Chapter Text
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PART ONE: FLIPPING THE BIRD
Chapter One
Hawkgirl
July 4
Midway City, 11:00 CDT
Michigan had no business being so cold this time of year.
As someone who could fly, Isa was used to a bid of wind chill, her feathers helping regulate body temperature. But she was still wearing her summer coat, and it was poor defense against the guy with ice powers, trying to turn Lake Michigan into a skating rink, all the while completely bare-chested.
Man boobs, open to the world.
“Ach!” Katar fell back behind her to avoid a blast of bitter wintry air. His armor flashed in the weak sunlight, cuirass groaning against the cold. “Curse this ice! Why isn’t he wearing a shirt?!”
“Avert your gaze, Hawkgirl!” Shayera commanded before swooping down over the frozen lake. Her wings spread wide before folding in for speed, speckled grey-black feathers of a peregrine. Isa was always jealous of Shayera’s grace and speed. With a crack of her spiked mace, she sent a ripple of cracks towards their enemy, but he just cackled and skated away. “This human has no modesty!”
All around them, across the shores of Lake Michigan, was a terrible scene of terror and cold. It had been a perfect summer day, full of warm water and picnics, promising a night of celebratory fireworks, with boats on the water preparing for a show, when a sudden, inexplicable snowstorm swooped in. Umbrellas were tossed in the air, boats thrown about, kids freezing in the water before the man himself appeared, sending everyone fleeing while they could.
Chillblaine (whatever kind of villain name you’d call that) was a petty criminal, even bequeathed with ice powers. He had eyes bigger than his mouth, one might say. And not very effective when working alone. Isa only knew a bit about him, and this was her first interaction; according to what the Hawks had told her, he was more beauty than brains.
If you could call it beauty.
“Aw, come on!” The man called to his fleeing audience. “What happened to the party? I was just starting to have fun!”
Definitely not Isa’s type. He was mid-thirties (practically the crypt-keeper), blond hair, looked like he hit the gym a lot. Wore a jacket but that was about it. Isa had a real hard time not looking too much while she dove to scoop up a fallen child trying to escape the beach with his mother. A hundred feet away, Hawkman swooped down in equal measure, redirecting a wave of ice from fleeing civilians. A boat had beached itself, caught on its side frozen in a mini iceberg.
“This problem is beneath us,” Katar growled as she flew back to his side, rising back up into the sky.
“Do you think we’ll still make it in time?” Isa asked, trying not to sound too whiny. They still had half a country to fly over after this.
“We will make time,” His golden helm looked down at her, warm in the growing clouds across the sky. Hawkman was dark where Hawkwoman was pale, tall where she was short; but they were almost identical in their stoicism. Katar Hol rarely smiled — Shayera even less — but there was comfort in his assurance.
The Hawks screamed aggression, from their armor to their mace and axe, to their powerful wings that were almost as wide as a long-haul trailer. Every feather a part of them, from head to tail. That jutting metal beak of his helm intimidated even a hardened warrior, though it was only for show. Both of the adults had winged helmets where Isa’s only swooped back gently over her head, resembling a peregrine falcon, but giving her a decidedly earless look that felt kind of silly when she studied her own reflection sometimes. At least it kept her hair out of her face. And hidden. The first rule of warrior school was safety. The second rule was to have fun and be yourself (and smash real hard).
Katar's wings, dark honey brown with some white mottling underneath, beat warm air over Isa, lessening her shivers for just a moment. There would be no further encouragement.
Isa nodded once, and tried to get her head back into the game. That got a little ditty playing in her mind, helping to momentarily forget her fear as she and Hawkman circled Chillblaine, while Hawkwoman took him head-on, as was her style.
Nth metal cracked against ice and snow, as Chillblaine skated gracefully over the solid lake. Too slow, Hawkwoman shot up to avoid a reaching grasp, but her ankle was caught in the icy column, and her momentum cut short. She cursed and spat and beat her wings harder, but could not pull herself free. A swing of her mace brought cracks, but the ice was too thick and their enemy drew closer.
Chillblaine jeered, “It’s always so sad, seeing a bird caught in ice! Better to just let them die!”
But his joy was short-lived; Hawkman moved in swiftly, flying by with his own mace and smashing straight through the ice column, freeing his mate, and both of them advanced on Chillblaine at once. He staggered back in alarm, throwing up a massive ice wall to block them — only to turn around and catch Isa’s mace across his chest.
Isa didn’t even know what she was doing. She was never the first to attack anyone, ever. She just… saw the opportunity? Panicked a little? Followed Hawkwoman’s example and let out a terrible screech while swinging, so no one would know how terrified she was of herself as she did it?
He went flying, landed hard. Ice cracked beneath him. But he stayed down, wheezing hard.
Katar and Shayera leapt over the icewall to meet Isa on the other side. Shayera, her red hair iced white at the ends, gave her an appraising look under that metal brow. “You struck him from behind, Hawkgirl. An underhanded move. Very unlike you.”
Isa’s breath caught in her throat as she landed on her feet, wings stuck folding in rigidly behind her. They were so large, too big for her body, and with very dark feathers; just the slightest bit of deep blue (best seen in the sunlight) on the shoulder and across her marginal coverts. Maybe one day Isa will grow into her adult plumage, but today was not that day. For now, she was stuck with oversized wings on her puny body that did not promise another growth spurt any time soon. It was hard enough being a warrior, never mind a warrior who caught every tiny gust of wind on these stupid giant sails.
She clutched her mace (a smaller version of theirs, just as she was the smallest of them) — to her chest. So often she faced criticism, and now, the one time she acted without orders, she feared the worst.
But Hawkman only placed a hand on her shoulder. “A good show of strategy! A true warrior never waits for their moment — they always seek it out!”
That was about the best compliment Isa had received. Ever. Maybe. It was so hard, just to get them even reluctantly approving.
“And you’ve saved us some time with an enemy not worth half of it,” Shayera said, with a derisive jerk of her chin towards the fallen Chillblaine. “I’d prefer not to be late. It’s your big day, after all.”
Her big day. Isa couldn’t help but grin, even if they never returned her enthusiasm. This is it!