her in the duck pond until she stopped."

Adamant shrugs, apparently happy with that ending. He steals a biscuit and chows on it. "Yeah, it hurt like fuck at the time, but Paul's fond of that kind of body-horror shit and throwing it at me. I vastly prefer he hit me with it than anyone else, I don't think it's survivable for baseline humans."

He pulls at his collar a little bit, exposing the upper reach of his chest again - but it's not even a silver line at this point, completely healed, his power meshing with flesh seamlessly. On the other hand, now completely healed, it's a lot easier to notice the firm, naked pectoral fanned out across his chest, moving smoothly when he takes a breath. It's a flat shelf of muscle that is covered back up when he releases the shirt. "See, I'm fine. I always heal up - no scars, no nothing. Makes things easy for me. You'll probably be the same way, but just in case you're taking some antiseptic with you."

"Helps with bugs for sure." Jenna says cheerily about the handy auras, wrapping a pancake around an orange slice and taking a bite. Delicious.

"Yeah, your costume was badass. Helped you're so big. Jealous, by the way." She tears a roll in half and watches the bread pull apart before glancing up to him as he starts in on a story, her attention instantly captured.

He starts cracking up and the bridge of Jenna's nose crinkles a little as a small, expectant smile plays over her lips, watching him for the joke that had to be coming, snagging and taking a sip of coffee-that she almost chokes on before her widened eyes stared at him, jaw dropped and her full lips a perfect 'O'.

"What." She drops the other half of the roll and swats him on the arm. "Oh my God stop, that poor girl!" And then she's giggling too as he gets to the part about Cordonazo's mom getting angry and swearing vengeance. Oh jeez-and then they thought he was a pervert! The idea of Elias being hit from both sides as the straight man in the joke-well, it was funny.

"Wait, she -joined-?" Jenna looks a mixture of surprised and impressed. "Oh man, if that had been me, you would have never seen my ass again." She blinks at the unintended double entendre-and that red undertone to her russet skin brightens. "I-I mean, um-"

God dammit Jenna.

She laughs it off with a shake of her head before plucking the roll back up to finish it off. She's happily munching on that and thinking about another orange pancake roll when he talks about the bolt and tugs at his collar to reveal he was completely healed up.

Also, damn.

The Filipina's eyes flick down to her plate, unexpectedly embarrassed again. Yep. He's big alright. Good thing he had never done the spandex thing on that chest.

...those were not appropriate thoughts to be having.

"Good, good. Scars are cool and all, but ya know, if you can avoid 'em..." Her head tilts as he mentions she probably will too, a roll of her left shoulder.

"Yeah, got lucky with the accelerated healing. Rush had..." Jenna frowns, staring at her plate before she shrugs and rolls up another pancake. It wasn't a good memory, but it was also kind of embarrassing-but she felt she could talk to Elias. That he wouldn't judge her too hard for losing.

"Well, she got me pretty good when she first showed up. Dislocated my shoulder. And that was after shattering my hand to just...an ugly mess. I was still secret at the time, couldn't go to the hospital. So I went to bed hurting bad-I didn't sleep so much as conk out. Woke up stiff and hella bruised, but mostly okay. Totally fine by end of day three."

She looked grateful and relieved, a smile. "I'm sure it's got limits. But luckily I don't get hit real often, ya know?" She gestured with an orange slice. "Too quick." She munches on that, then grins. "Didja know I stole her whip? I still got it. She was pissed."

"I'd say you'd grow into it, but I think you're pretty well stuck where you are," Adamant notes, his smile curved wicked. "You gonna be on tiptoes for that top shelf all your life, hon. It's high heels for you, sister, when you do your next costume shoot. You have my pity."


Elias barks a laugh, and his hand claps onto Jenna's shoulder and squeezes companionably. "Hon, before I got this place, we ran most of our hero stuff out of the Mid-Town fitness gymnasium, and they didn't have separate showers. I seen plenty of asses. Besides, all the running you do? You got nothing be ashamed of. I bet you could crack a walnut with your thighs."

He shrugs at her change of topic, utterly unbothered. "Your first cape run is always rough. You lived, you learned, you beat her ass the next time around. I call that a victory. Others, probably not, but every big fight I've ever been in? I get the shit kicked out of me. I'm frontline. I'm meant to take the punishment. Wherever you go, that'll probably be true for you too, and other people will bullshit you about it, but the fact that you'll live where others would die, or be crippled, is not a small thing. They'll let you take the risks."

Elias shrugs, not ambivalent, but understanding, at least, and again lets the topic roll off. "I remember that damn thing. She used to stud it with glass, that's what really stuck out to me at the time - picking glass out of myself for like two days afterward. I hope you use it as a laundry line or something."

Frontline.

Jenna watches him talk with a growing sense of unease. He had seen his share of fights and battles. Of course he had, she knew that, everyone knew that. He'd soaked up damage that could have killed his comrades.

But those had been the old days, when things were more dangerous. It wasn't like that anymore-so she had thought. But after yesterday's disaster, after all he'd said... well, things were apparently not really safe for heroes-not if any heroing was to be done.

She had taken up the mantle with a sense of responsibility and a sincere desire to help, but it had been a side gig. A side gig against mostly baseline humans-easy to outrun, out think, out pace because she had the advantage of the speed force. She hadn't intended or considered making it her life. But that's what had happened.

But now this talk of battles and fighting and...well, she didn't want to be frontline anything. She wasn't a warrior. She certainly didn't want to go tanking serious hurt. She was way too green and way too afraid to want to go looking for trouble. She had thought Rush had been a fluke. A relic from a bygone era. In a way she was-the rest of the bad guys had just withdrawn and privatized. They were still out there. And Jenna didn't particularly want any part in rooting them out.

But what was she going to do, go to ground? Everyone knew who she was. And even if she could ghost- would she really? Adamant was all alone in this right now. He couldn't go to see Daybreak and Cid was handling new and fledgling heroes with kid gloves. But what was -SHE- going to do about any of that?

And...would Laura have abandoned him to it?

"She used to stud it with glass, that's what really stuck out to me at the time - picking glass out of myself for like two days afterward. "

Very real sympathy and worry reflected in the young woman's eyes. Because ouch, and because...well, he didn't deserve that. He might be Adamant, but his dancing around making breakfast this morning just...well.

"Yeah...she...likes to hurt people, I think. I know I said I didn't believe people were bad because they wanted to be yesterday, but-" There was a dull vibrating noise as the the smart watch lit up on her slender wrist, Jenna glancing at a scroll of impossibly fast green text.

"Just a stolen car. Bright orange-they'll probably find it themselves. Still, I gotta get going, get my costume patched up for patrol tonight." Her eyes snap back up to his, the uncertainty and hesitation visible. There's a beat, and then she seems to decide on something.

"Elias, I'm...I'm no Laura, okay? I mean, obviously." She starts, sliding her one remaining pancake away from her. "But...I'm here." A weak smile before she shakes off the seriousness of her thoughts, regained her usual buoyant demeanor.

"And hey, a newbie speedster is better than no speedster, right? So you keep me posted, and I'll do what I can-just might need direction here and there." She thrust her small right hand out for a shake. "Deal?"

Elias reaches down to clasp Jenna's hand in his, something hard and plastic between their palms - then uses it to yank her into a bear hug, lifting her up off the ground in a swamping embrace. He's still dressed in housewear sweats, but the smell of warm batter and pinewood is strong on him, and beneath the fabric is a solid, warm wall of man. He squeezes her just tight enough to make Jenna creak a little bit, then sets her down with a radiant smile, eyes crinkled.

"I don't want Laura back," Adamant says, his gaze absolutely steady. "She fought her fight - she deserves her rest. But you took her name in her honor, and you will uphold it in thick and thin - because I've known you just a day, and you've already done just that. You can wear her mantle with pride, because I knew her, and she'd have run right alongside you without regret. That she came first makes you no less fine a woman, and that you came later no shame but that you never knew her."

He releases Jenna's hand. In it, he's left one of the old League communicators, the plastic scraped and the paint worn. It clips under the collar or inside a helmet, on a visor or in a pocket - an indestructible, innocuous little device that attaches to anything and faithfully carries a signal.

There's a little V grooved into a corner, with racing streaks down its sides.

"Her code is '299-792-458' ," Adamant murmurs. "The speed of light. Say it, and then the cape name of someone you want to talk to. Take care of it, and yourself, Jenna."

He stands up, and nods at her, the pride and compassion melting back into his usual amused levity. Elias flicks his head towards the door. "Get thee gone, young lady. You've got a long ways to go."