Losing oneself in thought is often a habit of somebody sinking into a bad place, and this is evident in the son of Hephaestus especially. Despite the weight in his chest, his philosophy had always worked for him before…for the most part, anyway. So, trying it here wouldn’t hurt, would it?
Just move on, don’t let the sadness catch up.
This meant submerging himself in the things he liked, which involved grabbing a hot beverage and a sandwich to sate his hunger from a nearby cafe with a double pistol and a wink tossed at the waitress on his way out. Never mind the fact his eating habits had been scarce lately, he could fix that. Nothing a little ham and cheese couldn’t fix.
He had loaded up on the parts he could find, ones that clicked with the ingrained sense that came with the kind of blood he had. It was like a second nature, picking through garbage and picking out had-been junk that would suit his needs well enough. He had loaded up on enough to fill two plastic bags, albeit heavy ones, and it had taken a bit of heaving to get it to a suitable workspace. One bite of a sandwich later and a messy pile dumped on scratched wood, he went to work, rolling dirty screws and wires between his fingers.
It happens without his knowledge, as it always done when he’s dead to everything but what’s in front of him, assembling pieces and using the occasional usage of heat to fix it into place, but this time it’s accompanied by a very unexpected happening. He’s just examining a joint, a half-finished creature in front of him, when all of a sudden a cold and sticky liquid shower assaults his skin. It’s in his hair, dripping down his face, staining his clean shirt, and Leo is on his feet and a torrent of spanish curses slip from his lips as he pushes wet curls out of his eyes.
“Dude!” That’s the first thing Hiro gets in response, demigod goosestepping out of his seat to squint at the culprit. Next comes the explanation, and a sigh of disbelief slips from his lips as he starts to wring out his shirt.
“How can I be mad when you’re pulling a face like that? Word of advice, next time, check to make sure the guy isn’t fireproof before you give him a cola bath. As nice and sugary as I smell, I’m gonna need another.” Giving up on his endeavor, Leo then holds up a finger, small flame springing to life at the tip as it would a lighter.
“See? No biggie for the human torch. But thanks for the attempt anyway, uh…”
Usually a “thank you” would have sufficed. But the point Leo was quick to make was not without its foundations.
“Hey, I said I was sorry! It’s not every day you see a guy nearly set himself alight in a park! What would you do?” Doubling back a few steps, Hiro gave him room to gain his own ground, dark eyes widening at the blossom of a flame elicited at his fingertip. The sight was nearly enough to make Hiro drop the empty can he held in hand-- nearly.
“Dude--!” The initial exclamation was slung right back at the stranger, the can landing with a light crunch upon the adjacent picnic table as Hiro moved in, brown eyes scouring the point of the flame’s manifestation in pursuit of any trickery of the eye. But if there was some clever way about this impression of magic...even he couldn’t see it.
“Wait so you’re seriously-- how!? Are you some kind of genetically-modified human? Bit by a radioactive spider? What’s your story? You gotta tell me now.” The demand left the boy’s lips without a second more spared to reinforce his former misgivings about dowsing the other in a shower of soda. After all, he’d just been about shelling out a public service...how was he supposed to know the guy-nearly-on-fire also happened to be Mr. Match?
“It’s no wonder you could do all this without breaking out a blowtorch.” The next observation came in regards to the scrap metal just beginning to manifest shape and form beneath Leo’s careful construction. And, with a brow quirked slightly at the strange assortment, Hiro couldn’t help but to regard ever closer the mess of aforementioned junk with a childish curiosity suited to his age.
“What are you building, anyway...?”
