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Description
When cars had first been invented, Val had expected that Zair would die. He had put on his black – not that he wore much else – and settled down to mourn, because there was no way in hell Zair could possibly survive learning how to drive something that fast and that deadly. The day Zair proved him wrong, hands light and professional on the wheel of a Terro ’35, Val was utterly shocked. The surprise proved short lived, however, for having shown himself capable the demi-god degenerated into expected reckless, impossible actions.

“You do know how to steer, don’t you?”

Top down, hair flying, and face like a wild thing, Zair whooped.

“Fuck yeah. Why?”

“I kind of thought we were supposed to be in the other lane.”

“Nah. Besides, you drive against the flow of traffic all the time.”

“…Zair, I don’t know how to drive.”

“Doesn’t stop you.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

“Oh come on man. You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

Face flushed and windswept, Val shot him a grin. “Hell yes.”

Zair laughed, and the sound of it swept down across the darkened highway. “Then shut up and stop complaining. We’re almost to your place anyway. Then you can have Butler Poncy Pants return this baby to her previous owner and assuage your nag of a conscience.”

Snorting, Val shot back, “At least I have one.”

Words lost as they stepped up the pace, Zair shouted, “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Keep driving man. And don’t run into that fucking truck!”

Cackling merrily, Zair complied. Barely.

They pulled into the driveway as the little green clock on the dashboard blinked midnight. Both still slight tipsy, high on adrenaline and the night breeze, they sat in the car and exchanged exaggerated versions of ancient stories.

“Oh gods, I remember the night we met.” It was Zair’s turn and he had his head thrown back as his left arm draped out a window and his right illustrated the tale. “That bar. Man, you were such a priss. I think the only reason I followed you out of that damn town was pity. I mean, I was thinking; ‘this sap’s going to fucking die on his own. Maybe I should make sure he doesn’t end up dead in a ditch somewhere out back.’ And you know you would’ve.”

Val, a shoe on each hand, gave the other man a light punch to the shoulder. “You’re faith in me never fails to impress.” His tone was dry with wit. “I’m almost beginning to think you weren’t drawn to the Warrior’s cause by my innate talent and charisma.” He pretended not to hear Zair’s choked laughter and soft snort of “yeah right.” “Anyway, aren’t you forgetting who saved your sorry ass in the tavern’s fight?”

Zair rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t count; you’re the one that started it.”

“Come on. I was trying to protect your honor.”

“You thought I was a fucking woman.”

“Well, the guy hitting on you did as well.”

Zair made a disgusted noise, throwing his arms in the air. “Not the point! I could’ve taken him easily.”

“…I’m not sure how I want to interpret that. Besides, if you had, then you would’ve started the fight. Which I saved you from.” Val was wearing a smug look, arms crossed and boots dangling at the ends of damp sleeves; he looked utterly ridiculous. Giving up the conversation, Zair reached over and ruffled his hair. Val responded with an indignant look, and Zair took the moment to drop the convertible’s key’s down his turtleneck. Not bothering with the latch, he vaulted over the automobile's side and took off at a sprint towards the house. The sharp sound of cursing followed him.

Val reached the front porch a bit after Zair, removing the footwear from his hands and leaning them up next to the huge wooden door. The key’s were dangling from his back pocket but he did no more regarding the matter except to shoot his friend a semi-exasperated glance. Zair smiled charmingly back in return, batting his eyes and snickering sweetly. Ignoring him, Val grasped at the lion’s head knocker and banged it thrice, the noise of it echoing slightly through the still night air.

Val’s house was in the rich part of town, and Zair knew he didn’t entirely like it that way. Val was a hand’s on kind of guy; he’d built his place back when the area had been a slummy little corner of the city and had been more than okay with that. Then he’d worked to improve it and succeeded a little too well; the posh neighborhood that grew up around him as the previous generations died off could be almost entirely blamed on his own endeavors. The place had a few too many secrets for Val to move out of entirely, but Zair was sure he was thinking of it anyway.

They waited for a minute or two and then the door was answered by a man in his mid-thirties, prematurely gray hair coming down to his shoulders and a black patch drawn over an eye.

Ah, the enemy; Cyclops. Slipping past him into the house, Zair shot him a glance as they passed, thumping him hard on the back.

“Hey Alfred. How goes life in the Bat Cave?”

Val winced, unsurprised. Gods, Secret agent or not, he was always like that. Still, if anyone could handle it, Shay was the one. Zair had alternatively slept with or driven off more personal staff than Val cared to think of, and his friend’s inability to manage either with the current man was a godsend.

Face stoic, something of a pale amusement danced in the butler’s single eye. “Batty, as one might expect.” The words were touched with a subtle too-polite-almost-condescending-but-not- flavor, and Zair’s smile got a little more forced.

“Shay, I don’t suppose you could drive the car out front back to this address?”

Deciding he’d prefer not to have to go through the whole rigmarole of silent sparring, Val wasted no time in handing over the keys and a card with roughly scribbled street names. Eyeing the rumpled piece of paper, Zair wondered when the hell Val had had the time to write it. Shay inclined his head slightly, wisp of a smile still flickering behind a mask of calm.

“Certainly.” His gaze turned to Zair. “Would you like me to have your shirt dried?” The demi-god clutched the piece of clothing reflexively, and his answer was clipped – rife with suspicion. “No.”

Addressing Val once more he queried, “Is that all then?”

Val nodded, grin open on his face. “Yeah, thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Voice faintly sardonic, he left, Zair’s narrowed stare fixed on his back. As the door clicked shut behind him, the mismatched blue and green look was turned back on Val.

“Alien robot chicken man. I’m telling you. Alien robot chicken.”

Rolling his eyes, Val made a soft, amused sound. “Whatever. Come on Robin, I think it’s time to check out my lair.”

Description
When cars had first been invented, Val had expected that Zair would die. He had put on his black – not that he wore much else – and settled down to mourn, because there was no way in hell Zair could possibly survive learning how to drive something that fast and that deadly. The day Zair proved him wrong, hands light and professional on the wheel of a Terro ’35, Val was utterly shocked. The surprise proved short lived, however, for having shown himself capable the demi-god degenerated into expected reckless, impossible actions.

“You do know how to steer, don’t you?”

Top down, hair flying, and face like a wild thing, Zair whooped.

“Fuck yeah. Why?”

“I kind of thought we were supposed to be in the other lane.”

“Nah. Besides, you drive against the flow of traffic all the time.”

“…Zair, I don’t know how to drive.”

“Doesn’t stop you.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

“Oh come on man. You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

Face flushed and windswept, Val shot him a grin. “Hell yes.”

Zair laughed, and the sound of it swept down across the darkened highway. “Then shut up and stop complaining. We’re almost to your place anyway. Then you can have Butler Poncy Pants return this baby to her previous owner and assuage your nag of a conscience.”

Snorting, Val shot back, “At least I have one.”

Words lost as they stepped up the pace, Zair shouted, “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. Keep driving man. And don’t run into that fucking truck!”

Cackling merrily, Zair complied. Barely.

They pulled into the driveway as the little green clock on the dashboard blinked midnight. Both still slight tipsy, high on adrenaline and the night breeze, they sat in the car and exchanged exaggerated versions of ancient stories.

“Oh gods, I remember the night we met.” It was Zair’s turn and he had his head thrown back as his left arm draped out a window and his right illustrated the tale. “That bar. Man, you were such a priss. I think the only reason I followed you out of that damn town was pity. I mean, I was thinking; ‘this sap’s going to fucking die on his own. Maybe I should make sure he doesn’t end up dead in a ditch somewhere out back.’ And you know you would’ve.”

Val, a shoe on each hand, gave the other man a light punch to the shoulder. “You’re faith in me never fails to impress.” His tone was dry with wit. “I’m almost beginning to think you weren’t drawn to the Warrior’s cause by my innate talent and charisma.” He pretended not to hear Zair’s choked laughter and soft snort of “yeah right.” “Anyway, aren’t you forgetting who saved your sorry ass in the tavern’s fight?”

Zair rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t count; you’re the one that started it.”

“Come on. I was trying to protect your honor.”

“You thought I was a fucking woman.”

“Well, the guy hitting on you did as well.”

Zair made a disgusted noise, throwing his arms in the air. “Not the point! I could’ve taken him easily.”

“…I’m not sure how I want to interpret that. Besides, if you had, then you would’ve started the fight. Which I saved you from.” Val was wearing a smug look, arms crossed and boots dangling at the ends of damp sleeves; he looked utterly ridiculous. Giving up the conversation, Zair reached over and ruffled his hair. Val responded with an indignant look, and Zair took the moment to drop the convertible’s key’s down his turtleneck. Not bothering with the latch, he vaulted over the automobile's side and took off at a sprint towards the house. The sharp sound of cursing followed him.

Val reached the front porch a bit after Zair, removing the footwear from his hands and leaning them up next to the huge wooden door. The key’s were dangling from his back pocket but he did no more regarding the matter except to shoot his friend a semi-exasperated glance. Zair smiled charmingly back in return, batting his eyes and snickering sweetly. Ignoring him, Val grasped at the lion’s head knocker and banged it thrice, the noise of it echoing slightly through the still night air.

Val’s house was in the rich part of town, and Zair knew he didn’t entirely like it that way. Val was a hand’s on kind of guy; he’d built his place back when the area had been a slummy little corner of the city and had been more than okay with that. Then he’d worked to improve it and succeeded a little too well; the posh neighborhood that grew up around him as the previous generations died off could be almost entirely blamed on his own endeavors. The place had a few too many secrets for Val to move out of entirely, but Zair was sure he was thinking of it anyway.

They waited for a minute or two and then the door was answered by a man in his mid-thirties, prematurely gray hair coming down to his shoulders and a black patch drawn over an eye.

Ah, the enemy; Cyclops. Slipping past him into the house, Zair shot him a glance as they passed, thumping him hard on the back.

“Hey Alfred. How goes life in the Bat Cave?”

Val winced, unsurprised. Gods, Secret agent or not, he was always like that. Still, if anyone could handle it, Shay was the one. Zair had alternatively slept with or driven off more personal staff than Val cared to think of, and his friend’s inability to manage either with the current man was a godsend.

Face stoic, something of a pale amusement danced in the butler’s single eye. “Batty, as one might expect.” The words were touched with a subtle too-polite-almost-condescending-but-not- flavor, and Zair’s smile got a little more forced.

“Shay, I don’t suppose you could drive the car out front back to this address?”

Deciding he’d prefer not to have to go through the whole rigmarole of silent sparring, Val wasted no time in handing over the keys and a card with roughly scribbled street names. Eyeing the rumpled piece of paper, Zair wondered when the hell Val had had the time to write it. Shay inclined his head slightly, wisp of a smile still flickering behind a mask of calm.

“Certainly.” His gaze turned to Zair. “Would you like me to have your shirt dried?” The demi-god clutched the piece of clothing reflexively, and his answer was clipped – rife with suspicion. “No.”

Addressing Val once more he queried, “Is that all then?”

Val nodded, grin open on his face. “Yeah, thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Voice faintly sardonic, he left, Zair’s narrowed stare fixed on his back. As the door clicked shut behind him, the mismatched blue and green look was turned back on Val.

“Alien robot chicken man. I’m telling you. Alien robot chicken.”

Rolling his eyes, Val made a soft, amused sound. “Whatever. Come on Robin, I think it’s time to check out my lair.”