#OH ALSO shout out to upperhug. she had this headcanon that tiger's gem flashes depending on his emotions n i LOVVVEEDD that so added it!!!

[powpowpunchout]

You’ll Know Eventually

Tiger rested against the ledge of the balcony of Bald Bull’s home. The dull, beige stone railings were freezing to the touch, but it felt nice after such a long day. He slowly closed his eyes as a gentle, evening breeze touched his face.

He still hasn’t changed out of his boxing attire. His body felt so sticky, his limbs ached, but he’ll be okay. He can teleport home whenever he wants and shower then, so there was no need to rush. Bull wanted to have him over for a small celebration, something Tiger could never refuse, and he’d hate to leave so early in the night.

Water from the pool in Bull’s garden was hitting the edges, and the sound of running water from the small fountains underneath the balcony filled the silence of the night. It was rather loud, all that splashing and splattering, yet there was something soothing about it.

Tiger opened his eyes again, they lingered in Bull’s backyard, which was surrounded by so many plants that Bull had no need for fences. Thick bushes with all sorts of flowers sprouting from them, low, crooked trees with branches that twisted and curved in such peculiar ways it made them look fluid, vines wrapping themselves around anything and everything, and flowers. Hundreds upon hundreds of flowers. At least, that’s what it looked like to Tiger.

Portions of the garden were lit up by lanterns hung on nearby trees. The lights would shine through colored glass and tint bits of the garden with hues of purples and blues. There were several more lanterns under the balcony, Tiger recalled. And whatever those lanterns couldn’t reach? The plants that were just out of their grasps? The soft, teal light of the pool made sure to illuminate them.

It all made for a wonderful scenery, and a wonderful way to keep the paparazzi out.

Tiger glanced to the side. A long, winding vine that had wrapped themselves around the pickets of the rails had caught his attention. The last time Tiger was here, the vines were still crawling around underneath the balcony. They had covered nearly every inch of the ceiling and had fresh grapes dangling from them. It seems they’re now working their way up here.

Tiger stared at the tip of the vine, noticing something small poking out from under the leaves. Grapes. Tiny, unripe grapes.

Tiger raised his hand. The vine raised with it.

With two fingers, he beckoned a berry to come forward. One plucked itself and flew to him.  

He let it hover in front of his face. As it slowly rotated, Tiger peered through its thin, purple skin. He could vaguely make out the lights of the distant city.

“You’re rather quiet for a winning man.” Tiger heard Bull say from behind, “Did the paparazzi tire you out that much?”

Tiger flicked the berry away. He watched it fly past the plants and disappear into the darkness, “It’s late.”

“If you need to return home, I do not mind.”

“Not that late.”

Bull chuckled and joined Tiger’s side. He set his small plate of sweet pastries on the railing before resting against it. They stared out into the night, the warm, orange light coming through the door basked their backs.

“Would you like me to get you something to eat?” Bull offered.

“No, no. I’m fine.”

Tiger pressed his lips together, thinking for a moment.

“I had a rather… Strange conversation before my fight today.” Tiger finally said, “Well, the conversation was normal, but everything else felt off.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“Octave.”

“Really now?” Bull’s brows went up, “I have heard he has quite the personality.”

“Yes, that’s just it. Hondo’s told me before of his behavior and–oh, I’m sure everyone’s heard of his attitude, I’ve even witnessed a couple of arguments he’s had in the past, so it’s just…” Tiger twisted the end of his mustache, “...Peculiar.”

Bull was quiet for a second more.

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

Tiger whipped his head around, “Pardon?”

“You’re going back to the stadium tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Yes, a couple of photoshoots, an interview, the usual.”

“So if Overload is there tomorrow, talk to him. Perhaps he is in a rough spot, perhaps no one has given him the chance.” Bull grabbed a baklava from his plate, bits of the top layer flaking off, “You never know what could happen if you take the time to know him. Even just a little bit. That’s how we became friends, afterall.”

As Bull bit into the pastry, Tiger faced the distant city again.

Maybe Bull’s right.

Maybe he should talk to him.

It never hurts to try.

~ ~ ~

Tiger rubbed his eyes as he drifted through the halls.

It was early.

Far too early.

Yet here he was.

In the stadium.

At 7 in the morning.

Perhaps he was being a bit dramatic. That wasn’t too early of a time, especially compared to when others arrived, but he still had to wake up at five in the morning. The fact anyone is expected to wake up so soon should be considered a crime. It certainly didn’t help that he had to get ready for the day ‘manually’  because his magic was of no use so early.

Oh, sure, his magic still worked, but it didn’t work well. It still had to ‘wake up’ with him, which always took an hour or so. A long. Painful. Hour.

It was one of the main reasons mornings were so dreadful, right on top of having to drag himself out of his warm, comfortable bed.

Tiger could go on and on about how pesky his magic was at the crack of dawn. If he wanted something summoned to him? His gym bag, his boxing attire, his breakfast? There’d always be ‘hiccups’. They’d rather appear twenty feet away, appear inside out or upside down–he’s lost count of the times his food had fallen to the floor–and sometimes he’d be given the wrong thing entirely!

If he wanted to levitate an item? His magic would just decide to stop doing that, letting even more things fall to the ground.  

And if he wanted to teleport? Forget it.

There’d be mornings he’d want to teleport into the bathroom, only to end up on his roof. Sometimes he’d want to teleport to his microwave to turn the accursed timer off, only for his magic to whisk him away into Bald Bull’s kitchen of all places.

The number of times he’s randomly appeared in Bull’s home is embarrassing.

And don’t get him started on his clones. The only reason he’d ever want to summon a clone as soon as he gets out of bed is if he wanted to scare himself awake.

Yet despite all those troubles, he still loves his magic. He can’t imagine a day without it.

Tiger heard chatter up ahead. His eyes flickered up. Two staff members were making their way down the green hall. Tiger raised himself into the air a bit more and flew over them.

The smell of coffee hit his face. His eyes widened. He looked back down to see the cups the members were holding.

Oh, coffee. That sounds wonderful right now. Does he have time to get a cup? Two cups? Bull’s going to be training this morning, he could definitely get him tea. What time was that interview again?

“At 1.” A clone of Tiger suddenly appeared below him, swimming on their back.

Perfect! He could teleport to the second floor, have a clone wait in line for him, then–

Wait a moment.

Why in blazes was he here so early if he didn’t have to arrive until 1?!

Another clone popped up beside him, “You wanted to see Overload.”

Please, Octave was always going to be here, it wasn't like he was going off to another stadium any time soon. If he couldn’t find Octave today–or simply didn’t have the time to–he can wait another day.

Tiger cursed to himself. He could’ve slept in. He could’ve taken his time getting up. He could’ve waited for his magic to adjust. But no. Here he is. Six hours earlier than he needs to be. He can’t believe Bull convinced him to do this.

“You were the one who agreed to the idea.” A third clone said from behind.

A fourth appeared in front of him, “And you were the one who woke yourself up at 5AM.”

He’s had enough of his clones’ nonsense. He shooed them away and continued flying onwards.

If Octave wasn’t here, he’ll teleport to Bull and watch him train, or see who else was roaming around at this hour.

Tiger turned the corner. Then he stopped.

There he was.

In the middle of the hall, leaning against the wall in his boxing outfit was Octave.

Tiger made his way over. He cleared his throat.

“Good morning.”

Octave lifted his head up and brushed the hair out of his face, “Hey.”

Tiger couldn’t help but notice Octave looked a tad bit… Messier than usual. Was he in a rush this morning? Did he not have the time to brush his hair and part it the way he tends to? Or to properly tie his laces? His black pants weren’t properly tucked into his gray boots either.

Was it rude of him to make these observations? Who was he to judge anyhow? He completely understood the pain of getting ready before the sun was up.

“I didn’t expect to see you here so early.” Tiger said.

“Yeah. Promised t’help Aran with some stuff.” Octave faced the dark gray door that stood across from them.

Tiger nodded.

Then he just…

Hovered there.

Like a child’s forgotten balloon.

Did he… Seriously not think of a conversation for the two of them to have? No ideas for small talk? Nothing? He can’t just leave the interaction at that. There’s got to be something they could talk about. Something they have in common…

Boxing!

‘Not everyone’s life revolves around boxing!’

They’re both boxers! What else could they talk about? The weather?

‘The sun is certainly in the sky today, isn’t it?’

Tiger could feel his magic trying to summon clones to argue with him, but he contained himself.

Maybe he could ask Octave about what he and Aran were going to do? What plans he has for the day? If he liked coffee? Tea? Something–anything–was better than this painful silence!

“Your uh, ya gem is doin’ a thing.” Octave motioned at his forehead. Tiger jolted and quickly slapped his hand over his gem.

Cursed thing must’ve been flashing madly.

“Apologies. It happens when I’m tired.” Tiger partially lied.

“Right.” Octave scratched at his stubble, “Saw ya fight yesterday, some good stuff. Told ya you had it.”

“Ah, thank you.” Tiger put his hand down, “That man did manage to get a few good hits on me at the start. I was quite worried he’d put up a challenge, but I figured him out fairly quickly.”

“Almost thought the guy was runnin’ into ya fists on purpose. Kept chargin’ at ya like some sorta spazz.”

Tiger chuckled and twirled the tip of his mustache, “Well, at least he was a fair fighter.”

“C’mon, that shouldn’t even be–”

The door swung open.

It hit the wall. The stench of old garbage and pipe water filled the hall as Aran walked in, his face covered by a beaten up box he was carrying.

Now Tiger wasn’t sure if he was that exhausted, but didn’t Aran wear that same purple tank top and green shorts yesterday? And the day before that? And the day before–actually. Never mind. Tiger really didn’t want to think about this anymore.

“I thought y’were gonna hold th’door open.” Aran grumbled as he slammed the door shut with his foot.

“Ya said to wait by th’door.” Octave said without a hint of care.

“Common sense, y’idiot!” Aran shoved his face into Octave’s, “Do I gotta tell ye how t’walk as well? How t’breathe outta that big nose?”

Aran stopped. He whipped his head over to Tiger, showing off a disgusting bruise on his cheek, “Why’s kitty ‘ere?”

Tiger threw his brows up. That was certainly a nickname.

“I was only saying ‘hi’ to Overload.” He huffed.

“Whatev’r.” Aran stormed down the hall and let out a sharp whistle, “C’mon.”

Octave grit his teeth. He grumbled to himself before following Aran, thumbs wrapped around his belt.

Tiger tagged along as well. He knew Aran wasn’t talking to him, but he was curious about whatever was in the box. Maybe if he flew at juuuust the right angle, he could catch a glimpse inside.

“Heard ye got a mouthful from Macho Man.” Aran flashed a smirk at Octave.

“Heard ya ate dirt at’cha fight yesterday.” Octave shot back.

Aran scowled. He stayed quiet for just a second more before he started dragging his feet across the floors, creating an awful, piercing squeaking sound. Tiger cringed with each squeak that violated his ears. He looked down and watched Octave’s hands curl to fists.

Tiger considered teleporting away before things got uglier. He got his small talk. It went well. He can talk to Octave another time. But before he could do anything, Octave turned to him.

“Ya been to the trainin’ room?”

“No, not yet. Why?”

“Wanted t’know if anyone was in there. Be great t’work out without a bunch’a other guys hoggin’ it up.”

“I know Bald Bull will be there eventually. What time were you thinking of going?”

“As soon as Aran’s finished with his junk.” Octave glanced back at the Irish man, who was finally walking like a normal person again.

“Yes, and what’s…” Tiger hovered just a bit closer to Aran, “What exactly is in the box?”

Aran hunched over the box and snarled��snarled?!--at Tiger. Tiger backed away.

“It’s stuff for Macho Man.” Octave said, which earned him a hard shove from Aran.

“Go announce it t’da world, why don’t ye?”

Octave shoved him back harder. Whatever was in that box hit the side and made a loud THUD. That only made Tiger’s curiosity worse.

Octave turned back to Tiger, “But yeah, after I help Aran with whatev’ah, I’m gonna be spendin’ the whole day trainin’.” He flexed his arms, “Got that fight comin’ up with Don, ‘n I’m feelin’ a lucky streak comin’ on.”

Aran scoffed and muttered something. Octave glared.

“Got somethin’ ya wanna say, schmuck?”

“C’mon, ye been stuck behind Rosey forev’r. When ye gon’ stop kiddin’ yerself?” Aran said through chuckles.

“Ay, I beat that last guy–”

“Cause he was an idiot.”

Octave rolled his eyes, “Anyways, would be great to get a couple’a swings at that stupid face.” He threw a few punches into the air.

Their walking slowed as they approached the locker room’s door. Aran stood beside it and shifted the box around, making sure it wouldn’t slip out of his arms, “A’right, let’s hurry it up before Macho gets ‘ere. Y’could make yerself useful ‘n actually hold th’door open this time.”

Aran then shot a dirty look at Tiger, “And I don’t wanna kitty ov’r ‘ere rattin’ us out. Git outta ‘ere. Shoo!” He swatted away at Tiger as if he were a pesky fly.

Tiger stuck his nose up, offended by such a gesture, “I was going to head off anyways, I have no interest in whatever childish activities you have planned, Ryan.”

Tiger’s gem flashed, but before he teleported away, he faced Octave one last time, “It was nice talking with you, I hope you have a good day.”

Octave blinked, “Yeah. See ya around.”

And with that, Tiger vanished. Off to finally get coffee for himself and Bull.

~ ~ ~

“And a cup of joe for Joe!” The barista said as she handed the coffee to Glass joe. She looked a little too proud of that joke.

Glass Joe flashed her a smile and gave a quick ‘Thank you’ before leaving the coffee stand. He swears, everytime he hears that ‘cup of joe’ line, he wants to throw himself off the stadium. Oh, what a wonderful life anyone who isn’t named ‘Joe’ must have. Blissfully unaware of the suffering he goes through.

Joe threw one end of his red scarf around his neck as he walked through the backyard of the stadium, or the ‘Garden’, which Joe loved the sound of more. Despite how deceptively wonderful it seemed today, the bright blue sky, the colorful flowers, the dew-covered grass, it was actually rather nippy out, but Joe didn’t mind. It’ll make the hot coffee all the more enjoyable.

Of course, he had to let it cool. He hasn’t even taken a sip yet, but the burning pain his poor hands were going through was more than enough to tell him not to drink it.

He used one hand to push his round sunglasses up then took a deep breath. The garden was at its best in the early morning, that was something Joe firmly stood by. There weren’t any crowds rushing around and shouting over each other, instead, it was quiet. The few people who were here were taking it easy, quietly chatting to one another, and actually pushing in the small seats of the white tables before leaving, which is a lot more than he can say during lunch rush.

The small restaurants in the area were setting up for the day, so there weren’t any winding lines, except at the coffee stand, of course. The other places were prepping meals, cleaning their counters, and restocking their supplies. It was always fun to peek through their large windows to see what they were making.

Joe did enjoy his strolls around the restaurants–was that a good word to call them? They didn’t exactly resemble any of those bigger, fancier restaurants Joe had been to before, instead, they looked more like little houses. Their wooden, brick, and stone exteriors, their red and brown roofs, the trimmed windows along their sides, and the lamp posts surrounding them always reminded Joe of the neighborhoods he’d walk through during his free time. It was charming.

Though, as much as he loved the WVBA’s Garden, their food could never compare to the delights served at a local cafe, or the bakeries he and Sandman love to visit.

Joe finally took a sip of his coffee. Warm, but not scalding. It does a body well.

As Joe took another sip, he noticed someone in the distance.

Was that…?

Was that Kaiser up ahead?

Joe’s eyes lit up. It was!

He picked up the pace, but not by too much. He didn’t want to spill his coffee.

Kaiser was sitting at one of the wooden benches reading the paper. How on Earth was he not cold? Sure, it wasn’t freezing, but a beige short sleeved shirt and green khakis? Those things were probably as thin as the newspaper. Joe was wearing his black turtleneck, long red pants, and a scarf and he was still cold!

“Good morning, Kaiser.” Joe said, a hint of melody in his tone.

“Ah.” Kaiser glanced up from his paper before turning the page, “Good morning. Have you come to talk about the article?”

“No, I hardly have the time to–article? What article?” Joe leaned over Kaiser’s shoulder, skimming through the words on the pages.

Kaiser closed the paper then flipped it to the front, pointing to a side column with a picture of a broad man above.

“I saw that Sandman had been mentioned and thought you had read it already.” Kaiser said.

Joe read the column. It was nothing interesting at first, but as it went on and on, he couldn’t help but feel a tick of annoyance. That tick then grew to frustration. Then anger. Then before Joe knew it, he was gripping his cup so tightly coffee was starting to spew from the lid.

This…

This is nonsense.

This is repulsive.

This is absurd!

This is–

~ ~ ~  

“Sandman!” Glass Joe kicked the door to the training room open, “Have you seen this blasphemy!?” He held the newspaper high into the air.

Mr. Sandman stopped his training with Bald Bull and narrowed his eyes.

“I can’t even see it from here.”

Glass Joe sputtered. He gripped the paper tightly and marched his way to the other side of the room.

“You will not believe the audacity some people have!” Joe started as he maneuvered his way between the gym equipment, “This–this egotistical little man, this nobody who lives hundreds of miles away–probably living in some dumpster in an alleyway–dared to talk bad of you!” Joe stepped over the dumbbells scattered around the dark gray floors, “Who gave this man an interview? Who allowed this sick freak to talk? How can–hi Bull–how can people just open their mouth and say such vile things?!”

When Joe finally reached his friend, who was leaning against a red punching bag Bull had been punching, he shoved the paper into his face.

“Behold!”

Sandman grabbed the newspaper and read the column. Bull read over his shoulder.

He then lowered it, “Just some guy with a big mouth. Nothin’ new.”

Joe’s jaw dropped. He sputtered again. He motioned to the paper, then to Sandman, then back to the paper.

“Nothing?!” Joe exclaimed, “That man called you a phony! He accused you of paying your way to the top! This is nothing but slander! What are you going to do about this?”

“Not much. The paper’s already been published.” Sandman shrugged.

“Not that!” Joe snatched the newspaper out of his hands and pointed to the man in the picture, “That! We need to do something about him!”

“I don’t even know who he is.” Sandman said. He glanced at Bull, who shrugged. They both stared at the picture. He was just… Some guy. There wasn’t anything interesting about his name either.

“Don’t you want to say anything back? Defend your title?!”

“I think I’ll just keep helpin’ Bull train.” He gave the punching bag a good smack. Bull grinned.

“Yes, but what if he–”

“Weren’t you the guy who said these sorta people don’t get anywhere in life?”

“Well, yes, but–” Joe’s face grew pink, “It’s different when my friends are roped into it.”

“Hey, I appreciate it.” Sandman went over to his black gym bag that laid against the white cement walls, “But a lotta those guys are all bark no bite. Even if he does get all the way over here, he’s still gotta go through everyone else. I bet he won’t even last a day in the Minor Circuit.”

Bald Bull chuckled.

Joe breathed in. Then out.

“Yes, you’re right.” He unraveled his scarf and placed it over his shoulder, “I suppose I got caught in the moment.” He tucked the newspaper under his arm, “Besides, I’m certain we all know who would win if that man dared to show his face here.”

Joe started to take some steps back and patted the paper, “Now then. I need to return this to Kaiser.”  

Sandman raised a brow, “You stole that from Kaiser?”

“No!” Joe jumped, “I was–I borrowed it. Like I said–I got caught in the moment.”

“So ya got upset and stole from a defenseless boxing teacher, is what you’re sayin’.”

“Oh, you–” Joe was about ready to go off again when he saw that smirk on Sandman’s face, but he restrained himself. He spun around on his heels and headed to the door, “He’s not defenseless! He’s a rank ahead of me!”

“Yeah, yeah. Take care, Joe.” Sandman’s voice echoed through the room. Glass Joe waved goodbye with the paper then slammed the door shut.

With all that being settled, Sandman and Bull went back to training again.