You're Going to be a Pain (Request to Join; Duke & Duchess - E)

Bentley withdrew, allowing Marc to default back to his humanoid form as the chains slid off of him. Regrettably, the warmth went with it. "We should head back inside. It's getting cold as sin out here."

Marc's eyes rolled, but so, too, did his sleeves roll with them as he nodded, rubbing at his arms idly. "Whatever ya want." By his actions alone, it was rather apparent that the heat of his weapon form carried over into his human existance as well.

Bentley shot a glance at the gates and began their trek back into the academy. "I'll be honest, I'm a little lost as to where we go from here. We paired. We perform considerably well, though we're no dynamite duo just yet. But...what now?"

"Training," Marc started, shrugging, idly massaging his shoulders once more, "continuing class studies. Take on mission. Hunt kishin eggs and the ocassional rogue magi." His eyes went back to the other student, "Don't get killed, above all."

"I can safely say that self-preservation is high on my priority list," Bentley agreed, rubbing some warmth back into his hands. "I'm all for preparation and training. Just keep an eye out on the missions board whenever we are cleared to start those. If you see any missions for New York City, let me know."

Marc looked at him curiously, wondering if it was appropriate to inquire. Fuck it, just jump. "Why NYC?"

"I just...have unfinished business in the area," Bentley said simply. The topic at hand had hours of potential, but Bentley cared little for it. His history and its associated implications had been well-hidden over the course of his time at the DWMA and he preferred it that way. "My sister is there," he insisted, not even bothering to veil the roundabout nature of the response. "Might as well do what I can to keep her safe."

Marc saw little reason to doubt or argue this bit of information, though he knew that there was far more to it than the meister was letting on. Even still, he let it go, merely choosing to continue inside. "Do you want to go to the gym, then, to fight?"

"Let's," Bentley replied curtly. He was well aware that the topic had pushed him into a reclusive state, but he made little effort to conceal it. Partners they may be, but it was far too early to delve into such matters.

"Please don't blacken both my eyes. They're a necessary evil that occasionally grant me bed partners." He shrugged, unbuttoning his outer shirt and tossing it aside as they entered he gym.

Bentley scowled. "And here I was thinking you lured them with your sparkling personality." He pulled his sweatshirt up and over his head, tossing it in a pile with his bag and headphones. Beneath it, he had opted for a simple white tee, comfortably fitted to form. The bandages that covered his hands were displayed in full, extending halfway up the forearm of his right arm and all the way up his left. Without a word, he pulled an athletic sleeve from his bag, sliding it over the left arm. Rolling his shoulders back, Bentley slid into a stretch. "I picked the last exercise," he murmured as he stood tall, easing both hands to the floor in a stretch. "The next one is all yours."

Marc paused in thought for a moment, stretching out his own limbs as he thought. "Can you swim?" The words came suddenly, a mere suggestion and not a definitive solution to the dilemma of how best to spend their time and training.

Bentley paused, exhaling in a controlled pace as he slowly raised himself to a standing position. "Swimming, I can do. My family used to take vacations to Florida and I would try to swim out to the buoys as often as I could. Mom made me stop, insisting I was going to end up as shark bait." His shoulders slumped as he rolled his neck from one side to the other. "Ooh ha ha," he murmured with a laugh.

Marc offered a snort in response, getting the reference that he, himself, would likely have made. "Okay, Nemo, let's get you back to the reef, then."

Bentley grinned, slinging his bag over one shoulder. His hoodie dragged loosely in his grip, dust assuredly accumulating on one sleeve. He hummed quietly to himself until they had reached the door to the pool area. Death had spared no expenses to make training facilities capable of accommodating the vast number of students that came and went in the DWMA and the pool was no exception. End to end, it spanned the length of a football field and was nearly as wide. It offered ample room for all manner of activity, spanning swimming and diving and even water polo.

Marc was well accustomed to the school by now, to the point that he'd already gone and put in the extra money for his own locker and lock. Most people might, in theory, get lost by the sheer uniformity of most of the metal compartments lining an entire wall of the back room, but Marc's was... well distinguishable in comparison. Signs and notes dotted the outside of the locker, a baseball-shaped sticker plastered to the the front of it clearly spelling out the entirity of his first name, written in a distinct, girlish script. Unashamed, he began stripping before the locker was even opened, tossing his things inside and grabbing a pair of trunks and goggles from inside.

Bentley snorted as he passed, his own locker plain by comparison. The exterior face bore no decorations and the interior held only a few photos held in place by magnets. He slid the shirt up and over his head, tossing it into the metal bin as he shimmied his pants to the floor. Pulling a pair of swim shorts from storage, swinging the door closed only to come eye to eye with several boys clad in true swimmer's gar. The looks on their faces was that of mortification.

"You know, most people have to pay to get this good of a look," he said, scowling. He slid the swim shorts up to his waist, tying and retying the laces at the waist. "Beat it." He jerked his head towards the door and the boys wasted no time adhering to the words. "Actually, don't! Bad word choi...shit."

Marc offered a snorted laugh, pulling his shorts up and over his own ass, brow raising as he looked back at him. "Smooth more there, crackpot. I think I heard another suture forming."

Bentley rolled his eyes, tossing a towel over one shoulder. "It doesn't matter what you're packing. They always feel compelled to stare..." He shrugged, pulling the door to the pool proper wide open and stepping in. Noticing several vacant lanes at the far end, he wove lazily in and out of the lines to the diving platforms, keeping Marc close in tow.

Having not bothered to look, merely out of respect and personally modesty, Marc didn't feel the necessity to make any comment one way or the other. Instead, he merely followed along behind him, eyes scanning the pool and trying to figure out where they were going.

Bentley hugged the wall as he passed through the crowd, coming to a halt in front of a vacant pool lane. Stepping back to the wall, Bentley pushed off and leaped. "Cannonball!" He yelled, pulling his legs to his chest as he hit the water, waves fanning out from the point of impact. Sinking like a stone, Bentley uncurled himself, kicking his feet to propel him forwards. Fingers scraped the stone bottom as he slid along it, legs whipping behind him. As a child, he used to pretend that doing so made him a stingray skimming the ocean floor.

Crouching into a ball, Bentley kicked upwards like a rocket, splashing water every which way as he surfaced. "Get in here, Allstar," he said with a laugh, pushing his hair away from his eyes.

Marc rolled his eyes at the display, but nonetheless accepted the man's actions with ease. Sighing, he moved closer to the deeper end, diving in and letting himself merely sink. His eyes were closed when he hit the bottom, an almost serene look on his face as the coolness and familiarity seemed to sooth him.

Bentley followed behind him, cutting through the water like a razor as he approached the bottom. He righted himself, tucking his legs back to allow him to sink to the pool floor in a partial mimicry Marc. Peering through squinted eyes, he could barely make out the weapon resting motionless against the stone. Settling beside him, Bentley rested his palms against his thighs, listening to the water splash and churn under the pool's other occupants.

Marc wasn't counting, but he lasted a good bit over a minute before his feet struck the floor of the pool, the balls and toes of such laying flat, and kicked off. He surface a few seconds later, breathing deeply and carefully, returning normal functioning to his poor, deprived bodily form. Ice eyes locked on his companion, brow raising.

"...Why?"

"I was curious," Bentley said simply, floating lazily on his back. "I usually splash around a bit before I do the 'sink like a stone' stuff." He kicked his feet upwards, spinning backwards in a clumsy somersault. The meister sputtered as his head cleared the water, coughing loudly. "I meant to do that."