"Hey, did you see those funnel cakes?"
Shifting the shoulder bag on his back, Thierry glanced across the fair setup all around the Champ de Mars, looking in the direction that Amalia was pointing. Booths and stalls had been erected seemingly overnight for the street fair, filling the plaza and covering not only the pavement but even some of the grass. Additional pathways had been marked out with woodchips, with only a few patches of grass remaining at the edges of the plaza. Food trucks lined the streets around the Champ de Mars on all sides; long lines stood in front of most of them. Finding the food stand Amalia was indicating, Thierry's eyes widened on spotting the line winding across the sidewalk and through the grass. And yet, the tantalizing aroma of fried dough wafted over to them from a pair of younger boys just leaving the stand with paper plates of funnel cake in hand. One pulled a piece off and shoved the whole thing in his mouth. Thierry's mouth watered, but he coughed, clearing his throat. "Kind of hard to miss them," he pointed out to Amalia wryly.
Covering her mouth, Amalia giggled. "They do smell really good. I don't remember the last time I had funnel cake!"
He quirked an eyebrow. "Are you saying you want one?" he asked.
She shrugged noncommittally, giving him a sidelong glance. "Well… I wouldn't say no…"
Thierry gulped. "Um…" He coughed, looking back at the food truck and frowning. "The line at this one is really long… maybe we can find another one?"
"That's fine," Amalia agreed quickly, nodding. "We could go over and check out those games – there might be more food stands over that way."
Letting out a relieved breath, Thierry followed her down the line of games along the outer edge of the fair, watching the competition as they went. A few of their classmates had said they were planning to come here today, too; privately, Thierry hoped that they wouldn't run into anyone else. His stomach clenched, turning over in knots. It was terrifying enough being here on a date – for the first time in his life – he didn't need Jacques, or even Laurent seeing him here with Amalia and making things awkward. Amalia hummed, leaning into his side and looking past him at a basketball shooting game with at least twenty people waiting in line. The boy at the front of the line lined up a shot, but the ball bounced off the rim and deflected away from the booth, well behind Thierry and Amalia. Amalia rolled her eyes. Further down the row, Thierry paused in front of a ring toss, his brows furrowed as he watched a boy a few years older than them take his turn. The first ring bounced off the rim of the glass bottle and dropped down onto the table, quickly followed by the next two. With a groan, the boy turned away, a sour look on his face. "I wonder if I could do that," Thierry murmured to himself, getting in the line behind a dozen or so others.
Amalia scoffed, raising an eyebrow at him dubiously. "Those games are so badly rigged, they're almost impossible," she warned him. "It's probably a waste of money."
"Probably," he agreed, shrugging. He smirked as the line quickly diminished in front of him. "Then what do you want to bet I win you that teddy bear?"
She hummed, tapping her chin. "If you win, I'll get lunch," she decided. "When you lose, you owe me lunch, and you get me an ice cream later."
Thierry grinned, slapping two euros on the counter. "Deal." The man behind the counter handed him three rings, and Thierry turned to examine the targets in front of him. According to the prize list, he would need at least 50 tickets for the bear; the ones near the back were worth more than those in the front, and the ones in the corners were worth the most of all. If he could get two of the front bottles and one of the back ones, that would be just enough from a single round of rings. Slowly, he tossed the ring in the air, judging its weight and balance as it spun. His brows furrowed. Not quite as precise as his Owlets. He twirled it around his finger for a moment, feeling for the variations in its spin.
"You know you have to actually get it on the target," Amalia pointed out in amusement, arching an eyebrow at him.
"Oh, hush," he retorted, studying the bottles for another minute before carefully winding up and throwing, angling it up slightly and aiming for the closest bottle. The ring knocked the edge of the bottle and deflected away, wedging between two in the row behind it. Thierry made a face.
"Told you."
Thierry rolled his eyes, taking his second ring. The bottle's neck was a little off from where he had expected it to be – and the ring was only a couple centimeters wider than the neck itself. That was how they did it. He grinned, testing the ring in his hand. So much for the easy bottles. Carefully, he tossed the ring with a tight spin at a higher angle, aiming for the back row. The ring tinged on the glass and spun around once before landing on it with a satisfying clink. "There's one."
"Lucky shot," Amalia told him, though her eyes widened the slightest bit.
"Better get your wallet out," he shot back, grinning. "One more of those and lunch is on you!" With practiced ease, Thierry pulled the third ring and tossed it in the same path, aiming for that same target. The ring flew a little further than he had anticipated, however, and the back of the ring landed on top of the bottle's neck, hanging there for a long moment before slipping off behind the bottle. Thierry groaned in frustration.
Amalia covered her mouth. "What did I say?"
He frowned. "That last ring wasn't the same weight as the others," he complained, as the worker handed him a pen and sent them on their way.
"Still," Amalia consoled him, patting his arm, "one is more than I thought you would get."
"Thanks." He gave her a deadpan look. "So which game do you want to try?"
She hummed. "How about… the water pistol race," she decided. Her eyes flashed. "If you win, we split lunch; if I win, I'm getting the most expensive thing they have!"
Thierry paled, trying to hide his grimace. He had spent three hours that week reordering M. Damocles' comic books for him; he had made enough from that to pay for a few games and snacks, and even for lunch, at least. But… "Um, just how expensive are we talking?"
Amalia grinned, raising her eyebrows. "Win, and you won't have to find out!"
Sighing, Thierry nodded and got into the line with her, behind another several groups. "Fine." As they stood in line waiting, he glanced sidelong at his date for a moment before looking away. "So…" he began awkwardly, "are you going to try out for field hockey again this year?"
She shrugged noncommittally. "I'm not sure yet," she admitted. "I mean, I was good enough for François Dupont, but next year there will be so many more competitors, right? Plus, my parents want me to focus more on my schoolwork now, since university is coming up in a few years…" Her shoulders slumped. "I'd like to, but what would be the point if I don't make it?"
"I think you're good enough," Thierry assured her.
"I suppose that's one vote of confidence…" She let out a breath. "We'll see. But what about you? Trying out for any teams next year?"
Thierry frowned, looking down and away. Laurent and Michel had asked him the same question, but he still didn't have a response. He had considered it every year since getting to collège – he'd even made the basketball team last year. But that had been in collège, and that had been his only "extra" activity. But how much time did he really have in the day? Now that he was a hero, he barely had the time for everything else, let alone adding in a sport on top of that. He was already going to school, and doing homework, and training with King Monkey and M. Damocles, and going on patrol with the Heroes of Paris at least a couple nights every month… could he really afford to take on something else? "I might," he began, his voice trailing off. "But I don't know how much time I'll have for it."
She hummed, giving him a look. "I hope you'll still have time for friends."
He smiled. "There's always time for friends," he assured her as they reached the front of the line, just as his phone beeped. The man behind the booth held out his hand for the money, but Thierry hesitated. His brows furrowed on hearing the unfamiliar tone from his phone, but he finally pulled it out and started to unlock the screen. But at that moment, the ground shook beneath his feet, and he turned, half-glancing toward the Eiffel Tower, which shook slightly with the tremor. He cocked his head to one side in confusion: the point at the very top of the tower – was it always curved like that? Finally looking down at his phone, Thierry's eyes widened, and he muttered a curse.
"What's wrong?" asked Amalia, not taking her eyes off the quivering Eiffel Tower in the distance. She blinked, bracing herself with one hand on the counter and one on Thierry's arm, nearly pulling him off balance as the ground shook again.
Thierry paled. "Um…" He gulped. "I, uh… I'll… go and see if the line is shorter for the funnel cakes!" he answered her, too quickly, his expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace. Amalia stared at him, blinking in confusion. Around them, people were backing quickly away from the direction of the Eiffel Tower – the top third of the tower had by now twisted around almost parallel to the ground, one of the support legs wrenching apart from the motion. The booth behind them began to lean slightly forward, toward the Eiffel Tower. Thierry let out a half-laugh. "With all of this happening, maybe no one's there, right?"
Amalia gave him a deadpan look as he pulled away from her. "Uh, right…"
"Um… stay safe?" he told her, backing away and sprinting around the next tent, diving for cover and ripping open his shoulder bag, pulling out his backup Owl suit and quickly getting it on over his street clothes. After his weeks of practice, the pieces went together quickly, almost without thought, though the metal fasteners resisted his efforts to connect them. "Come on…" he grumbled, finally fastening the utility belt around his waist and pulling out an Owlet. It flipped out of his hand of its own accord, and he lunged forward, just missing it as it embedded into the plank back of the food stand in front of him. "The hell?" Ripping the Owlet from the board, the Owl stared at it in confusion, just as it whipped out of his hand again and flew over the food stand and disappeared.
The Owl's jaw fell open. What could have done that? Was it another villain? But how would they be able to control his Owlets? Could he even use them? But he couldn't stay there forever wondering about it. Surging to his feet, he rounded the corner and sprinted toward the Eiffel Tower, the fleeing crowd parting in front of him as he ran. More and more metal seemed to be drawn toward the distant tower, more of it being pulled off of people and out of the ground. He could feel the metal of his suit starting to pull, dragging him stumbling forward. But what if he could use this? Leaping into the air, he allowed the magnetic force to draw him in, faster and faster, covering a half-dozen meters with a single leap. He stumbled on landing but pushed off again, throwing himself further and further with each jump. Ahead of him, he could see two figured fighting a third, about a third of the way down the Champ de Mars; it was in that direction that the force was drawing him. Landing and jumping again as high as he could, the Owl pulled out two of his Owlets, testing them in his hands. Ahead, he finally recognized Nabatala as she raised her harpoon to block a blow from a man wearing a large, glowing metal helmet. More and more metal was accumulating around him, being sucked down into a pile around his feet. Gritting his teeth, the Owl drew back both Owlets and flung them forward, spinning through the air. The man lifted his hand, pulling up a metal piece on which Nyagwai' had been standing; Nyagwai' pushed off of it and spun into a backflip, just as Nabatala jabbed at the man from behind. The man leaned to one side to avoid the blow and then back, grabbing for Nabatala's harpoon. As he did so, one of the Owlets was pulled off target and stuck in the pile of junk around the man; the other sailed true and stuck into the side of his helmet. Sparks flew, and the magnetic pull that had been dragging the Owl forward suddenly stopped.
Skidding to a stop beside Nabatala and Nyagwai' the Owl let out a groan. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, giving the man a glare.
Nyagwai' kicked the man derisively. "Ask him."
"We were just here trying to enjoy the fair," explained Nabatala, folding her arms. "Then this guy showed up shouting about 'heavy metal' or something."
"Punk rock fan?" The Owl shook his head. "Whatever. Hey, can you figure this out? I should probably get back…"
"Yeah, we can wait for the cops to show up," Nabatala agreed quickly, nodding. "Why?"
"I'm… actually supposed to be here on a date."
Nyagwai' raised an eyebrow at the Owl. "Have fun with that. Does she know where you went?"
"No." The Owl looked away. "When it started, I wasn't about to tell her, 'Oh, by the way, I'm the Owl so I need to go and figure out whatever this madness is.'"
Nabatala's eyes widened. "She doesn't know?"
He shook his head. "This seems like a little much for a first date, don't you think?"
