Hello, and welcome to Copperright Week 2023! I'm your host, Yours The Author. Great to see you here!

Here's how this is going to go down: Technically, August 1-7 is the week for a Henry Stickmin shipping event, for a variety of ships (you can find the prompts on Tumblr if you want to participate; they're by someone named blue-fanlady on Tumblr) (apparently, it's also clown week. The more you know.). ...But... I want to do a lot of ships, not just Copperright, but I can't write twenty eight fics in the course of a single week (you do the math). So, instead, I'm going to turn this into a Henry Stickmin shipping MONTH! From August 1 to August 28, I'll be writing and posting a fic every day of the week! You can read them here on fanfiction . net, or on AO3, whichever site is easier.

Anway! Here's the first prompt for Copperright Week (and the subsequent ships I'll be doing each week): First Meet! I'll let you get right to it. See you at the bottom of the page!

Parry, parry, thrust. Parry, thrust, parry. Thrust, thrust.

Reginald slipped from one movement into the next, stepping carefully to adjust his position as he deflected and attempted to get a hit on his opponent. The chain of his pocket watch chimed quietly against his belt as he moved, shoes squeaking occasionally on the floor of the gym. No protective gear today; the only thing keeping him from being stabbed was the rubber piece stuck to the point of the blades.

Something flashed in the corner of his eye, and he parried before falling back. He grabbed the second sword in midair and jabbed them both forward at his opponent. They managed to parry against them both, pushing back before grabbing their own second sword that had also been tossed into the air.

Back and forth they went, getting faster and faster. There were murmurs of interest outside the ring… which was unusual. He dared a glance to the side of the gym.

As it turns out, it wasn't him and his sword work that was garnering attention; rather, a crowd of Toppats were leaning on the boundaries of the fisticuffs ring, at the center of which was a recruit Reginald had never seen before. He had red hair, a long mustache, and was soaked with sweat, making his skin glisten. He had bandages wrapped around his fists and arms, ducking and weaving multiple opponents while knocking them down, one by one. More replaced the ones that fell, but the recruit kept going.

Their eyes met for less than a second. The man's eyes were stormy, like a cloud about to release lightning-

A dull pain shocked him in the neck. "Ow!"

His opponent grinned cheekily at him, one sword curved and pressed against Reginald. "That's one for me~!"

Reginald pushed the blade away. "I let you have that one," he said, "let's see if you get lucky again-"

"Stop." Everyone stopped what they were doing. Reginald felt a presence behind him, and slowly lowered his swords. "Copperbottom."

Reginald turned quickly. "Yes, Chief?"

The Chief of the Toppat Clan, Terrence Suave, stared down at him disapprovingly. "You didn't 'give' your opponent anything. You were distracted." He crossed his arms, eyes flicking between Reginald and his swords.

Reginald had to come up with an excuse. He pointed a sword dismissively at the recruit. "That one's roguish way of fighting was heinous to watch. No tact or elegance whatsoever. How could I not be distracted?"

Terrence turned to look at the one Reginald was pointing at. The recruit stared back at him, his expression unreadable. After a moment, Terrence turned back to Reginald, a grim smile on his face. "Ol' No Name here is new to the clan. He tried to steal this," he pulled out a necklace from under his shirt; a large golden chain with a dollar sign for a pendant. "Nearly got away with it, too, if I hadn't stepped in. He's good." Terrence put the chain back and patted it for safekeeping. "In the field, you'll see a lot of different fighting techniques. You can't get distracted by them, though. You gotta stay focused, motivated; but most of all…" He pointed at Reginald. "...You gotta live in the moment. The thrill of the fight, the high of escaping death, the lightning in your veins when you come out on top of the world… that's what my clan lives for."

Reginald nodded stiffly, not saying a word.

Terrence sighed, lowering his hand. "Letting yourself get distracted by useless things could be a matter of life or death outside the clan. Especially when you don't mean to. It's one thing if you let your opponent gain an upper hand to get the thrill of winning despite it, it's another if you genuinely aren't good. Get good, Reginald. You're my right hand man, and I won't have anyone less than perfect for the role. You got it?"

Reginald's cheeks flushed. Less than perfect? Not good? Him?!

Terrence narrowed his eyes. "You got it?" He repeated lowly.

"Yes," Reginald said, fighting to keep himself from gritting his teeth. "I understand, Chief. It won't happen again."

"Good," Terrence nodded, then flashed a broad grin. "Now, enough of the serious stuff; who wants to watch me punch a kangaroo in Australia?!"

The crowd of Toppats cheered and followed their chief out of the gym. Some of them snickered as they passed Reginald, whispering to each other.

"Copperbottom's a joke!"

"What was the chief thinking, making him his right hand?"

"The only reason the chief lets him play with swords is 'cause he thinks it's 'thrilling', anyway."

Reginald huffed, setting his swords in their holsters before packing them into the bag, then going and shoving them angrily into the locker in the back of the gym. So what if swords weren't used anymore? They were a classic for a reason! And being handy with a sword lent itself to so many other skills! It's not his fault no one could see things the way he did!

And it certainly wasn't his fault that that nameless recruit had distracted him the way he did, completely unprompted and uncalled for and unnecessary-!

"Oi, you."

Reginald yelped and whipped around, pressing himself into the locker. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

He was taller than Reginald, broader and more muscular. In fact, Reginald could see his muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt, soaked with sweat. Well defined, large muscles-

"Eyes up here."

Reginald snapped his gaze to the man's face. Beads of sweat lined the man's forehead, threatening to drip onto the floor. Reginald wrinkled his nose. "What is it that you want?"

The recruit crossed his arms. "Wanted to ask you that."

"What I want," Reginald glared up at him, hands on his hips, "is for you to stay out of my way. I don't need to be distracted from my work or my practice by some great meaty oaf like yourself. And- for God's sake, wipe off that sweat off your face! You look like you showered with the stuff."

The recruit blinked slowly at him. Then, instead of wiping the sweat away with a handkerchief, or even his hand, the mad man grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up to his face, wiping it down with the soaked garment and revealing even more of his muscles. Reginald gaped at the display, the toned, slightly scarred skin with tufts of curly red hair climbing up his broad chest-

"You're drooling."

Reginald snapped his mouth shut and scrubbed his chin furiously, his cheeks on fire when his hand came away with a shiny spot on his glove. He growled and pointed at him. "Now you listen here, you buffoon," he hissed, jabbing the man's sternum with each word for emphasis. "You can take that smug attitude of yours and sod off! I'm your superior, and I'll not have some nameless, rankless recruit making a fool of me in front of anyone, much less the chief! You're lucky you're so strong and valuable to the clan, because otherwise I'd throw you out on your head! Do you understand, or are you as stupid as you are handsome?"

The recruit stared at him for a moment. Reginald was breathing heavily, finger resting in the very center of the man's chest as he caught his breath. It was quiet for a while. In fact, Reginald was starting to worry that the man might actually be that stupid, when he leaned down so he and Reginald were face to face. "Whatever you say… twink."

A choked sound escaped Reginald's throat as the man leaned out of reach, looking down his nose at him. His eyes crinkled- the man was laughing at him!

Reginald spluttered for a moment, then threw up his hands. "Stay out of my way!" He finally managed. "That's an order, recruit!" Then he turned on his heel and stormed out of the gym, feeling the recruit's eyes watching him as he left. That bloody mad man… He might think that he had gotten one over Reginald, but he was never, under any circumstances, ever going to let him think so again. He'd never accept him as a proper Toppat, even if he turned out to have a blood connection to the clan. Even if he had a name. (Even if he was handsome.)

Ever.

*Later, in the privacy of his own room* Reginald: I hate him, but I love him, but I hate him, but I love him...

*Meanwhile, in the Recruit's room* Recruit: What a twink. I will marry him.

So, truth time: I don't really have a one, single headcanon for how Reginald and Right met? I definitely think it was sometime during Terrence's era, and I really like the idea of the two of them not liking each other/having a rivalry at first, but other than that... I mostly made this up as I went.

I'm pretty deep in the camp of "Terrence Suave was a bad person/leader", but I also saw someone say something about wanting to see Terrence in a more nuanced way? So I practiced that here: he's still a fairly compulsive, live-for-the-thrill kind of guy (hence the kangaroo punching), but he's a leader first and foremost, and in order to keep chasing his highs, he needs the clan in tip top shape. (We can say he started spiraling later, or that this was one of his better moods). Why did he make Reginald his right hand? I imagine he figured Reginald would never try and over throw him (oh, the irony), but he also saw some potential for him in a leading position, namely with the business side of the clan.

"Twink" probably wasn't a word back in the Terrence era (whenever that was in the timeline of THSC), but I needed something snappy that could still be construed as flirtatious. I tried "handsome" and "your majesty", but they didn't feel right. Well, no; actually, they felt really fitting, but they didn't match the tone of the story. I imagine Right would start referring to Reginald as "your majesty" later on, just to rile him up. We love a little banter between gentlemen.

And... I think that's all I have for notes! Remember, I'll be posting a fic every day until August 28, so if you like what you see here, be on the lookout for more soon! I'll see you all later. Until then!