Tommy grimaces as he digs his thumb into his face and drags it along his skin, the pained look worsening when it comes back almost entirely stained black. He lowers his hand and rubs the inky part with his index finger, watching the latter turn a dark ashy gray. "Didn't have to fuckin' smear marker all over my face," Tommy grumbles. (Aizawa had looked like he wanted to hit him at first.)* "You've made mine worse than yours! It wasn't even bad in the first place!"

Aizawa scowls, showing Tommy the screen of his phone and pointing to the picture on it as if Tommy doesn't know the masterpiece he'd painted on the underground hero's face. "'Wasn't even bad,' huh?" He mocks, and without a single glance at his phone, zooms in on the blatant dick that Tommy most-definitely drew on his forehead. The fact that Aizawa's now using his other hand to rub some of the marks off using a wipe Momo gave him makes this even better. (There's a certain mirth to his eyes; Tommy relaxes.)

Tommy cracks a grin. "Just hide it with your mop of hair," he suggests, dramatically cowering when Aizawa crushes the cleaning wipe in his hand. "Okay, okay! I'll help you convince Mic to delete the photo."

Aizawa grumbles incoherently, casually tossing the cleaning wipe into a nearby trash-bin. There's still a few smudges of translucent black on his face, so Tommy counts that as a win until he notices and wipes them off, too.

"Monsieur," Aoyama calls out, holding out the same type of wipe Momo gave Aizawa. "Here." Tommy glances up; Momo gives him a small smile. He gives a slightly bigger one back in thanks, wiping his face while subtly taking his communicator out.

> whispers to >: Hey

> whispers to >: Hey cuckatoo

"Now that everyone's decided on their hero names," Aizawa begins to drawl, "we'll go back to talking about the internships."

> whispers to >: Please don't call me that, I'm begging you. /lh

> whispers to >: Sheesh alright

> whispers to >: Nyway, you have the pic right

> whispers to >: I DO!! YOU NEED IT?

Aizawa takes a stack of papers out, raising them vertically and lightly tapping the bottom on the little podium he stands at. "These will last a week. As for where they'll take place, those who had offers will have their own lists to choose from."

> whispers to >: Yeah kinda

whispers to >: Told Eraser Id go and 'convince" you to dlete it

> whispers to >: delete*

> whispers to >: Send it ere so that when you ddo that I can send it back

"Those who don't will choose from among forty agencies around the country that are willing to accept our interns."

> whispers to >: Tell everyoone else to save it for blackmail

>whispers to >: Worse case scenario

>whispers to >: Print an frame it

"They all work in different places and have different specialties. For example, Thirteen would prioritize rescues from accidents and disasters more than fighting villains. Think carefully before you choose."

> whispers to >: GREAT IDEAS, LITTLE LISTENER!! I'LL GET ONTO IT RIGHT NOW > : - )

Tommy smirks, looking away from that little smile (and his minutely shaking hands) just in time to see Aizawa start dividing the papers. Like he could sense Tommy was done with something, the man turns to him when Tommy looks at him, raising an eyebrow. The blond huffs, coming over to him and separating the stapled paper packets as Aizawa begins passing them out.

...Sheesh, this one's fucking packed. Tommy holds a whole ass slab of papers stapled into separate parts and tied together with a strip of something transparent around it. On the top is a sticky note that simply reads There's another one like it, this one reading: Tommy's hand is already flicking through the corners of pages, lifting some up higher to read a hero's name or two if he can, but Aizawa clears his throat expectantly in front of him (what the shit, when did he get there), and Tommy gives him the rest of the papers with a grumble.

The general chatter in the classroom turns into declarations of where everyone wishes to work, as well as small debates on what would be best for them and others. It dies down quickly when the bell rings, though, signaling the end of the class period. "Turn in your choices in a couple days," Aizawa tells his class, already strolling out the door with his sleeping bag over his shoulder.

"Wait—we've only got two days?!" Someone shouts, panic laced in their voice, but Aizawa keeps moving.

"Due to changes, the hand-to-hand and weaponry training will be reduced to Tuesday and Friday again," the underground hero adds, moving to close the door after turning around one last time to say: "Make your decisions efficiently. Dismissed."

And then he closes it, leaving the class—and Tommy—to think.

Ashido gapes at the door before her head whips towards Tommy, a beaming smile stretched out on her face. "Are we really not doing training today?!"

"Yeah," Tommy answers, a weird sense of restlessness and something being wrong going through his mind. It isn't serious, so this is just from the new schedule thing. "We aren't. Back to, uh, what was it—Tuesdays an' Thursdays for you all."

The class cheers loudly, some almost throwing their papers into the air, but Tommy still thinks about it. Usually, every fourth period in a school day would be used to train—at least, ever since Tommy joined. If not to train, then to study their Quirks or some shit, try and figure out ways to use them better even if it bore no fruit. Tommy's used to that, used to moving all the time, so he adapted to it easily. It's why Pandora's Vault made him reckless.

Eh... He can't go back to his house and continue mining because Tommy has to stay here or some shit. He's a "Teacher's Assistant," so he usually just gets messaged by Aizawa or Yamada or whoever if they need help in a class, and then he goes there an' does whatever. (The students don't really move from classes; the teachers do.)** That was primarily an excuse to get Tommy into U.A.'s system, though, so a majority of the time, no one messages him and he stays with Class 1-A as damage control or something. Tommy doesn't really know anyone besides Aizawa, Yamada, and Midnight, either, since they just need his name for him to help, and they're all busy, so none of them can spar with Tommy.

That fourth period of practically nothing is going to make him agitated until tomorrow.

Maybe he'll find a beach like Dagobah or some shit. If there was that much trash on it, there's gotta be another shore like that. Or maybe he could use the gyms? There might be students there...

Tommy huffs, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall as the hero with the black skinsuit walks in, here to teach mathematics and all that boring shit. He'll figure it out later.

===

While the class stayed at the cafeteria for lunch, Tommy finds himself eating only a bowl of rice and then leaving, moving through slightly unfamiliar halls. Izuku had given him a worried look, but Tommy had waved it off with a hand. He wasn't gonna destroy shit or whatever; just exploring. Well, finding something, really.

More specifically—

When Tommy approaches a tall, imposing metal door very fucking different from all the others, he hears a very, very loud explosion on the other side. It vibrates his body through the floor; Tommy would've staggered back even if it didn't feel like there was a mini-earthquake shaking the building. He repeats that this is not L'Manburg, this is not L'Manburg, this is not L'Manburg, until he can stop grabbing at his hair and stop smelling smoke and ash and stop seeing explosions behind his eyelid and stop. Being. Pathetic.

—the Support Department. Tommy's gonna be there for like a week at least, so he might as well see what rules they have.

With a shaky breath, Tommy stands straight from where he had subconsciously hunched over himself. He lets his hand card through his hair again, and again, and again, and maybe one last time before he gathers the strength to reapproach the metal door. A little bit of smoke seeps out from under the door (Tommy holds his breath), and even from outside he can hear people coughing inside.

Their reprimands aren't... panicked, though. Just exasperated. And tired. Tommy thinks he can hear the voice of the guy with gear on his head.

Tommy grabs an embedded handle in the door, but when he moves to pull it, hesitation holds him back. Because, well—the fuck're they doing in there that involves explosions? Does Tommy really want to deal with flashbacks like every second? As if to remind him, the smoke coming from under the door wafts to his nose; his quivering fingers falter, threatening to slip and let go, and Tommy almost lets them.

No. No—the fuck's he doing? He's Tommy Innit "Thes"—Tommy Innit, and Tommy Innit does not give in to—to silly little fires and weapons and words as sharp as sewing needles and, and something as ugly and dense and small as smoke. Tommy Innit survived wars, Tommy Innit survived exile—Tommy Innit can certainly survive a few little booms.

Throwing his hesitance away, Tommy grabs the handle and flings the door open, immediately letting go to cover his nose. He uses his other hand to begin waving away all the smolder, his eye squinting as it tries to see through the smog. Just in case, he keeps his inventory open.

"For god's sake, Hatsume," the teacher with the gear shouts (at least, Tommy thinks they do), "stop putting random sh—tuff together!" That same voice dissolves into a minor coughing fit, soon adding: "Go eat lu—" a cough, "—nch!"

Another person with a more feminine voice begins to laugh merrily, even if that's peppered with coughs. "Why do that," they ask, wheezing again, "when I can keep making babies?"

Woah. Okay, Tommy thinks, spinning on his heel and turning the fuck around. He is not dealing with this.

Unfortunately, the smoke's cleared up enough to where the person with the feminine voice exclaims, "Wait! Oh, you're new—haven't seen you before! Or maybe I did at the Festival; I," they drag the letter out, "don't remember!"

Tommy whirls around, wanting to see the face of who's talking to him—and flinches when there's already a head of pink, bright hair in front of him.

The person's hair has thick dreadlocks; not like Tari's in the way that they seem to pull her scalp apart, but looser, more wild. There's a set of goggles on their head, revealing their bright yellow eyes that have weird pupils; they're shaped like if Tommy were looking at the tip of a four-pointed arrowhead, but empty in the middle. They have baggy pants, gloves, and a thick-strap shirt, all of which are in gray shades. There's a toolbelt around their waist and grime around their eyes.

Oh. His mind finally connects her to the girl in the Sports Festival. This is Hatsume, the same person he'd wanted a jetpack out of. (Standing here before him, she reminds Tommy of Tubbo so fucking much it hurts.)

"I'm Hastume Mei," she states, her mouth curling into an impish grin. "I use she and her. Pleasure meeting you...?"

It takes Tommy too long to find his voice while he's hearing Tubbo's pleas all over again. "T-Tommy Innit," he manages at some point, stepping back from there. "Or Innit Tommy. However the fuck the naming system works. Uh—call me Tommy, it's easier. Nice meeting you too?" Hastily, he tacks on, "I use he and him."

Prime, he shouldn't have come here. He should've just fucking left. He should've joined the class to have lunch and saved this for another day.

Hatsume grins wider, backing up a little. Even so, her body buzzes with energy and excitement. "Ooooh, are you here to see some of my babies? Hm—you don't see like a student, so maybe you need some hero hero support gear?" If she took a step, she'd have probably been able to pull an Izuku and start bouncing all over the walls an' shit. "This is so! Exciting! I've never worked on a real hero's gear before; judging by your body type, you can't really do with heavy stuff, right? You'll need something light and strong, but luckily enough, I've probably made a baby or two based off of—"

"Oi, Hatsume," her teacher calls out, effectively shutting her up. Hatsume turns to look at them with a hum, unaffected by their annoyed frown, or even the slightly solemn, stern tone in their next words. "Give him more space."

Hatsume's smile doesn't diminish, but she does mimic a pout the best she can. Then, she moves back a few more steps. "Didn't need to tell me that! Even I can tell he's jumpier than me!"

Despite the tremor that he's desperately trying to hide in his voice right now, Tommy scoffs. "The fuck's that supposed to mean?" He questions.

"None ya!" Hatsume's head whips back towards him, her dreadlocks flaring behind her. It makes Tommy flinch, though he does try to hide it the best he can. She doesn't seem to notice as she claps her hands gleefully, reaching out for his hand before retracting hers and instead moving further into the room. She pierces through the remaining smoke on the ground with her quick movements, gesturing for Tommy to move closer with a hand. "C'mon, c'mon! I have so many babies to show you!"

Her teacher sighs. "Ignore her if you want," they say, approaching Tommy slowly. Streaks of light brown hair peek out from under their helm (which looks more and more like a yellow simplified Ender Dragon's head the more he stares at it.) "Don't think I've introduced myself; I'm Power Loader—or Maijima. He and him. What're you here for?"

Tommy shifts on his feet, taking a moment to glance around the room. There's metal tables sporting lots of fancy machinery and shit, colorful wires and sheets of metal all over the place. Equally, tools are littered all over the place, some of them sorted in toolboxes on the ground and others alone on the tables. The walls, a light steel gray like the rest of the school, are splattered with ash and shrapnel. Besides Tommy, Maijima, and Hatsume, no one else seems to be in the room. Thank Prime for that; with more people, it'd be smaller and more cluttered. Or maybe it wouldn't; there's a sort of corridor that leads to somewhere else.

Tommy takes a breath, tugging at his sleeve. "Uh," he eloquently begins, staring at something random behind the teacher, "just wanted to see what's up. 'M gonna be here for, y'know, the whole internships thing, so. Yeah."

Maijima hums in understanding, backing away. He opens his mouth to probably say something, but Hatsume's voice interrupts him. "Oh my god," she basically squeals, darting from her desk back to Tommy, "you're staying here for a while?! Oh, now I have to introduce you to my babies!"

Maijima sighs. "Hatsume—"

His student makes little jumps, switching the foot she lands on every time. "Pfft, it should be fine!" She protests cheerfully. "It's lunch time! We have like, what, an hour? I'm not letting that go to waste, not for me or for Tommy!"

"What if I just wanted to check this place out?" Tommy asks before he can stop himself, crossing his arms. "Need to go back eventually, y'know?"

Hatsume tilts her head as if Tommy's asked the most ridiculous question in the world. "Then why'd you come here during lunch? You'd have spent it with your class and then come here after school, right?" She points a gloved finger to him. "You want something here, whether it be a simple field observation or an invention; I'm gonna give you at least that and more."

With a grin, she once again motions for Tommy to come over to her desk. Despite the plain irritation and warning plastered all over the parts of Maijima's face he can see, Tommy eventually sighs. He scrunches his face in obvious hesitation but follows Hatsume anyway. Better than being bored in his lounge, crafting all sorts of shit for preparation.

"Remember to not blow anything else up," Maijima finally says, sighing. Tommy shifts himself so that he can see the entire room, including when Maijima moves to the little corridor Tommy had noticed before. "If you do, I'm gonna be the one to blow up in your face instead, and so will the paperwork to pay for the damages. Understood?"

Hastume laughs. "Mhm! Loud and clear!"

Maijima's footsteps—which are a little heavy, and they drag a little—start moving out of the room. "Gonna get lunch myself," he explains. "Watch her, Tommy."

Tommy does a salute subconsciously. "Yep. Got it."

And then, with the sound of a door being left slightly ajar, Tommy's sucked into Hatsume's world.

===

She rambles about so many inventions, Tommy can't keep up. Every one-sided conversation jumps around to another topic like every five seconds, sometimes returning to continue other chats. It's to the point where the conversations seem to intertwine with each other in his mind, and he can barely differentiate one from the other. Somehow, they all go back to Hatsume's whole purpose of starting her rambling: Tommy's equipment he "wanted" to get. (Not that he really minds. Free weaponry and armor's free weaponry and armor.)

It's a bit amazing, all of the shit Hatsume's created. They're all sorts of complex things, ranging from useless to entertaining to efficient to simply experimental. Yeah, Tommy can make pickaxes and axes and swords just fine with a crafting table, but more convoluted things, like the three sets of jetpack boots Hatsume made for the Sports Festival that she's still working on? Shit like that needs more manual action and stuff, not something as quick as using a crafting table.

"These might be useful!" Hastume exclaims suddenly, plucking a sort of hexagonal disk thing off of her desk. Tommy squints at it, his mind slowly piecing together the bits of familiarity it brings to remember what the fuck it is. "They're still prototypes, and they're all a little too thin for my liking. Well, this form is fine, but when they expand, they're much too weak."

Tommy snaps his fingers. "Those!" He suddenly blurts out, flinching violently and lowering his volume. "The, the fuckin' uh—shield! That!"