---

---

Two color commentators adorned in poorly designed plaid suits sat ringside as Hayes and his opponent's respective ring crews went over last minute strategies and audibles with both fighters. A camera panned first to the champion, Christopher Ives, a thick and stout Caucascian man with enough chest hair on his body to warm the insides of a grizzly bear. Chris wore gold shorts embroidered with his last name on the waistband.

The first commentator dressed in red plaid remarked, "It's gonna be a big one tonight, eh Lenny?"

"Sure is, Jim. These are two of the best fighters in their divison, both got some real stoppin' power. Ives' got a mean left hook, Hayes has great speed--it's gonna come down ta who's got the tougher chin." remarked Lenny in all his grey plaid suited glory.

Then the camera moved to the challenger, the "miraculous" Marvin Hayes, a stout black man who was built like he would come out the worst after a sustained brawl with an ant. He was a man of no great size, and his gaudy red and green ring attire bespoke a man lacking a sense of even decent fashion. Comparatively, Ives was billed as the superior fighter by pundits and bookies alike. Tonight's announcer, Michael Huff, came to ring center as a microphone descended from the ceiling and the arena's bright lights faded into a sea blue-black.

The arena was warm and the air thick, tension suffocated each body. Silence. A spotlight on Huff, his baritone voice boomed.

"On my right the challenger; "MIIIRRAAAACULLOUUS. . . MARVIIN. . . HAAAAAAAAAAYYYEESSS!" A few cheers were sure, but disdain was equal.

"On my left, the CHAMPION! THE DEMON, CHRISSSSTTOOPHHEERR. . . IIIIVVVVEEEEEEEESS!" He was the people's champion and the real champion, adoration filled the entire arena.

After the introductions, the arena once more faded into its black-blue palette. Huff erupted again.

"Tonight we are going to witness the most anticipated match in the history of professional boxing! For the middleweight championship of the world, boxing fans, ARE YOU RRRREEADDY?

Jeers abound.

". . .for the thousands in attendance, and the millions watching at home, ladies and gentelemen--LET'S GET READY TO RRRUUUMMBBBLLLLEEE!"

Frenzied, vocalized anticipation came to a crescendo as the lights in the arena sprinkled around the crowd amidst the shouts and cheers. The lights brightened, and the bell rung. The fight was on.

"Here we go, ladies and gentlemen!" jolted Jim.

---

Round I: 2:30
Both men came ring center, Ives adopted an orthodox guard and Hayes' a southpaw stance. Hayes preferred the 'philly shell' guard style, and spent the first few seconds of the fight analyzing his more aggressive opponent. Both men traded pot shots, and Ives landed stiff counter punch as Hayes missed a right jab after Ives slipped around to Hayes' right shoulder. Ives threw a jab, he missed. Hayes landed twice after a feint, a check hook to Ives jaw and a quick slapping body hook. With Hayes using his superior hand speed to land in volume, he knew he was up on the scorecard by several punches--and then it all went wrong.

Round 1: 1:45
Though Hayes was in no manner outclassing or dominating Ives, he got cocky (as he usually did) when he knew he was beating an opponent in the slightest. He let his hands down and began trying to slip punches sans guard. Instead, he leaned heavily on his footwork and head movement to carry his defense and forcing Ives to overcompensate his tight power shots with ones wild and wide. This all worked well until Hayes landed a strong body hook and Hayes panicked. The shock of the punch stopped Hayes in his tracks while backing up and he was caught with a leaping uppercut which dropped him.

1, 2, 3

"Right on the button, Lenny! Nasty!" Jim crooned. Hayes saw extra-terrestrials in his visage and several different color rainbows before he was to get to his feet again.

4.. 5... 6... He was up. The referee, Chiyo Takanawa, a broad Asian man with a ragged five o' clock shadow, was sure to check Hayes eyes for dilation and raised three fingers in front of Hayes face to assure Marvin had regained not only his vision but his awareness. Once confirmed that he had, the bell rung again, and Hayes shelled up--he was cocky in the ring, but he learned from his mistakes.

Round 1: 1:00

Hayes lands a body uppercut and has appeared to adapt a more aggressive style, combining his footwork to cutoff the ring and his handspeed to trap Ives and pelt him with jabs and hooks to the head and body. Ives lands three daunting powershots which appear to do good damage to Hayes, whose knees have appeared to begin buckling. Resilient, however, Hayes remains on his feet and turtles up on the ropes, using them to aid his head movement and implementing the philly shell guard's trademark shoulder roll.

Round 1: 30 seconds

Hayes feints a body cross, and Ives drops his hands to protect his body. Hayes lands a popping straight in the center of Ives' nose. Ives is put on his heels and his aggression slows, but Hayes' legs have become noticeably heavy from all of the power punches Ives has landed to his body. His quick footwork has already begun to taper off. Ives lands two strong blows that reflect off of Hayes arm and shoulder, Hayes barely rolls them off.

End of round one.

As the round came to a close, Hayes had quite clearly lost the first. At his corner, his breathing had accelerated, and one could hear his ring crew frantically warning him to keep his hands up and his feet moving. He was hunched over while sitting on his stool, the body shots had already begun to take effect and make his breathing more rapid and shallow. It didn't look like this fight was going to last more than three rounds.

12:37 PM, November 3rd
The Wedge; Hub City



"Hey, he's actually not getting his ass beat!" Karen noted with no small hint of amazement, noting that Hayes was landing a fair deal more than Ives. She had honestly half-expected this to be an almost painful slaughter, given how one-sided the predictions had all been. While she was hardly a boxing enthusiast, she knew the reputation of Christopher Ives. When she learned who his opponent was, she had instantly felt compelled to root for the underdog.

And he was an underdog, to be certain. It was hard to believe they were in the same weight class.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Karen's eyes widened when Hayes let his guard down. "You're attacking?!"

She couldn't help but feel that was a mistake, at least this soon into the fight. She had thought that his strategy had been to stay ahead on the score cards and frustrate Ives until he became tired and sloppy. That would be smart, and was probably his best chance at actually winning. Now, he seemed to be relying entirely on his speed to evade Ives' punches, and that-

"OW!" Karen winced when a hard body hook from Ives rocked his opponent. She winced harder still when he performed a what wasn't a half-bad imitation of a shoryuken on Hayes, knocking him flat on his ass. "Owwww...and he was doing so well..."

Exhaling, she chewed her lip while the smaller fighter slowly lurched to his feet. Her brief spark of hope when it came to his chances of winning had thoroughly faded after that display.

The gunshots were getting closer to her house now, but that wasn't anything too strange. Hopefully they wouldn't be firing in her direction.

Hayes managed to recover somewhat after his down, but he was never able to regain the momentum he had earlier. A few good hits on Ives didn't compensate for all the punishing blows the diminutive fighter had taken, and it was pretty obvious who won the first round.

Sighing, Karen offered a light shrug to her television. "I guess it was too good to be true."

12:25 PM, The Silver Spoon Bar, Hub City - November 3rd, 2019

This was definitely where Preston didn't want to be. A nearly sentient ring with the power to send one man across galaxies in mere moments, and somehow he still ends up nearly two thousand miles away from home.

But he couldn't say he didn't mind being here.

Another drink was poured down for ol' Preston. It was fight night at the local bar, and Preston still had some cash on him from when he picked up that alien ring three weeks ago.

"Hayes, you better finish this!" Preston shouted at the television. His money was on the contender, not the defender. Even if Preston hadn't seen a fight in three weeks, he had been putting his money on Marvin Hayes for a while now.

The first round was over, and Hayes wasn't looking too goo-

Bang bang!

Preston froze. He couldn't have been the only one to hear the gunshots. His hands dug themselves into his pockets, fishing for the artifact that was now in his possession. There, he had it! As nimble and quick as as man named Jack, which he wasn't, he slipped the ring on and hurried himself outside.

"Hey, where ya goin'?" A patron called over to Preston, stopping the pale man in his tracks. "You gotta see this to the end, buddy. My money is in your pockets."

Dammit, he put money on this fight, didn't he? He could just knock some heads together, it would be all too easy to now, but he was a peacekeeper. He couldn't just jump into the nearest bar brawl. He needed to sit it out. Maybe too much time wouldn't be wasted.

Hayes, you better win that fight.

12:37 PM
Wilderness outside Hope Springs, West Virginia
November 3rd, 2019

The forest was peaceful, tranquil. None disturbed it but the animals who called it their home, birds elegantly danced around trees, letting out a soft symphony. In the distance, a brook babbled, winding through the forest in a path long carved by wind and water. A deer trotted, an owl hooted in the sun... strangely, and a fox yowled.

"And Hayes goes down!"

Birds darted from the trees in fear as a loud yell rang through the otherwise silent forest.

"What a blow by the demon! Tell you what, this is looking more and more grim for Hayes..."

A phone's speaker repeated the words of a commentator, relaying them to the ear of the green man, seated on a tree stump not far from a pick-up truck. In the back of said truck, a still dazed poacher awoke to see his phone being utilized by a swamp creature to watch a boxing match. He promptly fainted.

Harris had always been a fan of boxing before he'd transformed, he knew the names of the greats off by heart, and he'd spent many a long night in front of a television screen watching battles between them. It wasn't a luxury he managed to relive often, now that his body had been morphed into whatever he had become. He'd heard the fight being discussed in Hope Springs earlier that day, and he had been quite angry that he would be forced to miss such a fight due to his... unique circumstances, but discovering a poacher driving through the empty forests had provided him just the opportunity he had been looking for. The man wouldn't need data once he was in prison anyways, and its not like the Vine Stalker had much of an opportunity to enjoy himself anymore.

This was a surprisingly good fight, Hayes had landed a number of blows before Ives even had the chance to strike back, Harris hadn't been following in the weeks since his transformation, but this new guy seemed to be something special, even if Ives knocked him down like a kid does to a pinata. Harris never was one for the technical stuff, he had enough of that at work, boxing was about hitting each-other in the face until someone fell down, not some equations or techniques or whatever, it was visceral, and it was a way to get the aggression of a boring life out, not that his life was anywhere close to boring anymore.

Harris watched intently, he honestly hoped Hayes got up. Harris had always enjoyed watching Ives fight, but seeing someone able to challenge the figure that boxing fans almost worshiped was incredibly exciting.

Oh and the poacher, Harris almost forgot about him. Harris had dropped a tree on him earlier but it would be fine. No cars in this forest, at least not off the roads, a rule that the poacher had learned quickly. Harris still had to drag him to Hope Springs' outskirts and dunk the truck in a lake, of course he was procrastinating, he always had, but the fight was still ongoing and he wasn't just going to abandon it to do his job... that sounded worse when he actually thought about it. Dammit he wasn't ready for this, he was just some biologist, why did he have to become involved in... whatever this was.

Harris sighed. He'd complained enough when he first became whatever he was, now was the time to watch the fight, let it all go for a moment in time. Later he'd worry about being the planet's protector or whatever he was now, for now he needed a break from the worrying and the stress.

Then the phone went black.

Harris stared wide-eyed, he pressed the power button... nothing.

Dammit no.

Harris pressed every button on the thing, shook it, tapped it against one of his hard plates, all to no avail. He stood and near-leapt to the truck, grabbing the door and pulling it open despite it being locked. This worked horribly well, and the door was pulled right off its hinges. Harris dropped it and stuffed his gigantic form into the small cab of the truck. He grabbed a charging wire and plugged the phone in, chuckling as it once again beeped to life. Once again opening the live-stream, he nearly fell out of the truck as the phone blared crowd noise at full volume. Struggling to move his body in the claustrophobic environment of the truck, he fumbled with the phone until he managed to turn the sound down to a reasonable level. Harris heard one of his plates crack as his body contorted into the seat, surprisingly comfortable despite the position he was in, finally relaxing, Harris sat and got back to watching, finally calm.

---

'Nine in all. Five from one gang, four from another. Unsure what gangs, can never keep track of them anyway. Doesn't matter. Must eliminate.' The masked man stalked the site of the shoot-out from a nearby alley, planning his attack. 'All are hiding in cover. Eliminate closest one quietly but efficiently, move on to others.'

With the grace of a cat, the Question crept closer to one of the gang members hiding behind an over-turned dumpster. He was young, barely old enough to be considered a man; more than likely an unfortunate street kid that got wrapped up in the wrong crowd. Or perhaps he's a hardened criminal in the making. Whatever the case, he's a threat, and must be dealt with.

It was easy enough to dispatch the gang member; all it took was disarming him, applying a chokehold, and the kid was out like a light in fifteen seconds. Rinse and repeat for the other four on this side of the street, and that was that. BANG! The Question cursed himself internally for forgetting about the other four on the other side of the street.

Peaking around the corner of the van he was hiding behind, Question noted that the four rival gang members were still hiding behind their own cover taking potshots. It'd be easy enough to creep his way over to the other side of the street, but the Question had a different plan. Grabbing two of the knocked out gang members' guns, he sidled his way into an abandoned apartment building, making his way up to the second story floor.

Pulling his mask up to his nose in order to avoid muffling his voice, Question opened the window, crouching down and shouting to the remaining gang members: "This is the police! Back down or we will shoot!" His response was gunfire towards the window. "This is your final warning! Stand down or we will fire!" More gunfire. "Heh. Wanna play it that way, huh?" With that, he took the two pistols in his hands and fired out the window.

After a few moments of shooting blindly, he heard the telltale sound of loud cursing and running feet. Tossing the guns with a grin, the Question pulled his mask down and chuckled. Taking his journal and a pen out of his trench coat pocket, the Question scribbled in a quick entry.

Question's Journal, November 3rd, 2019; Entry #1
Foiled gang shooting using a little ingenuity, a little stealth, and a little brute strength. Gang members are too easy now. Should consider moving up, battling the mob. Perhaps that's just a one way ticket to Hell. Perhaps it's a one way ticket to paradise for the people of the Wedge, as well as all of Hub City. Who knows, really?
Going to unwind before continuing my patrol. There's a bar nearby. Hopefully they don't water down the beer.

The Question snapped his journal shut, sticking it and the pen back into his pocket. Taking off his fedora, he removed his mask and stuffed it into his trench coat pocket, before putting his fedora back on. Abandoning his disguise, he becomes Oscar again, and walks into the now silent street to enter the bar.

It smells of smoke, cheap alcohol, and bad decisions. A few people turn upon his entrance, but all turn back to watching the TV, which was displaying a boxing match. Oscar casts a glance at it, then heads to the bar. "Whatever's cheapest. Keep the change." He says, sticking a twenty dollar bill on the bar before sitting down in a stool.

Oscar takes his drink from the bartender, then turns to the blond man in the next stool over (@pyroman), who seems to be a bit younger than himself and rather anxious. "How's the fight going?" He asks, nodding towards the television.

November 3rd, 2019
6:15 AM, PT
Buffy’s, Coast City

---

Ezra sat on his little stool behind the slim desk near the entrance, the wooden countertop only large enough to fit a thin and sleek cash register, a tiny dark mat for his elbows, and a large touch screen computer. Bright sunlight had already deigned to invade the room through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the glass door, reflecting warm light off the shiny wooden floors and stainless steel bars, and prompting him to hide behind his sunglasses even as the first few members began to trickle in. By now he’d mostly adjusted to their routines and knew their faces well, though he wasn’t as good with the names.

There were the coffee girls, a quartet of young women always packing Starbucks and showing up first thing in the morning every other morning, claiming a few mats and a radio by the window where they alternated between yoga and some kind of dance workout. The high school jocks were another group, made up of a trio of teenage boys who spent most of their time gossiping, but occasionally they used the large mat in the back to practice wrestling- Ezra assumed they were on a high school team, but didn’t know for sure. Missing from the usual crowd of today were a group of four, two middle aged couples who had admirably stuck with their new year's resolution to get in shape, but skipped sometimes as they were parents and sometimes had other responsibilities.

Ezra left them to their own devices, he was just the clerk and had to make sure everyone using the gym had their membership cards up to date, and sometimes he even got to issue new cards. Exciting. The trainers and fitness experts were usually around later in the day, and after a quick glance at the schedule he saw it wouldn’t be until after his shift that a customer had scheduled an appointment to receive a fitness plan. All in all it was set to be a boring day.

10:00 AM, PT

“Hey Ezra!” A young voice suddenly called, childishly exuberant.

He reluctantly allowed his attention to be pulled up from his phone, currently playing an informative techno-babble video from TED about artificial intelligences. Human technology amazed him sometimes, it was so different from his homeworld’s, though his people had been more advanced he was proud to admit.

He allowed himself a bemused smile at the familiar child throwing open the gym door, glancing behind the kid expecting to see an equally familiar parent, but no such luck. “Kyle?” he half greeted, half questioned. He had short dark hair and warm brown eyes, and his skin was surprisingly brown given that last time Ezra had seen it the color had been on the red side of pink.

“I didn’t know you worked here!” the boy cried, dashing up to the counter and giving a wide grin. Kyle was an alien of some sort, and Ezra would bet that wasn’t even his real name, but as with most aliens he’d met Kyle’s mom had been cagey about their species, their names, and their circumstances. “Are you going to watch the match?!”

Ezra’s eyebrows drew together, expressing his confusion. “The match?” He parroted, puzzled, but then redirected; “Hey, where’s your mom?” Aliens took being in the closet seriously, and children of near any species were impulsive and uncontrollable, why let this one wander about the city alone? Who knew what could happen?

Kyle waved a dismissive hand, “She’s next door buying flowers or something.” He shrugged, uncaring, “She said I could watch the match with you while she’s busy!”

Ezra raised both eyebrows in surprise, shocked he’d be trusted to watch out for a kid without even a word of warning. He supposed it wasn’t a complicated or difficult task, and he was pretty sure Lauren and her son were telepaths, or maybe they had some other way of keeping in contact quietly- that’d been the vibe he’d gotten from the hints dropped at The Small anyway. It was an awfully tight community they had, even if they treated each other with caution and suspicion there was still a level of trust solely from the fact they were all in the same boat.

He shrugged, deciding to allow it. “Alright, as long as your mom’s okay with it. The TV’s over there,” he gestured to the black flatscreen he hadn’t bothered turning on yet, “you know what channel this match is on?”

Rather than answer, Kyle darted over and snapped up the remote, flicking the TV on and hurriedly changing to a new channel. Ezra was only mildly surprised to see a boxing match on the screen. “That’s Christopher Ives! He’s the defender, and the black guy is Marvin Hayes! The underdog! He’s totally gonna win and turn the world of boxing on it’s head! Everyone’s been saying he’s gonna lose, but no way! Hayes is takin' it home!” The kid babbled excitedly, claiming a seat on one of the unused pieces of equipment. The gym was mostly empty now, a new group had moved into the back and were doing more flirting than wrestling, but most of the morning crowd had moved out.

Ezra allowed himself to share a smirk with the kid, giving him a teasing; “Oh yeah?”

“Definitely!” Was the confidant response, and Ezra couldn’t resist.

“I dunno, I’d put my money on the other guy. That chest hair? Totally has magical powers.” He joked, allowing his usual reclusive shyness to fade away. What harm could there be in talking about a human sport? Besides he’d agreed to keep an eye on the kid, best to keep him entertained until his mom came for him, and hopefully she’d turn up soon, his shift was ending in an hour and he really needed to catch up on his class work.

1:25 PM, O'Mallory's Irish Pub, Gotham City - November 3rd, 2019

Clayton hated Fae for a number of reasons. He hated their trickery, their courts and their intrigue, their arrogance toward anyone that wasn't one of their seemingly endless range of subspecies, and a hundred other things. He was hardly alone in that opinion, considering the sheer number of wars against the other supernaturals at any given times, including the in-fighting with the half-dozen courts the queens lorded over.

Right now, however, his contempt was firmly fixed on the loud, sing-song cheering of the Leprechauns and Red Caps as they spilled foaming mugs to the fight. Oh, how they loved a good boxing match, specifically the money that got tossed around when drunken Fae got swept up in the spirit of competition. He enjoyed a good boxing match, too, though his events were far quieter. His half-empty mug was forgotten when Hayes made it through the first round better than anyone had expected, much to the chagrin of the Red Caps and the Troll at the table across from him,, which only brought a smile to the big man's face.

"Put me down for another twenty on Hayes." He said almost absently, draining the rest of his mug before he looked down at the tiny silver coin he'd come down to this dingy watering hole for. He could feel the magic clinging to it's battered, scarred surface, the feminine face stamped onto it barely recognizable. He shook his head before he stuffed it into his pocket, signalling for another drink. It might have been nothing, just a trinket some little cretin had turned up among other black market artifacts, and in all likelihood that would be all.

If not? Well...it was the first sign of something wicked coming Gotham's way again.

10:05 AM, Flower Power floral shop, Coast City California

Jessie Beedle slumped behind the glass countertop of her parents store, the competing smells of every type of flower under the sun assaulting her nose. All she wanted to do with her day was work on her goggles some more, trying to increase the range of the telescope and try to push the limits of her powers. She'd had some success with bouncing from rooftop to rooftop, there generally weren't people up there and she could move freely. But no, instead she was down in this sweet-smelling purgatory, covering for the lazy teenagers her parents had hired. Jessie considered running up to her room and grabbing her googles and tools in order to work on them in the shop when suddenly the bell above the door rang.

Cursing silently, Jessie turned her attention to the customer who had just entered; a familiar-looking woman with dark hair and brown eyes. Jessie had seen her around, her name was... Laura maybe? Something completely unassuming and boring. The young girl sighed as she pretended to wipe off the counter, she had no time or patience for a 45 minute long conversation about what colors complimented each other and what lilacs or lilies meant in some weird old flower language. The only saving grace was that this woman's hyperactive kid wasn't around, otherwise Jessie would have to chase him and clean up after his mess just like every--

"Excuse me?" The woman asked, approaching the counter. Jessie plastered on a big fake smile and turned her attention to the thorn in her side.

"Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't even hear you come in! What can I help you out with today miss?" Jessie asked, her 'customer service' voice coming through as sickly-sweet as the flowers assaulting her senses.

Maybe-Laura smiled and pointed around the shop to a few different bunches. "It's alright dear; you see I'm trying to put together a small bouquet and I was hoping you could help me put something new together. I'm hoping to get something eye-popping, complimenting colors and lots of small accents." Not-Laura continued to smile as she described what most certainly was not a 'small bouquet'.

Jessie ducked behind the counter again and rolled her eyes as she grabbed the bouquet cheat sheet her parents had put together. Every month this happened, this lady would come in and ask for help for a 'small project' and then take up two hours of the day looking at things that wouldn't even look good together, stringing the employees along until they finally found something that worked for her. Today looked to be no different, another frustrating and boring-- Hey, who the Hell turned on the TV?

The part-time floral employee stood back up from behind the counter like a shot, confirming that Whats-Her-Name was still there before looking to the corner where the old TV was, relaxing as she saw her dad fiddling with the volume controls. She remembered there was some fight on today that he wanted to watch, and now it looked like he'd be doing it down here, probably to keep an eye on her and make sure she was actually working. Jessie rolled her eyes again and plastered her fake grin back on. "Well miss, we can certainly put something together that'll fit your needs. Why don't you show me what you were looking at for a base and we'll figure out where to go from there?"

It took the words of a new patron to bring Preston out of his thoughts. He was so concerned with seeing the fight through and getting out of the bar that he forgot that there were other people in the bar with him. He could smell the drink of the man next to him. Cheap. Preston only let himself have two. He couldn't be flying around drunk, if the ring even let him do that. The Guardians told him that the ring would last exactly one day on whatever planet he was currently on. In the case of deep space, it would last twenty four hours relative to Preston.

"Marvin Hayes is getting his tail handed to him." Preston groaned. "I got money on this, and I just want this fight to end already." Once again, Preston's hands were in his pockets, slipping off his ring to keep people from seeing the vibrant piece of jewelery.

He looked over to the man in full. He looked to be a few years older than Preston himself, but had that classic dead inside look that so many people had nowadays. His hand moved out of his pocket in an attempt to shake the gentleman's hand. "Preston," He introduced himself. "Who are you rooting for?" Maybe this guy was a casual bar sitter, maybe he wasn't here for the fight. There was no better way to get to know people than to outright ask them.

Something about the man reminded Preston how it was only lunch, and he had already downed two beers. He wasn't a drinker, he swears, but it was just the environment and the people around him that got him to drink after a stressful three weeks on Oa.

The man to his right explained how the fight was going and said that he had money on the fight, and Oscar noticed that his hands were buried in his pockets. 'Checking that he still has some money left after the bets?' Oscar wondered, taking a sip from his glass of beer. "Marvin Hayes? He's a new guy, right? Not a big boxing fan, but I know that if he's going up against Ives then it's a foregone conclusion that he'll get his ass dropped."

It was then that the guy offered a hand to shake, which Oscar accepted, saying "the name's Oscar." The young man, now introduced as Preston, asked who he was rooting for. Oscar shrugged, taking a swig from his glass. "Like I said, Ives is probably gonna win. But I like myself an underdog, so I'll probably be rooting for Hayes. In fact," he snapped to get the bartender's attention, "whatever money was left from that beer, I want it put on Hayes."

Oscar turned back to Preston, looking him over for a second, then said: "You know, you don't look like you're from around here." He paused, chuckled, and clarified: "What I mean is you don't look like you just crawled out of a gutter and stabbed somebody for their wallet. So what are you here for? Business?"

7:30 PM
November 3rd, 2019
High Rise Condos, Midway City

---

Ira had just got out the shower, and was whipping away fog from his mirror when he stopped blocking out the voice of Cheril, his manager, assistant, best friend, telling him about the events of tonight.

"Well we got through all the shoots and the press conference about the agency, all that's left for today is to have fun." She said as she walked into the bathroom, the woman did not care about he still getting dressed, it was not her first time around naked models.

"What are you talking about? I just wanna sleep Cher, you already took my Saturday away let me enjoy whats left of my Sunday." Ira said as he went into his closet and picked out suit to wear. He knew what was going on tonight, the big fight between Marvin Hayes and Christopher Ives. He always knew his scheduled but he did not wanna take away Cheril's job and loved being able to complain about it, being able to feel somewhat human. Ira knew he had to go to this watch party that was doubling as a networking event, Ira needed neither at the moment, but the man hosting the party was one of Ira's investors and Cher continued to remind him that any opportunity to make new "friends" was a good one no matter how boring.

" Here let me fix that. Your going and that's that. Plus "you" may have placed a bet, that was in the thousands, and "you" placed this bet around last Tuesday say at 5:00 and any normal man would want to go and see if you won the bet. There all done, you look good as usual, I'll be waiting in the car." She said all this with a smile as she fixed his bow tie and and helped him get ready. He heard what she said but as he finished his last squirt of cologne and tied his other shoe he registered what she said, and quickly followed her out.

"Well at least tell me who "I" bet on, so I don't look like to much of a fool when I lose." Ira said as he got into the car.

---

12:15 PM
November 3rd, 2019
Duos Penthouse #1, Midway City
-
As Cheril and Ira went up the elevator of the suite, he came back to question that Cher had asked him when she first learned of who he was, why become a model? Honestly it was a simple pretty choice, here on Earth models sold their self as a brand, made themselves into something people wanted or wanted to be. On Mars there were no movies or TV shows, most of the entertainment was live and real. Imagine that every action or war movie you have seen was real and all the actors where the same group of people, that was White Martians and conflict. White Martians are not liked but that is simply because they love to fight, so any war or conflict on a large scale was handled by the White Martians and recorded and sold back to the masses. On the occasion you would see the a Green or Yellow, but White Martians did it best. If Frakedi (Ira) had grown up on Mars it would not have been much different from what he does now, he would be selling his brand and giving an image to aspire to, except there is not as much potential death and greater job security. Even his appearance is similar to what he would have been on Mars, attractive. He would have been considered exotic, his mother was a Green Martian and his father was a White Martian. Their union as looked down upon, that was normal, but he was born with traits of both and that was desired. So things were not that different her eon Earth then they would have been on Mars, they just look like it.

When they got off the elevator, they were greeted by a large open room with a open floor concept, windowed walls that show an amazing view of the city and the pool. There where maybe 60 guest and 20 staff who would be serving them tonight. The host for tonight's watch party was Jacob Maroose, a very generous philanthropist who makes his money by investing in upstarts and helping them get big and then sitting back and collecting. He was a snake of a man but good at his job, and Jacob knew it. Ira and him got along, they were as close as a investor and the one taking said money needed to be, and the only thing he really asked (aside from his money) for is that when he throws these little gatherings that Ira show up every once and awhile. Everyone in the room was either there to get some money or throw it in the faces of others.

"Here we go, ladies and gentlemen!" jolted Jim. The giant TV said.

Ira had left Cher and started to mingle with the other guest, wearing a fake smile here and there, dropping his card where needed, pretty much peacocking until Mr. Maroose himself came to talk to Ira.

"You enjoying the party, I heard you put some money down on Hayes." He said with a sly smile.

"I guess I did, and you put money on Ives right." It was more of a statement that a question.

They both took seats on the couch in front of the TV, and watched until the end of round one and Jacob had a victorious grin on his face, like Hayes had already been knocked out. Ira had leaned back and Cher had brought him a drink.

"Its not over yet, Hayes still has a chance." Ira said but really he wanted to choke himself for giving Cher access to his accounts.

12:15 PM
Brooklyn New York
November 3rd 2019

John sat on a bar stool, slightly hunched over as he stared off into the wooden table drowning in misery and attempting to ignore everything around him. For someone who wanted to be alone, being crammed in a packed bar that was eager to watch the upcoming boxing fight seemed like a dumb idea but John didn’t exactly think this through. On the tabletop before John lay several empty glasses of alcohol with none of them having any sort of effect on his muscular frame. He never understood alcohol, everyone around him was being affected by it. But he never could, no matter how much he tried. Of all the noises one line of dialogue made it's impression.

“And with the conclusion of the co-main event we have New York’s own Marvin Hayes challenging for…”

“FUCK IVES!” Someone shouted as the television panned over to the defending champion warming up in the locker room before the fight. The expletive earned loud cheers throughout the crowded bar room. New York was always ready to support one of its own.

John however sat alone and quiet not bothering to look at the television, he could hear it precisely even through the countless conversations going on at once. There was time he would struggle attempting to focus as the noise consumed him but he was older now, his focus on what he wanted to listen to was absolute. As people struggled to move between the crowd, John caught several unintentional bumps. They never hurt but he didn’t like being touched. Finally sick of the noise, the smell and the crowd in general, John caught the barkeep’s attention and placed some cash down. He didn’t exactly count it and neither did the barkeep…John was without a doubt physically imposing and the barkeep wasn’t exactly going to try and tell the man before him he paid too little or maybe too much. Making his way towards the exit a random other bar patron tripped amongst the crowd, his pint of beer spilling over on to John’s jeans.

“Oh shit my bad!” The guy shouted. He looked down at the mess and nervously looked up. John gave him a disinterred look in return.
“Watch yourself.” John coldly stated and started walking off.
“The fuck?” The man replied under his breath as several of his friends had squeezed themselves over. “Shit dude, you lucky he didn’t just bash your face in” One of them said, laughing at his friend’s reaction to being so rudely dismissed of.
“Yeah well fuck that guy. Fucking prick. It was an accident. Fucking dick head.” He mumbled off though his slurs didn’t go unheard. John paused and turned around and stared down the small group of guys behind him. They were at least in the middle of their college years. John for a moment understood in that moment, he easily could have a group of friends like that. But there was nothing ordinary about his upbringing and seeing them all packed together like they were challenging him made his blood start to boil.

“Oh what? You got something to say now? Bring it asshole!” One of them shouted as they all stood together, ready to bull rush the lone patron John tensed slightly. He could break him and all of his friends in an instant. It wouldn’t be a challenge at all but right now he wasn’t in the mood and if he felt any sort of satisfaction for shutting up a few assholes, then so be it. John stepped forward and he could see the subtle movements in their bodies as if they suddenly regretted their actions. They were nervous but pride kept them in their place.

John was stepping closer, he could feel eyes gathering on him as people’s attention went from themselves or the television and on to towards the incoming altercation. Suddenly a strong grip was placed on his shoulder.

“That’s enough. If you gonna beat their asses, take it outside. Owner want no trouble in here. Main event starting soon enough.” John turned to see a large bouncer having approached and witnessed the whole thing. As big as the bouncer was, even he wasn’t going to do anything to stop him. John gave the group before him a strong glare before spitting on the ground as an act of defiance before making his way towards the exit. The bouncer tried to grab John again but his fingers couldn't grip anything. He was far too weak.

Upon leaving the bar John took a glance around and for a moment felt his heart sink. If it wasn’t the couple holding hands down the street, then it was the group of friends walking and laughing together. Or maybe it was the family that was singing to the radio in the cars on the street, or the other families chatting together in their homes or at the restaurant tables that he could see through the windows. In the immediate area, it seemed like everyone had someone… but him. Despite his towering size, John lowered his head and started walking with no destination planned. He just wanted to get away.

---

Drips of water danced down his forehead, a windshield to rain. A towel soaked the droplets from his face, and now that he was sitting and adrenaline had worn Marvin could feel the dull aches pulsing through his sides. His entire body throbbed. He knew he had to finish the fight in the next round, because a few more body shots spelled doom for him--and likely his retirement from boxing in general as his ego (in the ring and outside) would not let him live with 'what ifs' and he didn't want to go down as one of those fighters who was almost good enough to acquire the ever elusive gold that has gone around countless other pugilist's waists.

A new gameplan it was; keep moving, make Ives miss, and catch him when he overextends.

The bell rung again; round two had begun.

"Round two!" Lenny spouted.

---

Round 2: 3:00

Both men come ring center once more. Ives hasn't seemed to adjust. He was a freight train, and always was--a staunch power hitter who looked to finish his opponents inside of three rounds, and most of the time he did. Few could weather many of his titanic blows, and the key to beating him was speed; something Hayes still had plenty of even though he had slowed down after the first round. Ives came out swinging hard, a wide arching hook to the body. Hayes left his stance entirely and leapt backward on both feet, his graceful movements deft enough for him to land on his toes, almost too deft. Hayes had stopped letting his hands go and made Ives chase him.

Round 2: 2:15

Some 'boos' erupt from the crowd as people begin shouting epithets and chanting "COWARD!", "STOP RUNNING!"; the denigration fed Ives bloodlust and only served to propel him into Hayes trap. Ives pressed his offensive hard after sharply cutting off the ring and nearly forcing Hayes into the ropes; Ives landed solid hooks and uppercuts, only two had real pop behind them. Hayes twists his body continuously in his shelled up guard to roll the rest off of his shoulder and forearm. Hayes used the ropes to back himself from some of Ives more loaded and short hooks before ducking beneath one of Ives' body-to-head level change jabs and shuffling back on his feet.

Round 2: 1:50

Ives has traded his textbook orthodox stance with a wider base for one more shallow and designed for quick lateral movement and pivots. He uses it to chase Hayes around the ring, throwing jabs while stepping forward. Hayes uses tight slips to evade Ives progressively sloppy punches. Once Ives has opened up and has appeared to expend some stamina, Hayes goes to work--he lands two unnaturally fast jabs: one hits Ives just as he contracts his arm from a cross, the other is a right hand which penetrates the slit of Ives guard. Taking advantage of Ives limited vision, Hayes closes the distance and lets his hands fly. One, two, three, four, five punches all stampede a defensive Ives, who has turtled up. Hayes relents, conserving his energy for what he has planned that will finish the fight for sure.

Round 2: 1:45

A cornered Ives begins to channel his namesake, "The Demon" and returns to his hellish pursuit of the smaller but quicker Hayes around the ring. Hayes begins taunting him again--the same mistake which got him dropped before. This time, however, Ives' freight train power shots had begun to lose their strength, and it was now Ives who had begun slowing down from blowing all of his stamina.

"I'm bad! And YOU know I'm bad, white boy! I'm too fast! Too good! Can't keep up can you?" Hayes wiggled his hips and opened his arms up to extend outward on either side of his body, his tongue out.

Fuming, Ives skipped forward with his patent overhand right--the same move which assured his status as the reigning and defending champion up until now. Hayes left his hands free, and once more he used his superior head movement to slip around the arching punch and he hit Ives with a hook which landed

"RIGHT. ON. THE. BUTTON!" Jim and Lenny roared in unison.

1:40

Ives was clearly hurt, and he stumbled backward on his heels. Hayes could feel more than just the thousands of eyes in the ring watching him, he felt eyes of his hometown, on him, the drunk patrons from the five boroughs rooting for him. Days, months, years of training all came down to this one moment--and Hayes would capitalize. Sweat beaded down his body, the heat from the light's above radiated a soft glow against his ebony skin. They electrified him. Hayes would finish this here and now.

He pounced on a still disoriented Ives and lets his hands go.
Left hook to the body - 1:43
Right hook to the body - 1:43
Left straight to the head - 1:42
Right hook to the head - 1:41
Right uppercut to the body - 1:41
Left uppercut to the body - 1:40

Ives was in trouble. Excitement charged the entire arena as Hayes poured blow after blow into the champ. Ives guard faulted, for no moatter how long one blocked, punches would get through his guard eventually as his arms tired--and Hayes drove his trademark left hook into Ives' temple. Ives went stiff, and toppled as a statue to the canvas. It was over; a new champion had been crowned.

---

"I told you I'm the greatest! I told you!" Hayes boasted inaudibly as he climbed atop the rope's turnbuckles. The entire ring had flooded at the pronouncement of the upset victory. As Ives ring crew tended to him and awoke him from his slumber, the camera focused on Hayes who had come ring center one last time. Michael Huff took the microphone and began,

"Ladies and gentlemen, by way of knockout, and the NEEW MIDDLEWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WOOOORRRLLDD. . . "MIRACULOUUUSSS" MAARVVIIINN HAAAAAYYYEEEEESSS!" Some boos, some cheers. Mixed crowd reaction phased Hayes none, for he knew a more surreptitious force awaited him--he should have taken the fall like he was told.

November 3rd, 2019
10:35 AM, PT
Buffy’s, Coast City

---

There were few things Ezra would ever regret more than betting on Ives, even though it had been informal and nothing had been wagered it was still going to go down as the day a happy go lucky kid turned half an hour into an eternal stretch of hell.

As the first round came to a close Kyle was worried, but defiant. He buckled down and stuck to his previous words, loudly insisting Hayes would win and cheering for the man exuberantly. He was a constant stream of facts and opinions mixed together in a never ending spew of words Ezra couldn’t keep up with, which was fine in Kyle’s book who was so absorbed in the match he never once looked away from the screen and bounced energetically in place, mock dodging and punching excitedly as the next round came on screen.

Then Hayes won, and Kyle went ballistic. Ezra wasn’t entirely sure what he’d said to the kid in the haze of happy celebration that followed, but whatever it was only made him more excitable as he lorded his victory over the entire gym. His efforts to calm the kid down were utterly fruitless, but he was saved when Farha finally arrived.

The muslim woman stepped into the shop, taking off her sunglasses and letting her eyes adjust to the new lighting for a second, and then just stood there taking in the scene for a long moment. Quiet Ezra, usually bored to tears and desperately patrolling his phone for something to read or watch or do, eagerly awaiting her arrival so he could finally go home- was instead replaced by a very stressed Ezra, smiling uncomfortably at a bouncing jibbering child flouncing all over the gym equipment and vomiting a range of words as he crowed his joy for all to hear. In the back a couple of young men were whispering to each other as they watched the scene, presumably taking a break from their workout to watch the mayhem unfold.

It very soon became apparent the kid was excited about a boxing match, as he returned to the TV and cried ’"MIRACULOUUUSSS" MAARVVIIINN HAAAAAYYYEEEEESSS!’ in a faux deep voice.

In the second it took the kid to take a breath, Ezra pounced. “Oh Farha!” He said loudly, catching the kids attention that someone new had turned up. “Well, sorry kid, looks like my shifts over. How ‘bout we find your mom so I can go home and get some work done, huh?”

“Aww man!” The kid moaned, “Can’t I stay a little longer? He’s only just got his trophy!”

“Nope, sorry, but it’s Farha’s turn now. Wouldn’t want to disturb the nice lady while she’s getting ready for her shift would we?” Ezra reasoned, but Farha knew that was all talk, she’d started her shift amidst five separate blaring radios a few times, on those days when the gym was packed and every speaker there was turned up to max, some playing different songs. She could handle a noisy rambunctious kid, this was clearly Ezra trying to make a hasty escape.

She considered protesting, getting Ezra and the kid to stay, she was awfully curious about her secretive coworker, and this random child would be sure to shed some light on his life, but before she could act on her half finished plan the child shot her a look, as if piercing into her very soul and rummaging for secrets. “Yeah, okay.” He said quietly, still looking her in the eyes and sounding suddenly very serious. What was that about?

Then they were gone, and Farha was left standing in the entrance trying to reorient herself.

Ezra took Kyle’s hand in his right, and with his left pulled a small backpack over one shoulder. He was a bit curious about why the kid suddenly switched tracks like that, and he was a bit concerned over how far his mood had fallen. He didn’t have to wait long to find out though, as Kyle looked and searched his eyes; “Do you ever get tired of hiding?” He asked, softly.

It was a short walk to the flower shop next door, where Kyle had said his mom would be earlier. They reached it after only a few seconds, but Ezra made no move to go in, and for a long moment the two aliens shared a moment of silence as they pondered their lives and their secrets. “Yeah.” He finally admitted, but it wasn’t a topic he was ready to broach, especially with an insightful child who may or may not read minds.

He opened the door and relaxed, hit with the smell of flowers. It was a nice place, but he’d never been inside before, had never had any reason to buy flowers. He wondered what reason Lauren had for buying them. Decoration? Had she met someone? Were they human? Maybe they were for family, how many of hers were here on Earth? Were they okay? He rolled his eyes at his train of thought, none of that was his business.

He spied the familiar woman talking to another girl (@Korkoa), presumably someone who worked here, and let go of Kyle’s hand. The kid bounded over to his mother, smile beginning to return, probably anticipating telling her all about Hayes’ victory. She looked over after greeting her son, giving Ezra a motherly smile and called over to where he lingered by the entrance; “Thanks Ezra! See you at The Small soon?”

He gave a noncomittal shrug at first, he was awfully busy, but then let out a reluctant; “Sure, see you then.” He gave a final wave before leaving, sparing a final small glance at the flower shop girl as he went.

Now he just had to get home, he had so much classwork due...

1:35 PM, O'Mallory's Irish Pub, Gotham City - November 3rd, 2019

The wails of woe from the gathered Fae and the mortal patrons were deafening in the bar as Ives went down like a sack of bricks, and Clayton couldn't help but grin as he watched Hayes standing triumphant in the ring while the announcer declared him the new champ. He felt a twinge of pity for whatever poor son of a bitch was managing the Fae Queen of Gotham's chosen champion, thinking of the torments an hexes that Queen Barenziah would throw his way.

"Well," he though, downing the last of his mug of Miller before he started toward Gillespie, who was fuming at the towering Human lumbering towards him. "That's his fault for getting involved with Elves."

"Don' ye look at me all smug an' superior, boyo." The Leprechaun growled out at Clayton, teeth clenched together so tightly he might have been making diamonds out of that crooked scowl. "Yer fookin' boy got lucky. It ain't gonna happen again."

"What, the Queen gonna break his legs? Toss an impotence hex on him? Wouldn't be very smart of her to go after a big, public figure like that." Clayton said, his deep, rumbling voice giving away no hint at the satisfaction he felt. "I'm sure The Master would just love to have an excuse to deal with her. Or hell, maybe that supernatural FBI task force."

That wiped the scowl off the Fae's face, though he still grumbled angrily under his breath as he started to fish around under the counter. Most of the smaller Fae never quite got used to their glamours, the way it so drastically increased their size, made it hard for them coordinate. A moment later Gillespie practically slammed the small lockbox down on the counter, pulling out a thick wad of bills and slapping it down on the counter before Clayton. The big man pocketed the money with a smile.

"Hope ya choke an' die on it."

"Not likely. Be too clean a way for me to go, with my job." He paused for a moment, fishing the coin out of his pocket again. He looked over that worn, battered surface for a long moment before he spoke up. "Barenziah know this came up?"

"Why the fook should she? It's jus' a tricket, lad. Little bit left over from t'e old days. Ain't not'in' to ruffle her feat'ers over."

"Or a sign that the most evil bitch the Unseelie ever had is back." Clayton thought to himself, stuffing the coin back into his pocket and starting out the door. Tommy would be waiting back home, and he needed a little help with the calculus. Playing the role of father was almost as hard as being a supernatural gumshoe, but it was far more satisfying.

He decided they'd need some ice cream before they got started on the boy's math.

10:40 AM, Flower Power floral shop, Coast City

Jessie spent the next few minutes helping her customer pick out flowers, doing her best to hide the fact that right now, she'd even rather watch the boxing match on the crappy TV than be doing this. Well, maybe not doing her 'best' to hide it, considering the occasional frustrated glance she got from the other woman. Not my fault though, Jessie though, plucking a few roses to add to the sample bouquet. If this lady wanted someone who was interested in helping, she should have waited around for Jessie's mom to get in.

The bell above the door chimed again, blending with the tinny crowd sounds from the TV in an annoying cacophony. Jessie turned to glance at the newcomers, inwardly cursing as she recognized the kid, the annoying and hyperactive son of her current customer. She tried to keep her smile pasted on as she nodded towards the other guy, who she seemed to recognize from somewhere... Shaking the feeling off, Jessie turned her attention back to... Lisa? Maybe? No no, still wrong. It seemed now that her son was here, the lady's attitude had shifted slightly, becoming a little more aloof.

"Tell you what dear, how about I just keep browsing for awhile with my boy, and if I need any help, I'll... Well I'll ask the owner over there." Possibly-Lana-No-Nevermind-Wrong-Name said after a moment of hushed whispers and sidelong glances with hyper-kid.

Jessie blinked a few times, taken aback by the sudden switch in gears. "Oh! Well okay then, I'll uh... I'll let him know." She said with a more genuine smile and she headed for the corner where her father was watching the post-match interviews and observations. "Hey dad, they want to deal with you, I'm going out for a few minutes!"

"What?" Her father asked, turning and raising an eyebrow in her direction. "Why me? What'd you do, Bug?"

"Father, I am wounded!" Jessie said, false mockery filling her voice as she headed for the stairs. "I did nothing! I had my customer service smile on and everything!" She cried as she disappeared upstairs for a moment before coming back down with her backpack slung over her shoulder. "I'll be back soon, I have to see a man about a cow. Or horse? Pig maybe? I'm not coming back without some kind of livestock!" She yelled as she left the store, bell jingling behind her.

"I swear, we lose more customers when she works..." Gerard said, standing up from his chair with a groan before heading over to Lauren and Kyle.



Jessie dashed down the sidewalk at a sprint, keeping a tight hold of her backpack to make sure it didn't jostle too much. The electronic shop a few blocks away had emailed her to say her new RPi came in, and if she could make the coding work she figured she might be able to get eye-tracking controls to fit onto her goggles telescoping unit. And of course she could get the coding to work, lines of computer language loved to talk to her.

If only people on the sidewalk weren't SO SLOW... The street was too crowded to just pop down a few blocks, so she had to slow her run and fall into step, giving a quick glance to the people she was sharing the sidewalk with. Coincidentally, one of them had a familiar face... ( @Ceta de Cloyes ) Now that she got a closer look at him... He worked at the gym! And she felt as though she may have seen him around campus too? Small world... Jessie thought for a moment about the coincidence, she could sure use a gym buddy, especially if she were going to get into the 'economic liberation' business, and who better than the guy behind the counter.

Slightly out of breath, Jessie turned to her neighbor and stuck out her hand, grinning. "Well hey there! Fancy seeing you again two minutes later, right? I'm Jessie, I run the flower shop with my parents. You work at the gym right?"

SIlver Spoon Bar, Hub City, 12:40 PM

"Business." He agreed with a nod. He wasn't lying. "Coast City Celestial Observation Center. C.O.C. for short." He was still telling the truth. His job as an astronomer led him to finding the ring, which got him his new job as a defender of the planet, which led to him landing here in Hub City instead of Coast City.

More cheering went on behind him, and Preston turned back to see what was going on. A smile grew on Preston's face. "Marvin Hayes was doing it! He was taking the title tonight!"

As Ives went down and Hayes was announced the new champion, Preston cheered. The other patrons groaned, some even got angry and proclaimed it was a rigged fight.

"Rigged or not, Hayes won." Preston nodded to himself, smiling just a little Nobody except for a few were remotely happy about how the events turned out. "Now, I think we bet some money on this, didn't we?"

"I think you're on the wrong track, son. We didn't make any bets." A man walked over to Preston and towered over him with ease. His hands moved his jacket over slightly, revealing that the man was packing some heat. Preston grew tense, and sat back down at the counter, still facing the large man.

Preston couldn't do it. He couldn't slide the ring on and beat down these guys for money. He had to do this bare-handed, and at least one of them was packing a gun. He could be tricky about it and use his ring in subtle ways, but the guardians wouldn't like that. He was forced to sit down and take this like a punk. He wasn't happy about it, but he was just a brawler, and nothing his human body had could stop a gunshot.

November 3rd, 2019
10:43 AM, PT
Corsica Street, Coast City

---

Despite how obviously out of his element he had been with Kyle, it had been nice being around someone again. Maybe he should head over to The Small soon, make a thing of it and fully let loose. When was the last time he had a chance to fly? Or see the night sky? He was always worried someone would see his glowing eyes in the dark and then he'd be caught and experimented on or who knew what…

His pondering was interrupted, his spaced out stare refocusing as someone addressed him. He was surprised to see the girl from the shop he'd just left, and he glanced behind him, half expecting Lauren and Kyle to be right behind them too, but that was nonsensical. Jessie, as she said her name was, had stuck out her hand and asked him a question. He wondered if it was a good idea to talk to her, but they did work near each other, and it wouldn't be the first time someone got chatty with him, though usually they were stressed out college kids or hyped up gym rats, neither of whom cared if he didn't say much.

After a slight hesitation he took her hand and shook it. “Right,” he answered, letting go and hoping his hands weren't too abnormally cold, “my name’s Ezra. Weren't you just with Lauren? Is something wrong?” He briefly worried he might have left something there despite not having spent more than a minute inside, but his pack was still on his back and the zipper still tight. He could feel the weight of his phone and wallet in his pocket, and his keys in the other one. Jessie would probably look more freaked out if something actually bad had happened, like discovering her customers had been aliens or something.

@Korkoa