Chapter Text
Rumi Usagiyama, alias Rabbit Hero: Mirko, walks down the corridor, bouncing slightly from one foot to the other as she does so. The black, opaque doors of the cells greet her bleakly as she moves along, so that she can’t see the faces of the prisoners. It doesn’t black out the sounds though. Her ears twitch as people thump against the glass, or sob softly on the other side of the barrier.
Finally, she reaches the black door she’s looking for. A neon green light next to it tells her that this is cell 359. Her ears twitch again, this time as she listens intently. There is no movement on the other side, no sounds of crying. Could the prisoner have escaped? She beams, the smile stretching wide across her face. She always did know how to keep the game interesting…
Mirko raises a hand to the black door, pressing her palm against it. The screen flickers, the black dissipating to reveal the cell on the other side. To Mirko’s disappointment, the prisoner has not escaped, and is instead sitting very still on the bare bed. The woman is in her twenties with shoulder length white hair that is streaked with red. It’s strange, seeing her without her costume and weapons. She seems bizarrely small without them. Vulnerable. Hard to believe now that she was a dangerous vigilante.
The woman takes off her glasses and starts to clean them with the cuff of her prison jumpsuit – an action that seems too extraordinarily normal for Mirko’s liking that she feels the need to intervene. She reaches over to the glass and raps on it with her knuckles.
The woman looks up suddenly, swiftly pushing her glasses over her eyes. She stands, approaching the glass warily.
“Mirko,” She says.
Oh how she loves the way the vigilante says her name. “Frostbite, darling!” She throws her hands outwards, “You’re so unobservant. Do you know how often I’ve been standing here for?”
Frostbite’s mouth twitches and Mirko takes it as a victory. Although she’s been known to be kind to civilians, she’s never exactly been cordial to Mirko and the other heroes.
“How long have you been standing there?” The vigilante asks.
“An hour!”
“So five minutes then. You have the patience of a toddler.”
Mirko gasps, “I do not!”
“No, I’m sorry. That would be disrespectful to toddlers. Remind me why it was you could never stake me out?”
“Hah!” Mirko throws her head back, “Oh I’ve missed this. Work’s been so boring without you.”
“There’s a simple solution for that,” Frostbite tilts her head, “Get me out of here.”
It’s certainly tempting. Imagine the look on the President’s face if Mirko rocked up to the Hero Association with Frostbite in tow!
“Oh I would if I could, darling,” She sighs, “But you know you caused quite a ruckus at the Heroes’ Convention? Your father was furious!”
“My father…” Frostbite murmurs.
Mirko immediately regrets bringing him up. The vigilante’s face shutters down, any trace of emotion vanishing. Mirko spots her fingers trembling ever so slightly. Out of rage or fear she doesn’t know.
“Does he-“ Frostbite starts, her voice sounding strained.
“No,” Mirko reassures quickly, “He knows you’re in this prison, but he’s been forbidden from seeing you. And he doesn’t know which cell. You’re safe here.”
Yikes, she’s so bad at comforting people. This is why she leaves this stuff for the sappier heroes.
“And the rest of my family?” Frostbite whispers hoarsely, “My brothers? My mother?”
“Are in a safehouse. They were questioned at first-“
“They had nothing to do with it!” Frostbite raises her voice as she presses her hands against the glass, “Please, Mirko! You have to believe me.”
“I believe you,” Mirko says, enjoying the way Frostbite’s grey eyes widen in shock, “Which is why they’re no longer suspected as accomplices,” She pauses, “They want to see you.”
Frostbite hesitates. “I think,” She says slowly, “I’d like that.”
“Alright,” Mirko stretches her arms above her head, “I’ll arrange it. And you’re doing alright? You don’t want a book or anything?”
The vigilante huffs, “Some wool and knitting needles would be appreciated, but you can’t have come all this way just to ask about my hobbies.”
Well, she had actually, but she’s not going to let the vigilante know that.
“I’m not allowed to be interested?” Mirko teases.
“I would hope,” Frostbite drawls, raising an eyebrow, “That heroes would have better uses of their time.”
“Hah!” Mirko beams. This more like it! “You’re right. I’m actually here to make an ultimatum.”
Frostbite’s pale brows draws together, “What kind of ultimatum?”
“I want you to tell me your story. And once you’ve told it to me, I’m going to decide if I’m going to get you out of here. And if I do, whether you walk free as Frostbite,” Mirko winks, “Or…”
“Or?” Frostbite echoes, grey eyes staring at her defiantly.
“Or as Fuyumi Todoroki.”
Fuyumi sighs into the silence, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to you knowing my name.”
“Well you know mine. It’s only fair,” Mirko smiles, “So?”
“So?”
“Will you tell your story?”
“I can’t imagine my story being that interesting.”
“Well let’s see,” Mirko leaps onto the floor, settling down cross-legged. Frostbite stands in her cell on the other side of the glass, gnawing at her bottom lip. “Come on, what have you got to lose?”
Frostbite sighs again, “You won’t have the patience for it.”
She might have a point there. Already Mirko can feel her legs cranking up.
“Well just tell me a bit.”
Frostbite seems to stare at the transparent glass as if considering her options. Then, to Mirko’s joy, she follows her down onto the floor. She’s slightly shorter than Mirko, hunching as she fiddles with the metal Quirk suppressant bracelets on her wrists.
“What do you want to know?” She murmurs.
“Start from your origin,” Mirko says grandiosely.
“My origin?” Fuyumi repeats.
“You know, your beginnings,” Mirko waves a hand vaguely, “Everyone has one.”
Fuyumi continues to stare at her blanky, and Mirko sighs, “Tell me about the day when your quirk first went…wrong.”
“Oh,” Fuyumi blinks, and then she huffs, “I guess…it sort of began in a school…”