The laundromat before her was unassuming, with paint peeling from the brick front and the Sorry, We Are Closed sign hanging askew from behind a window spiderwebbed with thin cracks. Past the glass door were rows of rusted washing machines, all shrouded by darkness past the dim lighting of the streetlamps. It was a place one wanted to hurry past, somewhere you would never think to duck into except as a last resort. All of this by design.
Era pushed open the door, ignoring the jingle of chimes as she adjusted the medical mask obscuring the bottom half of her face. Luckily her features had always been plain so that, along with her bulky clothes, should be enough to hide her from prying eyes. The mask itself wouldn't cause any suspicion; it was common for patrons of these kinds of places to hide their identities in one way or another.
She stepped past the broken down machines with purpose but not eagerness, adjusting her pace and posture to match that of someone who was meant to be here but didn't want to make a big fuss about it. Era had thought long and hard about the kind of person she'd need to be tonight and, as usual, the trick would be a careful balance of extremes.
Someone sat behind the counter, and though they were partially obscured in the darkness Era could see the edges of their face illuminated by some game on their phone. The person looked up with a bored expression, leaning backwards in their chair.
"Didn't you read the sign? We're closed."
"Do you see a laundry bag? I don't care." Era made sure to pitch her voice a little lower than usual, and to hold herself with more confidence. She couldn't entirely erase her age but with boots, the mask, and the leather jacket she wore—in case things got ugly and someone flashed a knife—Era knew that she could pass for at least 18. There would be plenty of younger people down below, kids from off the street working under villains who'd plucked them up for some purpose or another.
"Don't know what to tell you, then. This place is for paying customers only."
Era grinned beneath the mask. This kind of double-talk, the intent hidden by layers of euphemism and false pretense, this she could handle. She'd take it over calculus any day.
"Well lucky for you, I pay very well." Slowly, so as to make her motions as obvious as possible, Era drew a wad of bills from her pocket. She saw the gatekeeper tense and reach for something beneath the counter, only to relax when Era set the money down on the table. "I don't have references, but I feel like a deposit should do?"
They eyed the money critically, picking it up to flip through the bills before setting them down again. "Money's gotten a little tighter, lately. A lot of crime in the area, you know the deal. I don't want any trouble."
Are you a cop?
"I'm not interested in trouble. Well, except maybe the good kind." Era might have flashed a wild grin if her mask wouldn't cover it. Still, her eyes glinted in the dim light from the streetlamps and she let them crinkle at the corners with what might be a smile. "But I can understand the precaution. Anything I could do to assuage your fears?"
She caught the hint of a smirk on the person's face as they leaned forward. "Well, you know what they say. Money makes the world go 'round."
Fuck. Not very subtle, was it? Era had scraped up all of her savings for this venture, and anything she gave up now would just mean a deeper hole to dig herself out of later.
"Wise words," she said, reaching out to take the cash back. "But I feel like I've heard quite a few people say it can't buy happiness, either."
The person shrugged, looking back down at their phone. "Well, I guess we'll have to agree to disagree."
Asshole. They both knew she didn't have a choice. Barely repressing a snarl, Era drew back only most of the money, leaving a few wrinkled bills on the counter.
"Pleasure doing business with you. Entrance is in the back."
"What, not gonna walk me there?" Era nearly growled as she stepped behind the counter.
They chuckled, snatching up the money and returning to their phone. "Gonna have to cough up a little more if you want the grand tour."
"Dick," she muttered under her breath, navigating the cluttered floors until she reached a nondescript door at the very end of the backroom. If she paused and strained her ears, she could just barely make out the faint strains of voices over the rush of her own blood.
This is it. A proper smile wormed its way onto her face, and she permitted it to stay as she opened the door and began to descend the stairs in no particular hurry. The closer she got, the more distinct the voices became, along with pulses of music and the occasional cheer of what she assumed where the winners of whatever bet had been placed. She let it wrap around her with a comfortable familiarity, let it fall across her shoulders like a long forgotten cloak that felt so right, even after all these years.
Era reached the bottom of the stairs at last, and stepped out onto the floor. Finally, finally, finally she was in her element.
Figures of various dress and build sat at tables scattered around the room, the low-ceiling above them dotted by dim lights. In one corner was a well-stocked bar, and in another the walls were lined with television screens all set to different channels. Some showed recent hero news, while others simply broadcasted whatever sport was being played at this hour.
The place was busy, but not crowded. They'd cleared out an impressive space beneath that dinky little laundromat. There was even a caged in ring far towards the back where Era assumed they hosted fights, though right now it was empty. She felt the familiar shiver of phantom pains, the ghosts of broken bones trembling beneath her skin before they quieted once more. At least they weren't hosting fights right now; if she was being honest with herself, the temptation to jump in the ring would be too much.
Her eyes roved across the room, picking out the high-rollers from the businessmen and catching where those two intersected. She wanted people who were here to gamble, not make deals or swap news. The villains who came here with an intent beyond pure entertainment were more trouble than they were worth. Thugs looking for an adrenaline rush or eager to double their stolen earnings? That she could work with.
It didn't take long to scope out an appropriate table. Five men sitting around a game of hold 'em while a sixth dealt cards and chips with a long-suffering smile. As Era approached, she realized why. One of the men had clearly had too much to drink—just enough that he became obnoxious, but too little to greatly impact his play if the huge stack of chips before him was any indication. Or maybe he was just naturally that loud. Didn't seem like a great poker strategy, but who was Era to judge.
She walked up to the table just as the loud man won yet another hand, to the audible groan of the player next to him.
"Fuck this shit, I'm out. Hey, you, take my advice and don't sit down with this asshole. Get a drink or something instead. Fuck." He stormed away as the winner cackled and collected his chips.
"Aw, come on, he's just a sore loser. You're welcome to try a hand, little lady." He grinned up at her, and Era didn't quite like the glint in his eyes. Oh, she was going to enjoy this.
Era hunched her shoulders slightly and brought a sheepish hand to run through her short hair. "Hah, I'm not sure if it'll be much fun for all of you, probably just frustrating. I've never really played before."
His smile widened into something a more feral, and he patted the seat next to him with a little too much eagerness. "Come on, ever heard of beginner's luck? Just try a hand and see how it goes."
Making a show of her indecision, Era snuck a glance at the other three players. None of them were as obviously affected, but they all seemed invested in the game and eager to make back their money.
"Yeah, just play one hand."
"Give it a try, sweetheart."
"One hand never hurt anybody."
Eager to take money from an unsuspecting novice, it seemed.
The only thing that kept Era from bristling at the perceived weakness was the knowledge that she would make them suffer for it. Coincidentally, that was also all that kept her from taking a finger off the obnoxious man when, as she slid hesitantly into the proffered seat, he slung his arm around her shoulders and pointed towards the dealer.
"Alright, missy, don't worry, I'm gonna help you out here. Name's Reckon. You got a name, sweetheart?"
Don't call me sweetheart. "Thank you so much, I'd be really lost without the help. My name is Sparrow."
She'd decided on this beforehand; Sparrow would be safe, here. She wasn't such a prolific vigilante that her name was plastered all over the forums, and juggling names was already becoming so tedious. Still, the man—Reckon—gave her what she assumed was meant to be a playful frown.
"Aw, you're not gonna tell me your real name? We were getting along so nicely."
Era forced herself to laugh, breathless and airy. "I'm sorry, I don't want to offend you. But I was warned not to use my real name, so..."
"Of course, of course," he said with a chuckle. His arm was still draped over her shoulders, and Era's skin was beginning to itch at the contact. "Alright, so here's how it goes. This fine gentleman's gonna deal you two cards, and you're gonna have to make a bet." He hesitated, glancing down at her. "You do have money, right?"
"Oh, yes!" said Era brightly, pulling out a few crumpled bills and shyly sliding them towards the dealer, who only sighed and counted some chips for her. Reckon drew back, clapping his hands together excitedly.
"Perfect!"
"Can we start already? I don't have time for you to babysit." The player a few seats down tapped his fingers against the table impatiently, scowling at Reckon.
"Of course. Now, little Sparrow, don't be afraid to ask me for help, okay?"
She didn't like that smile. It was predatory, edged with steel and ill-disguised greed. Worse, still, his breath smelled of cigarettes and stale alcohol. Era forced herself to nod eagerly up at him, wide-eyed at such heartless assistance from a stranger.
The dealer wearily nodded at them all before deftly passing out their first two cards. Era snuck a peak at her hand, pleased to see that it was absolute garbage from the get-go. Perfect.
"Oh, is it my turn?" she asked when the bet came around to her. "Um, I guess I'll... check? Right?"
Reckon nodded enthusiastically as Era hesitantly rapped her knuckles against the table. The rest of the hand played out as she might have expected; nothing but a pair of twos, for her. She was positive that Reckon would have a full house after the last card was revealed, and by his gleeful expression he was as well.
"Um..." Era tapped a finger against her mask, glancing down at her cards and back up at the table. "I think I have something good? So I should bet, right?"
"Don't fucking tell us if—" one of the other players began, exasperated, before Reckon cut him off.
"Go with your gut, sweetheart! Come on, live a little."
"Okay," said Era, straightening her back as if she'd just made up her mind. "I'll, uh, raise."
When the last bet was made, Reckon motioned for her to reveal first, because he was a smug asshole who knew he had won. Era gritted her teeth behind the mask, flipping over her cards and forcing herself to sound cheerful when she said, "I have a pair! That's something good, right?"
"Kid, that hand sucks. Why did you raise?"
"Jesus, have you actually never played?"
"Well, you know what they say!" Reckon crowed, revealing his full house and joyously sweeping all of their chips towards himself. "You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don't take! Try another hand, sweetheart, you'll get the hang of it."
"Oh, I don't know..."
"Come on, aren't you having fun?"
"I guess," said Era, running through the calculations in her head—how much money she had, and how much she would need to make this work. A few more hands, small bets, let them get comfortable. She'd scraped together enough for what she needed, plus as much as she could manage out of multiple overdrawn bank accounts from shady companies with lax policies when it came to background checks. But that was all she had left; if she fucked this up, then she had nothing.
Briefly, Era wished that they actually were hosting fights tonight. At least in a fight she could rely on pure skill. With this, there was always the possibility that her notoriously shit luck could screw her over.
Still, since when was she a stranger to risk? Every day that she walked free was more than she'd ever expected, and far better than she deserved.
They played through a couple more hands in much the same way, Era making a big fuss over learning the rules and figuring out exactly which hands were better than others. A couple more, and Era established herself as someone who could not lie for shit, with tells obvious from a mile away. All along Reckon amassed more money in that ridiculous pile of chips, and Era began to realize that it wasn't just luck that had won him all of those games. The man's tells were not quite as obvious as her own purposeful ones, but they were still apparent. Even with his continued drinking and obnoxious behavior, Reckon never made a bet when the odds were stacked against him.
She liked to think herself pretty good at counting cards and calculating chance, but truth be told she used to be far better. It was a useful skill; not quite as handy as picking locks or throwing knives, but useful nonetheless. Now, though, the numbers drifted through her fingers like sand, shifting past her in blurry streams of consciousness as she vainly struggled to keep them still. It was the same as with her classwork, she realized.
Could that be... related? Some root problem she wasn't addressing?
Focus. The point was that even if Era wasn't quite as effective as she used to be she did know what a proper strategy should look like.
Reckon was good. Really, really good.
It was only when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught him wordlessly muttering an endless stream of numbers that she realized: it's his quirk.
Reckon. Reckon. The man must have some sort of statistical analysis quirk, something that let him keep track of the odds. Fuck, wasn't that cheating? No wonder the dealer looked so tired.
Well that would make things more difficult, but not impossible. The thing about odds is that they can't tell you for certain what the outcome will be. She'd just have to make him trust his gut more than he trusted his quirk, or press the advantage when she had an unlikely pair of cards.
A few more hands. Era made sure to win a couple, excitedly raising the bet only to have everyone else fold at her eagerness. And every time that Reckon gave her a suggestion she followed it; even when it was obvious that he was only doing it so she could lose more money to him. She just needed to wait, to find her opening, to keep them thinking her weak...
But she also needed to act fast. Reckon was getting bored; she could tell in the tap of his fingers and the barely suppressed yawns. If he walked away, her money was gone.
Halfway through the next hand the opportunity finally presented itself.
Era felt a jolt of adrenaline down her spine as a smile crept its way across her face in earnest. Her eyes were darting around the table, categorizing tells and ticks and filing it all away in neat little boxes so that she might destroy them all. She would pick them apart, pull at the seams to unravel their fragile little egos and win. She could do this, she could actually do this—
"Mind if I join in?"
Era glanced up from her cards, and she felt that electric thrill curdle to a cold pit of dread in her stomach.
"Of course, the more the merrier!" Reckon slurred, and at the back of her mind Era knew that this was the perfect time to strike but—
The newcomer nodded and sat down, pushing a strand of long, messy black hair out of his exhausted eyes and fucking seriously—
"We'll deal you in next round," said Reckon with a grin, which only widened as he looked down at his cards. Oh, he thought he was going to win, was sure of it this was fucking perfect she needed to—
Reckon nudged her, and Era ignored how her skin burned at the contact. "Hey, Sparrow, your move. Earth to Sparrow. You gonna bet or what? I've got a good feeling about this one."
Eraserhead—because of fucking course, of course it was fucking Eraserhead shit goddamn it what the fuck—looked up a little too quickly to be casual. Looked right at Era, who had dutifully returned her attention to the cards in her hand.
Fuck. Fuck.
"Oh, man, I don't know, Reckon. Are you sure?" she heard herself say, and thank fuck because her mind was working overtime trying to figure out what exactly in the god damn hell was going on.
"Definitely, sweetheart. This is your round."
Eraserhead was here. Why was Eraserhead here? Focus, compartmentalize, put it in a box and—
That man wasn't a villain, she knew that for certain. So... was he looking for someone in particular? Bold of him, to stroll in so casually. Although maybe his boldness was warranted; no one seemed to have recognized him after all.
Except Era.
"You know what? I think you're right. I'll raise!" she said excitedly, pushing her chips forward. Reckon's grin only widened, but Era was a little too busy to worry about that because why am I the only one who recognizes him?
Obvious. He was out of costume. The only reason she'd known who he was at UA without those stupid fucking goggles of his was because of his capture weapon, an item of clothing that she was far too familiar with at this point. Without it, she doubted that she would have thought him anything more than a tired, disheveled looking man. Here he had neither goggles, nor scarf, nor even the baggy black attire she supposed was his costume.
Underground heroes. They really could go anywhere, huh?
The next few cards were revealed, and Era wished that she could revel in the satisfaction of a plan well-executed but that was really fucking difficult with Eraserhead staring her down from across the table.
Breathe. What could he do here? She was safe, as long as she played her cards right—hah—and stayed calm. Era forced herself to focus on the game.
It was a perfect set-up. With Reckon's confidence so early on, she was positive he'd secured a four of a kind on the flop. There were two Kings and a ten on the table already, and from reading him all fucking night she had no doubt that he had the other two in his hand.
The turn had nothing new; just a three.
But the next reveal had really made things interesting. A Jack.
Era looked down at her hand again. Ace and a Queen. Same suit, all of them. Royal flush.
In her wildest dreams, this set-up couldn't be more perfect.
The pot at the center of the table was growing unwieldy, with Reckon egging Era on as soon as he'd secured his four-of-a-kind and now growing even more insufferable as the rest of the table folded one by one. Era stared down at her cards intently, scrunching her nose and running a hand through her hair.
"I don't know... I mean I think it's pretty good," she muttered.
"Do it! Follow your dreams! Come on, sweetheart, it's just a game." He reached over to drop his arm around her shoulders once more, and Era hastily set her cards down.
"I mean... I guess I have some more money," she said hesitantly, 'accidentally' knocking his arm aside as she rifled through her pockets and drew out her last wad of cash, the largest of the bunch, and setting it gently on the table. The dealer wordlessly replaced it with a stack of chips to rival Reckon's. The man gave a low whistle.
"You've been holding out on us, huh, little bird?"
You can't change what you are little bird—
Breathe.
Era gave a sheepish laugh. "Well, honestly I probably shouldn't be spending it, but... like you said, it's to have fun, right?"
Here goes nothing. Era shoved the entire stack forward, beaming up at Reckon as she did so.
"I'm all in!"
Silence, from everyone at the table.
"Kid." That was Eraserhead, and Era resisted the urge to startle at the sound of his voice. As it was, she was just barely able to stare back at him with bright eyes and a smile, even though he couldn't see the latter. "Are you sure you want to—"
"Hey, let her do what she wants!" shouted Reckon, and this time Era did just barely wince at his deafening volume. "Balls of steel, this little lady. That's my girl!"
He pressed his hand against her back, and she allowed herself to grit her teeth once more before giving him a laugh.
"Honestly I've just always wanted to say that. It sounds really cool, you know?" she said breathlessly.
"All in from Sparrow, then?" The dealer stared at her, and Era just nodded enthusiastically. Sighing, the dealer turned to Reckon. "And you--?"
"All in!" he crowed, winking at Era. "What can I say, I'm feeling lucky. Can't let you have all the fun."
And that was it. Fuck, her fingers were twitching at the excitement of it all, at how she could just picture ripping him apart without even touching him.
Reckon flipped his cards with a flourish, roaring as he did, "Four Kings, baby! Sorry to get your hopes up like that sweetheart, but this is my last hand and—"
"What are you doing?" asked Era innocently, and Reckon paused halfway through reaching for the chips. He glanced at her, still smiling though it was now tinged with a hint of confusion.
"Why, collecting my chips. I won the hand, sweetheart."
"But you didn't even see my cards," Era pouted, actually pouted, fuck this better be worth it.
Reckon sighed, drawing back and gesturing for her to proceed with a dramatic flourish.
"You really want to draw this out? I thought you were good on the rules by now, sweetheart. Four of a kind beats—"
"A royal flush?" finished Era as sweetly as she could muster, flipping over her cards one after the other.
Quiet. Sweet, breathless Quiet. At last, something had made Reckon shut his fucking mouth.
Finally, the dealer broke the quiet with his usual impassivity. "Sparrow wins. Collect your chips, please."
"Actually, I think I'd like to cash out."
The man sighed, reaching forward to collect the chips himself. A heavy hand landed on his wrist, stopping him.
"No." Reckon was red in the face, although Era wasn't sure if that was the alcohol, or... he whirled around to stare at her, and oh no, he was definitely fucking pissed. "You. You knew how to play the whole fucking time."
"Sorry, sweetheart," said Era, reaching forward to delicately pry his hand off the dealer's wrist. She grinned up at him, making sure her back was to Eraserhead before pulling down the mask just enough to let him see her bared teeth then letting it settle on her face again. "You were just being so kind. I didn't want to be rude."
"Fucking- give my fucking money back."
"No, I don't think I'll be doing that." This was good. This was so good, she could almost forget that Eraserhead was sitting literally two seats away. Maybe, if she was lucky, they'd have a nice little fight later and she'd be worn out enough to get some proper sleep. What a night.
"Bitch."
"Oh no," said Era, deadpan, as she waited for the dealer to count out her chips. "Now you've done it. You've cut me to the quick. However will I go on in this cruel world?"
A flash of movement in the corner of her eye and Era drew back before his hand could close around her wrist. Still, he shouldered his way into her space, breath heavy with the stench of alcohol as he growled down at her.
"Do you know," he said, voice low and dangerous, "what the odds of that happening were?"
"Pretty low, I'd bet. But here's the thing, sweetheart: anything's possible."
"I know," he snarled. "I know the odds. And I call bullshit."
Era turned back towards the dealer, keeping Reckon in her periphery as she lazily leaned on one hand. "Oh? Care to elaborate?"
"I already know that you're a fucking liar." Reckon reached for her shoulder, bunching up the jacket in his clenched fist and starting to pull it up and away from the chair. "You've been lying this entire goddamn time. What's to stop you from lying about that, hm?"
Era hummed thoughtfully, ignoring how Eraserhead tried to catch her eye and instead choosing to keep her focus on the slowly growing stack of money that the dealer was counting out. She let her voice drop, let it drip with the promise of something dangerous.
"Are you accusing me of something, Reckon? Because I'm not sure I'd appreciate that."
The fist in her jacket tightened, and Era lifted her chin from her hand as he almost shifted her from the seat.
"I'm saying that you're a liar and a cheat. And I'm saying you should give my fucking money back before you piss me off any more than you already have."
"I think you may want to consider, sweetheart—"
"Stop fucking calling me that." He yanked her from the chair, and as Era began to stumble forward she reached up to grab the hand on her jacket and wrench it to the side, feeling a few fingers snap in her grip and hearing Reckon curse violently. She twisted away from him and sat right back down in her chair, dusting imaginary dirt from her shoulder.
"As I was saying, you might want to consider where we are, and who I might be. Because while you may have been operating under the notion that I am some weak, helpless, easily manipulated little girl, I assure you that I am anything but. Just take the loss and go, old man. Save what little dignity you have left."
Oh, she was itching for a fight. She could feel it crackling in the air like ozone before a storm, could hear the rush of blood as anticipation rippled just beneath her skin. Era still didn't look at him, didn't need to as she heard the shift of his footsteps like the deafening clatter of drums. Her muscles tensed, ready to spring from her seat and into a vicious opening strike. The moment seemed to slow, and Era's focus sharpened to a fine point until everything was her and the man who she would soon bloody her fists upon.
It was lucky, then, that she still had enough presence of mind to notice when Eraserhead lifted a hand to his ear. Luckier, still, that she managed to make out the shape of his words past her own adrenaline-fueled haze.
"Send them in."
Those three words sent her spiraling from the high, took a sharp edge to the tension and left the strings to hang slack, and lifeless. Era felt as if the breath had been scooped from her lungs by a jagged implement, leaving painful furrows in its wake that left her listless with their subtle ache.
Reckon still advanced, but her priorities had drastically shifted. This was no longer a matter of spilled blood and crooked teeth. No, this had become take what you can and run, run away run far away run run run—
Lunging forward, Era barely ducked under his opening blow and managed to launch herself halfway across the table as she did. She scrambled the rest of the way, knocking the dealer aside with a hasty apology and shoving the gathered stacks of money into her backpack.
"Get the fuck back here, you little bitch," Reckon roared from across the table, the glint of a pocket knife appearing in his hand.
"Hey, Reckon, you know what?" Era slung the bag over her shoulder and jumped back onto the table, ignoring the stares and shouts from the other patrons as well as the dealer's frantic glances towards the oncoming members of security. "It's a shame you lost all that money, 'cause I have a feeling that you're gonna need a really good lawyer, really soon. See you never, asshole."
With that, she leapt from the table, diving past an exasperated looking Eraserhead and darting towards the stairs. If she was right, then she'd only have a few seconds before—
"What the fuck are you talking about you, little—" Reckon's voice was cut off by a deafening explosion, shards of concrete bursting inwards from the back of the room. Era twisted to the side, just barely avoiding the door as it slammed open and an officer rushed in.
Muttering curses under her breath, she managed to duck and weave around the first couple policemen, stumbling low to the side as they swept into the room and shouted nothings at the chaos.
There was a lot of hands in the air, and nobody move, and you're all under arrest, none of which Era was very interested in abiding by. It seemed like the rest of the criminals here were of the same mind.
Era stood, slowly, dusting off her pants and taking careful stock of the situation. Over the shouts and past the plumes of smoke, she could just make out a few small scuffles that were quickly becoming overwhelmed by the couple pro-heroes in the fray. Many of the people here were drunk, or high, or focused on business deals and gambling. They'd been caught off guard, and it showed.
Still, the situation was calming down far too quickly for her to make a getaway. She made out the tall form of Eraserhead slamming what she desperately hoped was Reckon into the ground before straightening up once more. She needed to get out of here, and fast.
Era punched herself in the face. Hard. She felt a few of the bones in her hand misalign with the force of it and winced at the stinging pain, but was satisfied with the purpling bruises that were sure to be blossoming along her cheek. She bit down on her lip hard enough to split it, and smeared the resultant blood across her face and into her hair. Nothing too extreme, but enough to be obvious. She glanced around from her little pocket of stillness in the corner; the police were closing in, and there were only a few more fights left. Now or never.
With a broken sob, Era stumbled over to the stairs, nearly running headfirst into one of the officers stationed there.
"I want to go home!" she cried, unable to summon up tears but positive the way her face screwed up in fear and pain and anguish would be enough to sell the effect. She felt the urge to cringe at the weakness and allowed herself to do so; it would only enhance the performance.
"What- shit, kid, how old are you?" The officer looked down with barely concealed panic, clearly unsure how to deal with the situation. "Uh, look, it's going to be okay. We'll get you out of here."
"It's so loud," she sniffled, burying her face into his shirt. "Please, I want to leave."
"Yeah, yeah, it's okay kid, it's okay, I- fuck. I mean- shit." Era could feel him shift and turn to look at his fellow officers. She allowed herself a grin at his no doubt priceless expression, and the absolute bewilderment sure to be evident in his coworkers. Still, she couldn't allow him to collect his wits or he might actually do his job. She needed to press the advantage.
"Please, please I want to leave. It's so- it's so loud. Please get me out of here." She allowed her voice to break, to waver, infused it with stifled gasps and shuddering shoulders. An awkward hand patted her on the back and she didn't repress her flinch at the contact. The hand pulled away just as quickly.
"Okay, okay. It's going to be okay, kid, I'm going to- hey, can you take over for me here? It looks like everything's winding down, I'm just gonna take this kid upstairs. It's going to be okay, I'll get you out of here, just come with me."
She pulled away from him slightly with a shaky nod, allowing him to lead her away from the chaotic scene and towards the stairs. Almost. She was so close, the money heavy in her bag and success just within her grasp, and sure the road had been a little rockier than she had originally anticipated but she was almost. There.
"Sparrow!" Era didn't react to the yell behind her, still following the officer. They'd made it past the line of policemen, he was reaching for the door to the stairway—
"Arrest that girl!" shouted Eraserhead, and Era risked a glance behind to find him far nearer than she would have liked, and quickly closing the distance.
"What--?" began the officer, but Era didn't give him a chance to figure it out. She pulled away from his grasp, sent a vicious kick to the back of his leg, and flung the door open while he crumpled. The soft whoosh of Eraserhead's capture weapon was her only warning to leap ahead a few steps, just barely dodging it as Eraserhead sprinted forward to catch her.
Well. Maybe she would get that fight after all.
She flew up the stairs several steps at a time, hyperaware of the flicker of scarves behind her as Eraserhead closed in on her. It wasn't exactly fair—his legs were a lot longer than hers. Still, she scrambled out into the laundromat ahead of him, ducking under the length of his scarf and easily vaulting the counter, bursting from the door into the cold, dark night.
The bright lights of police vehicles were blinding, but Era managed to duck into an alley and clamber up a fire escape, blinking the afterimage of blue and red from her eyes.
"Kid, where are you- god damn it, stop running."
"Not a chance," Era shot over her shoulder, catching a flash of movement at the bottom of the fire escape. Shit. She didn't have much of a lead.
"Let's just talk."
"No thanks." She leapt to the next rooftop, rolling into the landing and springing forward to dodge yet another flick of his scarf. "For someone who just wants to talk, you're being awfully aggressive."
"Brat."
"Old man."
"I'll stop chasing you if you stop running."
"Yeah, that's kind of how it works." Era pulled up the hood of her jacket as she leapt down to the next roof, wincing at the crack of her legs and the immediate writhing heat that followed, indicating her quirk at work. She was healing faster than usual, probably because she'd actually gotten a full eight hours of sleep the other night. I really should start doing that more often.
"I'm not going to arrest you," he huffed, and by the strain of his voice Era knew to duck and roll to the side, just dodging another stretch of fabric before it snapped back to its owner.
"Really? Because I'm getting a lot of conflicting messages here." Voices drifted up through the night and Era's keen eyes caught movement a few blocks down. A bar, and a crowded one at that. Perfect. "Eraserhead, what's your stance on underage drinking?"
"...what?"
"As a hero, I'd imagine you don't look too kindly on it."
"Are you trying to distract me?" Another rush of fabric snapping in the wind, just grazing her shoulder before she pulled away in the nick of time. "Because it's not going to work."
"Nah, just making conversation." They were close enough. Era sprinted towards the edge of the roof and kicked off, a little thrill twisting in her stomach as she plummeted to the ground. "I wanted to get your opinion, but maybe I'll just see for myself."
"Shit- kid, wait—"
The scarf, again, but this time Era was prepared. As it flew towards her she twisted midair, snagging herself on a windowsill and wrenching her body to the side so that the gray flash of fabric sailed past her and she could continue her fall, unchecked. She heard Eraserhead swear from above, just before the audible crunch of her bones splintering against the concrete filled her ears. Even rolling into the impact Era could only do so much to mitigate the damage—her shoulder was fucked, and she felt a thousand pinpricks of sharp pain across her back from the fractures and scrapes, the injuries only exacerbated when she got right back up and kept on running towards the bar.
The wounds were already healing. It was writhing maggots beneath her skin, but she'd suffered worse. And that little rush she'd felt during the fall was well worth it, as were the curses she'd startled out of Eraserhead. Speaking of...
Era shot a glance over her shoulder to see the pro hero clambering down into the alley. His descent wasn't as quick as hers but it was definitely more impressive; he didn't even have to break any bones to do it. Still, it gave her some much needed time.
The crowded bar was overflowing into the street, drunken patrons leaning against walls and pressing up against each other in a strange imitation of dancing. Era felt her nose wrinkle at the prospect of squeezing through that crowd, but she settled herself at the sound of Eraserhead's feet hitting the pavement. This was the only way she could lose him.
Diving into the crowd, Era ripped off her mask and threw it onto the ground. She flipped back the hood as well, ducking beneath the arms of distracted bar-goers and taking advantage of her relatively small height in order to disappear.
There was still blood on her face, already uncomfortably flaky and dry. She tried to rub it off absently as she pushed through, ignoring the thrumming music and imagining that she could hear Eraserhead's voice over the shouting of the drunken patrons. After some hesitation Era ditched the leather jacket as well; she needed to be a completely different person by the time she left this crowd. It fell to the ground, immediately trampled by shuffling feet, and Era ignored the pang that the sight left in her chest.
Ducking into the bar was easy, as was snatching a hat from an unsuspecting man and swiping a new jacket from the back of a chair—not leather this time, unfortunately, but the fabric was relatively thick so it was good enough. The door to the bar opened, the crowd beginning to part around what could only be the pro himself, and Era decided it was time to ditch.
She darted around the bar, ignoring the shout of the bartender as she ducked beneath a server into the kitchen. From there it was an easy few steps to a back alley, and knocking aside a few employees on a smoke break Era was able to make her getaway into the quiet street beyond.
Immediately she reined in her pace, adjusted her posture, stuffed her hands in her pockets and distanced herself as far as she could from the image of someone who'd just run several blocks across the rooftops in her haste to escape a pro hero. She was normal. She was a school kid walking home after a late night. She was normal.
Era allowed herself a small smile. She shifted the backpack, feeling its weight, and that smile spread into a wild grin, teeth and all. She'd done it. She'd actually done it. And yeah, it wasn't perfect, and yeah, it could have been a little more graceful; but she'd accomplished exactly what she'd wanted to and she'd done it her way.
Maybe she really could do this. She hummed thoughtfully to herself, a spring in her step as she mentally mapped out the few blocks it would take to get back to her apartment. Safety, security, freedom from the shackles that had haunted her for so, so long. She'd thought that, out on her own, she'd be nothing but deadweight. Useless and incompetent, unable to cope without orders and the... loose moral code of her past. But here she was, buoyed by success and riding the high of a thrilling chase to boot.
Practically on her building's doorstep, Era spared a look around to make sure she wasn't being tailed. No movement caught her eye, but she decided to take another walk around the block in a looping circuit, just to be safe and make sure she wouldn't be tracked to this apartment. She glanced at her phone, pleased to see that it'd be a couple more hours until sunrise. A job well done, and the chance to catch some sleep before school? This was a good fucking day.
Era noticed the inky blackness appear beneath her just moments before her foot sank down, down, down beneath the sidewalk, pulling the rest of her down with it. The shadows rose up to consume her, indifferent to the swipe of her knife or the thrash of her limbs. And then it was gone, leaving only an empty street behind.