Chase Delacroix wrote:Chase exited the van and quickly but quietly crouch-ran to the fence. Sure it was unnecessary to be that stealthy, but training is training.
"Good luck," he said as he put a hand next to his shoulder for Vic to climb into. Once he did, Chase would throw him over.
Victor kept low and clung to Chase's shoulder. As much as the boy joked around, the closer they got the more serious he became; until the point when he dropped into their hand he bore the same expression as though he were just about to act as a pallbearer. He just gave Chase a thumbs up and then balled himself up, ready for the toss.
His body tumbled through the air, and it wasn't until he felt the change of equilibrium - that brief pause between rising and falling - that he outstretched his limbs again. So many years practicing gymnastics, he'd trained his inner ear well. And with his condensed toughness he was able to hit the ground in a tumbling roll that brought him to his feet without so much as a scratch. It was totally cool and impressive, but of course no one saw it - that was the nature of his ability. If he was using it well, no one would ever know he was using it at all. He patted the pouch on his belt, feeling for the trackers (and his passenger) before he took off in a brisk jog, trying to keep close to the grass and other foliage as he made his way toward their target - it'd give him cover if he needed it, and in the corner of someone's eye or a camera lens he'd just look like some nighttime critter running around looking for food.
For Robin, the experience must have been a strange quasi-familiarity. She'd already crammed herself into the tracker, no small feat. But when Vic had shrunken down she'd been made even smaller. The sensation was not unlike what a deep sea diver might feel as they descended, a pressure on her entire form, growing stronger and stronger, a constant squeeze. It might take some getting used to.