Chapter Text
~One Hour After the Ritual~
Graves couldn’t believe it: The ritual was lost.
It was a long and arduous battle. Running around the eerily empty streets of New York for hours. Fighting, running, and hiding over and over again until it was over.
The Hidden King, the patron that promised her and her mentor a wish for anything, to finally succeed what they both wanted for years, laid smashed in a scattered pile. Like a wooden building burnt and collapsed in the middle of the cold, concrete jungle.
Graves stood some distance away, watching the aftermath unfold. Wondering if she should bolt now or try anything to fix this situation, maybe she could resurrect the Patron? Maybe the Archmother’s chosen would hunt down her-
“Don’t worry, those losers got what they wanted.”
Graves didn’t even need to turn around to know who was behind her. It was Jacob Lash. Instinctively, her eyes rolled.
The pit fighter was scratching his chin while holding a glass bottle of water. “Want one? The Lash always prioritizes hydration after a workout, or when staring at greatness for too long.”
Grave’s eyes couldn’t roll any harder. If it did, it would probably power the city.
“No thanks. But you sure that they won’t try to kill us? We did spend all morning shooting and maiming each other…” She asked.
Lash just smiled, “Nah. Once again, they got what they wanted. I think their mediocre lives are going to continue like normal by the evening. Well, unless you’re that guy.” Lash gestures towards a far-off area near a metro station, where Seven is frantically slinking back into the shadows. With Haze and Silver in hot pursuit.
Graves chuckled at the situation at hand. Today was full of surprises, but if its any solace. At least Seven isn’t getting what he wants. Speaking of surprises, Lash was the second biggest one. From listening to Blackmore grapevine and reading the papers suggested that Jacob Lash was an asshole through and through. But today, fighting in the Ritual, he was surprisingly… not too annoying? Sure, he boasted himself from the sewers to the rooftops and seldom ever talked in the first person. But he was more levelheaded than she ever could have figured and legitimately helped her and the rest of the team as much as he could.
“I’m surprised you’re taking this loss well. Considering what the reward could have been” Graves bluntly asked, curious about stevedore.
Lash responded in his predictable, boastful manner, “The Lash considers this as “Charity Work”. I already have everything I ever wanted: Money, Fame, a devilishly perfect mustache. What else could I possibly wish for myself?”
“A reality check?” Graves instinctively retorted. Then actually thought about what Lash actually said. “Wait, Charity?”
Lash squinted harder than usual at the young Necromancer, ignoring the second thing she said. “Reality check? The Lash is already grounded in reality, unlike you Miss Graveside Manners.”
“Me?” Graves responded, insulted by both the accusation and the piss poor nickname that was given to her.
Lash answered, “Yeah Darcy Farcy, I saw you and Pretty Boy over on the other team ogling each other the entire ritual.” Pointing over at Apollo in the distance.
“I wished you got shot.” Graves said bitterly. Trying her hardest to hide her fluster. But the Pit Fighter knows when an opponent is open for a knockout, physical or verbal.
“The Lash knows what it’s like, to have a rival so bitter, so extreme. That you want to do anything to them get put into the dirt” He paused, staring at Bebop, who was conversing with Apollo. “But boy. Did you go above and beyond even me. And that is impressive!”
Graves tried to retort, anything, even a grunt. But nothing escaped her mouth. Jacob Lash silently sat down next to her, just beyond punching distance.
A long minute passed before she muttered anything of note.
“I wish I hated him more than I really do.”
It was Lash’s turn to chuckle. “For being a Necromancer, you sure do a terrible job at being menacing…”
Graves attempted to punch Lash. But alas, it was just out of reach.
“… and lying.” He finished. Smugly staring at an increasingly flustered teenager.
Graves started to tear up. Her lab partner being in the Ritual was the biggest surprise today. Usually, the ability to beat up and shoot most of her classmates would have been a dream for the fledgling Necromancer. But Apollo was one of the few exceptions, and it was not because he could actually fight back. She actually enjoyed most of the verbal sparring matches they had in lab, or in study sessions. Eventually spreading out to lunches and, more recently, places outside of the Academy.
But seeing him in the Ritual, against her. Fighting, running, hiding over and over just like her. Eventually ending the Hidden King, and her promised wish, with a final blow that passed through her undead hordes, The Lash, Seven, Mirage, McGinnis’s turrets, and Holliday’s barrels, right through the Patron himself. It sparked something in her, and pained her deeply.
“I fought him, I tried to kill him, and we’re going to have to do a stupid lab report together next week! I’m scared that he won’t even look at me after this! I’m scared that... I… lo-“
“Darcy Farcy.” Lash interjected, interrupting Graves’s unknowingly loud depression spiral. “I know that you and Pretty Boy have a thing going on. That’s why The Lash is still here. To make wishes come true.”
The Necromancer snapped out and back at the Pit Fighter. “Wishes? You think you’re a Patron now?”
Lash boasted, “You’re goddamn right. I’m actually even better than the Patrons, because I’m still alive.”
“Oh really? And how do you even know Apollo likes me? Or I even like him?” Graves sarcastically asked, eyebrows raised.
Jacob Lash responded sincerely. “Because both of you could have killed each other, like, at least four separate times from what I saw. Yet neither of you did. Did you not even see when Pretty Boy stabbed the Patron? He actually made sure not to run through you with that final blow. Made that kill strike even more impressive. I mean, I could have done that with my eyes closed. But still, what an accomplishment.”
Graves thought about it, as much as she hates it, the mega prick was right. Apollo was more delicate with her than with anyone else on her team. And she did make sure her skulls and zombies didn’t go for his throat or that stellar face…
“Okay.” The Angsty Teenager relented. “Say Apollo and I are actually secretly ‘Lovey Dovey’ with each other, how can you possibly help?”
The Lash started smiling, a sparkle flashed near his eye for some reason. “With the best commodity in New York: The Lash’s advice.”
Graves’s eyes started to roll again. But the Lash knows that will change.
“Make the first move. Sure, Pretty Boy would take on yours truly and the Oversized Halloween Decoration like it’s an afternoon Mimosa. But The Lash can put money on him being too scared to ask a brooding lass like you out to prom.”
The Necromancer started laughing. “Are you serious? You think that can actually work?”
Jacob Lash responded “Damn right, and make sure you ask him out while you both are eating something sweet, like candy or ice cream. I bet Pretty Boy has a sweet tooth.”
She took a moment to think about it. He really did prefer those sweet candies over the sour ones when she brought candy during that one study session. She hates to admit it, but Lash was actually correct.
“I hate to admit it, but you’re not wrong…”
The Lash lit up “You’re goddamn right I’m not wrong!”
“… but you still didn’t answer my question about your wish, what was it?”
The Pit Fighter paused, he was on the defense this time. “Well, you know how Bebop and I have what you call a one-sided rivalry...”
“He beat you, didn’t he?”
Lash got defensive “It was One Time! Anyway, Bebop doesn’t know because he’s dumb. But I learned that his mother, a sweet lady named Ms. Shelly. Was sick. So, my wish would be to make her feel better!”
Graves was taken back, that was probably the last thing she expected. And raised even more questions. “…You have something with Bebop? Like me and Apollo?”
Jacob Lash spat out the water he was drinking. “What? No no no. What you and Pretty Boy has is more than a Rivalry, that’s long term and actually has potential. Bebop and The Lash is purely a Pit Fighter Champion and Punching Bag relationship.”
He paused, and then blushed. “Ms. Shelly, on the other hand…”
Graves internally gagged for a moment. “Really? Isn’t she like, an old woman?” She asked, trying her hardest to stifle laughter.
Lash snapped back. “The Lash appreciates a mature and professional woman like Ms. Shelly. She also makes amazing chocolate biscuits and is an even more amazing addition to The Lash’s group knitting lessons!”
The Necromancer couldn’t keep it in. She kept laughing and laughing. Lash also joined in too, understanding the ridiculous scenario.
After a few minutes of laughter, Graves cleared the tears from her eyes, the first tears of joy from this otherwise crappy day. “I thought I would never say this. But thank you Lash. For trying to help with the ritual… and this.”
The Lash’s eyes twinkled. “Of course, that’s what The Lash does: being great. So other, mediocre people can aspire to be almost like The Lash.”
The booming stevedore then stood up and began to walk away, giving one more piece of advice. “Also, The Lash recommends that you tell the Pretty Boy how you feel soon. Considering what he could be wishing for, it’s going to be big, and I think you want to be there next to him when it happens.”
Graves finally turned around, looking at the large Pit Fighter. “Thanks again, but do you really think Apollo and I have a chance?”
The Lash’s head turned one last time. “Of course, because The Lash believes so!”