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Bloodhound had been looking forward to this all week.
While they very much loved the games, the competitive and entertaining nature of it often fostered an exhausting schedule; to ensure their personal safety they were covered more often than not to keep up with training, with press, and with performances. Sure, it wasn’t always the full, layered get up but still - after a while, face masks got stuffy.
Not to mention they had paid and worked and waited for this body of theirs. It began to feel somewhat disheartening whenever they had not had a chance to bask in it, beyond their private quarters and residence.
So that brought them to now: dressed up, unmasked, ready for a night out where nobody could recognize their face which they kept so private.
Tonight’s outfit of choice had been a tight race between a nice plum suit and a nice cocktail dress with tights and a leather jacket. In the end the dress won out - after all, the whole point was to relax and if they could do so without pants, all the better.
They’d considered some makeup too, perhaps a plum shade to make up for the second-place suit - but eventually, they decided against, choosing instead to be happy with their coppery red hair down, a small braid framing the left side of their face. Rather, as happy as one could be when one’s roots were really starting to show - but they would find time to dye it some other night.
One additional delight came in opening a package bearing brand new glasses for them. Bloodhound did love to hoard glasses, in various shapes, frames, and colors of lenses - if they were going to have to protect their light-sensitive eyes, they decided it should be a treat to wear glasses and not a chore. Tonight’s fresh pair of choice featured simple moss green round lenses, and stark black wire frames holding them.
All together, the outfit was a little bit formal, a little bit weird, and 100% Bloodhound - the final addition of combat boots only boosted their satisfaction and before long they were dispensing treats to Arthur, with a promise of “Back later, sweet girl,” on the way out.
It had taken some long consideration, but eventually Bloodhound had decided to take a train out South from the city. Not that there was anything wrong with staying in the city, and there was practically no risk of being recognized. But still, the past week had been eventful for the games, and proximity to Kings Canyon often meant more and more people in public would be discussing them.
Better to go out a bit. Find pockets of less enthused citizens to exist in. A breath of fresh air, to be certain.
And so, they decided a 30 minute train ride was worth the relaxation, and besides, they didn’t mind the travel so much. It was nice to sit, and enjoy the steady hum and motion. It let them relax and allowed their thoughts to flow freely.
And as they mind often did these days, it landed on Elliott.
Oh, Elliott.
The two of them had been growing in closeness, as of late. Bloodhound did not want to assign any expectations nor see anything that was not there, but they were enjoying themself. It had been… surprising to learn the holographic trickster was not as one-dimensional as he allowed himself to appear to the public. Of course, this should have been obvious from the start, and Bloodhound liked to think they reserved judgement for those who merited it. But even they could admit, they had fallen into the exact trap that the press wanted everyone to succumb to.
How had it started, even?
Ah, yes. That damned squad fight against Silva, and Gibraltar and… Tae Joon. Many people believed Bloodhound to be utterly steadfast, and to an extent they felt this was true. But the surprise of instantly recognizing an old flame - in the context of an Apex match, no less - had quite easily crumbled whatever steadfastness Bloodhound had possessed in the moment.
They knew. He knew. And such a distraction was all the other squad had needed to turn an equal fight to 3 on 2. Bloodhound could not remember the last time they had been knocked in a match so quickly, it was embarrassing. Frustrating. Among other things.
But this, this is where it had started, for Elliott was one teammate and Bangalore was the other and Elliott proved himself to be so much more than merely a pretty face, a flashy smile, a fun magic trick. They suspected it had to do something with Elliott already having a strong, sibling like bond with Bangalore, but nevertheless, the two of them handled the fight quickly and coolly. Covering each other, running circles around the opposing squad. And while Bloodhound’s mind was filled still with utter shock, the two of them readily took their opposition down one by one with Elliott coming out on top with all three kills.
Impressive, to say the least. But more impressive was Elliott’s read of the situation.
After healing himself and readying for the possibility of being snuck up on, he quickly slid to their side, taking their hand - the familiar sharp jab of a revive in their chest.
“Hey, are you okay there?” His voice had been gentle, and his smile small. Neither cocky nor arrogant, only somewhat bemused. As they caught their breath and sat up, accepting kindly dispensed meds from Elliott, they shook their head.
“Never better,” they answered him easily, “It seems the Allfather has made an ally of you for me today.”
A peak of dimples as he had smiled harder, before Elliott pressed further: “Are you sure, though? You seemed a little distracted back there. I know the new guy’s intimidating - almost tore my arm off - but don’t be scared; we smoked him, easy. Three wingman shots, easy.”
This had drawn a low, surprised chuckle from Bloodhound as they finished topping off their shields, ready once more to go back into the fray.
“Bloodhound, afraid? You wound me, Mirage.”
“Not this time,” he had answered with a wink, “Just wait ‘til we’re on enemy squads. Come on - last one to the circle is a rotten egg!”
Ah. They remembered that moment quite fondly, after the match. The first hint that Elliott Witt was smarter than he liked to let on, and sillier too, and flirty, but only in the right amounts. It had intrigued them. The moment had been as if fate itself chose to bind them with a length of red string - and lately, that length had been decreasing.
What made Elliott so enjoyable was that he was an absolute wildcard. Certainly, others had much bigger reputations for chaos; in fact Silva’s was built entirely on such a concept. But the thrills Octane was popular for chasing did little to cultivate Bloodhound’s interest. Certainly, there was an allure in a man willing to blow off his legs for views, but for Bloodhound, well. They were much more interested in the man who found such utter delight in reconstructing broken Roombas to serve as pseudo-pets.
That was only one of many things they had learned about Elliott Witt, as of late. Though their growing closeness was mostly constituted of conversation, whether in each other’s drop ship niches, or common rooms, or even the Apex training facility - he certainly loved to talk. This popular personality trait was at least true.
Elliott Witt could only cook soul food. Elliott Witt learned to play piano, but only one song, but his mother still loves it so he still plays it. Elliott Witt liked engineering, loved the color yellow, was actually a cat person despite popular belief otherwise, and had one single tattoo that he had managed to keep private to himself: a pair of constellations on his thighs, Leo major and Leo minor.
He had mentioned them with obvious, but vague significance. Bloodhound hadn’t asked for an explanation. But gods, they wanted to.
Oh, Elliott was so much more vibrant than anyone cared to paint him, all the colors in the world did not seem like enough to fully convey the complexities of Elliott Witt. He was flirty, certainly, and happy? Oh yes, all the time, merely offering him a chocolate milk or new clock to take to a park sparked joy. But he was also… sad. And lost, they felt.
The sadness was obvious. It seeped out of him after particularly difficult losses, after confrontational interviews, after phone calls to his mother. They had noticed in particular the month of May was difficult for Elliott. And given the losses mentioned in his official games bio, it wasn’t difficult to make a guess.
As for him being lost… well. Perhaps that was more of a subjective observation colored by their own experience. Elliott could lose himself in many things, good books and fan made highlight reels, but there were times where his deep dives into new things had a distinct distracted fashion. As if he felt out of place doing these things.
Bloodhound had noticed, because they always noticed these sorts of things. Whether it was the occasional experimental smudge of dark liner of his eyes, or the slender new rings he’d been sporting. Once, they could even swear they smelled sweet perfume emanating off his person. An interesting development, to be certain, but they couldn’t be sure what it actually meant. Perhaps Elliott always liked to play his appearance. Maybe they had only just noticed it. It was difficult to say.
Still… it drew them in, once they noticed it. This unspeakable energy that they had felt all along, and could only now pinpoint consciously. Perhaps Elliott felt a wildcard because there seemed to be this swirling energy about his person, this oscillation of what he was sharing with the world. They didn’t understand it yet - but they wanted to.
Arriving at their desired stop shocked them from their thoughts, and even brought a slight heat to their cheeks because goodness, had they really spent the entirety of their ride thinking about Elliott? He had more of a presence in their mind than they originally presumed. It felt significant, though whether that was a bad or good thing… Bloodhound was undecided.
For the moment, though, they were more concerned with finding a place to spend their evening. They had traveled to a nice, smaller city. Here in the main square there were many restaurants, plenty of bars, lots of choices. But on this main street there was still at least one sports bar, and so they decided to enjoy the nice evening air and walk a block or two away for good measure until they found a bar more appealing.
Eventually entering a random bar, Bloodhound instantly found themselves relaxing as desired. The lights were low, finally some relief for their poor, hemeralopic eyes. There was music too, but not too loud, and a good number of people milling about but nothing too overwhelming. They made their way through the main floor to take a seat in the back corner, settling comfortably with a good view of the rest of the bar.
From there, it was easy - an order of shitty bar nachos, a fruity Pink Solace to sip on - they were set to relax and maybe indulge in people watching. A lot of the people here were pretty standard fare, pretty people trying too hard and happy people spending time together. Nothing overly interesting, but that was okay. They were content with an ordinary evening.
And then something extraordinary happened.
It was difficult to not notice - him? Her? Them? Them, they settled on mentally, if only because they didn’t want to limit or box-in this wonderful occurrence unveiled before their very eyes - it was difficult not to notice them the moment they stepped into the bar. Bloodhound would know that shock of curls anywhere.
Oh - they burned for a closer look, but they made themself sit and watch. The person they knew as Mirage had seemingly stepped in through the door. They looked… positively lovely. Wearing a nice dress, longer than their own, with cute thin straps and a low neckline. Navy blue, with a golden celestial style sun print. Bloodhound could see too, a splash of blue eyeshadow, smudgy liner, maybe some glossy lips… Oh, Mirage looked beautiful.
And what a treat it was to see them, here, brave and beautiful and... surely secret?
Whatever the case was, Bloodhound found themself...conflicted. After all, they had originally come out here in order to not be bothered and given the get up, they felt certain Mirage had done the same. But still, Bloodhound couldn’t help feeling an irresistible urge to go over. To share the kind words and thoughts filling their head. Especially because Mirage was sitting alone at the bar, and looking nervous. Shy.
Bloodhound could almost see themself in this person before them now. A younger self, freshly trans, burning to be seen, and wishing to be invisible all at once.
Really, Bloodhound thought maybe they should leave Mirage be.
And then they didn’t.
Walking up on impulse and deciding to make something up on the fly turned out not to be their best plan ever. Turns out a three second walk to a barstool didn’t leave much time to improvise. They had suddenly arrived, next to Mirage, eyes fully on them, with nothing to say.
Mirage beats them to it.
“Hey…” The response gives them a moment to survey Mirage, and oh; blessedly their eyes catch on some little pins, on the strap of their - her - bag. A tiny little trans flag, and a small pronouns pin too.
“Hi,” they answer dumbly. Breathless. They’re breathless. There are very nearly no words to describe the concussive loops of joy their brain runs through. She is beautiful. Not that she wasn’t before, but she’s even more beautiful to them now, seeing her fully, knowing she is here being someone else that is so far beyond the little snippet they had the privilege of knowing through the games.
“Uh... “ she laughs a little, sweet but nervous, glancing around and back to them - and very obviously her gaze rakes up and down them. They’re suddenly glad they chose the dress, it does more to show off the softened edges of body that hormones had gifted them, and they couldn’t deny… her attention felt exhilarating. “Did you want something?”
“My name’s Kian,” they blurt out suddenly, “I - My apologies. You must think I am being strange. But I saw you across the room, and I just couldn’t not come say hello. You dress, your makeup - you look wonderful.”
And oh, it hurts their heart to see uncertainty flicker across her face - she didn’t know if they were serious. How could she not; there were so many unkind people out there and going out like this, dressed fully fem with a beard on her face… surely there had been many people who reacted in ways that unkind could do no justice describing.
Still, after a moment she seems to believe they’re genuine, and she looks down with that shyness again.
“Thanks,” she says softly, “You - you look nice too, Kian. That’s a nice name.”
Their lips quirk into a smile, and they tell her softly, “You think so? I chose it myself, you know, so that’s an extra nice compliment.” They hope she catches their drift, or maybe recognizes the nonbinary pride colored raven pin on their jacket. They hope she can see they’re with her and that she’s not alone here.
“Yeah?” She looks around the bar, and then back to them, biting her lip again. “Well.. you can call me Ellie, Kian.”
Oh, Ellie - a sweet twist on a classic, they hadn’t been sure until this moment what her chosen name would be, but hearing it from her own lips… Ellie. It is perfect in every imaginable way. They turn, gesturing to the table behind them where still some nachos have survived their snacking and a fresh Pink Solace sits - “Would you like to join me, Ellie? I’ve got the best boothe, perfect for people watching - and your next drink can be on me.”
She smiles to herself, and laughs.
“People watching? Sure, why not.”
Ellie is a good people watcher. They go back and forth for nearly an hour, pointing to different, unknowing patrons and assigning them more and more ridiculous stories and circumstances. Bloodhound’s favorite was the gentlemen working the Billiards tables trying to earn enough money for a pair of shoes. His current pair did look rather ratty.
It’s silly, and it’s nice, and along the way they suddenly interject:
“They/them, by the way. My pronouns. Unfortunately, I don’t have a handy pin like you do.”
There is no surprise on her face, though they notice the smallest bit of tension rolling off her shoulders. They suspect she had an idea of their transness, but they felt it important to confirm.
“Thanks,” she says softly, and she confesses then, “I was wondering, I thought - I wasn’t sure but I thought your raven pin was pride colors…”
“Non-binary pride,” they clarify, lips quirked into a smile.
“Wow,” she says softly, and for a moment she just seems...moonstruck over the simple exchange. They find themself wondering - had she ever even spoken to another trans person, while out there presenting herself as trans too? Maybe not. Because she looked ever so enchanted.
She speaks again after a moment, “I didn’t know how to ask.” She looks around, as if nervous that someone else would hear… “I’m kind of new to...this, actually. Most of the time I’m too… too nervous to talk to anyone. You’re the first person to come up to me that didn’t seem like a total creep.”
Their face sombers up for a moment, “Yes. It is - it is difficult to socialize for people like us. Certain people do not want to see us, and others...want too much. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”
“Yeah,” she agrees softly, looking down into her half-finished drink, stirring the ice with her straw, touching her face and beard gently, “Doesn’t help to have this. Kinda… kinda a dead giveaway.”
They are unprepared for the surge of emotion welling up in their chest. The desire to protect, to hold her, to assure her that given time, these things can be amended, whether that meant her appearance or the people she surrounded herself with. Something about that downcast expression touched their heart so suddenly and deeply…
“I am sorry that that is your experience,” they say eventually. “It was hard for me too. I am non-binary now but… many years ago, my journey resembled something more traditionally trans-feminine. It is hard, when everything about you is screaming one thing, but people only care to pay attention to the one piece that says the opposite.”
“Yeah but - it shouldn’t even be like that!” Her response rises in energy and sharpness, her sad expression turning into a frown, “What if I like it? I’m not - I don’t feel this feninine all the time either. But even if I did… I still like it.” She putters out for a second, letting out another little nervous laugh. There’s such strong emotion in her words, and Bloodhound gets the creeping feeling she does not get many chances to work through these feelings. Let alone with another trans person.
“It’s okay,” they say gently, and they… tentatively reach across the table, laying their hand over hers on the table. “You can talk about it. Or if you don’t want to, that’s fine too. But I’m a pretty good listener.”
She takes a deep breath, and looks down at their hand.
She looks up again with a calmer expression, and then she’s smiling, and there they are again - those cute little dimples they admired so.
“Nah,” she says softly, “I’ll save it for therapy. I really wanted to just go out for the night. Dress nice, maybe meet someone if I’m lucky…” Oh, and the mood shift is considerably sudden, the way she’s making eyes now, sweet but flirtatious beneath that. They can’t help it; they feel stirred up inside too. She’s gorgeous. And Bloodhound had felt magnetically attracted to her for a while now, even if they had been loath to admit it.
“Well, dress nicely...check. Meet someone...check. Anything else on your night out to-do list?”
She shrugs a little, trying to appear aloof.
“I dunno. You got a place?”
They open and close their mouth, before shaking their head. “I do. But not close. But… hmm.” They feel conflicted now. As easy as it was to let the night go by, and to allow time to get away from them as they indulged themself in the joy of her presence… it was getting more and more difficult to ignore what they knew at heart: they needed to tell her. It would be unfair otherwise, she was quite exposed with them and while they had not planned on revealing their private self to any legend any time soon...well...she had surprised them. And they figured for her, they could work this out.
“Would you mind coming outside for some fresh air?” They finally settle on.
She seems surprised, but not put off. She nods as she gathers up her bag, goes to look for something, her wallet they suspect, but they interrupt: “Don’t worry. I’ve got us both.” They lay several large, crisp bills on the table, and slide out of the booth, offering her a hand to step out as well.
From there they stroll past the crowd, out the front door and into the moonlight. The sky was dark, but the city was bright, and plenty loud as if assuring everyone it was still alive. Almost pleasant. Outside, Bloodhound leaned against one of the bar’s brick walls, straightening their jacket, and taking a deep breath.
“Ellie,” they say eventually, as she steps closer, slowly. They… slide away, keeping the distance. They want to give her her space for this, don’t want her to feel pressured, or trapped, or overly stuck in public. They hold up a hand too, gesturing for her to stop.
“Kian?” she asks uncertaintly, the flirty look wavering.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you.” They see how she tenses immediately, and they quickly continue, “Please - I’m only asking for you to listen, please, I don’t want to scare you, I’m just… I want to tell you this because you deserve to know.”
She stills, her mouth a thin line. Her guard is up but at the very least...Ellie is not running away, nor does she appear to be ignoring them completely. She watches them carefully, and waits.
“You and I… have already met.”
Immediately, her brows pull down into a doubtful gesture.
“I think I would remember that,” she tells them quietly, looking them up and down - no doubt referring to their characteristically scarred face, the large round glasses perched on their nose. Yes, they were quite recognizable in civilian dress.
“Come now.” Their voice is gentle. “I would think you should know, not everyone always shows who they are all the time.” Maybe it is their serious tone of voice that helps her connect the dots. Perhaps it is their suggestion of being covered. Perhaps, it is the matching pronouns, or the fact they have told her they have battle scars in the past during pre-match chatter. Maybe it was the nonbinary raven pin.
But standing there, opening and closing her mouth as word escapes her, realization sets in.
“Why…” she’s frowning again, but with less doubt. More confusion. “Why didn’t you...say anything… Oh my- oh my god. So you’re - you’re them! Right here, in the - in the flesh. Why - why didn’t you say anything?”
They offer a wry smile and shoot back at her with her very own words from earlier in the evening: “I didn’t know how. I’m kind of new to this.”
Her shoulders, deflating with evaporating tension, slump. She tries to say something, anything, but there’s no words.
“Ellie…” their tone is as gentle as they can make it, “Listen. I’m sorry, I truly didn’t know what to say. I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew here, let alone - let alone you.” Finally, they allow themself to step closer to her, walking up. They move slowly, so she can step away at any moment - but she lets them touch her chin, lift her gaze to meet theirs.
“Ellie,” Bloodhound repeats softly. “I’m sure you feel exposed right now. And I’m sorry. You clearly didn’t intend to share this part of yourself with any of the other legends. But selfishly, I hope… I hope you keep on sharing it with me. And even more selfishly, I feel if any of us is going to know.. It should be me. Shouldn’t it?”
She’s quiet.
“I wanted to tell you,” she admits eventually. “So many times. We’ve done a lot of interviews together, and hung out at the training center and stuff. I - I thought that too, a lot, that if anyone would get it, you would. But I was scared.”
“Oh, Ellie,” they murmur softly. “I understand. I’ll even forget tonight if you want, but… consider this. It’s a level playing field. So far… we’ve exchanged a face for a face, and a name for a name. I’m going to trust you to keep mine to yourself. And I promise, on the Allfather, that I will do the same.”
Finally, the black cloud over her seems to dissipate, and she nods. As if the math was working things out and untying the anxious knots that had been restraining her.
“Okay?” they ask.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.”
They reach for her hands and find no resistance - wrapping their own around hers and squeezing gently.
“Promise?”
“I promise,” she laughs softly, “Really. It’s not - it’s not what I meant to happen. But, uh… I guess it’s not the worst possible way my night could have gone. I mean, I got to see the great Bloodhound’s face, and uh…” She looks down, and her cheeks start to flush and warm up. “I also got to...flirt with a pretty cute person. So there’s that.”
Cue more delicious delight flooding Bloodhound.
“Is that so?”
“Yeah,” she answers defiantly, “What, are you gonna argue with me?”
They laugh, loud and joyous, “Absolutely not, elskan.” They squeeze her hands once more before releasing them, and for good measure, they also pat her shoulder shortly. “Listen… it’s late. I think it would be best for us to both go home, no? That said… perhaps we can do this again sometime. A proper dinner, even. Because I had fun.”
“I did too,” she agrees softly.
“I’d love to see what other pretty tricks you have up your sleeve,” Bloodhound adds, fondness coloring their tone warmly. “You look beautiful tonight. And I have a feeling tonight won’t be the last time you knock the wind out of me from sheer beauty.”
It’s a bit thick for flattery, but it’s worth it for the way she just… glows with pride.
“I’d like that,” she says softly, “I’d like that a lot.”
There’s a pause, an awkward shuffling - both of them silently trying to figure out how to end this exchange and go home (and even then… Bloodhound feels a slight tug on their heart. They didn’t want this to end). Eventually, she speaks up once more.
“Could I… maybe have a hug?” It’s timid, and shy, and in that moment she sounds so familiar to the Mirage they had gotten to know. Gorgeous, and fun, but also at heart...needy for love. They hated the idea that she didn’t get enough love, and so they indulged her without even answering first, simply stepping forward and wrapping their strong arms around her.
“You can always have a hug,” they murmur to her, trying to take in all the wonderful details, from the softness of her curls to the fresh, fruity smell of her perfume. “Thank you for having drinks with me tonight, Ellie.” They step back and smile, and as they begin to finally part ways for the night, Bloodhound feels a comforting weight of content in their chest.
They had come out tonight looking for a good time, and certainly, they had found it. But more exciting than that was what the future now held because of it… yes. They could not wait to see her again.