11
Owlet's First Flight
Ithaca home to just shy of a million people, a fourth of whom abide by an interesting definition of the law, is not a pretty place. It might have been once before pollution and greed and human ugliness turned its waters poisonous and its populace slippery as black ice. For an outsider to visit during the day is to court danger, to travel it at night is asking for a swift end to their mortal troubles.
Every year it ranks among the top ten most undesirable places to visit. Although, according to some obscure tabloids, it appears to have started descending the ranking. Just last month, it had been listed as top 4, the first time in nearly a decade that it hadn't been on the podium. Telemachus had laughed when he'd seen that, high and delighted, just as he's doing now as the unfortunate pickpocket scrambles at his sleeve.
They're babbling something incoherent, impossible to tell if it's a request for mercy or more pointless threats, likely the former given the thick trail of mucus running down their face. Telemachus sighs, lets his disappointment linger heavily in the air for two breaths before he speaks. "I did try to warn you. I said the roof was slippery."
The pickpocket makes more incoherent sounds. He's starting to feel a little bad now, hadn't intended to scare them quite so thoroughly. But well, maybe they'll think twice now before knocking down elderly grandmothers who were simply trying to cross the street peacefully. "If I set you down, are you going to go straight home and rethink your life choices?"
The look that he receives is incredulous, but Telemachus raises his own eyebrow and purses his lips channeling the most fearsome person he knows. His mother. The pickpocket squeaks out a noise that sounds like a "yes."
Pleased, Telemachus pulls them away from the roof's edge and sets them down. "There we go, no harm no foul. Remember, next time no pushing! It's always better to get someplace safer than faster!" Gives them a salute and leaps off the edge of the building. Feels wind catch at his hair, his cloak, screaming in his ears for a deafening moment. Instincts take over as the ground rapidly approaches, and he presses the button on his inner wrist.
The grappling hook shoots out, latching onto another building and sends him hurtling through the air. Telemachus whoops. Lands neatly and rolls to his feet, giddy with joy. Around him the last rays of sunset kiss the various rooftops of Ithaca, staining them with reds and oranges as blue smog seeps up from below. In a couple more minutes, true night will have fallen, and the streets of Ithaca will come alive with a different kind of life.
The old lady really had been pushing her luck hurrying home so late. Frowning, Telemachus steps up to the edge and leans his weight against a gargoyle. Attentive eyes sweep the streets below, she's long gone of course, but he can't help but wonder if his choice was the correct one. Perhaps he should have stayed to make sure she was truly alright after he'd returned her purse, rather than shoot off after the thief.
A buzzing in his ear has his hand snapping to it automatically, prepared for anything from requests for aid to a lecture on what exactly he'd done wrong.
"Owlet, report."
It is not, however, his father's low voice that rings in his ear, but that of his mentor. "I captured a thief, stopped a carjacking, and helped some street kids make it the shelter before curfew," Telemachus reports dutifully. "Have you heard from B?"
"Still offline," Athena replies, she doesn't sound particularly concerned so Telemachus tries to push the thoughts away as well. His father's fine. Most likely he's been maintaining radio silence to keep from distracting Telemachus. It's thoughtful, and yet to not hear him is more perturbing than Telemachus had been expecting. He thought he was ready, had reassured both his parents and his mentor multiple times that he could patrol the city while his father is away.
Now, however, he's not so sure. Wishes to hear him tap into the coms, if only for the reassurance it would provide that he's okay. Not that his father wouldn't be given who he has with him, but it's the duty of a son and a partner to worry.
"Owlet."
"Yes, A?"
"I can sense your fretting all the way in the nest, cease it."
Telemachus huffs and doesn't point out that for her to be picking up on his fretting, she must be keeping a very close eye on him. "Have you heard from him?"
"No. I have a new assignment for you. Intersection of Polaris and Dio, there's a disturbance. Picking up chatter from multiple criminals converging on locale."
"That's near the bridge!" Kicking off the gargoyle, Telemachus springs into action, letting the hooks whip him along. Lands lightly on a roof and races across it before he leaps again. As ever lifted by the wind, this is when he feels his most free. The closest to his namesake, Owlet.
Within a dozen minutes, he's approaching the location. A confident hand checks the baton on his hip, adjusts his hood, and taps twice against the com in his ear. Knows his mentor will understand the signal. The sudden screech of ties attracts his attention. Telemachus peers into the gloom, watching curiously as a motorcycle goes whizzing by. In hot pursuit are two armored cars, non-descript and dark. Telemachus trails them with his eyes, focusing on the motorcycle rider. "A?"
The sudden peppering of gunshots muffles her answer if she'd even given one. Without hesitation, Telemachus moves. Descends from his perch, only so as much to give him enough room to swing across to another building. Like a bird of prey he streaks across the skies, diving down to land heavily on one of the cars. Slips, and has to hastily slam a clawed hand into the roof to keep his balance.
It's not his best landing, but there's no time to think about that as another series of shots crack through the air. "Hey!" Telemachus shouts. "This is a residential area! Keep it down!"
Ahead the motorcycle swerves abruptly, flipping onto its side as its rider goes flying. Telemachus doesn't watch long enough to see them land. Using his planted hand as a brace, he kicks up and swings down, slamming his foot into the gunman's face. Something gives and it's not his foot. Quickly, his heart thundering in his ears, Telemachus disengages and springs back.
Snatches the stun grenade from his belt and flings it through the open window. His own landing is jarring, but he's quick to scramble to his feet and race to the down motorcyclist. Already the second car is screeching to a halt. There's not much time. Telemachus drops to his knees beside the figure. They're slight, at least a head shorter than himself, not that that's saying much when Telemachus' latest growth spurt has him close to hitting six feet.
With shaking hands, he checks first for a pulse, before daring to touch their shoulder. Never achieves contact as they come alive with a feral screech, knife arcing towards his face. Years of learning how to dodge the unkind hands of school bullies have him leaning back just in time. Muscle memory takes over as he grasps their wrist, strikes it cleanly and the knife tumbles to the ground.
Their facial shield has cracked, allowing him a glimpse of wide eyes. The fear in them striking him to the core. Enemy or ally, he cannot begin to divine but there's no time.
Hears the clicking of guns in his ears. The heavy reverberations of footsteps through the ground.
There's no time.
He's been grounded for too long.
"Hey," Telemachus says, "It's going to be alright." Holds tighter to their arm. The grapple rockets off into the sky. Catches on the railings of a balcony and yanks him upwards. Telemachus clings to them, shifting to grasp them better with an arm around their chest. They're light, and his concern spikes even as panic shoots through him. The balcony isn't wide enough for him to land gracefully, they're going to hit it hard.
"Brace yourself!"
Feels them curl up, knees to their chest, making them easier to carry, as he brings his own feet up. Hits the wall hard, the reverberation coursing through him all the way up to his teeth. Without hesitation, he re-adjusts and kicks straight through the window. The shatter of glass is terribly loud. Telemachus deposits his package, only for them to grab him by the wrist and yank him down.
Not a moment too soon as search lights flood the balcony behind him. A helicopter? Telemachus wonders, followed immediately after by, what have I gotten myself into? "Hey, what's —"
"Silence," the other hisses. "This building is occupied."
"It's an apartment," Telemachus replies, lowering his voice as much as he can. Frankly, he's a bit surprised nobody has come to investigate the noise yet. Then again, this is Ithaca. They've probably locked their bedroom door and are even now pretending they heard nothing. "We should go." Doesn't know why the motorcycle rider was being pursued, but now certainly isn't the time to be playing 20 questions.
"If we can get to the roof, I'll jump us across."
"You'll get us shot you mean," is the immediate rebuttal. "No, I have someplace I need to go. You stay here and hide." They rise to their feet, ignoring Telemachus' protests and take two steps. That's as far as they get before they collapse. Telemachus leaps forward, wrapping an arm around their waist again to at least ease their fall.
"Hey hey, steady there. You okay? Where are you hurt? Can I help?" The questions bubble up, faster than they can likely respond to. Father's always telling him that he needs to slow down when questioning victims, but he can't help it. Rubs at his ear with a shoulder, activating the com. "A? You there?"
"My name isn't —"
"Owlet! Evacuate the premises!"
Telemachus does not hesitate. Lifts them once more, and books it towards the door. Is grateful now that they're so light, as he frees one hand to unlock the multiple locks on the door and yank it open. "I'm sorry! Lock up behind me!" Yells over his shoulder as he rushes out.
"Do you always talk so much?" His passenger demands. At least they're not struggling as he runs down the hall. Telemachus ignores them, thoughts flitting between the best routes. Rooftops are his preference, but there's a helicopter outside and he can't dodge its search lights. Maybe it is better to keep to the streets and sewer system.
Spots the emergency stairs and yanks the door open, diving in just as something behind him roars. The floor bucks. Telemachus stumbles, catching himself against the wall and nearly dropping his passenger. They twist in his arms, a hand whipping out and yanking the fire alarm. Immediately, an ear-piercing siren sets off. "What are you—"
"Run!" They shout at him. Slapping his shoulder hard as if he needs any more encouragement. "Run!"
Already there are panicked shouts resonating through the stairwell as the various inhabitants begin tumbling out. Telemachus swallows his recriminations and starts racing down the stairs. The building shakes again, and maybe sounding the alarm was the better idea, allowing people time to escape but he doesn't like it. The streets outside aren't secure and the idea of so many people walking into certain danger is horrifying.
Tumbles out of the building, in a sea of people, eyes searching for the cars and the nearest threat. "To the docks!" The voice hisses in his ear, almost simultaneous with Athena giving the same command. Bristling, Telemachus obeys. The docks won't be safer, but they'll be far enough away from his mess that his mentor will be able to retrieve him. A relief, as he has no idea what to do with his unanticipated plus one.
Lucky as well that they're so light because he can feel the strain in his arms from carrying them. Would not have made it this far if they were even a couple of stones heavier. Sweat drips down the side of his face. Domino mask beginning to stick uncomfortably, still he runs. Navigates streets he's known all his life, ducking into alleyways and dodging as many night goers as he can. Isn't sure if they're still being pursued, can't afford to take the risk to check.
Eventually they leave the residential area behind, bursting out onto the boardwalk as the buildings transition into small shops. Water laps nearby, murky and agitated, as it always is in Ithaca's harbor. In other cities, the water is as clear a blue as the sky people claim. But to Telemachus, who has rarely if ever left the delimitations of Ithaca, such a claim makes little sense. The skies of his home are grey like the plumage of an owl.
When the sun does pierce through, it is only to drag scalding fingers along the skin of the unfortunate denizens. Grey is safety, grey is shelter. A sky devoid of clouds means there's nothing to protect you from the eyes of those above. Or at least, that's what his father is fond of saying.
Shaking his head, Telemachus slows to a walk and stops in the shelter of the dockmaster's cabin. No lights drift through the thick windows, grimy with years of dirt and a buildup of sea salt. "A? Any updates?"
There's no immediate response. Telemachus turns his attention to his companion, who has fallen worryingly quiet. "Are you sure you don't want to go a hospital? What's at the docks? Why were they chasing you? Who are you? You're not from here." The last is less of a question and more of an observation, one that is only confirmed when they twitch visibly.
"Do you always talk so much?" There's confusion bleeding into their growl, far better than the prior disgust, and Telemachus smiles. Carefully, he reaches out for their leg, stilling when they jerk away from him. "What are you doing."
"I'm first aid certified," Telemachus answers patiently, "you were having trouble walking, is it your ankle? Foot? Can't be your thigh, you were moving it easily earlier."
"Oh, gods below. You're one of them."
"I'm sure I don't quite follow what you mean."
"A nice kid."
Telemachus blinks. Rubs at his cheek with a shoulder and then shrugs. "Thanks, my mom tries hard." Ignoring their hissing, he reaches for their ankle once again, gingerly feeling along for anything misaligned. "What hurts?" Is expecting stubborn silence, but instead he gets a noisy sigh.
"You should get out of here, kid."
"It's Owlet," Telemachus says, determining that it's not the left leg, he shifts closer to inspect the right. Nearly immediately his fingers encounter something slick. Lifts his hand for a better look, and winces. "You're bleeding. Why didn't you say anything?"
"It's just a scratch."
"Shhh, that's the shock setting in," Telemachus says, he still hasn't heard back from Athena and concern is growing. "A? You with me?" statis buzzes in his ear, and his concern crescendos straight into panic. "A?! A! Come in!" More static, and a faintly distorted voice that sounds faintly like his mentor. Before he can keep yelling, pain erupts in his face. His head jerks to the side, vision blurring.
When it clears, there are fingers digging into his jaw and he's staring straight into the broken mask of his partner? Peer? Accidental accomplice? His thoughts derail when they shake his head, slamming about like pin balls against the sides of his skull. "Ow." Can't remember the last time someone straight up slapped him.
"Calm down," the other growls. Their grip eases slightly when he grimaces, but not enough to pull away. Notes distractedly that they have rectangular pupils, another oddity to be added to the ever-growing list. "This isn't the time to be squealing for help, the system's jammed that's all. Means we've gotta be close to the target."
"Excuse me? What target? Wait!" Grabs their wrist, digging his nails into their pulse point until they let go. "Are you the bad guy?"
The deadpan stare he receives is frankly a bit insulting. It's not like Telemachus often comes across villains being pursued by other villains, especially ones so small and full of attitude. He's increasingly certain that he's dealing with some sort of mutant teenager, which is all the more reason to take them to a hospital and call his mom. "I've saved your life, I think the least you could do is explain why we wait for back-up."
"We're not waiting for back-up."
Definitely a teenager. "You're bleeding."
An eyeroll that is so exaggerated their whole head moves with it, helmet bumping against the wall. "Thought you were a medic or something, fix it."
Given that he was planning on doing that anyway, Telemachus lets the order slide, but he does give them a disapproving look. It has absolutely zero effect, possibly because the helmet only allows one of their eyes to be visible. "If you want my help, you're going to have to explain," Telemachus says. Digs out his flashlight and hooks it into the strap on his shoulder before pointing it at their leg.
The source of the thankfully slow dripping blood turns out to be an abrasion on the calf. There isn't much time to be thorough, but he still tries to be gentle when he smears ointment over it. Digs around in his pouch until he finds the last of his pads and pins that in place, as he wraps gauze around it.
"If you're not going to the hospital, make sure you change this as soon as you get home." Pauses, before pressing on unable to resist pointing out an obvious solution, "and maybe wear pants next time."
Has to fling himself backwards immediately after as the leg goes from being compliantly still to dangerously close to his nose. "Hey!" Scrambles upwards fists raised defensively. "That was rude!"
"You're not half bad as a medic, feels better already," they reply. Rising to their feet as well if a lot slower. Telemachus bites his tongue, swallowing down the urge to tell them to sit. "Listen," they say, pointing towards the docks. "See that giant ship with all the fancy flags? That's our target."
Telemachus squints in the same direction, but to him the ships are no more than an indistinct blur. Fishes out his binoculars, searching around until he sees a familiar yacht with an even more familiar family crest on the side. "You have got to be kidding me."
"What? Why?"
"That's Eupeithes' private yacht. We can't break into that! Or whatever it is you're planning on doing. He'll skin us alive if he catches us!" That and both his parents will ground him for weeks if they find out. Staying away from any of Ithaca's kingpins was one of the few requests his dad had made before he departed. "Look kid, I don't know what your deal is, but you're better off abandoning this foolish plan and skipping town now. Eupeithes is not somebody to mess with."
"You said you'd help, are you going back on your word?"
"I never— I don't even know who you are!"
"…Sheep."
"Did you just make that up on the spot?"
The lack of immediate denial is not reassuring in the slightest. Glances down at them, to find them staring intently towards the ship, hands on their hips. "Fine." Without another word they start limping towards their apparent target. Telemachus feels panic war with common sense and responsibility, as he grabs for them and misses. Tapping his earpiece only results in more static, and he pulls out his phone with shaking fingers.
No bars.
There goes his back up plan to simply call for help. Already, Sheep is getting further ahead and his panic surges straight into crisis mode. It's reckless and dangerous and all the things his father warned him against being but letting a teenaged vigilante who isn't even from here walk into certain death isn't his cup of tea either.
Chases after them, heartbeat thudding in his ears. They turn slightly at his approach, and he sees the light catch on metal before they stow their knife. "Finally decided to be helpful?"
"Is the pain making you this grumpy, or are you always this uncharitable?" The rebuke slips out before he can stop it, though he'd been intending to remain nice and polite. Kill them with kindness, his aunt is fond of saying, but Telemachus is still working on that part.
Sheep releases a sound that almost sounds like a hastily bitten off laugh or maybe like they're choking. "The Owlet doth peck!" They turn their helmet to face him, and he sees a flash of a broad grin. It's vaguely terrifying. The disturbing visual of the broken face shield certainly doesn't help matters.
"The Owlet would like to know what the plan is before his inevitable demise," Telemachus replies dryly. Sees light flash ahead and grabs them by the back of their vest, yanking them down even as they do the same for him. As one they hit the docks, peering across towards their destination. Can hardly miss the yacht in question when its deck is bedazzled with floating yellowish lights. Guards with torches.
Instinctively, Telemachus goes to touch his earpiece before he remembers. Swallows a sigh and taps Sheep instead. Inclines his head towards a nearby ship. Sheep nods and pushes up onto their forearms, army crawling away at speed. Telemachus follows them hastily, determined not to lose. Skids down into the boat and shifts to both keep an eye on the yacht and their surroundings.
Counts one, three, five different spots of light, as the guards patrol back and forth. They're too far away to hear any conversations which hopefully means the same for the guards. That there are even guards is concerning, whatever gathering is clearly going on cannot be good. "What do you have against Eupeithes anyway? You're not local."
Sheep tugs off their helmet. The first thing Telemachus notes is that their hair is both extremely curly, and an unnatural shade of white. With the exception of a single black curl that sticks up from their head like a question mark. There's a cut on their cheek, when they wipe it the blood smear left behind glistens oddly.
The next is that their cheeks are round like those of the middle schoolers who sometimes visit his high school. Feels both better about tagging along and horrified that anyone would sign off on what is clearly a terribly ill-thought mission plan. "Maybe we should —"
"If you suggest we quit, I'm kicking you off this ship," Sheep says sharply. "Stop worrying so much, Owlet, all we have to do is sneak in, deposit this and sneak out." They hold up a circular shape about the size of their first.
"…Is that a bomb?" Telemachus asks, feeling increasingly faint. Sheep glances at it, glances at him, and stows it away in their utility bag. They shake their head. Telemachus feels his heart rate skyrocket. The risk of being seen is the only thing that prevents him from shooting upright and shaking them like a ragdoll. "We are not bombing a yacht in the middle of the harbor. We are not, I don't care what you say, we're not doing it. That's a crime."
"You're a crime," Sheep says sharply, "it's not a bomb. It's a…listening device."
"That lie would be far more effective if you sounded convinced of it yourself," Telemachus points out. Sees them start to move and hastily grabs their shoulders. "Wait, listen, I promise you don't what murder on your conscious. I don't know who hired you, but we can work something out. I promise, so just tell me who it was."
"The people on that ship are bad people, with this we can gather proof of those…bad things they're doing," Sheep says slowly, like Telemachus is the unreasonable one here. "Think of it as helping out the ecosystem." They gesture at the harbor as a whole. "And it needs all the help it can get."
"If it's really a listening device then I'll plant it," Telemachus says firmly. "You're hurt and besides you're a child, don't argue with me I know a milk tooth when I see one." Had done a whole study on them back when he'd wanted to be a dentist. Holds out his hand, hoping that it'll either not turn out to be a lie or Sheep will feel some sort of guilt about potentially sending him to his death.
Sheep stares at him for an uncomfortable amount of time before they take out the object and place it carefully in his palm. "The range is 30 feet. Red button to activate, if you peel off the tape on the bottom it'll stick to anything. Don't let it stick to your skin, that'll hurt."
Telemachus stares down at it blankly. It's been painted black, but he can see the two buttons. One red and one blue. There's a small empty screen as well. "Are you sure it's not a…?"
"I'll stay right here," Sheep says, "and if it explodes then we'll both die." Shifts from crouching to sitting crisscross apple sauce, staring at him with their oddly shaped pupils. It is likely a show of faith, one that doesn't particularly make him feel better. Telemachus swallows, wishing yet again that he could reach an adult, any adult, but if he refuses then Sheep will simply go for it, and he can't stand that thought.
Preventing other people, other children from walking into danger, is part of the reason why he even donned the mask in the first place. He's not a hero, Telemachus knows that, but he can do good. Far more good than he can while being stuck in school 5 days a week. And besides, his father entrusted the city to him while he was away, Telemachus will see this done, no matter what.
With one last look at his accomplice, Telemachus vaults the ship's railing and lands lightly on the dock. Like gray mist he races along it, timing his approach to navigate between the beams of torch light. Flattens himself against the side of the yacht, one hand gripping his baton the other clinging to the woven ropes. Exhales slowly, counting himself down from the edge of panic until he feels stable and alert. He can do this. He's practiced for it.
In and out.
Glances upwards, keeping a silent count of the guards' footsteps and starts climbing when the second one passes him by. The murmur of voices, far too many to be the guards, reach him and his heart decamps back into the base of his throat. Risks a glance, but other than the initial five there's no one on deck. Whatever he's hearing must be coming from below, or from inside one of the cabins.
Aware that rushing into this more than he has would be terrible, Telemachus stays put for two more rounds of the guards. Once he's certain that he has their routine down, he scrambles onboard and immediately makes for the second deck. 30 feet, Sheep had said, not a lot to work with but he'll make do.
Scaling the cabin on the second deck, Telemachus flattens to a crawl and eases along the roof. One there, he peels over the edge, pleased to find his guestimate correct. Directly below, at almost a straight line is the source of the majority of the noise. From his position he can see through the glass floor, watching well-dressed figures pass by unaware. Getting close enough to plant it will be tricky part.
Sitting up, he inspects the listening device, running his fingers all over it as a thought slowly forms. From his own utility belt, he withdraws a thin but sturdy rope and loops it several times around the object, trying to ensure that any speakers will not be muffled. With its naturally sticky bottom the rope won't be likely to slide off.
"Boss gave the all clear! We're good to head out!"
Telemachus freezes, not even daring too glance over the edge in case he's spotted. Hears an answering response from further down and then the boat's prior gentle sway becomes stringer as it eases away from its assigned pier. There's no longer any time to stay and plan things out carefully. He's not equipped for long swims, especially not in these waters.
"Right this way, gentlemen."
More voices, heading towards him. Slowly, Telemachus slides down until he's on his belly, one hand gripping his baton, in case he needs to go on the offensive quickly. Listens intently as the tread of heavy feet, perhaps half a dozen come close. They're followed by the click of the cabin door opening.
Telemachus hadn't recognized any of the voices, but he knows authority when he hears it, and the speaker had been oozing it. Perhaps he doesn't need to figure out a complex angler system after all. Turning the listening device over in his hands, Telemachus crawls as close as he can get to the door and plants it there.
Presses the red button for three seconds, until the small screen comes alive. When no countdown appears, he relaxes minutely. Seconds later a soundwave appears, and he hopes whomever is on the other side is getting what they need. Hopes as well that he's not ironically been an accessory to a crime, something he'll need to look into later.
Swiftly, Telemachus scrambles to back away, thoughts filled with how he'll make his escape. In his haste he's not as careful as he should be.
"Hey!"
Telemachus doesn't wait to see if the shout had been directed at him. With the device safely planted, all that's left is for him to get off the yacht. Another shout and he half scrambles half slides down the side of the cabin. Jumps the last few feet, rolling as he comes up and immediately has to dodge the weapon swinging towards his head.
His baton becomes an extension of his arm as he whirls and ducks. Strikes their leg hard and then follows up with a solid whack to the shoulder. They crumble with a shout, far too loud. There's answering call from the other side of the boat. Telemachus turns and books it.
Flings himself over the railing and lands on the main deck. His baton strikes. Once. Twice. His foot impacts somebody's head, riding out their descent as he shoots past them. Slams into the boat's main railing, horrified eyes noting how far they've already come from harbor. If he jumps now, he might make it —
BANG
Telemachus hits the deck, instinctively rolling behind the stacked barrels lining the sides of the dock. Another bullet whizzes through the air. Tiny pieces of wood fly into the air, close enough to slice his face. Not that way, Telemachus determines and crawls to the other side of the barrels. Rosks a glance and sees three guards, all several heads taller and certainly far heavier than him. Two have drawn their firearms.
Never start as fight you have no hope of winning, Odysseus had told him once. Gaze stern for all that his hands had been gentle when they tilted his head back and inspected his bloodied nose.
Right now, victory isn't defeating the guards. It's escape. Telemachus braces himself, counts to ten and prepares to make a run for it. Has only just reached five when the barrels explode, his cover suddenly gone as a massive man zeroes in on him. Parries the first strike, arm vibrating with the force of it. Ducks as a large hand reaches for his head, fingers scraping his hood as he dives forward.
Comes up behind hm, striking out with his foot into the back of his knee. Follows it up with a baton blow to the neck. Not enough to kill, but hopefully to incapacitate. Can't spare it another thought as more hands come for him. Telemachus twists and vaults and sticks to the air as best he can, throwing himself into moves he's been learning since he was a child.
Never with the intent to harm, always to protect, but right now he has no choice. Survival means breaking bones.
A kick catches him in the side, breaking through his guard easily and sending him flying into the crates. Telemachus wheezes, coughing up blood as he struggles to get his hands under himself. A follow up blow sends hm crashing face first into the wood. Rolls right in time to avoid being stepped on, and back rolls to his feet. His vision is blurring, jaw throbbing, thoughts already thinking of his next attack as he looks up. His thoughts come to a screeching halt.
There's a gun pointed straight at his head. The guard holding it is utterly unemotional, their finger steady on the trigger. "Last words."
It happens in an instant.
One moment he's backed up against the crates, staring down the barrel of the gun as blood pumps through his body in sickening beats. He's going to die, blood splattered all across the deck and his parents will never know what became of him.
The next, the ship is rocking violently as mist flows upwards from the water. Like a snake, it twines around the man's legs and yanks. He goes down with a muted scream, as the mist seeps into his mouth.
Telemachus does not hesitate. Grabs the railing and pulls himself up. Already the dock is far, a brown mass fading from view as the water grows increasingly uneasy. It's common knowledge that the waters of Ithaca are unsafe, that creatures of unknowable origins lurk within, but Telemachus has little choice.
Poseidon, lord of all waters, if it is within your will, please grant mercy and safe passage.
Launches off the railing, leaping as far as he can before he inevitably splashes into the water. Immediately, his vision becomes near non-existent even with the assistance of the goggles, but Telemachus ad always been blessed with a solid sense of direction and he does not lose himself now.
Strikes out towards the docks, arms moving confidently in familiar strokes, is grateful now that his father had put him through intense swimming lessons as one of their earlier bonding sessions. Breaches, drawing in lungfuls of foul-tasting air before he ducks beneath again. Something brushes his leg, and he kicks wildly, accelerating as best he can. The touch comes again, inquisitive almost, and Telemachus swallows his scream. Swishes to a crawl, rather than a breaststroke, desperate to get out of the water and sends off another pleading prayer to Poseidon.
Is well aware of how little his father and the ocean lord seem to get along, but maybe he'll have mercy on him and at least ensure he won't be eaten by Ithaca's mutant harbor dwellers. His fingers scrape wood, and he grasps for it desperately, as someone grabs the back of his uniform and heaves.
Telemachus screams then, struggling wildly only to wind up dumped on the dock. Sheep crouched next to him. Gasping, coughing out murky water, he rolls over, trying to put as much distance away from the edge as he can.
"Did you plant the device?"
"…What?"
"Did you plant it?" Sheep asks again. They lean over, staring intently into his face. "Were you successful?"
"I," Telemachus starts only to stop as a voice cuts into his ear. Sharp and demanding. "Owlet come in!" The statis is no longer present and he nearly sobs in relief. Presses one hand to it to better hear her voice, the other scrabbling for his phone.
"I'm alright A, I'm okay. There was an incident," he says, and hears the judgment in her silence. Grimaces apologetically though there's no way he can see it. "I'll explain when I get back to the nest. I still have something to deal with." Yanks his cell out, and his excitement dies a prompt death when it still shows no cell service. Glances towards the distant ship, now swallowed entirely in midst and then at Sheep. "Thank you for the help."
Sheep frowns. "That wasn't me," they say seriously, head tilting towards the mist. "I can't do that."
Telemachus hadn't thought it was the case, but rather than waste time elaborating he pushes to his feet slowly. "Right, we need to be getting out of here. Where do you live, I'll take you home."
"No need." Their nose twitches and concern flares fever bright on their face. "You're hurt!"
He is? It's Telemachus' turn to feel the slowness of his own thoughts, confusion finally giving way to the pain he hadn't wanted to address. Glances down, eyes noting the slick feeling of blood dripping down his leg, before drifting away. "It's alright." He can do this. What was it that father and Athena always said about battlefield injuries? If they're not an immediate emergency. Treat them only when you're someplace safe, and exposed on the docks is not safe.
"Poseidon!" Sheep's screech doesn't register at first. "Poseidon! Help!"
"Wait, hang on, what are you —"
The water explodes outwards. A wave slamming down between them, water droplets whirling and coalescing into a vaguely humanoid form. Long hair, eyes that glow with an unnatural intensity, a sudden pressure in his chest as if all the oxygen is being sucked out of his lungs.
Telemachus wheezes, hits the deck hard. His ears ringing. Instincts and self-preservation combined, mold his body into a bow. A hand lifts, grasping for Sheep, but they're too far away, and he can't pull them down beside him. "Lord Poseidon." His voice rattles in his chest, thick with mucus but doesn't dare to cough to clear it, lest the other take offence.
"Liege mother," Sheep says, and Telemachus chokes again for an entirely different reason. "He's injured. I don't carry medicine with me, please spare him from disease." Dares to lift his head and sees them planted partially before Poseidon. All the smaller when compared to his height, but their hands are not raised defensively, and he hears no trace of fear in their voice.
Athena. Telemachus thinks dazedly and lifts his shoulder trying to hit the com and alert his mentor. Poseidon's eerie eyes snap to him, the weight of them freezing him in place. Hardly dares to breathe, much less risk further movement.
"Ithaca's fledgling vigilante." Flat, no intonation to be heard within his voice. Wearing a long skirt, bare chested except for a silver pendant double looped around his throat, he resembles no deity that Telemachus has ever met. Then again, he's only ever known Athena and her preferred garb is military uniforms. "You are far from your nest."
"I," Telemachus starts, stops, still struggling to get words out through the narrowing of his throat. "I apologies my lord, I was doing a mission. I did not mean to call out. If you'll excuse us, we will depart at once."
"Where is your father?"
Father? There's no way that he can know, not when they've been so careful. Poseidon sighs, irritation ringing loud in Telemachus' ears. "The older one. Fledglings should not be left unattended so far from their typical flight paths."
"He's out of town; Ithaca is under my protection for the night." Relief that Poseidon hasn't any idea of their little secret fills him, and Telemachus dares to relax.
A hum, derogatory, and Poseidon moves. So quickly that Telemachus' eyes only discern his afterimage before the god is in front of him. Blinks and he's staring up at the sky, Poseidon's clawed hand resting on his neck. A bead of blood bubbles up as claws press into his jugular. A warning. "Do not move."
Not that Telemachus could have if he wanted to. Fear is a heavy weight on his chest, constricting his muscles and locking them down so that it is all he can do to keep breathing. Poseidon's other hand roughly stretches his leg out, pain flaring as he does. A blueish glow comes to it, brightening like a miniature star. "What are you doing?"
"Silence." The fingers flex and even breathing ceases to be a possibility. Telemachus' eyes bun with unshed tears, struggling to keep himself still even as his vision darkens at the corners. Straight from the skillet and into the fire, the story of his life truly. The grip eases and he gasps for air, instinctively clutching at the arm which holds him prisoner. It's hard as stone, immovable.
His act, however, does gain the attention of the god. A pencil thin eyebrow arching no doubt in sheer disbelief at his audacity. "Are you in further discomfort?"
In all his lectures, nowhere has his father explained what to do if a god should ask if you are okay. Telemachus bites the inside of his cheek and tries not to sniffle. He's in unknown waters, left adrift by mentor and parents alike and the only one person who might deign to answer is equally liable to smite him. Shakes his head.
"Unhand me."
Slowly, carefully, Telemachus draws his hands back and Poseidon rises gracefully. Stares down at hm for a beat, his eyes narrowed into slits. Desperate to focus on anything that isn't that deadly gaze, Telemachus stares at his cheekbone instead. It's stupidly well defined, with the sort of otherworldly grace that a statue might possess.
"Come." Poseidon turns away, walking barefoot on the wooden slats, which more than anything else marks him as something other. Telemachus wouldn't be caught dead walking near the harbor wearing anything other than thick soled work boots. He's also not about to follow anyone to a secondary location, no sir, he's attended that lecture before. Poseidon appears not to care whether or not he follows, but Sheep does for they turn back towards him and hurry over.
"Come on!" There's far more urgency in their voice now. "We've got to go!" Telemachus looks at their leg automatically, surprised to see them standing on it without issue whereas before they'd been struggling to walk. When he doesn't immediately respond, however, they call after Poseidon. "I think he's still hurt! He's not getting up!"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," his hasty protests go ignored as a hand grasps him by the back of his uniform and lifts him clean into the air. Dangles there for a moment, eyes wide with horror, before he's set down on his feet. Telemachus is embarrassed to admit that his legs give out promptly.
"Mmh." He's not given the opportunity to make up for it, as Poseidon's arm wraps around his waist and he's dangling once more, this time being held like a bag. His other hand grasps Sheep by the buckle on the back of their vest, and lifts them up to perch on his shoulder. Sheep laughs, utterly unconcerned.
Without another word of acknowledgment. Poseidon resumes walking. Whereas a sane person, might follow the pier to the boardwalk, he walks straight across the water, unperturbed as it splashes against his ankles. Telemachus squeezes his eyes shut and prays that this never gets back to his father, or worse, his mentor. Her disappointment would be off the charts.
Minutes later, far faster than it had taken he and Sheep, Poseidon reaches the end of the dock and steps onto the sidewalk. Snaps his fingers and a car with dark tinted windows pulls up before them, too fast to have arrived by any other means other than the unnatural. Sheep leaps down from their perch while Telemachus is busy gawking and opens the door. "Delphin!" They exclaim, clambering in. "I broke the bike. I'm terribly sorry."
If the driver, Delphin, he assumes answers, Telemachus doesn't hear it as he's too busy being forcibly shoved into the car. Twists to escape but the door shuts in his face with a damming slam. He slumps back into the seat, fearful eyes flicking about.
"Seat belts, mister Owlet." A voice like sinking down into a warm bath after a long day of work. Silently, Telemachus puts his seatbelt on and slumps lower in his seat. Sheep pats his shoulder in what is clearly intended to be a comforting gesture, but all Telemachus can think about is that he's being kidnapped.
Poseidon slides into the front seat. "IPD, on the double."
"Sir." The car pulls out smoothly, and merges into late-night traffic with ease. Telemachus bites his togue and risks looking around. Neither Sheep nor the god pay him any mind, so perhaps he's safe to contact Athena. Reaches up to his ear, and blue eyes snap to his in the rear-view mirror. The warning in them is unmistakable. Telemachus drops his hand and keeps very still.
Outside the window, the world blurs by in a sea of colors. Traffic lights like sudden flares, dizzying to look at for long, amid the ever-preset gloom that clings to her walls and streets. To live here is to know that death id ever around the corner and yet Telemachus would be lying if e sad that he didn't love it.
Presses a hand to the glass pane and stares out at his entire world, wishing not for the first time that he possessed the power to make a difference. Owlet's armor is a heavy weight on his shoulders, a promise to do better, and yet here he is at the mercy of one of the monsters who brought his home to ruin the first place.
"Why did you assign Sheep to this mission?" The words are out between the span of two breaths, before he's even aware of having spoken in truth.
Again, Poseidon's eyes find his in the mirror. The god regards him silently but does not reply. His gaze like a blue fire remains unblinking util Telemachus is the one who breaks and shies away. Embarrassed anger burns his gut, nails digging into his palms, until he feels testing. One does not question a god, he knows better.
"He didn't," it's Sheep themselves that answers him. Eyes flitting between the front seats and Telemachus. "Lord Poseidon doesn't bother with such things."
"You called him though," Telemachus points out, "you had to know he was nearby."
"Duh, the mist was all over that ship. I saw him rescue you, so I figured you were important, and he'd want to know that you were hurt." Again, Sheep looks at him as if Telemachus is the problem for not keeping up.
"That's insane, why would —"
"We've arrived," Delphin's voice silences him. The car parks at the rear of a familiar building. Telemachus blinks hard, gaping shamelessly. The building that they're parked behind is the police station, where his mother works. Knows it well for he visits its rooftops at least twice a week and has sometimes caught a nap in her office.
Why a god would bring him here, when he's dressed as Owlet and not in his civilian garb is enough to send fear rampaging through his veins. Is increasingly convinced that Poseidon knows, or perhaps he's simply bringing him in to be arrested. Even gods have to follow the laws surely.
The door opens and Telemachus yelps in fright, leaning back. Poseidon stares at him, deadpan. He's wearing glasses now, thin chains hanging from the legs, and a shawl that covers a decent amount of skin. He looks vaguely less godly, if one ignores the glowing blue eyes, the way hair's color is distinctly unnatural. The seatbelt unravels on its own and Telemachus is yanked out before he can voice another complaint. Shoots a desperate look at Sheep who waves back helpfully.
Poseidon's grip does not ease as he frog marches Telemachus to the back door. A nearby camera light blinks rapidly only to go suddenly dark and the door slides open with nary a sound. "This is breaking and entering," Telemachus says before he can think better of it. "There was a window." And a rooftop door.
"I have little interest in crawling through the window."
Voices further ahead and Poseidon yanks him to the side so abruptly that Telemachus' feet leave the ground. He bites his tongue and keeps silent as the god presses him unto a doorway, while two oblivious cops walk by. Thinks of calling out to them, they'll surely help him but the idea of how quickly the god could turn their inwards into outwards keeps him quiet.
Clearly aware of where he is going, Poseidon drags him down the stairs, through several more hallways and finally abutting in front of the commissioner's office door. It's shut, the lights off. Telemachus watches warily as Poseidon raps lightly on it. When no one answers he tries to the handle. It rattles in protest. Locked.
The noise that he makes then is certainly one Telemachus has never heard Athena release. Part snarl and part frustrated hiss. It hits him then that for whatever reason the god is looking for his mother. "It's past midnight, commissioner Penelope's shift ended hours ago," Telemachus says. Feels a bit braver when he isn't immediately blasted for it and instead receives a side eye.
"If you let me go, I'll tell her about it tomorrow when I make my report," Telemachus offers, trying on a winning smile for size. Doesn't understand why the god is looking for a parent to pawn him off on, but maybe he has a soft spot for kids, he's heard of more insane things.
"No," Poseidon says. His fingers flex, digging tighter and Telemachus winces despite himself. The god growls something under his breath and then starts marching down the hall again, Telemachus stumbles along in his wake. The parking lot is empty when they emerge, Delphin and Sheep both long gone.
"If you would allow me to contact my person in the chair, I could have her come pick me up," Telemachus says carefully. "Having already imposed on my lord so much, I would hate to do more."
"That child is no more available to come rescue you than Ithaca's King," Poseidon answers. He releases another displeased sound, glaring about as if the city as a whole is at fault for this inconvenience. "So be it." His grip changes, no longer holding onto Telemachus' arm but rather grasping the back of his uniform much in the same manner as he'd held Sheep. "Do not screech."
"What?"
The ground drops out from beneath them. Telemachus slaps his hands over his mouth before he can do exactly that. It's one thing to send himself rocketing through the air via grappling hooks. It's entirely another when the lord of seas decides he wats to clear buildings in a single leap. Each time they start to descend, he instinctively draws his legs up in preparation for the rough landing, but Poseidon never allows him to touch the ground or even slam into anything.
If Telemachus didn't know better, he'd think that Poseidon has done this before. Can't imagine any other gods needing to be carried around like this though, not when most can fly. Perhaps a human that he was fond of, but Poseidon isn't known for well…fondness. Hits the ground, the bone rattling jar shaking his thoughts free and he stumbles to his knees. When he glances up, there's in the backyard of his mother's house.
Aware of Poseidon's heavy gaze on his shoulders, Telemachus stands and walks over. Knocks on the door timidly, unsure if he way his mother to answer or if he'd rather she not. The door swings open nearly immediately, and there she stands, his mother, dressed as if she'd been seconds away from stepping out. Her eyes brighten when they land on him, flare of relief evident. "Owlet! Good you've made it. Inside with you, now."
Her hand on his wrist is far gentler and Telemachus obeys instinctively. Something in her phrasing, however, catches his attention and he pauses. "You were expecting me?"
"Your A called ahead," Penelope answers, giving him a slight smile before her attention turns further out into the yard. "My lord, will you join us inside?"
Telemachus whips back around, protest on his tongue, but it seems that he need not have bothered for the god shakes his head. Penelope's hand slips from his wrist and she steps out into the backyard without hesitation. Telemachus reaches for her instinctively and receives a gentle shove towards the warm interior of the house. "Go and clean up, Owlet."
"But —"
"See to your fledgling, Commissioner," Poseidon speaks then as impassive as ever. "He injured his leg." Takes a step back and dissolves away into mist, while Telemachus finds himself pined by his mother's sharp stare. Holds up his hands placatingly and hastens inside to clean off the topmost layer of dirt and dried blood.
When he reemerges, he finds his mother no longer fully suited up and sitting on the couch, a mug clasped in her hands. She looks at him, double takes, and the smile that blooms on her face is akin to sitting by a fireplace on a cold day. "Telemachus," she says, "welcome home, dear. How was patrol?"
"I need to invest in a waterproof phone," Telemachus says as he drops onto the couch across from her and picks up his own mug of hot cocoa. "Patrol was… weird, but I made it through."
Offers her a smile of his own before he launches into it. Perhaps his mother will be able to provide some explanation for the events that had unfolded.