Hobbyhorse

by Marsaline

Summary:

Bebop is gone. And what is a Lash, without a Bebop?

(Art included in each chapter!)

Notes:

Hello hello! I've been working on this fanfic for a while and have a couple chapters done already, and I felt like sharing it so the 4 people that care about LashBop have something to chew on, haha.

I'll update the tags as I upload and don't have a schedule so I'm sorry if there's a long wait in between chapters. I'm still a very new and very amateur writer for fun, and english still isn't my first language. I'm trying my best though!

Still, I hope you enjoy it like I enjoyed writing it! <3

Chapter 1: Déjà vu

Lash returns to the changing room, sweat and bruises streaking his skin. That was almost a tough one, almost a challenge. Doesn't matter, he put the guy down in 2 minutes flat, looking impressive and immaculate for his audience as per the usual. A wad of cash awaits him for his victory, enough to make him pay his rent and do a bit of luxury shopping. He doesn't need the cash really, he does this for the love of the sport and the attention after all, it's all just a nice bonus.

And attention he's been receiving, a lot of it. He's been on a crazy win streak, beating each opponent one after the other, grinding them to the floor. His fans follow him everywhere, begging for his attention. He's really been on his A game, it's been good. So good. Really really good.

…

…

……

He's bored.

He sits on a bench and leans forward, soaking the sweat with a towel. It doesn’t excite him as much as it used to. Why would it? He’s the best after all, a champion to trump all other champions, wonderful, incredible, who even could pose him a challenge at this point? Hmm, maybe he should start looking into another hobby.

The door of the changing room opens, almost startling him out of his thoughts. He’s always ready for anything of course, but somehow didn’t expect the gigantic golem squeezing through the door, followed by the clanking of its loud steps. 

 

 

He stares, bemused. The golem steps forward and gives the room a cursory glance, is it lost? It looks scrappy as hell, made up of all mixed and matched parts, it could be malfunctioning. He stands up from his seat, removing the towel hiding his face in the process, but the movement seems to catch its attention. It turns its head in his direction with a creak.

“Who're you?” It abruptly asks in a deep artificial but accented voice. Lash straightens himself up, it speaks? More than that, it's coherent and sounds like it has a personality? Even more than that, it's all of those things and yet doesn't know about Lash? Well well well, time to fix this mistake.

“Huuuh, I'm The Lash of course, duh!” He says with a cocky smirk, flexing a winning pose that always accompanies his introductions. It looks at him with its blank face, then creaks its head, singular eye flickering like a blink, giving him what could be an appraising look. He feels like he's being judged for some reason and he doesn't like it.

“Hmph.” It huffs before turning away, daring to completely dismiss him. If it was judging him, it somehow found him lacking. Lash’s smirk takes on a sharper edge, who the hell does this tin can think it is? He's about to reach for its arm to make it face him again when it starts walking off towards the ring's entrance.

“Hey-” His call gets cut off by the Pit's announcer introducing the combatants for the next fight.

“… -fresh blood, ready to fight to make his name known. Or should I say… fresh oil? Here he comes, BEBOP, the scrap goleeeem!”

Oh. A fighter, huh? His smirk turns even more lethal as he watches “Bebop” make its way towards the ring’s blinding light, his stance tensed like a predator eyeing his prey. Well, he doesn’t feel as bored anymore.

The door closes.

—----------------

1 year later – a month after the Maelstrom

Lash returns to the changing room, sweat and bruises streaking his skin. That was almost a tough one, almost a challenge. Doesn't matter, he put the guy down in 2 minutes flat, looking impressive and immaculate for his audience as per the usual. A wad of cash awaits him for his victory, enough to make him pay his rent and do a bit of luxury shopping. He doesn't need the cash really, he does this for the love of the sport and the attention after all, it's all just a nice bonus.

And attention he's been receiving, a lot of it. He's been on a crazy win streak, beating each opponent one after the other, grinding them to the floor. His fans follow him everywhere, begging for his attention. He's really been on his A game, it's been good. So good. Really really good.

…

…

…

Why does this feel familiar?

As if by instinct, his gaze lifts towards the changing room’s entrance, eyes focused like a hawk, expecting something to happen. The door remains closed.

…Something is missing. He’s missing. Not like he'd be here anyways, they don't allow them to remain in the same room together by themselves anymore, not since they'd always start fighting each other before even entering the ring.

Lash’s thoughts start boiling in his head, a rage calling to him like an old siren at the thought of his rival. It almost startles him, his mind is always filled with thoughts of him, disdain, strategies he could use for their next fights, new creative insults he can use to goad him, and so on. So how come it’s been almost absent lately?

…How long ago was the last time he saw Bebop?

He straightens up in his seat, towel beside him forgotten as he reminisces over the past few days. Surely they met in passing in one of the Pit’s hallways and he simply didn't care enough to remember… as if that'd ever happen. He keeps sorting through his memories, looking at them like files in a folder. No… flip. No… flip. Nuh huh… flip. Ah! Wait no, that was just him ranting about Bebop… flip. No… flip. He keeps going until finally he finds it, a day that happened what, a month ago?! 

It wasn’t a fight they had against each other, Lash’s was coming up while Bebop just finished his. The clanker won, infuriatingly. Lash seems to be the only one really able to consistently beat him (Apart from that one time, which we will never ever talk about ever again). They crossed paths in a thin backstage hallway, and Lash couldn’t help but comment on how dented Bebop was looking. He can’t believe the guy he’s been fighting was a challenge for him, he must be losing his form. 

“Hah, heh… Maybe it’s finally time to retire, Bebop.” He had said as parting words with a leer, restraining himself in furthering his commentary considering he’d get in trouble if he finally pushed him over the edge and they got caught fighting. God, he wants to throw himself at the golem so badly.

But Bebop had been uncharacteristically quiet during the whole exchange, staring at him with his blank expressionless face the entire time. At Lash’s parting words, there was a subtle shift in his stance, a redistribution of weight, as if… something had been lifted from his uneven shoulders. “Goodbye, Lash,” he had said with contempt in his deep voice before turning away and resuming his stride, away from Lash.

He had guffawed as he saw the golem leave, baffled by the dryness of his rival’s delivery, finding it a pretty pathetic comeback as Bebop’s usually are. But now that Lash is looking back at this specific memory, he feels a little confused. 

He couldn’t have meant it, could he? But why else would he have been missing for this long? Lash knows why Bebop frequents the Bear Pit after all, he needs money, for what he never cared to look into. So what the hell could it be, did he start finding another better source of income? There’s no way, that stupid golem makes bank here, he’s been pretty vocal about it. And he loves fighting, Lash can recognise that from a mile away. So… How come that eerily sounded like a final goodbye?

He also starts recalling a vague memory, one of a couple days later. Murmurs of Bebop being a no-show for one of his scheduled fights. He probably said a disparaging comment about it, mentioned how typical that behaviour would be from a loser like Bebop, and then went on with his day with a smile on his face. But really, that kind of thing barely ever happened, and if it did the golem usually would take on an extra fight to compensate. But Bebop never came back, did he?

Something must have happened a month ago.

Flip flip flip flip flip. 

He’s coming up blank and that won’t do. At all. He can’t simply go up to the top and ask them for private information, he hates that Mendoza fuck and the feeling is mutual. So, time to start poking around… Oh, he knows exactly who else he can bother about it.

As Lash gets up from his seat, grabbing the towel in the process to soak the sweat away, his building boredom would slowly ebb away. He doesn’t dwell on it.

Chapter 2: Self-reflection

Summary:

We meet some of Lash's 'friends'.

Lash navigates his way through the maze of alleys surrounding the Pit. Only the seedy underbelly dwellers of New York dare to traverse them. You'd be a fool to go there by yourself, the place being filled with charms designed to conceal and trick any curious onlooker. 

You might end up as a rogue vampire's snack or a fae's new plaything if you're unlucky, but thankfully The Lash doesn't need luck. All he needs is bravado, his strength as a fighter, and connections to very high places, which his position of Bear Pit champion awards him plenty of all three.

He finally reaches his destination, an inconspicuous drinking spot guarded by an equally discreet goon, blending with the filth of the alley. Once said goon sees him approach, they quietly sigh with a resigned face, barely giving him a glance as they allow Lash entry. Psh, boring. He knows he's regularly seen around here but surely the guy could be happy to see him, they’re bestowing The Lash after all. As he enters the bar, the goon would quietly catch his attention. “She's been expecting you,” they say before closing the door behind Lash.

“Of course she has, anybody should be expecting The Lash at all times”, he mumbles to himself as he navigates through the establishment. The place only has a few customers, a few regulars he's seen before. Sometimes he wonders if they're also her hired thugs in disguise, only pretending to drink in case they go through an ambush or need a convincing front for the Police. Probably not. Lash strides towards the back where small stairs descend into a well kept basement and continues until he reaches the room at the very end of it, passing by a few well armed and well dressed men and women on the way. He also passes by loud gambling tables, the air gloomy and smelling of cigarette smoke. They eye him as he opens the door, some curious, some silently threatening him as they rest their hand on the weapons at their hips. Whatever.

He enters a large lavish office, plush purple carpets covering the floor, comfortable looking armchairs standing in front of a very large desk, which is covered in paperwork, cash and stray playing cards. And finally, behind said desk sits Wraith, overlooking some kind of document. She would almost look like a bureaucrat hard at work if it weren’t for the Thompson resting beside her.

“Hmm, I was wondering when you’d show up, took you longer than I expected” Wraith says, lifting her head with a small smile, pointing her milky eyes in his general direction.

“Uh huh. Aaaand I know for a fact that you can't read the future.” He smirks, referencing the many times Wraith has bet against Lash and lost. He cockily leans against her oversized desk instead of sitting in one of the plush chairs, letting himself act like he owns the place because he knows she hates it. But it's alright, she's used to it at this point. Despite their differences, they can show an appreciation for each other’s overconfidence. “Sooo, someone tipped you off? Or maybe you just missed me? It’s okay, you can say it you know. The Lash would understand.”

She leans forward, resting all four of her elbows on the desk and steppling her fingers together. She looks sharp as usual, even without her signature coat and hat on, which the lack of the latter allows him to take on her full expression. She looks smug, like she's delighting in knowing something he doesn't. Shit, she knows exactly why he came here, doesn't she?

“Hmm I don't know…” she infuriatingly teases with a smirk of her own. “It couldn't possibly concern that golem of yours you've been so obsessed about, could it?” He grimaces, he hates how she does that, always managing to get the upper hand. It's how she got to be so successful in the first place, but sometimes he wonders if she can't use those telekinetic powers to get into people's heads as well. Cheater.

He doesn't answer her, and the uncharacteristic lack of comeback is answer enough. “Well I'm afraid I can't tell you anything, house policy, you know how it goes”, she says leaning back against her chair attempting to look nonchalant about it. But Lash knows she isn't above sharing that kind of information, only it’d be for a price. “Unless…” Ah, there it is. “...You do me a little favor, of course.”

He knew this was coming but it didn't soften the blow. She should be happy Lash is even willing to listen to her offer, only that damn golem would make him stoop so low. Fucking Bebop . “Oookay then! Let's hear it, I might even consider it.” 

Her blank eyes seem to fixate straight on his own, traces of amusement vanishing from her face. “Just give me what you owe me. Take a dive in your next fight, and you'll know everything about that golem.” She’s probably referring to that one time he went against Mendoza's orders and won a fight he was supposed to lose. She lost a lot of money on that one, didn't she? Well she should know to never bet against The Lash, and it seems she's still not keen on learning. Unless she simply wants to see him fall, now that seems more likely.

He sees red for a second, but then starts guffawing, affable attitude in full force. “Ah! What part of ‘The Lash never loses’ don’t you get? You’re grossly overestimating how much I care about knowing where that bucket of bolts went, Missy.”

She shrugs all four arms. “Fine by me! If you ever get desperate enough, you know what will make me talk.” Her gaze now unfocuses, but he knows she can still see him, a clear dismissal as she checks a braille document with her organic hands in front of her, a sardonic smile adorning her face. His hands grip his own biceps. How easy it would be to put her back in her place right now, but he knows that if anything were to happen to her, even a word too harsh, he most likely wouldn't leave this building alive.

“Well, I guess The Lash will have to gloat at Bebop another day! Thanks for freeing up my schedule.” He theatrically sighs, only halfway pretending to be miffed about it as he pushes away from the desk.

“Hope you pick up a hobby, that's a lot of time getting freed up.” She quips as he leaves the office. He slams the door a bit too hard to look unaffected by this conversation. The sound startles a few of her hired goons, tensing with a menacing aura surrounding them. Whatever. 

He takes a deep breath, recentering himself and bam, he's The Lash again. Well, that sure was a waste of time, he thinks to himself as he leaves the establishment without a hitch under the wary gaze of the employees. What now? Wraith was his best lead and he was right about his hunch, as he tends to be. But he's not willing to pay her price, nuh huh no way. He doesn't know who else he could ask. After all, the golem never made friends in the Pit. Coming in, fighting, getting money, leaving. That's it, if anything Lash should be the one to know the most about him! But Bebop never let on anything about his personal life. Does he even have a life? 

Food for thought for… Hm, hopefully never. Is he really going to keep spending his precious thoughts on Bebop? Ridiculous. He's pissed off and exhausted, time to make his way home.

The rest of the trek is long and uneventful. Same old same old, just routine, seeing the same establishments he passes by every single day. The lights of day are fading, the air is nice and chill…God he's bored, bored, bored, so fucking bored. Thankfully his apartment building finally comes into view. A smile adorns his face at the thought of what awaits him there. He climbs the stairs, unlocks his door and pushes it open. “Heyyy lovelies, I’m home!”

A couple of loud whistles fill the air as he enters his apartment and leaves his gear in the vestibule. By the time he removes his shoes and straightens back up, two bolts of wind assault his neck and face. “Meep meep meep meep!” Two little wind elemental noodles, zephyrs, welcome him home like they usually do, lavishing him with attention and requesting some of their own.

“Mmmyes yes I missed you too,” he says in a baby voice, giving them both a few pets while he navigates his apartment. The two zephyrs are wrapped around his neck and shoulders, slightly tickling him. 

Bean and Lola retired a few months ago, still full of energy but not being able to put out enough power for the airship they were working on anymore now that they're getting older. They'd normally get released to a sanctuary, allowed to live the rest of their lives there or leave if a sense of adventure fancied them. Bean and Lola though, it's been love at first sight ever since he's started to work with them on a small cruise airship, and it seems it's very much reciprocal. They've refused to leave him ever since. And so they currently spend their time powering his fridge while he's gone, letting them expel their surplus of elemental energy and making him save on his electricity bill. Win-win really! 

It also helps that they're absolutely adorable.

He heavily sighs and starts doing what he’s best at. Talking, of course. “God babes, you wouldn't believe the day I've had.” He throws in a few work stories, always extra exaggerating for his captivated audience as he goes to the kitchen and fixes himself a plate with a pre canned meal. He would have the time to cook really, he's just never had the patience or talent for it. So why bother when you can buy perfectly edible food that doesn't require any preparation? The Lash is very efficient.

“-and then I gave him my signature Lash kick and the guy dropped like a fly, you should have seen his face!” He laughs obnoxiously, now narrating his Bear Pit adventures to the two elemental critters. He gets quiet after that story, remembering what followed. “Bebop is gone, by the way.” He tells them nonchalantly. 

“Meep?” squeaks Bean. It seems they can feel the subtle shift in his mood at the subject, recognising the familiar name. They heard plenty of rants about Bebop, months worth of it, maybe they too recognise that the name has been absent recently. He gently pets Lola’s head with a finger, making wind flow in between his digits.

“Yeah, can you believe it?” A scoff. “Acting all high and mighty, as if he's the one giving me the time of day instead of the other way around? Then disappears for a month so he can make sure I don't get the last word? Dick.” He grumpily brings his plate back in the kitchen, but only to leave it in the sink without cleaning it up. That's future Lash's problem.

He goes back to sit on his ratty couch, turning on the small radio beside it, letting a soft tune fill the air. He simply sits there, looking vacantly at his barely furnished featureless apartment, hand absentmindedly stroking the two purring critters wrapped around each other on his lap.

…

…

…

What is he doing? 

…

Maybe Wraith was right, maybe he does need a hobby. Urgh, he can't believe he just allowed himself to think that.

…

He ponders on what else he would usually spend his time on. He goes to work, he fights, he lavishes his pets with love, he eats, he showers, he sleeps, hmm… Is that really all he does? Was Bebop really taking so much of his mind space that this is all that’s left? That he's just lost without him? Psh yeah okay hold on, not ‘lost’, that's not the right word. Just bored, he guesses. How come this dull annoying golem kept him so entertained, is that even entertainment really? Why did Lash let so much of himself get taken over by his rival? Or is it ‘former rival’ now? He frowns, he might need to reevaluate some things.

What about before he knew Bebop? He used to do things, right? He reminisces about it. He had a couple pastimes, he’d go out, boast around, drink beer… Not much of anything actually. 

But before he could dwell too much on this revelation, a great idea comes about. Oh! What about- Yes, that could work. He used to gloat quite a bit about it, but he did model for life drawing classes before, for real. It makes him a little bit of cash and he gets to have everybody’s attention on him, hmm. He hasn’t done one of those in months but he recalls that he did really enjoy them while they lasted. Now… the one he had found had quite the quirky cast of participants, but they were really great and absolutely loved him. Surely they’re still around. 

It’s decided, sort of. He’ll try to apply to that class again. …Assuming they didn't go bankrupt now that Lash wasn’t there to offer his magnificent body. However, this whole mood he’s been in today might have been a fluke. Maybe he’ll give it a few days first, just in case. He pets his zephyrs some more before getting up, showering, brushing his teeth and going straight to bed. The Lash needs his beauty sleep.

 

Notes:

Just in case people don't know, zephyrs are what are tattooed on Lash's arms in-game! So these are my interpretation of them, might change once we get actual lore about them instead of the bare minimum haha.

I'm done with chapter 3, but I'll wait until I'm almost done with chapter 4 before posting it.

I hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading!!

Chapter 3: Old habits

Two weeks later

“Yer in an awfully good mood today, did ye pass by a mirror on the way here?” Zeke jokes in his gruff voice as they pass by each other holding a crate. He's a large indigo Ixian man, one of his only colleagues that tolerates him enough to engage in light conversation. Only light. He must have looked particularly peppy for Z to make a comment like that, is he really in a good mood? 

Well yes, he is actually now that he thinks about it. He lowers the crate against the rope elevator and takes a breather before answering Z. 

“If you must know, The Lash is going to model his beautiful physique after work.” He punctuates his statement with a toothy grin and a smug face, pointing his gaze away as if he was posing right then.

 

 

Zeke is having none of it, used to his antics by now. He shakes his head and lets out an unimpressed sigh. “Again with this? Figured you finally got tired of that one, I haven’t heard you boast about it for months now.” Z, like many people, does not believe in his exploits. And really, it’s his loss for missing out on how great he is.

“Yeah well, they needed a break. One can only gaze at The Lash for so long before it gets a bit too much to handle.” Z harrumphs in clear dismissal and goes back to work, and so does Lash.

It might not be his real reason for stopping modeling, but Lash decides he’ll cease that train of thought right there, Zeke doesn’t need more details than that. He put the modeling idea on hold after his revelation a couple weeks ago, he needed to make sure that his newfound boredom really was inevitable or if it was just a fluke. And turns out… it really hasn’t been a fluke. He has been BORED out of his mind ever since then, nothing seems to excite him anymore. Everything keeps just being the same again and again and again, he needs to shake things up. Hopefully it’ll work… What? Of course it’ll work, it’s Lash’s idea after all, and he’s nothing if not a well of great ideas. 

…He did attempt to gather more information on Bebop’s disappearance in the Bear Pit since then, but it seems nobody knows where he’s gone off to. Or maybe they’re just too intimidated by Lash. Suffering from success, damn, the things he has to deal with.

A few hours later, Lash drops the last crate and can finish the day. He overlooks the docks as he brushes the sweat from his brow with his arm. He’s still always in quiet awe at how bustling the place is, looking at all the docked massive airships. Maybe he ought to board one and go on a long mission again soon. 

He misses the feel of the rushing wind against his face, the thrumming of the engines, the endless expanse of stars above the clouds… He's been looking for a way to waste his time after all. What is there to keep him grounded now that fighting doesn’t excite him as much as it used to with the lack of a true challenge? He stops himself from thinking further about why that is. And besides, uprooting himself entirely at this point would be a last resort. He’s still a champion and needs to hold the title, his reputation depends on being the best, and the best he still is. So he can’t just up and leave like that for an indeterminate amount of time.

But Lash still daydreams about it for a while longer before finally calling it. He's got some short term plans that need to come to fruition first.

He takes a path that used to be way more familiar to him a few months ago, until finally he arrives at an innocuous store. “Philippe's Art Supply & Classes”, it says in pretty cursive on the window front. The place is lit and a couple easels with paintings rest in the window, he doesn’t think these have been changed in all the time he’s known the place. A smirk adorns his face as he enters and a little bell makes his presence known.

“Yes yes, I'm coming, I'm- ! Oh my word.” A wiry gentleman arrives from a small door behind the counter. He looks dapper despite his coal covered hands thanks to his thin finely shaped mustache, and looks ecstatic to see The Lash, as he should. “Are my eyes deceiving me, or have I finally died and gone to heaven? Lash! It's good to see you,” he says with much theatrics. A man speaking his language, huh, he's missed this.

“‘Tis I, in the flesh! You're very welcome, Philippe.”

“What brings you here, finally going to learn how to hold a pencil? Or could it be…” He gasps. “…That you're here to bring yourself to my classes once again!” His whole body speaks of excitement at the prospect and Lash simply can't get enough of this easily earned positive attention.

He takes a second before answering, letting the anticipation build up. “Hmmm, you maaaay be right. The Lash reckoned it might finally be time to gift his excellent figure to the world once again.”

“Oooh wonderful, marvelous! In honor of all my students, I thank you.” He graces Lash with a very low elaborate bow, Philippe always managing to make a guy feel special. A corner of his mouth lifts as he straightens up. “Your usual groupies have been asking me about you for a while and it so happens they’ll be coming for class in thirty minutes. I imagine The Lash will make a much better modeling surprise than a fruit bowl, don’t you think?” He chuckles. “Have a look around the shop, I’m still preparing the painting room. I’ll come fetch you in a few minutes!”

And with that, he returns to the small door behind the counter, closing it behind him and leaving Lash to his own devices. Modeling straight away? That's fine with him, glad to see they've been keeping the same schedule.

…Hmm, but what now? He stands still for a moment, drumming his fingers on the counter. He stands there until his thoughts get a little too loud for his liking, as they've been tending to do for the past couple weeks. He pushes himself away from the counter and starts walking around the store. 

The boutique is filled to the brim with tools of the trade. Pencils, paper, paint, canvases, you name it. He never really paid attention to all of it before, mostly because he was supposed to be the center of said attention. But now that he’s idly looking around by himself, he’s appreciating the organized chaos that is this store, the rainbow array of colors peppering the entire place. It’s kind of pretty.

Lash walks forward, a stack of little booklets piquing his interest on one of the shelves. He peeks at the door Philippe disappeared behind, seeing it closed shut still. He brings his hand towards one of the small books. Not like it’d matter if anybody saw him spend his interest on anything but himself, definitely…

As he opens one of them, he sees that they’re actually completely empty, no text or even guiding lines for any kind of writing in sight. Sketchbooks, that’s what these are, ripe for the picking. He doesn’t know why he got so suddenly drawn to them, is it his subconscious guiding him into another kind of hobby? He pauses for a moment, rubbing one of the empty pages with his fingers. The paper feels kinda nice actually. He reminisces on all the occasions the store owner attempted to push him into getting interested in the art he was himself getting involved into by modeling.

Following his impulse, he picks up one of the little booklets, one with an unassuming brown leathery cover, puts it in his pocket along with one of the random pencils strewn all over the place, before quickly making his way towards the counter. The door is still closed, he pulls out a bill and shoves it in the cash register, overpaying for his purchase. Nobody will have to know if he has any say about it.

He feels overly conscious of the booklet’s shape resting against his hip for an extra minute, but then Philippe returns, thankfully.

“Ah, you’re still here! Fantastic. I’m done with the classroom, come come!”

Lash follows the artist through the door. The room has been carefully prepared, a dozen or so easels fill the space. Each is equipped with a tall stool and a little table with pencils, charcoal, miscellaneous supplies and a tall glass of water. In the middle of the room stands a large podium with a sort of plushy chaise lounge resting on top, his throne for the day obviously.

“I’ll let you prepare in peace. They should arrive any minute now. Oh, this is so exciting!” Philippe exits the room with flair, leaving Lash to his own devices a second time.

Well, time to do your thing, Lash. He starts by unclasping his suspenders, rolling his shoulders in the process, and keeps removing each piece of clothing until he finally ends up naked. He throws all his stuff under the lounging couch haphazardly and lands himself on top. It feels like greeting an old friend, even though admittedly he didn't come here that often, but it’s only ever been fond memories associated with this place. He also sees a fruit bowl sitting at the foot of the couch. Hmm, I wonder if that’s my predecessor, he thinks amusedly to himself as he picks a single stale grape and eats it. Eugh, why did I do that?

Before he manages to get the taste out of his mouth, Philippe reappears through the door. “...And I’ve got a little surprise for you!” After the store owner enters a gaggle of a dozen ladies. Elderly ladies.

“Oooh look, it’s Lash!” “Lash!” “Oh Lash, where have you been!” They all gather inside the room, showering him with questions and greetings. He recognizes all but one of them, his self-proclaimed groupies still all frequent the establishment and he couldn’t be more delighted about that fact.

“Ladies laaaadies, please! There’s plenty enough of The Lash to go around.” He chuckles, placating their excitement but flexing his arms and pecs in compensation. “How about you draw The Lash’s perfect form for now and we can catch up afterwards, hmm? I’m not going anywhere.”

For the next couple of hours, Lash rests and poses upon his lounging couch, enjoying the attentive gazes on his body. Feels nice to be appreciated, he works out for more than just carrying crates and beating people up after all! The room is mostly silent, the ladies focusing on their work and only the low murmur of Philippe going from easel to easel and giving them advice filling the space.

Normally being the center of attention like this would be enough to entertain him for hours. But in the relative silence of the room, he can’t help having his thoughts turn back towards what brought him here in the first place.

Bebop. Or rather, the lack of Bebop. He still can’t believe this massive tin can decided to up and leave like that without a single warning. They’re rivals, aren’t they?! Aren’t rivals supposed to always know where the other is for… rivaling purposes? Shouldn’t he have been given a notice for what happened? Not like he cares, of course. Why would he care, he hates that golem, they hate each other. He can find himself a new rival any day of the week.

…

…Can he? It has been more than a month since he fought the golem, and has anybody been any kind of challenge for him since then? He recalls his epiphany in the locker room weeks prior, or more like, what he felt just before the epiphany.

Boredom. Immense boredom.

How can being the best ever be boring? Of course he’s a god in everything he does, but does being a god mean that nothing can excite him anymore? Crushing people is fun and all, but only so much when it’s too easy. 

…

He recalls the last actual fight he had with the golem. So much bobbing and weaving, constantly having to stay on edge to not get caught off guard by an unsuspecting uppercut he might not see coming. Exhilarating, especially once he won the match, making Bebop eat his dust. The golem’s style is unique, unique to him only, the perfect antithesis to Lash’s own fighting style. Two sides of the same coin. Kind of flattering really, being on par with a giant death machine. Equal? Nah… Superior even. Lash always wins, Bebop only managed to beat him once after all, only once. One time too many, if you ask him. But it goes to show, Bebop was the challenge he needed. And now, he’s gone.

…But why though, was it his fault? Did he finally manage to hurt the golem’s feelings, enough to make him leave? About damn time, but he doesn’t think that’s the reason he’d disappear. It’s in these moments he wishes he could read Bebop’s expressions, maybe he’d have gotten more clues during their last conversation if he could tell anything from his blank metal face. However, nothing about their last few interactions felt different than usual. So if it wasn’t him, what then? An exterior factor, hmm… Blackmail? A generous benefactor that decided to hire the golem as a butler? That’s one way to make money, he supposes. Maybe a scrapper got the better of him, selling parts for a quick buck?

He almost startles at how viscerally upset that last thought makes him. Not like he cares, of course. Not like he cares. Besides, Bebop is much too strong to be caught out like that, you don't get to become The Lash's rival without the skills to back it up, even if those skills happen to be boring mainstream uppercuts. He's fine, he HAS to be fine, he's too strong not to be… 

…Assuming it was only one scrapper.

Okay, stop. Now. What is happening?! Focus on something else. Now.

His gaze refocuses on the room. The two hours are pretty much up and Philippe is walking towards him. “Everything alright?” the artist asks a bit cautiously, Lash wonders what his face looked like just then. 

He takes a deep breath, recentering himself and putting on his usual smarmy expression. “Hm mhm, perfect as always! Why do you ask? Don’t answer that.” He gets back on his feet with a groan, stretching his back in the process.

Philippe sends a compassionate gaze his way that Lash thankfully doesn’t see before turning towards the rest of the room. “Alright ladies! Let’s bring your chairs closer and take your art with you, I’ll go get the table and some tea!” He gives Lash a slight nod as he puts his shirt back on. The fighter immediately understands. He finishes dressing himself back up, then turns towards each student, making sure he’s the one doing the heavy lifting for them. “Don’t worry, I got this,” he tells them with a wink before attempting to balance four chairs at once under their cheers and whistles. A grand spectacle, his specialty.

Everybody is properly set up and comfortably seated, now begins the best part of modeling: The part where you don’t model.

“Oh Lash, I completely nailed you on this one! Watch this,” says Geraldine as he was scarfing down one of the biscuits on the table. He’s known her the longest out of everyone here save Philippe, been there since his first show in those classes so long ago. She shakily reaches down to grab her art and displays it on the table for everybody’s view. There he is, gorgeous. The rest of the students wow and politely clap, it really is objectively good and not just because he’s the subject. Philippe can be proud.

“Heh! Gigi, you really outdid yourself. The Lash might ask you if it’s available to hang on his wall above his bed.” He doesn't know why he'd need to ask, she's always gifted him the drawings before. He must have a dozen of them stacked up in his apartment.

She gently grabs the drawing back in her clutches. “Ha, ah, ah!” she tsks. “This one will go in my bedroom, thank you very much.” The whole table lets out a giggle, but Lash is quite surprised at this statement.

“Won’t the hubby throw a fit?” He doesn’t hide the disdain in his tone. For as long as he’s known her, Geraldine’s been married to an absolute dickbag. His jealousy is the reason she's been gifting him her art. As far as he remembers, she’s always been complaining about him and rightly so, but never accepted Lash’s offers of ripping him a new one. It’s something she’s ‘got to do by herself’, whatever that means. His idea sounds much more efficient if you ask him.

She brings her left hand forward, displaying her fingers to demonstrate a lack of ring. There’s a bright smile on her face. “I finally got rid of him!”

Lash pauses. “You killed him.” His tone and stare are deadpan.

“What? No!” She lets out a loud laugh in disbelief. “I finally found my own strength and divorced him. It couldn’t have been possible without everybody’s support here, yours included Lash. Thank you.”

Oh. A spark of pride appears in his ribcage, and he imagines the one in hers must be tenfold. He thinks he understands what she meant by taking things into her own hands now. “Hmph, you're welcome,” he says with his usual cockiness, but they're familiar enough with him to know it's all for show.

… Except the new student, who made a small snort she attempted to hide behind her hand, her gaze bemused in his direction. Oh right, she wouldn't know. Well time to gain a new fan, assuming she isn't one already after studying his form for a couple hours.

 

 

“And who would you be then?” His tone is affable, trying to make himself as approachable as possible. He knows the name of everybody in the room, so not knowing hers feels like a crime. He’ll just endear himself, he’s an expert at that after all!

She clears her throat, putting herself back together for her introduction. “Shelly Fisher. People usually call me Miss Shelly, but just Shelly is fine.” She looks radiant as she offers her hand forward to shake Lash’s. He obliges, bringing his own hand forward and shaking it. Lash definitely wasn’t expecting the strong grip and calluses on her hands.

“Shelly,” he repeats, committing the name to memory. “Glad to greet a new member in The Lash’s fanclub.” He grins, a glint appearing in his teeth as he cranks the charm levels to the maximum. The ladies sigh at his antics, the one next to him giving his arm a light smack in admonishment. “Fine fiiine.. It’s still good to have you here.” A wink.

“That’s right!” Philippe follows up with. “You’re making great progress since your first session, I can tell you used to dabble in the past.”

“Well, ‘dabble’ is right. It wasn’t so much drawing as it was making technical plans.” A light chuckle. “I’m the local iron junkyard’s attendant, but I fancy myself as a mechanical engineer from time to time,” she adds for Lash’s sake. Who picks up engineering as a hobby? Damn, and here he is contenting himself with life modeling.

“Fancy indeed! So what made you pick up classes then? Heard The Lash was going to make his fabled long awaited modeling returns?” He jokes, humble as always. It makes the table laugh which is a success in his book.

“Hm, I might have if I knew, that was quite the treat.” Ooough, grandma’s got game. “No, I’ve been very sick you see, it’s been rough for a few long years. But I’ve been feeling much better recently and needed to put that energy to good use. Oh, how I’ve missed being out and about!” She chuckles. “My son however has been mother henning me to no end. I’m infinitely grateful for his help of course, but I needed to finally do something by myself now that I’m able to once again.” She takes a sip of her tea and lets out a small sigh. “However, I’m getting worried about him. He used to go out and meet people, go to his baking club, but he’s stopped all activities to spend as much time with me as possible now that I’m better. I think he feels guilty about ‘wasting time’ for himself.”

Geraldine places a supporting hand on her arm. “Maybe bringing him here with you next time could be a solution. We wouldn’t mind at all! Doing something new could be the spark he needs.”

She takes a moment before answering, giving the people around the table an appraising look. A smile gradually appears on her face. “...Perhaps. I’ll ask him if it’s something that he’d like to do.”

Lash wonders what made her slightly hesitate at first, does she think her son wouldn’t be a good fit? She seems so proud of him, it’d be surprising. And it’s not like those classes are reserved for women, The Lash would allow anybody to study his brilliant form. Oh, maybe something is different about him and she was worried about their reactions? Eh, not his business in the end, either she’ll bring him here or she won’t and that’s that. The Lash would never mind a new fan.

They keep conversing and snacking, sharing each other’s art and catching up with all the latest gossip. Lash is legitimately impressed by how much progress they've all made, he only was gone for a few months after all. Philippe really knows his shit, not like he doubted the artist’s capabilities. And we can’t forget the fruit bowl, it served The Lash’s legacy well.

They share their goodbyes and he makes his way out. He manages to snatch a couple art pieces of himself and is currently holding them under his arm, including Shelly’s one, with permission of course. Unfortunately, no dice for Geraldine’s. He’ll be back for the next bimonthly class, he promised. It’s nice having something new to look forward to, he doesn't know why he stopped coming over… He knows exactly why actually and sighs, infuriated with himself. He really needs to let go, it can’t bring him anything good if the golem keeps overtaking his mind like this, especially now that he's gone.

Lash starts walking towards his apartment leisurely, he’s got all the time in the world after all. He lets out a whistle, thinking of what he’s going to do once comfortably home. The usual really, some Bean and Lola petting, radio, can of peas and dried sausage...

…Maybe he could work on his routine, especially considering how much it’s been taken over by bad thoughts since his realization a few days ago. He wants hobbies, right? Maybe he could make a second attempt at cooking, why not? If there’s one single thing he missed about living with his parents, it was the home cooked meals. And don’t most people cook their own food? If those losers can, surely it shouldn’t be too hard. Or The Lash just was too efficient and practical to keep trying.

He keeps pondering about it until a slight spicy scent meets his senses. Oh that’s right, it’s open market day today as well, he never really went before but there should be everything he needs there. Fresh produce certainly makes anything someone cooks at least edible, surely. 

It’s like all the stars aligned and paved the perfect path for Lash. He makes a small detour, it’s thankfully right around the corner. The smell of Ixian spices, fresh bread, fruits and vegetables immediately assaults him as he approaches, it’s almost as chaotic and colorful as Philippe’s shop. The stall owners are loud, boasting about the quality of their produce and trying to entice any passerby. Orderly queues of people are lined up to make their purchase. Lash approaches a large stand that seems to sell a bit of everything.

What does he even want to cook? Maybe some kind of roast? You just have to cut food up into pieces and stick it in the oven and it turns it into a roast, right? Surely… He stops in the middle of the pavement in front of the stand, conflicted on what he even wants, his hand resting against his chin as he ponders some more. Having this much choice really complicates things, not as much thinking involved when he just picks canned or ready-to-eat dried food. He needs meat and potatoes for sure but what else, peppers? Eggplant? Carrots? What even goes in that kind of stuff, should he just pick one of everything? Wait, does he even have the utensils at home? He might find a knife but he definitely doesn’t have a cutting board, this is quickly becoming annoying.

He’s having a hard time deciding, the merchant kindly smiles his way but obviously wants him to hurry up with his internal struggles. Until what feels like a small car rams into him, making him stumble sideways. “Ugh! Hey, what the-!” His arm is then held into what feels like a vice, but thankfully prevents his fall.

“Ah, sorry mate! Didn’t see you th- oh.” Lash completely freezes at the sound of that voice. Ever so slowly, he looks up and sees a massive rusty construct next to him, holding a wicker basket at his elbow and a small paper that’s probably a shopping list in its singular hand currently holding his arm.

…What?

“Lash,” it says in a surprised tone as its bright green eye looks over him. 

A familiar feeling greets Lash like an old friend. His vision turns red. “Bebop.”

Notes:

Chapter 4 is almost done but I haven't got anything for chapter 5 yet so it'll be a while before I post the next chapter, sorry!

Still, I hope you enjoyed this one, thank you for reading!

Chapter 4: Unsolicited advice

Notes:

Sorry about the cliffhanger last chapter, I hope you'll enjoy this one!

Wraith looks up, hearing a small commotion outside of her office. A raid? Hm, her mole at the police station didn’t warn them of anything happening related to her organisation, so probably not. But if it’s trouble they want, it’s trouble they’ll get. She gently stacks her paperwork on the desk’s corner before lounging back on her chair, putting her feet on said desk and nonchalantly holding her Thompson towards the door, a delicate purple glow emanating from her extra mechanical limbs. Nothing beats a little theatrics, and she’s been so bored reviewing these reports.

The door slams open revealing the Bear Pit’s champion, followed by Wraith’s small armada of goons trailing behind him, giving him very disapprobating looks. Oh, right. That was bound to happen, she almost forgot. The mob boss heavily sighs, and gestures to her employees with a hand, dismissing them and letting them know everything’s fine at the same time.

Lash stomps towards her desk, slamming his hands on it and attempting to look threatening. She’s unimpressed as she lowers her gun out of view. “Lash, what a pleasant surprise.” She has an inkling as to why he stormed her office, did he finally break and want to take her offer? Hm, unlikely, he’s too much of a stubborn ass for that. So why is he here?

“He’s alive,” Lash almost spits, voice full of venom in her direction. Lovely.

“Uh, well I could have told you that myself, and much sooner too.” Her grin is cocky, watching him seethe some more. He’s so easy to tease, it’s almost funny. “But I suppose this means you won’t be taking a dive for me in your next fight, hm? Shame.” She shrugs, doesn’t really matter after all, although she would have loved to see him eat some dust for once. “Is that all you wanted to know?”

“Shut it, Four-Arms.” He growls before throwing himself into one of the plushy purple armchairs, his arms crossed and an angry scowl on his face. The champion then proceeds to simply… sit there, obviously seething some more, but without saying anything, his gaze focused on a random spot against the wall.

…

Wraith waits for a moment, getting more and more bemused as the silence keeps on stretching. She removes her feet from the desk, sitting herself correctly in her chair, and the soft brushing of her clothes against it sounds deafening to her ears. She’s never seen Lash like this before. “Ahem,” she clears her throat, shattering the silence like glass. It makes Lash startle . 

Okay, what is happening? 

“Talk. Now.” Wraith didn’t think she’d ever see the day she’d ask Lash to talk. Her tone is no nonsense and authoritative, this normally wouldn’t work with the fighter but she feels like he needs a push right now.

His gaze refocuses, getting up from his chair as he starts pacing in the room. After a small moment, he starts talking.

 

___________________________________________

 

A couple hours earlier…

“ Bebop. ”

 

The golem straightens back up, his hand still on his arm and helping him stand up. “Been a while, eh? Didn’t know you were the market type, I don’t think I’ve seen you ‘round here before.” He sounds a bit bewildered, but a smile can be heard coming through his voice.

Lash rips his arm out of his grip. He feels himself fuming, frazzled, thoughts in shambles. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s seeing Bebop outside in the daylight for the first time. This setting isn’t what he’s used to and it’s really not helping. Or maybe it’s the fact that there’s just been physical contact between the two that doesn’t involve blunt trauma. “The fuck are you doing out here?”

Bebop struggles for a second, the force of Lash pulling his arm out unbalancing him and almost making him drop a bell pepper from his wicker basket. Thankfully everything stays in. 

“Heh… Lash. This is a market. I’m buying fresh food.” 

His tone is starting to lose its strange casual cheerfulness, he’s losing patience with the champion already. His green eye is half shuttered, looking non-plussed at Lash’s outburst.

Lash doesn’t even take a second to wonder why Bebop would even be buying food as a golem. 

“No, that’s not— Why are you here, and not in the Bear Pit?” 

The champion brings his hand to Bebop’s chest, angrily pointing at it while he looks up and up. He attempts to keep eye contact, as if he’d be able to tell anything from this blank metal face anyways. Was Bebop always this tall? How come he never paid attention to it before? Must be because of the strong shadow he’s casting on Lash currently, a lot different compared to the dim lights that occupy the Pit.

Bebop looks around for a second at the mention of the Bear Pit, as if he was looking to see if anybody heard. Uh, excuse me? The action is happening right here. Come on, just look at me already! He grits his teeth, about to snap his fingers in front of the golem’s face to get his attention back on what really matters, namely himself. But before he could bring himself to do it, Bebop’s gaze returns to him.

“...Because I need groceries? I’m cooking a jambalaya tonight.” …What? Is Bebop even understanding what Lash has been asking? He has to be misinterpreting him on purpose. This is serious, can’t he see how serious this is?

“No, I— Urgh! Stop doing that!” 

He pushes the golem’s shoulder, but he is ready for Lash’s aggressiveness this time, keeping his ground. It’s like attempting to push a wall as it resonates in a loud CLANK . Some passerbys are now gawking, startled by the noise, wondering if a fight is about to break out, and it’s obviously starting to make Bebop annoyed and uncomfortable. 

“Doing what? The hell are you on about?” says Bebop, sounding bewildered.

He somehow stands even straighter despite his uneven gait, making Lash crane his head further back to keep the eye contact. The golem seems genuinely confused about all this and getting defensive. As if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, ruining The Lash’s vibe as usual. The sailor simply refuses to back down and show weakness, even in the face of a gigantic iron construct standing assertively over him.

However, Lash just can’t seem to maintain his charming persona this time despite the audience, he’s barely registering them at all. It’s as if being in the presence of the golem after so long freed all the intense emotions he didn’t know he’d been keeping inside ever since he disappeared from the Pit. It results in a Lash louder and brasher than usual, he can’t focus on anything. Something needs to be done, right now.

He takes a second to recollect his thoughts and make his question as coherent as possible, which is admittedly a bit of a challenge considering how livid he’s currently feeling. Thankfully no challenge is too great for The Lash. His voice gets lower, deeper as his frustration blatantly shows on his face. 

“Where have you been for the past month and a half ?! ”

Bebop looks surprised at that, finally dropping the slight tension in his posture. Why wouldn’t he be expecting this line of questioning? Surely this is all the golem can think about, just like Lash has been.

“Oh. ‘M just doing my own thing.” 

He briefly pauses, seemingly calculating why Lash would even ask him that, as if it wouldn’t be self-evident. They’re rivals! Doesn’t that mean anything? What ‘thing’ could possibly be more important than their rivalry? 

“Why? Did you miss me?” Bebop adds with a slight chuckle. A tentative smile has returned to his voice.

It’s obviously told and meant as a teasing joke, somewhat reminiscent of the way their old conversations would sometimes end up after a good fight, but Lash is simply not having it. Normally he’d banter right back like he does best, full of confidence, but it’s as if it caught him completely off guard in his frazzled state. Hearing this joke and with this light hearted tone, another unidentified feeling takes him over. It confuses him, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Did he ever feel that way before, whatever way that is? Instead of thinking about it, he lets his instincts take over.

“Uh- You wish, hah!” He starts uncontrollably laughing. What is he doing? Why does he feel so hot? It’s like he’s on fire. Maybe relying on instincts was a bad idea but he just can't seem to stop it. “Imagine this! The Lash, missing a stupid pathetic loser of a golem ! Now that’s hilarious!” 

He can’t stop loudly guffawing. Why is he reacting like this? This is such a shitty comeback, atrocious even. It makes him look like an amateur, just blatantly insulting someone for seemingly no reasons instead of cleverly showing his bantering skills! Is he panicking? Is this panic? He’s insulted Bebop in the past, but never for just being what he is. It’s not like the golem can help it and The Lash doesn’t pick low hanging fruits… Until now apparently.

Bebop seems taken aback by his reaction and comeback as well, clearly not expecting it. You and me, Bebop. He stands there in silence surrounded by Lash’s laughter, it feels like everybody looking at them is holding their breath. Why is he still fucking laughing, what’s wrong with him?!

“Okay. We’re done here.” His tone is final, all speck of mirth Bebop might have had left are gone from his voice. The tension is back in his posture. 

He turns around and starts walking, ready to leave. Lash abruptly stops laughing, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Something is gripping him from the inside at seeing the golem’s back. What is happening? Why does it feel like this will be the last time he’ll ever see Bebop if he doesn’t stop him? He just found him again, and now he’ll be gone once more? He can't let that happen, he can't return to being numbed by boredom. He frantically reaches for Bebop’s large hydraulic arm.

“Hey, I’m not finished—”

Bebop abruptly turns around, cutting him off and making him step back by advancing with his towering form. It’s always hard to tell what the golem is thinking, but even Lash can tell that he is pissed.

“Lash, I need you to bloody leave me alone. I’m not going back to the Bear Pit. This conversation is over.” Each of his sentences are punctuated by a loud threatening stomp in his direction, further pushing him away. “Whatever this is...” He adds, waving his dexterous hand in between them. “...Is over. Don’t follow me.”

Lash stays standing still, speechless as he sees the golem leave, for good this time. He’s frozen in place until finally Bebop takes a turn, disappearing from his view. Only then does he take a breath, not even realising he’s been holding it. The traffic that slowed around them resumes, going back to whatever they were doing in this little market. The stall owner that was waiting on him at first has now shifted focus to another customer. Some passerbys are giving him strange looks but it quickly passes as they leave him be and return to their affairs. It’s as if nothing even happened. Did it actually happen? He’s unsure.

The sounds of the market echo in his head along with incomprehensible static. It’s getting loud, louder and louder. He can’t stay here, but as he starts turning around and walking away, the noise doesn’t seem to fade.

He can’t keep this in, not this time. He needs to tell someone, anyone. He ends up leaving the market without buying anything.

 

___________________________________________

 

Lash finishes his recounting of the events and flops himself back in the armchair, letting out a loud sigh as if it took a lot of effort to open up and let all that out. A tension has finally left his shoulders as he sits with his eyes closed, a conflicted scrunch on his face.

…Wraith is simply astonished as she hears all of this unfold. That’s it? That’s what finally fell The Lash? Getting flustered over his rival saying a simple joke? There’s simply no way, she can’t possibly believe that.

“Okay.” Where can she even start? “Sooo—”

But before she can let another word out, Lash is already up once more, pacing in front of her desk and loudly shouting. “What does he mean he’s not coming back to the Bear Pit? So he just up and left, just like that. Without even giving me a reason. Me, his greatest rival!” He paces angrily still, lost in his own train of thought. Obviously Wraith knows why Bebop left, but she doesn’t share her information for free. He knows her price. Although a tiny twinge does appear in her chest when seeing Lash reduced to this state. Urgh, please. As if we were friends.

That last thought ends up being quite insightful, actually. Why is Lash even here, telling her his problems? Doesn’t he have anybody else to bother with his existential crisis? …Maybe he doesn’t, and isn’t that kind of sad. He more than likely isn’t even as mad as he looks about all of this. He just needs to sort his thoughts and vent to someone willing to listen, and she’s been doing just that.

And really isn’t that all it takes to be friends? She groans internally. Too sappy.

“Maybe I could stakeout the market…” she hears Lash mumble to himself. Okay, she needs to intervene.

“Lash, he told you he doesn’t want to see you.”

He whips his head towards her, as if he forgot she was even there. Maybe he did.

“But we’re rivals. That’s what rivals do.” He’s looking at her as if what he just said was completely self-evident. It’s giving her a headache.

Wraith really wished she knew what Lash means when he says ‘rivals’. She might be blind, but not deaf, and the way he’s been talking about it doesn’t sound like deep hatred to her. More like the other side of the same coin, like a kid pulling their crush’s pigtails. Doesn’t help that she’s witnessed most of their pit fights and to her it felt like all kinds of tensions going on there, if you catch her drift. 

If only he’d ever been in love with anybody other than himself in the past, maybe he’d have the tools to deal with this situation. Wraith isn’t a therapist, and certainly won’t be for The Lash . But if she can stop him from making the situation even worse, well… Maybe then he’d finally stop bothering her.

“He obviously needs space. At least now you know he’s still out there, just doing his own thing like he said.” Lash grimaces at that, probably unhappy to be reminded that the golem’s life doesn’t revolve around his little finger. Tough. “Respect his boundaries, Lash. You, hm, ‘fumbled’ this time, so maybe try thinking about what you’d like to tell him when you see him next time instead of rushing back in.” 

When, not if. She doubts Lash will be able to keep himself away from the golem for long, but she did her best. She keeps her tone even and tries not to sound as condescending as she wants to be, hopefully this will work.

Lash’s posture deflates. He still seems somewhat upset, but at least he's settled down. His hands are still restless, slightly shaking as if he’s itching to punch something. After what must be a good couple of minutes, he takes a deep inhale and something seems to change, like he’s channeling his inner confidence back in. Wraith doesn’t know what to think, watching this little ritual of his unfold so blatantly in front of her. It feels like she’s intruding on something that isn’t meant to be seen.

After a few more moments of… whatever this is, he clears his throat. “Hmph, it’s very… cute of you to think The Lash needs advice.” That one hit a nerve. She’s about to throw the fighter across the room with her mind when he adds “But maybe The Lash will do it. Just to humor you.” He sounds like his usual self again, but his head is slightly tilted away. She’d bet her hat that he isn’t actually meeting her eyes right now.

She heavily sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Lash. Get out of my office.”

“Sure, I’m done here anyways. Good talk!” He lets out a groan as he stretches his back for a second, a casual grin on his face. He then turns around, but pauses for a couple of seconds as he reaches the door knob. She can hear him taking a few more breaths. After what feels like a small eternity, he finally opens it and leaves. The door closes behind him with a click.

…

The mob boss leans back in her chair and sighs. She really didn’t need this today and so decides right then and there that she’ll just forget about the whole thing. Maybe he’ll heed her advice, maybe he won’t. Either way, not her business, that is until Lash inevitably comes back… Hopefully won’t be soon, she’s got riveting reports to look over.

 

___________________________________________

 

Despite putting on the appearances, Lash is still feeling frazzled as he makes his way back home. What the hell is wrong with him, he just can’t make sense of what happened today. 

He enters his apartment and as per the usual, two little zephyrs whistle his way. But they approach him more cautiously this time, as if they could tell something is wrong. Hell, they probably can. He removes his shoes and his gear, and walks further in the apartment. He drops the drawings he’s been holding unknowingly since earlier this afternoon on the table, only to flop himself on the couch. He completely forgot he’d been carrying them all this time and they’re all crumpled now… 

Bean and Lola slowly rest themselves upon his stomach and start their small purring. Are they trying to comfort him? If Lash were a lesser man, he might have cried.

…

Oh, that’s right, he hasn’t even bought any food. Not like he’s hungry anyways, he doesn’t think he could stomach anything right now. He simply stays laying there, resting his hand on the little critters, focusing on the feeling of the wind they produce against his palm as well as the tiny vibrations.

After a while spent breathing and preventing himself from thinking of the day’s events, Lash feels a bit better, finally calming down. He starts becoming more aware of his surroundings once again, and that curiously includes a weird shape pressing hard against his hip. Bringing his hand in his back pocket, he pulls out a small leathery booklet and a pencil. Oh yeah, that was a thing. He lets the items drop next to the drawings on the coffee table within reach.

Breathing still, he brings both hands to the elemental spirits, lightly petting them. He looks vacantly at the ceiling. 

…He should probably start analyzing what happened. 

He saw him, outside, in the daylight. And he’s fine, perfectly fine, not dead or injured or anything. So fine he’s just fucking grocery shopping. He doesn’t want to go back to the Pit. Why? Because he’s doing his ‘own thing’, that doesn’t include Lash at all. So much so he didn’t even feel the need to share that with the class before dipping. 

And then what, he tells a joke? As if… What? As if nothing happened at all, as if he doesn’t get why Lash was so pissed off, as if - Lash’s breath catches for a second - as if they were old friends or something.

What the fuck? They’re not friends, they’re enemies. Their entire thing is being enemies. Sure they had ‘friendlier’ chats in the past, ones that didn’t end up in them beating each other up somehow. Displays of wit that were almost… enjoyable. But that doesn’t detract from the fact that they’re rivals in everything that matters. Bebop can’t just pretend they aren’t, especially when Lash is coming at him fuming. And yet, he kind of did. Why? Was he happy to see him? Psh, no way.

Well… one thing is sure, he definitely wasn’t happy by the end. Lash can’t help but cringe at his retort as he thinks back on it. Why did he flounder like this? The Lash is never taken off guard, ever. It was the setting, the time of day, the light surprise, all of those at once for sure. It probably was Bebop’s plan all along. He probably found out where Lash was and decided to ram into him and make a ridicule out of him in the middle of a bustling place to… jeopardize his reputation, or something.

Lash sighs, who is he kidding but himself? Maybe… Maybe Bebop just doesn’t care about all of this as much as Lash does.

… Fucking hell.

…

Seeing Wraith was such a waste of time. What was it she said that he should do? Think about what he wants to say to Bebop when he sees him next time or something? Eugh, that’s so stupid… 

But now that the thought entered his mind, he just can’t help but give it a try. And yet he comes up completely blank. He can’t think of a single thing he wants to tell the golem, apart from asking him about why he left the Pit, over and over again, and he saw how well that went. He needs help picturing it. Hm, picturing. He turns his head sideways, seeing the little booklet on the table.

…He feels so dumb for what he’s about to do as he straightens up to sit correctly on the couch. The little critters resting on his belly climb around his shoulders, perching on them and snuggling against his neck. They’ll be the only witnesses, this is fine. He picks up the booklet from the table and opens it, a blank page greeting him. Before he can argue with himself against doing it, he picks up the pencil and starts quickly sketching. A line, another line, a lot of angles, a circle here and there, and he did it. A very poor rendition of Bebop appears on the paper.

Looking in its eye, he feels it again, that surge of anger. He wants to rip that page apart, he—

He closes his eyes and takes a breath, opening them again once the worst has passed. He simply looks at the doodle, his fingers flexing and fidgeting against the pencil.

“So, we meet again.” He says in a low tone. His face is scrunched up in a grimace as he keeps staring at Doodlebop’s singular eye. It stares at him back, unblinking, just like the real thing. Completely silent. “What, nothing to say, huh? Fucking typical.”

Well this won’t work, Lash guesses he’ll have to let his imagination run wild then.

“Maybe I just don’t want to talk to ye at all. I told ye to bloody leave me alone!” Lash says in a teeny high pitched tone with a cockney accent, giving voice and life to the drawing. He winces. Yeah, that’s about as well as it’d go. He pauses for a moment. Does he even want for it to go well? He must, surely, otherwise why would he even entertain listening to Wraith’s advice? He has to lure the golem back in somehow, make him realise what he’s missing by leaving The Lash alone like that. …But what would it even be like, to have a conversation going well with Bebop really? He tries again.

“Heeeeeey there, Bebop… Haha. Grocery shopping, wow.” Lash facepalms, hard. This is so stupid, and what if he doesn’t even meet Bebop at the market next time? He needs to think broader, smarter, channel his mojo.

Oh, here’s an idea. He smirks, inhales, and— …can’t get the words out. He knows exactly what he needs to say to trick Bebop back in, and yet he just can’t seem to do it. He can’t humiliate himself like that, especially not in front of his rival. What if they’re not by themselves next time they see each other too, saying this in front of an audience? HAH, absolutely no way. Even in the sanctity of his own home in front of a fake Bebop he can’t seem to do it, because Lash would know what he said. No, this one he’ll keep inside until things get absolutely dire and he doesn’t get to have another choice.

This is much harder than he thought it’d be.

What if Bebop engages the conversation first, like he did last time? “Sod off,” he says for the fake golem as a more than accurate greeting after their latest parting. Lash sighs, leaning back against the couch. There’s simply no point in even trying, he’ll have to wing it when he sees him next time.

… But what would he want Bebop to say? He can make him say anything right now, after all. A small grin appears on his face as he looks at the drawing, still leaning comfortably.

“Lash, you were always right, you’re sooo much better than me at fighting! And uppercuts are sooo lame! ” Doodlebop says in a falsely dejected yet happy tone.

“Why Bebop, it only took you a bit over a year to admit it! Glad to see you finally see how wrong you’ve always been,” Lash chuckles to himself. This is kind of fun.

“I shoulda listened to ye from the start. At least now it means ye get to have a new fan! ” Lash surprises himself with that one. What would it even be like having someone like Bebop as a fan, he wonders? The only person able to match him, worshipping him? It’s weird, he doesn’t know what to think about it, really.

“Oh, really now! But what is your fanbase going to think when they see their hero fawn over his greatest rival, hm?” He says, leaning forward over the booklet, looking straight in the drawing’s eye with an easy smile.

He makes Doodlebop scoff. “As if I give a shite, I don’t care what they think! I only care about what you think, ye dunce. I love y— ” Lash’s breath catches as he quickly slams the booklet shut, startling Bean and Lola in the process, making them fly out and hide in the ceiling lamp. His whole body is tense and most of all, confused, just like earlier that day. He’s in full fight or flight mode, inhaling fast. He doesn’t understand what is going on, so he simply breathes, attempting to make an abstraction of the sudden incomprehensible turmoil happening inside of him.

“...That’s enough of that,” he whispers to himself after a few more minutes of breathing. He gets up with a vacant stare, the zephyrs gliding back down to follow him as he makes his way straight to bed, without even doing his usual nightly routine.

This is really unbecoming of The Lash and needs to stop. He just needs this day to be over and to never think about it ever again. 

Chapter 5: Backfire

Two weeks later

Lash slides down the rope attaching the airship to the docks, expertly sticking the landing. He just spent the last hour looking after the numerous zephyrs occupying this one’s engines, it’s the best part of his job really. Getting to cuddle pile with the spirits because they adore him is awesome and all the wind that’s been blasted at him feels like he just went free falling for hours. He’s so refreshed, filled with energy and ready to take on the rest of his afternoon, just the glow up he needed to have his figure painted at Philippe’s. Signing himself off, he starts walking leisurely to his next destination. 

The fighter spent the last two weeks working on his routine. His bedroom is now adorned with the portraits he got gifted last time he went to the class, but also with a couple other knick knacks he fancied on his way to the grocery store, finally furbishing his apartment a little. 

Yep, he went grocery shopping and attempted cooking! And it went… poorly. He did try to make a roast but the ingredients had something wrong with them because it just tasted like crunchy vegetables and weirdly textured meat. Certainly if he went with the market’s produces–

He stops his thought process right there. Nope, not going to think about the market, or anybody that could be in said market. Nuh huh. Aaaand too late…

The booklet still rests closed, untouched on his coffee table two weeks later.

What is he supposed to make of that fact? He’s started to think that maybe… Maybe it’s for the best, that he doesn’t see the golem again. He internally scoffs, Lash just simply isn’t himself when he’s around him or even when just thinking about him. Even now he feels his mind rearing up at the thought, confusing and upsetting him. It needs to stop, and surely it will once enough time passes. He just needs to keep working, keep fighting, keep occupying himself and then eventually it’ll all be behind him. Who knows, maybe someone new will join the Bear Pit and become his new rival anyways!

… Moving on.

Oh, he’s arrived at Philippe’s. Getting lost in thoughts sure is frustrating but it can be convenient sometimes, he didn’t even see the time pass. The little bell announces his arrival to the store owner currently reading some kind of magazine behind the counter.

“Lash, welcome welcome! Glad to see you back, how have you been?” He closes his magazine, giving Lash his full attention, as things should be.

“You know, great like usual! Just doing my own thing.” Lash grimaces at his turn of phrase for just a second, and unfortunately Philippe doesn’t miss it. But the artist has enough grace to not pry into his affairs.

“...Okay then, as long as you feel fine.” His gaze is filled with empathy which really isn’t welcomed, but quickly shifts back into his usual excited state, deciding not to linger on whatever chink in his armor that was. “Ah! Before I forget, remember Shelly? She told me she’ll be bringing her son for today’s class. I warned her that it’d be another life drawing session and she said he was fine with it, but is it alright with you? You can stay dressed or even not model at all if it’d make you more comfortable.”

Lash amusedly scoffs. “Oh that won’t be a problem. It’d be a crime to deprive my new audience of the goods.” He wiggles his eyebrows, earning a chuckle from the artist.

“Alright alright, I assumed so! But I just wanted to make sure.” He gives Lash a wink, an easy smile on his face. “The classroom’s already prepared by the way. So come on, tell me how Bean and Lola have been?”

Lash grins, delighted he gets to talk about one of his favorite subjects. He’s got a great story to share about Lola chasing a spirit pigeon that slipped through an open window a couple days ago. But just as he opens his mouth, the shop’s bell rings behind him, interrupting him. Followed by… A very familiar clanking? No.

Lash doesn’t dare turn around, but carefully looks at Philippe’s face, sees his eyes widening at whoever entered the store. He starts getting up, putting on his customer service smile. “Hello, welcome to Philippe’s! Can I help— Oh Shelly, hi!” He walks around the counter, getting away from Lash’s point of view, “So can I assume you’re Shelly’s son then?” He adds without a hint of judgement in his voice, just simple curiosity.

“Yep, that’s right. Bebop, nice to meet ya.” Lash tenses at hearing that deep artificial voice. A metallic creak is heard, he’s probably shaking the owner’s hand. Inhale, exhale. Don’t lose your shit this time. Not here, not in front of Philippe and Shelly.

“I hope you don’t mind, we’re a bit early,” says Shelly. The pieces of the puzzle are starting to connect for Lash. Her callused hands, a mechanical engineer for fun, the iron junkyard’s attendant? Heh, how did he not see that coming?

“Of course not! Please, come in.” He hears their footsteps coming in and the golem’s suddenly stop way before theirs, a confused sound leaving his voicebox. There is no way he didn’t see the champion currently leaning forward against the counter. It’s now or never.

“Well well well… If it isn’t Bebop,” Lash says assertively, slowly straightening himself up until he finally, finally turns around and sees the company he’s in. There he is, exactly the same as before, looking completely at home in this chaotic shop. How did he even fit through the door? That must’ve required some maneuvering. Lash keeps his cool, a smirk on his face. He doesn’t want any of his inner turmoil to be visible on his person.

“Wuh— Lash?! What are you doin’ here?”

Lash scoffs, oh how the tables turn. “Huh, came here to model? I’m pretty sure I mentioned it’s something The Lash does before.” See, this is how someone is supposed to answer a question, clear and to the point. Does Bebop even ever listen to what Lash has to say? He must have bragged about this dozens of times in the past.

Bebop takes a small pause, Lash could practically hears the gears turning in his head. Until finally, he lets out a quiet resigned “...Oh, bloody hell.” Lash almost lets out a massive snort. What? No, no laughing this time, he won't allow it. What if he loses control again? It looks like the golem was completely unprepared for this eventuality when he signed up for life drawing classes.

…Wait. Is Lash prepared for this? Oh god, he still needs to model, and in front of Bebop AND his mom. Which he can do of course, Lash can do anything, even standing naked in front of his greatest rival. Shelly saw him last class and it went fine, and she was still the golem’s mom back then. Heck, did he ever see Bebop naked before? — NOPE, don’t imagine that, especially not now. The Lash is going somewhere with this, he swears. — He never did. So really, it’d just be one more thing The Lash wins over the golem. It’s just… another competition he’s winning. Yes, that’s it.

Shelly gasps, barely managing to hide her mirth at this moment. “Bebop, language!”

“Ah! ‘M sorry, Miss Shelly.” Bebop slightly hunches down in shame at the reprimand. Huh wow, he’s whipped. Maybe the champion gets what she meant with her talks of her son’s devotion. Hah, who would have thought? Bebop, a momma’s boy.

“None of that, Bebop. You can call me mom here if you’d like.” She lets out a laugh, clearly delighted by whatever strange turn of event has happened here. “I had no clue you knew Lash! I think I’d have remembered any mention of chiseled mustachioed friends. Where did you meet?” Lash is… surprised by this. Bebop and Shelly are close enough they might as well be of the same blood, and yet the golem never mentioned him, his greatest rival? Something doesn’t seem right.

And Bebop seems to think so too, he freezes in place and doesn’t answer straight away, as if hesitating or having to think about it. How come? He’s not ashamed of their rivalry, is he? It’s such an easy question to answer too, just say they’ve met in the Bear Pit. Sure it’s technically ‘illegal', but it’s kind of an open secret. It’s only the four of them here and even Philippe knows Lash is associated with it in some form or another.

“...Baking club.” It almost sounds like a question. Okay, maybe using code for it isn't such a bad idea? But like, come on.

She lets out an understanding hum, turning to look at the pit fighter. “Oooh, really? I didn’t know you baked too, Lash.”

She seems entirely sincere about that statement. Bebop then turns his head in his direction as well, making intense eye contact. He’s completely still and stoic, like a predator stalking its prey. If Lash didn’t know any better, he’d bet the golem is internally threatening him. It’s almost as if he’s trying to tell the champion to watch what he’s about to say, or there’ll be dire consequences.

Why would he do that? It's not like talking about the Bear Pit would get them in trouble, especially not here. Unless… Oh, wait a second? 

Connections start fusing in the champion’s mind, recounting all the things Shelly said about her son in the previous class. He can safely assume ‘Baking Club’ means the Bear Pit, hence his answer. But hearing her question, how sincere she looks and seeing as she had no clue who Lash was before meeting him a couple of weeks ago, there can realistically be only one conclusion. 

It’s not code for her, is it? Shelly doesn’t know. And more than that, it means Bebop doesn't want her to know.

Lash’s internal grin slowly spreads to his face as the picture in front of him gets clearer, he’s the one with the advantage this time. It’s like a switch has turned in his brain, allowing him to go past whatever strange hurdle he has been struggling with all this time. 

He intensely looks into the golem’s glowing eye, showing him exactly how much power he holds at this exact moment. It reminds him of the look they’d share on the ring, right before going at it. Bebop looks right back and he isn’t happy about this predicament. Well, tough shit. Lash’s gaze then shifts to Shelly, his smile losing its lethal edge and smoothing back into amiable territory. 

“Yeah, I’ve been known to pound some dough from time to time.” He sees it, a barely perceptible twitch in Bebop’s eye. It’s giving him as much of a high as landing a good kick. Still, a substantial amount of tension seems to leave the golem’s shoulders at his answer. It looks like Lash managed to assuage his fears, for now. But he can't leave it at that, can he?

“In fact, I'm hurt that Bebop never even mentioned me. I've always thought we were best friends.” He theatrically huffs, bringing his hand to his own chest and fakely chasing a tear away. Philippe snorts at that, used to his mannerism and able to see he’s exaggerating and playing it up. Bebop however starts sputtering, caught off guard and seemingly not finding his words. That’s right, just try and get rid of The Lash now.

Look at that, it's as if Lash regained all the charisma he lost. He just needed to treat this entire thing as a competition, easy! Helps that he's obviously winning too.

Shelly lightly chuckles. “Oh no, don’t take it to heart, Lash. I know Bebop is a very private person, and I respect his privacy.” She rests her hand against the golem’s large hydraulic arm, finally making him break eye contact with the champion and look at her. Lash can see it then, the blatant familial love and devotion between the two of them.

…

Has he ever had anybody look at him like that? He’s unsure. Must be nice… Naaaah, only losers need that kind of shit. Lash has been on top of the world for years without it! He’s only having these thoughts because of the little lapse he’s been having for the past couple months, that’s it. All he needs is for this lapse to end and he’ll be back on track, easy peasy.

… Anyways.

Ding ding! Just then, as if to give him a reprieve, the rest of the elderly students come into the store. They definitely weren’t expecting the giant iron construct waiting for them. They gasp, their eyes huge with curiosity. “Oh my! And who’s this then?” The focus completely shifts away from Lash as Bebop introduces himself, giving him a second to breathe without anyone noticing. 

Okay, he’s been doing great so far, but now he needs to mentally prepare for modeling. He’ll just— pretend Bebop is someone else! It’ll make it easy for sure. …Wait, why is he even having an issue with this anyways? He loves his body, it’s his pride and joy. Never has he had a problem showing it to anybody who asked before, and he sure didn’t have any before knowing this new person was the golem. So why is he having reservations now? Because it’s Bebop? Lash shakes his head, exasperated with himself. Just his confused brain playing tricks on him, like it’s been known to do lately.

Philippe reaches for him as he was internally struggling, metaphorically shaking him out of his predicament. “Looks like everybody’s here. Are you still ready?” His soft gaze doesn’t hold any kind of judgement. Gods, all of this concern is so annoying to deal with, and yet a small part of Lash feels grateful for it. He knows that if he changed his mind right this instant, it would be perfectly fine and there wouldn’t be any grudges. 

Or well, it’d be like that if Bebop wasn’t here. The golem knows he’s got a reputation to uphold and it says ‘The Lash ain’t a quitter’. So he throws a smirk in the artist’s direction, blinding and reassuring. “Yep, I got this.” And really, he does. He’s done it hundreds of times before, what’s one more really? He’ll just keep winning as usual.

Philippe smiles. “Perfect then!” He turns and catches everybody’s attention with a clap. “Alright everyone! Please, let’s all settle in the classroom. We’ll have plenty of time to talk and gossip after a good and intense drawing session!” Ever the enthusiast, isn’t he? Everybody nods and properly enters the shop. Being the closest to the counter, Lash makes his way in the drawing room first, approaching the lounging chair waiting for him. Alright then, here we go.

He starts small, with his suspenders and gloves. Students start entering the room, guided and helped to their spots by Philippe one by one. Usually he’d try to be undressed before the students came in, it feels a little strange otherwise. He’s almost be tempted to turn it into a show in itself, but even Lash has enough self consciousness to realise this isn’t the time or place for that. 

And then Bebop enters the room. Or more like, maneuvers himself in. He has to bend down, swivel, fit that huge shoulder of his in somehow. Frankly, it’s hilarious and takes everything in Lash not to start laughing right there. But then, the golem straightens up and looks right at him. Oh, shit. He still has to undress but under Bebop’s watchful eye this time. Crossing his arms, he lowers his hands to the hem of his shirt. Bebop seems to freeze in place at that, and so does Lash.

He can’t do this. Or more like, he can, but not while looking him in the eye. Lash abruptly turns around, not able to stop the blush to his cheeks, but fast enough that no one's the wiser. He takes a moment to breathe. Why is this so hard to do? This is so stupid. Psyching himself up, he starts undressing himself efficiently, removing each piece of garment one by one, making abstraction of his issues by admiring himself as more and more flesh gets revealed. Wow, gorgeous. Just looking at himself is enough to fill him back with confidence. What’s he got to feel insecure about with all of THIS, he thinks to himself with a smirk.

Alright, here goes nothing! He turns around and flops himself into his seat in an elegant way, proudly displaying his entire self to the world. He sees that everybody’s already comfortable on their seat, getting their brushes, pencils and coals ready. “Alright everyone, the model is ready, let’s draw! Call me up if you need help,” Philippe instructs everyone. Well, time to get comfy, that’ll take a while.

…Without meaning to, his gaze starts to drift and search for the golem in the low light. It doesn’t take long, Bebop’s bright green eye shining like a beacon, looking straight at him frozen in place once again. Is he even trying to draw? His gaze isn’t moving away, making Lash stare at him in turn. He can’t be the first one to look away, what would that say about him?

So he stares, and stares and stares as Bebop does just the same, turning it all into a little contest. It’s like it’s just the two of them right now, seizing each other up just like when they’re in the ring. Lash takes advantage of this moment to truly observe Bebop.

…He looks the same as he always did, really. It’s not an injury or anything that made him leave the Bear Pit. He tries to gather all the clues he’s got so far, the most relevant one being Shelly’s conversation with them two weeks ago. Bebop stopped going to ‘baking club’ once her mysterious illness got cured or something, and he wants to spend more time with her as a consequence. That tells him that Bebop obviously loves his ‘mom’, sure, but why would that make him leave the Bear Pit completely? It has to be to protect her from the truth of his actual activities, considering she has no clue about it. But surely, SURELY the golem loves fighting him enough to sneak back in, right?

…Right?

He grumbles internally. It all comes around to Bebop not caring as much as Lash does about their activities. Would that really be the case? Bebop doesn’t look like he’s not caring right now, staring at him intensely like a statue.

Just then, Philippe approaches the golem, slightly startling him and making him drop the stare. Yessss, that’s right, The Lash wins again. “I know he’s handsome, but you’ve got to draw as well Bebop. Believe me, a picture will last longer.” The artist winks at him before moving to the next person, a light giggle resounding in the room from the other students. Shelly sitting next to Bebop starts a light laugh as well, giving Bebop an undecipherable look.

“Wuh—, I— I wasn’t…” Bebop says to everyone and no one, sputtering around like he’s been doing since he entered the store. What is even wrong with him? Lash has no clue, and gets even more bewildered once Bebop lets out a sigh and he sees plumes of steam leave from the golem’s neck cuff.

Steam? That's weird, the only times he's seen the golem do that before was when he was ‘warming up’ before a fight. That's obviously not happening here, so what is that about?

Shelly then brings the golem’s attention back to her with a small hand gesture. “Don’t worry Bebop, I get it.” She starts giggling, which in turn makes the steam hiss out of Bebop even more, a hushed “Mum!” following right after.

…What? Get what, what does that reaction mean? Is he embarrassed? You can’t tell him that someone like Bebop out of all people would feel self-conscious about watching someone naked. Or maybe he isn’t embarrassed, and it’s only because he’s been found out. Still, it surprises him that the golem would give a damn about it. Bebop has always been very vocal about not caring about what the organics around him think, after all.

So rather than keep questioning it, he keeps his gaze back on Bebop as he finally grabs a large piece of coal and starts sketching. He keeps drawing, and keeps drawing, but doesn’t take his eye out of his canvas the entire time. Now, that’s not how that’s supposed to work, and Philippe seems to notice too. He walks besides Bebop after a few minutes, whispering some soft advice. Lash can see the artist putting a hand against Bebop’s back, a very compassionate look on his face. Oh, the fighter knows exactly what’s going on, having been subject to Philippe’s overwhelming empathy before, and hearing Bebop’s louder response only confirms it. “Nah, nah. I got this, don't worry mate.” Philippe nods and strolls back around the room.

Lash keeps staring, sees Bebop let out what seems like a sigh and finally, leans to look at him. Lash looks right back, immobile into his perfect model pose. The golem stares and, after a bit longer than he probably should, returns to his canvas and draws a little more. Alright, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Why was it such a struggle? Bebop still seems a little frayed around the edges honestly. Maybe he could use this to his advantage.

Next time Bebop leans to look at him, Lash half-lids his eyes, an easy knowing smirk on his face. Upon seeing it, the golem looks taken aback, returning to his canvas much faster, a little more steam leaving his frame. Hah! He really is embarrassed after all. It’s kind of… cute? Lash drops his easy-going expression.

Cute? Well yeah, kind of, but that can’t be right. Lash frowns, trying to work that one out. 

He can’t find him cute, that’s his rival. He’s supposed to find him terrible, unpleasant, detestable instead. And he does, but at the same time he can’t lie to himself, Lash did find that… kind of cute, adorable even. How come? That was just some steam. 

He needs some kind of comparison. What else does he even find cute? Well, his zephyrs but that’s about it honestly. Why? Because they’re tiny and cuddly, anybody would find them cute. The iron golem doesn’t really fit with that imagery, he’s neither small nor cuddly, quite the opposite really. It just doesn’t make any sense.

This is weird…

Next time Bebop leans over to look at him, Lash sticks his tongue out to tease him. It makes the golem flinch then angrily grumble before he leans away to draw once more. Hehehe, this is fun, but also not helping with his problem. That was also cute. He’s finding his rival cute. Stop. Saying. Cute.

 

 

Gods fucking damn it, he’s got to live with that now. Well, whatever. It’s his own thoughts after all. No matter how questionable they can be, no thoughts of Lash could be totally wrong simply by virtue of them being The Lash’s. So he’ll just roll with it, see what happens. Honestly he’s pretty happy with himself, managing to keep his control this time despite the still overwhelming confusion he’s feeling at the entire situation he’s currently in.

It keeps going for a while until Philippe passes by Bebop once again. But this time instead of giving advice, he takes a peek at the golem’s drawing and stifles a snort, Bebop turning his head towards the artist and letting out a quiet snicker of his own before Philippe keeps going on with his tour. Oh no, he fucking didn’t. What the hell is Bebop drawing? He better not have ruined The Lash’s image. Lash tenses in his seat, but remains motionless. He can’t let his impulse to get up and see what the hell is on this canvas ruin the class for the other students after all.

So instead, he keeps angrily staring at Bebop, who looks much too smug once he leans over again. Oh you fucking bastard, you’ll get what’s coming for you. Bebop sure doesn’t look embarrassed anymore, seemingly eager to see Lash’s reaction to his antics. Instead of reacting further, Lash spends the rest of the session thinking of ways to get his revenge. And he will, oh, he will…

 

___________________________________________

 

The class keeps going, Lash switches positions a few times throughout the session until finally, a couple hours pass and it officially ends. As Lash redresses himself, he can’t help but notice Bebop still attempting to sneak in little peeks, adding finishing touches to his drawing. “What, still bedazzled by The Lash, Bebop?”

He scoffs, a slightly mocking tone in his voice. “Don’t flatter yerself, mate. ‘S not anythin’ I ain’t seen before.”

Lash’s smirk drops. What the fuck does that mean? Bebop was so embarrassed earlier, you can’t tell him that seeing naked people is something he does regularly enough to not get impressed by Lash’s physique. Bebop lets out a small chuckle at seeing his facial expression. Oh, he’s being messed with, isn’t he? Godsdamnit, he fell for it again. He turns away and grumbles as he finally finishes dressing up, using his fingers to comb his hair back in place.

Lash helps clean up the space for the ‘gossip session’, bumping against Bebop a couple times definitely by accident, and not to further annoy him in retaliation. Come on, The Lash isn’t petty, haha! What are you on about?

Finally, they all sit around the table. Lash is about to go snatch the snacks when Shelly has an announcement to make, it seems. Getting up, she pulls out a large tin box out of her bag, gently setting it on the table. “We’ve brought a gift, as thanks for having welcomed us so warmly,” she says with a smile before opening the box. It’s filled with loads of cookies, and they smell delicious. Everybody looks delighted, Lash included but he keeps it cool.

“Please, help yourselves!” She adds, picking one herself before sitting back down. Lash doesn’t hesitate, picking one of his own before biting into it. Oh, good gods, they’re amazing. Fresh, soft, probably baked that very day, chocolatey goodness overtaking his entire mouth, these are probably the best cookies he's ever tasted. He can’t help it, letting out a groan of pleasure as he keeps munching on it. So what? He has a sweet tooth, sue him.

It seems the sentiment is shared, everybody delights in the biscuits. And the best part? Bebop doesn’t get to try them. 

“Please, you’ve got to share your recipe, these are fantastic!” exclaims Geraldine to Shelly. But she simply smirks at everybody at the table, obviously knowing something they don't.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you with that. Bebop made them, you’d have to ask him.” A small giggle leaves her as everyone starts gushing over the golem, flooding him with compliments which he takes humbly, but not quite comfortable with all of this sudden attention. “Isn’t he so talented?” Pride for her son drips out of her tone as she gazes up at him. It makes Bebop slightly tilt his head away, a little mortified and bashful, which only further widens her smile.

Wait, now Lash is confused on so many levels. Is he really sitting here, enjoying something his rival made? He’s almost tempted to spit it out on principle, but also… it’s so delicious… These taste like they came straight from a professional bakery. 

How come– Noooo… No way. There is no way Bebop actually goes to a baking club. Was his theory wrong? It can’t be, The Lash is never wrong. However, he’s suddenly transported back to the market where he saw the golem the last time. He dismissed it completely, but Bebop was there for a reason. He was buying food to make a dish. Does he just cook then? That’s just something Bebop does. Huh.

It feels strange, finding out that Bebop is more than just the fighter he’s always known him to be so far. He cooks, he’s a loving son, he goes to art classes with his mom… Lash doesn’t know what to do about it. So instead he keeps munching in silence, putting the excited conversation to the background.

He’s taken out of it when each student starts showing off their art one by one. Okay okay, focus back on the present, this is important. He’s impressed as usual, thrilled at the idea that some of these will end up framed at his place for his ever growing collection. Ouh, his pecs look so good on Luisa’s drawing, he’s got his sight on that one in particular.

“And last but not least…” Philippe smirks as he introduces Bebop’s turn. Finally, let’s see what this rusty bastard actually drew. The golem seems to hesitate for a second. Yeah, it’s one thing to draw whatever the fuck, but another when it’s showing it in front of everybody, huh? But Lash stays patient, mentally preparing himself for whatever is to come.

Bebop lets out a sigh, then unrolls his singular sheet of paper. Lash squints at that. That’s right, he didn’t see him use another page, hm… Oh what the fuck. The sheet is filled with horrible tiny Lash doodles, in tons of poses, most of them completely ridiculous. Some even have little speech bubbles. “I’m so approachable!” says one with little devil horns. “I always win!” says another one holding the smallest trophy he’s ever seen.

Lash stays stonefaced while everybody gushes about how cute and funny these are. Barely any of these are in the poses he was actually modeling. Did Bebop even need to peek so often then? Was that all part of his prank? They absolutely love it, of course they do. He stares down at these dozen little Lashes, mocking him and definitely not making him flustered, no siree!

But thankfully, he knows exactly what to do in those situations: Double down, baby.

He brings his gaze up, catching the golem’s eye in the process. “I had no clue you needed this much Lash in your life, Bebop! I’m sure it’ll look wonderful hanging above your bed,” he says, sporting a shit-eating grin. Wait, does Bebop even have a bed? Does he sleep? Shit, he has no clue, but thankfully nobody questions his comeback. 

Instantly the golem recoils, seemingly offended at the idea. “Are ye kiddin’? Might use it for fish n’ chips instead of wasting the newspaper.”

“Oooh Bebop, no! It looks fantastic, and it’s such a lovely souvenir!” Shelly goes to slide the sheet of paper towards her, gently rolling it securely. “This one I’m keeping, whether you want to or not.” She’s giving him a cute motherly expression and Bebop caves with a groan, some more steam leaving his vents. Nobody could contest that face, not even Lash, as ashamed as he is to admit.

“So you two know each other then?” asks Geraldine. 

Oh, here comes the gossip part, damnit. Bebop seems to freeze at that, but it’s alright. The Lash’s got this.

“Yeah, we met a while ago now. I’d like to think we became fast friends, as if he could resist The Lash anyways.” He lets out one of his usual smarmy smirks. He’ll lean into Bebop’s narrative. As much as he’d get instant gratification for outing him in front of his mom, Lash knows he’d always regret breaking Shelly’s heart by telling her that her son has more than likely been lying to her. Plus it’s not like it’s a huge life altering lie, he’ll just go with it and sprinkle some truth in it as well.

Bebop squints at him with a scoff, but some tension leaves his frame. “Yeah, ‘friends’. Hard to get rid of The Lash once he decided yer part of his life now.” 

Wow ok, ouch? But is he wrong though? Not really, seems like Bebop too is leaning towards sprinkling truth here and there. Is that what Bebop has been doing then, trying to rid himself of him? As if The Lash would ever let that happen. You don’t get to be The Lash’s greatest rival and then just walk away at the drop of a hat.

“Hmm, you’ve been pretty good at it lately though. Haven’t heard even a peep from you in months now, hah.” He plays it up, but a small tiny minuscule amount of the hurt he expresses is actually real. Lash is aware realistically that just knowing the reason Bebop left wouldn’t satisfy him, but can’t he at least have that? Fortunately, Lash is an incredible actor of course, so Bebop’s none the wiser to the little hint of genuine vulnerability he just displayed.

“...That so? Haven’t noticed.” He mumbles, turning his head to the side, seemingly unable to keep eye contact with Lash. He can’t decipher what the golem actually means or feels about this because of his dumb flat motionless metal face.

What the hell is happening? Lash doesn’t know how to interpret this entire conversation. He’s getting bombarded with mixed signals on top of keeping the pretense for Shelly’s sake. Is that more hurt he’s feeling? Anger? It’s all too confusing, so instead of answering he lets out a silent sigh and lets the conversation ebb away naturally.

Or it would, if Shelly didn’t have something to say about it. She had an indecipherable expression on her face during their whole exchange, he noticed. He wonders if she sees something happening with Bebop that he doesn’t. She must, being his mom and all. That’s how that works, right?

“How about this? Lash, would you like to come to our home for dinner this evening? Then you two could catch up!” She asks, completely genuinely.

Bebop snaps his head towards her, and Lash simply knows he’s about to protest. So, faster than the golem could react, he immediately agrees by instinct. “Oh really? That’d be lovely, Shelly. The Lash’s schedule is all freed up too!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Her entire face lights up at his agreement. She seems honestly happy to be spending more time with The Lash. Huh. Now that’s a new one he’ll admit, he mostly agreed because it’d annoy Bebop, he didn’t think it could come from an authentic place. Spending a couple hours in a class is one thing, but getting invited into someone’s home? For dinner? 

Hopefully he doesn’t screw this up. Haha, of course he won’t, he’s The Lash! Plus, it’d give him the perfect opportunity to question Bebop some more about his disappearance, hmmmyes. It’s all coming together.

Bebop is looking at him now in what he can only assume is a very miffed expression after the little stunt he just pulled. Well, ain’t getting rid of The Lash that easily anymore. 

The conversations continue into new topics, everybody recounting the recent happenings. Lash even gets to tell them about Lola chasing that pigeon, to everybody’s delight. Hmmm… He should look into getting a camera, he just knows they’d love to see his pets’ antics. Maybe a new hobby? Food for thought.

Their time together finally draws to a close, everybody having their own obligations. Lash gathers his new prizes as everyone is starting to leave, ready to do so as well only to have his momentum stopped by Bebop.

“Ye agreed to my mum's invitation so yer not slippin’ out of this one, twat,” he furiously whispers. Oh wait, that's right. So distracted he was trying to forget about it that he almost actually forgot. A weird surge of nervousness rises in him at being reminded. What if this is all some kind of elaborate set up after all? Of course Lash can handle himself, but he'll still be in enemy territory. He makes sure to keep that turmoil out of his facade, hiding it all behind a confident smirk.

“Lead the way, then.” They all say their goodbyes as he follows mother and son out of the store, getting ready to face whatever is to come.

Notes:

Thank you for reading, more to come hopefully soon!