"Humans are simple yet complex creatures, we seek to survive and so we exploit and yet we fear being exploited so we erect rules. Chaos is the harbinger of order and order is stagnation that decays into chaos, a cycle of incoherent coherence, a paradox.” The instructor spoke in a monotone, walking in non chalet and without an introduction, greeting his new batch of soldiers with a lesson in philosophy.

“We fear conflict and in doing so wage wars to eliminate wars; we desire freedom but fear independence. You may argue the reason is that humans are social animals? They create society to belong? Such… naivety.” As he spoke his trembling hands scribbled the name “Mr Joux” on to the board, a sign of injury perhaps. It was quite common for instructors within Innocence to be recuperating or retired veterans.

“Humans crave escape. We as self conscious beings are incapable of processing the responsibility and the burden that comes with it and as such seek reprieve. We desire a focal point to channel our loathing, an escape goat. Blame the society, blame the system and blame the deviants."

Mr Joux’s eyes keenly danced about the class room, observing the students in front of him, as if trying to gauge which of them will actually survive the ordeal they were preparing themselves for. “You may be wondering where I am going with all of this, well it is pointing to one cruel and undeniable fact.” After a moment of silence, he finally replied in a tone laced with some emotion of pity.

“You people are not human, the joys and the ignorance associated with them will never be yours. There is no escape, no reprieve, you are all accountable for every action and there is no one to blame. Every last one of you is an asset that belongs to A.M.R.O, a disposable asset. None of you exists and this is your greatest strength. We intend to mold you to be the perfect soldiers, physically and mentally. The duality that is associated with humans is due to the fact they have choices, you lot are singular in your purpose and in your mission. You are all hounds of A.M.R.O and are subjected to the ‘Asylum’s Woe’. You will either live long enough to go insane and lose whatever sense of self you have or die in battle, welcome to your final year at innocence.”

With the usual morbid introductions out of the way it was due time for the first lesson to begin. The instructor couldn’t help but heave a sigh, it was no secret nor did he try to hide the fact that he found this job highly distasteful. His cane vehemently clicked against floor as his left foot limped towards the flock of lambs that were soon to become wolves. Joux was in no way a retiree; instead he looked like someone who had been cut short out of his prime. A well prepared suit, a pair of shinning dress shoes and a silver cane; everything screamed excessive in this man however any sniffer could deduce these were but allures to distract wandering eyes from his wounds. The man’s left foot appeared to be a prosthetic and his right hand was charred black.

“Lesson number one,” Joux snapped his left fingers to attract the attention of those that had begun to vex him, nothing irritating the Asylum more than those that would ogle at his leg. “Always keep your senses at their peak; your hearing and smell are far more useful than sight. While sight allows you to respond to visual stimuli, what happens when its pitch black or when your target is not in range?” Joux questioned the class, limping forward almost as if adjusting his position for intervention.

“You see a response does not really need any visual stimuli, all it requires is the probability of location with the necessary adjustments to error. Everything has a smell and makes a sound, if you can perceive that data you can easily estimate the right....response.”

“FUCK THIS SHIT, LEAVE ME ALONE YOU CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER!”

As his first lecture drew to an end, the instructor found himself standing next to a window and mere seconds later the students would find themselves staring at a broken wall.

“OH FUCK ME!”

As a scream echoed through the classroom, the students found themselves staring at their door probably expecting a drill or some emergency. Instead what they witnessed was something a little less formal. Instead of the handle budging, knocking was all that was heard an obnoxiously loud knocking, as if something hard beating against the door followed by an interesting array of curses and vile words.

-KNOCK-

“Ouch you motherfu**

-KNOCK-

“You crazy bastar-“

-KNOCK-

“This is seriously violating teaching ethi-“

-KNOCK-

With that last knock something finally budged, instead of the door being opened a student’s head found itself being smashed through the door to greet his peers. “Someone please, get this lunatic away from me. All I said was I wish I was someplace else.” The student begged his classmates, from his appearance he clearly appeared to be their senior, the graduating batch or so.

“Does this look like a god damn mall, pick which store you want to visit?” A voiced roared from behind the door, kicking it with enough force to unhinge it and send it flying towards the window which had been conveniently opened. Luckily however the class only had to hear the student scream for roughly about three seconds as they were on the eighth floor.

“My god that was the most irritating three seconds of my life, can you imagine if we were on the twentieth floor?” A man draped in complete black thought out loud, whistling as he looked down the window to gauge the damage.
“You are lucky I opened the window Geko, he could have cut his through or his eye from breaking the class,” Joux reprimanded his colleague, his fingers massaging his aggravated temple.

Followed by a hearty laugh, the Veteran in black merely scoffed at the instructor’s concept of help. “If that kid is dead, you are responsible mate. I mean technically the window could have prevented his fall…..which means the stupid paper work is yours to deal with.” The next few seconds the class could only quietly observe a man in his thirties thrusting his hips back and forth, a trained silencer could possibly deduce this as being some bizarre form of victory dance.

-RING RING-

“Well this session is over, I am sure this was a very educational first lecture. Now you puppies can head towards the cafeteria and get to know your peer, you may find yourself spending the next multiple years stuck with one of them, and if possible do check if your senior is still alive down there.”

Maeve

Maeve immediately became disinterested in the lesson when she heard the philosophical rambling begin. She was here to kill things because AMRO ordered it, not wonder about her place in life, how she was no longer human, and blah, blah,blah. In the back of the classroom she propped her head up with her hand and prepared to go to sleep. This looked like it was going to go on for a while. She was mildly broken from her doze by the snapping, and paid half attention to the following lesson, but she snapped completely awake by the screaming. The same as everyone else her gaze switched to the door as a slew of curses and banging on the door. She laughed as the student's head finally burst through the doorway, and the other instructor's roared comment. She managed to quiet herself by the time the screaming stopped, lest the philosopher reprimand her. Funny as it was, she didn't want to follow the other student out the window.

However, despite her best efforts, she lost it when Geko started doing his victory dance. She was still laughing as the bell rang and she got up and left with the rest of the class, heading towards the cafeteria. As she walked down the the cafeteria she eyed the other female students that were going to and from the place. Who will be my partner? I hope it's you, red head. Or you, athlete. I've already slept with you Emma, but I'll certainly take a steady partner...

Maeve's thoughts went on like this until she was in the cafeteria, where she was occupied by food to be eyeing all the potential partners around her.

Kiara

Kiara, somewhere in the middle of the class, turned from her conversation with the student next to her as Mr. Joux entered the room and immediately began the lesson. Unlike some of her classmates, who she knew were preparing to go to sleep, she listened to the philosophy. She had already gotten into several arguments with several teachers and asylums who had already graduated about her idealistic views that they were supposed to be fixing the world, not making it worse. So she would need to learn about the other side’s philosophy as much as she could, and why not straight from the grizzled, worn, and cynical teachers themselves? They perhaps epitomized the despairing view most Asylum’s took and were her only sure source of debate.

Like everyone else, her attention was snagged by the screaming, and she winced in sympathy as the student’s head smashed through the door. Before she could go and help, the door was already kicked in and the kid was thrown out the window. Kiara cringed for all three of the seconds the student fell, staring at Geko and Joux in surprise. Not at the fact that he had beaten a student, teaching was rough here and they were creating the ‘perfect soldier’ as Mr. Joux had said, but at the callousness of the entire ordeal. A student may be dead, but they were both incredibly nonchalant about it. The bell rang and Kiara idly waited as most of the class filed out, before offering a slight comment to Joux.

”Pardon me, Mr. Joux, but shouldn’t you add that despite being disposable assets sent on murder missions, doomed to die or go insane, what we’re doing is helping the world? We’re hounds, released to hunt down and eliminate those who abuse the power they have or those who have gone insane with it. Corpse by corpse, we’re making the world a better place for humanity, right? Just a thought.”

With that, and a nod to Geko, she turned and left the classroom. She headed towards where the student had landed, surprised to see him still alive. Albeit in incredible pain. “Come on. We’d best get you to the infirmary.” She said, as she helped him to his feet and put his arm over her shoulders, before snapping at seemingly no one. “Shut up Eric, I know what he said but making sure we don’t have a dead classmate is a bit more important don’t you think?”

In the classroom

Bits sat in the far corner of the classroom, her mouth closed and her head down. The woman – for at 20 she was among the oldest in the class – didn't look up upon the arrival of their instructor. Instead she watched him from the edges of her vision, and through a curtain of wavy brown hair. At the desk next to her, her brother turned around from where he'd been talking to the two students on his other side. Sparks did spare a glance to the man's injuries, but his main focus was on the lecture. He disagreed with some of what was said, not that he'd voice that disagreement. Yes, some humans – perhaps the majority – were like Joux said, but not all. And those in AMRO were very much human, despite their alchemy. Not to mention that some of his ideas didn't seem to fit together at all. The teen drummed his fingers silently on his leg, wishing yet again that their instructors were more teachers and less soldiers. There were only a few that would tolerate any sort of debate – the rest saw it as contradiction, or worse, insubordination, and didn't take kindly to it at all. Sparks wanted to be able to discuss things, play with ideas and viewpoints, and he rarely got to. Such was the life of a student at Innocence. And after, well...that would hardly be much better.

The class was interrupted by cursing and banging. Bits tensed, and her head moved a little, though not enough to be called looking in that direction. Sparks considered getting to his feet to find out what was going on, and maybe see if the situation could be diffused, but he didn't get a chance. Before he could come to a decision, a head was thrust through the door. He leapt to his feet, but by then it was too late. Student and door flew across the classroom and out the window, by sheer chance not catching on the frame and instead plummeting downwards to crash on the ground. Sparks winced at the sound, hoping there was someone down there who could and would help, but he sat back down. He knew better than to try to leave class before the bell. He glanced at his sister. She was staring fixedly at her hands, which were clasped atop her desk. He could tell by the way she sat that she was upset about what had just happened.

The bell for dismissal came shortly thereafter, but Bits wasn't willing to push her way through the students to make it out the door as quickly as possible, as she would like to. She stayed at her desk until most of them had filed out, and Sparks stayed nearby. That gave him the chance to overhear one of his classmates speaking to the instructor. The girl looked to be about his age, dressed all in black. He was sure he'd seen her before, but he'd never been in her class until now. He regretted that they'd never talked when he heard what she had to say. The siblings seemed to be heading in the same direction as she was, though Bits nudged her brother's arm as he headed past the turn to the cafeteria, her expression puzzled. “That kid,” Sparks replied. “I want to make sure he's alright.” To his surprise, the black-clad girl seemed to have the same idea as he did.

Through some stroke of insane luck, the kid was alive, though injured. Sparks took his other side. “Dude, that was intense. I'm glad you didn't break too many limbs.” The unfortunate teen hobbled between the pair, one leg at an awkward angle, and Bits trailed along behind, her expression nervous.
“Hey, I'm Sparks, and that's my sister, Bits,” he said cheerfully, directing this comment at both of the others. “I'd offer to shake your hand, but...well, we'd better get to the infirmary. Oh, and I heard what you said back there to Mr. Joux.” He looked at the girl past their injured peer. "And I think you're right. It's the only thing that makes all this bearable."

The art of duplicity, of deception, of pulling the wool so tightly over one's eyes they'd never see the light of truth again, was one that required the utmost delicacy. One simple slip-up, one careless underestimation, one brazen outburst - all of these could transform from a harmless mistake to the executioner's axe in seconds. Even the dull, predictable blade of reality could cleave a web of prevarication in half, no matter how intricately woven its defenses - no matter how masterful its weaver.

Originally, Elliot had thought the instructor little more than a delusional, senile old crackpot whose head was lodged so far up his ass he’d never see the light of truth again.

Then, she’d witnessed him stand idly by as some poor fuck’s head was mashed into the door, shoved through the splintering hole caused by the aforementioned headgrinding, and then probably crushed to bloody pieces as the ground rushed up to wrap him in its cold, unforgiving embrace, and now, uncertainty was laying down its roots. This had been preceded by a lengthy, helpful lecture that could be summed up in three points:



Must be a real fucking kicker at parties. Leaning back in her chair, slumping just enough to tilt it, arms folded securely across her chest, Elliot tipped her head backwards, staring at the ceiling with a somewhat concerning mix of distress and disinterest plastered across her face. Dude’s a fucking maniac, that’s for sure. What kind of monster drones on and on about inhumanity and insanity for an hour and a half, then busts out the creepy mating-ritual victory dance as soon as some idiot goes out the window? A sigh spilled from her lips, and as the philosopher drew the lesson to a surprisingly anticlimactic close, dismissing the class, her lips curved into a frown. Don’t like it. No one’s naturally that indifferent.

Ever the fan of getting the last word, Elliot heaved one final sigh, rose from her seat, and departed for the cafeteria. No sense in loitering, especially considering the instructor was an absolute maniac.

Shuddering, she quickened her pace.

---

All things considered, this academy certainly had a poor business model. Really, it was quite disheartening! After dutifully pretending to listen to maintain some pretense of politeness, oughtn’t Renault at least be rewarded with the opportunity to ask a few questions after the lecture’s conclusion? At the very least, engage the professor - who, given the title, was surely a fellow purveyor of knowledge - in a truly riveting debate?
Seeing as the instructor was still wholly immersed in turning interpretive celebratory dance into an aggressive art form, that seemed . . . unlikely.

Why, I’m appalled! A caustic grin lazily unfurled across his lips, eyes alight with sardonic glee. His conversational topics went where all of his (questionably) good ideas went to die - his tongue. So very, very insulted!

Had that fellow claimed one’s loss of humanity was subjective, depending on the individual in question, Renault might have agreed. He might even have offered a round of applause - were he feeling particularly enlightened, perhaps he might have orchestrated a standing ovation. Instead, he’d claimed corruption was progressive, humanity was something that would deteriorate in time, and that both of these were inevitable, applicable to every single person in this room. I say, the only thing deteriorating around here are the standards of education. Why, I’d wager not a single person here will go mad in the end! Hoisting himself out of his seat, he paused to stretch. Sitting motionless for such the better part of an hour had that way of leaving one dreadfully stiff. It’s impossible to lose your humanity if you’ve none to begin with! The girl who’d barely restrained fits of laughter upon watching the brutal beatdown of a peer. The pale, scrawny brat that had glared up at the ceiling, bored as bored could be. Did the instructor really think anyone callous enough to ignore another’s suffering would go mad after seeing the horrors of war?

”Pardon me, Mr. Joux, but shouldn’t you add that despite being disposable assets sent on murder missions, doomed to die or go insane, what we’re doing is helping the world? We’re hounds, released to hunt down and eliminate those who abuse the power they have or those who have gone insane with it. Corpse by corpse, we’re making the world a better place for humanity, right? Just a thought.”

I appear to have been mistaken. Renault paused mid-stretch, extended arm cradled in the crook of the other. Well, well, what a surprise! I suppose our dear educator was right, after all! Garbed in black from head to toe, looking quite like one of Death’s most efficient reapers - this young lady certainly didn’t seem the sort to spout such morbid optimism. But, if there were one thing Renault chose to pride himself on, it was his auditory perception. How very interesting! An altruist, hidden in the ranks!

Rolling his shoulders one final time, ensuring they were sufficiently limber, Renault scampered over to the girl and her companions, a bright, cheerful smile affixed to his face. “Ah! Embarking on an adventure, are we?” he chirped, sparing the quartet - including the wounded wimp supported by two of the others - a nod of greeting. “Room in the war party for another?”

Kiara

She looked over at Sparks, smiling in pleasant surprise to see another helping her out. She hadn't expected it, truth be told. "A pleasure to meet you Sparks," She looked over her shoulder and smiled at his sister in an attempt to relax the girl, "Bits. I'm Kiara. Don't let the all black get up scare you into staying back there, I don't bite. Much." She returned her focus to Sparks as he spoke and shrugged as best she was able without jarring the injured student between them. "Well, that's the only thing separating us from them isn't it? We have a purpose. We help people, we protect others. We don't seek selfish gains, we seek to only help humanity as best we're able. Otherwise, what are we but the largest, most organized, group of rogue alchemists that beats down all other competition? I don't know about the rest of our class, but I'd rather die knowing that I gave my last breath trying to fix the world, not make it worse."

She looked up at the voice calling to them and replied in kind, an easy cheerful tone in her voice. It was nice to see even more students at least interested in helping out their fellow classmate. Even if there was a distinct chance he didn't agree with her views (Sparks and perhaps Bits both being something of a rarity, she found.) it meant that he at least had some empathy. That was a start. "Well, you know what they say. Five is a crowd but six is a party! I'm not opposed to you coming along at least."

Maeve

Maeve was done with her own food and was preparing to leave the cafeteria when Elliot walked in and caught her attention. She vaguely remembered Elliot being in her class, which made her even more interesting. She recognized the type immediately, it helping that she was very similar. Rough, violent, and likely having her speech speckled with curses. They're always fun. A good chance that I could end up in a fight with her, but what's wrong with that? Besides, it may give whoever becomes her partner an idea of her abilities. So really, I'm helping others if we somehow offend each other. Not to mention, it'll be a blast. Her course firmly set, only to help anyone who was watching of course, Maeve made her way over to the small pale girl, taking a seat across from her.

"I'm Maeve. Couldn't help but notice you sitting here and decided to come visit, after all, our instructor did say to get to know some of our peers better and I don't believe we've ever spoken to each other. So how do you feel about this entire 'you're about to become hounds of AMRO' thing? Nervous? Excited? An odd mix of the two?

Classroom: “Listening” to Mr. Joux

Being one of the youngest in the class was a privilege, one that Cameron didn’t want to lose so soon, so unlike most of the older students, the scrawny 13-year-old did his best to pay attention. Or at least, he intended to do so, but the student sitting two tables down was driving him up the wall. He tore his eyes away from the gnarled, blackened flesh and shot the dark-skinned teen his ugliest glare. The older boy stopped clicking his mechanical pencil and looked him straight in the eyes, as a taunting grin tugged at the sides of his lips.

“Don’t pretend you actually like that BS,” said a snarky voice in his head.

Cams responded by sticking out his tongue at the guy. Despite turning back to the front of the class, the boy couldn’t resist disengaging with one final parting shot. “At least, I respect Mr. Joux enough not to be disruptive. He has more experience than any of us. Just look beyond the fancy suit and accessories and you’ll know I’m right.”

“Oooh teacher’s pet.” the guy mocked.

“Shut up!”

“FUCK THIS SHIT, LEAVE ME ALONE YOU CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER!”

The bickering boys paused. Cams stared worriedly at the door, while Omar sat there was tensed with anticipation. The younger of the two swallowed hard, when the door bulged. Suddenly a head was shoved through it and he gasped so loudly that many older students thought he shrieked. No one responded with the usual snickering nor teasing, since most were staring at the fellow student. The guy’s pleading eyes unnerved Cameron to the point that he had to look away. Sorry, he muttered under his breath. I wished I could help, but I won’t.

Bam! The guy catapulted across the room and disappeared out the window, drawing gasps from a few girls and whoops from the excited guys. Rising simultaneously, the little vultures ran to the window for a better look at the carnage, though disappoint was written clearly across several faces. Cameron wasn’t one of them. He remained tip-toed with his hands gripping the window’s edge tightly, peering down at the smashed up door and the crumpled body. A faint look of distaste crossed his usually blank face, as he watched the veteran Asylum engage in some sort of bizarre victory dance.

“You need help, kid.” Omar said languidly, as he continued perching on the window’s thin ledge like an overgrown feline. He lowered his bottom down onto the metal frame and dangled his right leg over. “Mercy, empathy … meh! In excess, they are like poison. Have just enough and you’ll be okay.”

Cameron’s blue eyes blinked slowly. His mind seemed to be moving a slower pace all of a sudden, because he barely had time to react, before the strange “know-it-all” jumped. He stared as the guy spread out his arms and pulled them back, as if wishing to accelerate. “You’re going to get hurt!” Cam's yelled desperately.

Going Down to the Ground Floor – Who Needs the Lift?

Whatever the blonde child yelled, it didn’t reach Omar’s ears. Feeling that he had gained enough momentum, the young man adjusted his position such that his feet were able to kiss the well-maintained surface of outer walls. He pumped his arms, as he willed his feet to cling to the walls. Step, step, step. He continued with precision and confidence until he felt the warmth coursing through his body – motem! This build up was channeled into a simple cast that made him Spider Man. Omar finally skidded to a stop a good half a storey above the ground. He crouched down and leaped off, landing smoothly precisely three steps and a half behind Sparks.

“Did someone say party?” Omar beamed, as he straightened up. “Company is always nice, even when you’re in pain.” His eyes flit towards the injured student who was supported by two others – one was a young lady in black and the other a young man with hair dyed blue. At least, he assumed it was dyed, as no one he knew was born with hair that color. He strolled alongside the main two, forcing himself to keep pace with Kiara. “Don’t get me wrong, but if you don’t mind six people then seven should be a-okay. Right?” He grinned. “It’s one extra set of hands.”

Giving Kiara the chance to reply, he observed the rest as discreetly as possible. Stopping only a fraction of a second longer, when his eyes fell on the young woman with apprehensive wide, dark blue eyes and hair the same color and the man with skin much darker than the majority of their class. He pulled his gaze back to their ring-leader, Kiara. “I think we make quite a merry little band, don’t you? Almost like those MMO games I see so many boys playing. I never get why they limit themselves to four characters.”

It was clearly mundane, out-of-topic stuff, but he’d rather discuss such trivia than suffocate the guy with too much concern. Speak of which, he has yet to puzzle out why no one bothered to alleviate his injuries with a simply heal. “If you guys had to pick a class, who would be our cleric?” He raised his hand, waving it about, hoping that someone would volunteer or at realized what he was hinting at. “Me? I’d be … that hairy chested guy with an axe. A huuuuuuge head-chopping one.”

Meanwhile, Back in Class

Cameron sighed. No one else got hurt, so that was a good thing … was it? By now, most of the students had already filtered out of their class, leaving him with a few others, none of whom he was familiar with. The introspective teen thought about the many faces and where they sat earlier, wishing he knew who the other three were – yes, three of them whom looked around his age, though if he wished to be honest, the girls were perhaps a year or two older, he couldn’t be sure. Girls would always be an enigma given how much faster they’d mature at this age.

Deducing that he’d have a much easier time pretending to bump into one of the others in the cafeteria or hallway, the 13-year-old decided to finally take his leave. He swept his sketchpad and half-assembled circuit into his sling bag and ducked low, hoping to avoid catching the eye of Mr. Joux or friend. Both men spelled trouble and he didn’t want to be part of that, because the reality was he still had five years to go even though he was assigned to share classes with graduating batch.

Team: Pendulum

“You know, sweetheart, you really did not have to wear a tie. I appreciate the effort you made, I really do, but it clashes so fiercely with your colour palette. You could have at least consulted me first so I could have helped you pick something.”

“It makes me look formal. Isn’t that what we’re s’posed to be doing?”

“It only looks formal if you wear it properly, and I think something that was not in bright yellow would look far more flattering. Here, let me just fix that for you-”

“Woah, woah, woah! You’re going to mess my hair!”

“I don’t mean to be rude, sweetie, but that would imply that you spent more than two minutes managing your hair to begin with, thus making it possible for someone to ‘mess’ your hair”.

“Jeez, you don’t have to be a dick about it. It takes effort to look this good..”

“…of course, hon’. I am one hundred percent convinced that the reason you take so long to get ready in the mornings is because you are concerned with looking immaculate, not because you are among the heaviest sleepers I have ever met. What was I thinking? You look stunning..”

“Damn right I do.”

The two individuals sauntered down the hallway as they spoke, and among the small groups of individuals that stood around them they stuck out like sore thumbs. Unlike the individuals who stood in their small groups in the hallway, the pair did not wear the rigid, formal uniforms of the Alchemists in training, nor the uniforms of their instructors, but instead casual clothes that they had chosen for themselves. The whispers and mutterings of those around them told them that the trainee alchemists here knew exactly who they were, and that they were expecting them; they were fully qualified alchemists, taking a short break from service to assist with training exercises.

Fully qualified alchemists would often find themselves meeting a mixed reception at training facilities. Some respected them as their superiors, and as powerful and skilled alchemists. Others, typically those who still resented being forced to work for A.M.R.O., despised them, and saw them as everything that was wrong about the organisation. They had both heard it all, from kin words to harsh insults, and had weathered them both all of the same.

Well, Vail rarely took insults well, but Alistair had a firm grip on her rage by now, even if that meant letting her break a nose or two now and then.

Vail stood to the left, her hands in her pockets as she walked, her steps heavy and lacking in much grace. She wore dark colours accentuated with pieces of brightly coloured fabric and the thick locks of coloured hair that contrasted with her typically jet black curls. A yellow tie hung loosely around her neck, although almost no effort had actually been put in to make it look presentable despite her partner’s attempts. Alistair, the tall and lanky man that stood to her right, could not have been more different. His hair was fair, his clothes in bright, pastel colours (most notably bright pink), and he walked with a gentlemanly grace, supported by an umbrella which he wielded almost like one might a cane or walking stick.

They could not have been more different, but through thick and thin they had become as thick as thieves. They had no choice, as A.M.R.O. had forced them to be partners, but they were both thankful that, at least in this case, opposites attract. They had not become official Alchemists all that long ago, and so their time as trainees was still fresh in their minds, but they had both become close enough since that time. They fought, they argued, but they were on steady terms, even if on occasion those terms seemed to be forgotten.

Despite being here to train new alchemists, many of the trainees had left for the cafeteria now, leaving team Pendulum to wander the facility. They had almost free reign of the place, bar a few select areas of the compound that were off limits, typically offices of staff members. The pair arrived at the cafeteria where many young alchemists-in-training had arrived to satisfy their hunger pains. They might be training some of these men and women soon, and Alistair had managed to convince Vail that speaking with them beforehand may be a good idea, to build up a rapport with a few and make the training session go all the more smoothly.

Their entrance was something of a scene. Two strangers striding into the room, dressed in such gaudy colours and designs that they could only be full qualified alchemists, and then starting to loudly introduce themselves. How could that not turn a few heads? Alistair bowed, using his umbrella to support himself as he did so, his lips curled into a smile.

“Good afternoon, my friends,” he proclaimed. He motioned to himself and then to Vail who remained silent, and merely raised an eyebrow at his outlandish performance. “My name is Alistair Delacour, and this is my good friend and partner Vail Hyson. We are fully qualified Alchemists and we are here to act as invigilators for the rest of today’s classes. It is a pleasure to meet all of you and we would be happy to answer any and all questions you may have. Good day, and good luck!”

“…what he said, I guess,” Vail added.

[placeholder]

“Merely unopposed?” One hand splayed across his chest, the other extended with a dramatic flourish, Renault was the picture of mock affront. “You wound me, really, you do!” Heaving a melodramatic, sigh, he shook his head. Whoever claimed acting is the fool’s weak attempt at a strong defense, he decided, is a filthy, filthy liar! His hands clasped together with an audible clap, and, donning his best impression of a winsome smile, he said, “Ah, well! I do love a good mid-day stroll - nothing like a brisk jog to lessen rejection’s brutal sting, hmm?” Shoulders loose, posture casual, inviting - friendly, but not excessively so. Just enough to maintain the illusion of warmth and general concern for his wounded classmate. (Though, try as he might, he couldn’t suppress the sarcasm saturating his sentiments. Really, it was that imbecile’s own fault - loudly declaring a wish to resign in a military academy? Clearly, the wisdom was bountiful in this one.)

Considering the instructors seemed the sort to shatter one’s skull on an impulse, expecting that to serve as a suitable punishment, it wasn’t much of a stretch to assume they’d encourage student-to-student combat somewhere down the road. May as well size up the competition, see what I’m up against, I suppose! Actual sparring was the best preparation for combat, yes, but sometimes, a little bit of observation and reconnaissance granted one the upper hand.

(Besides, he had an entire lunch period to fritter away, and sampling the local cuisine was always a bit of a gamble. He quite liked having his tongue intact.)

“So!” He dropped his hands to his sides, hooking his thumbs into his pockets, rocking idly on the balls of his feet. “Whatever shall we discuss? The infirmary’s a dreadfully long ways off, and I’d hate to bore you!” He arched an eyebrow, gaze shimmering with mischief, wide grin turning positively impish. I won’t question your motives - not yet! That’d just be rude, and only a fool lays out his entire hand all at once. His gaze roved the group, scanning for a potential source of commentary. The goth-in-training - Kiara, he believed - he’d save for later - wait until there was less of a crowd. No sense in ruffling more feathers than strictly necessary. Heckling the girl cowering on the group’s fringes (Bits? An odd name, but certainly intriguing) seemed needlessly cruel, and the lump of flesh barely constituting a person was bleeding so profusely Renault sincerely doubted he’d notice any taunts. That left . . .

“Say, Sparky,” Renault chirped, tone light, innocuous, “pardon me for prying, but I couldn’t help but notice what interesting hair you have!” Not a single root in sight! How meticulous, thought Renault. “Do enlighten me - why the blue?”

The latest arrival - the newest recruit, Renault mused, if they were sticking to the RPG theme - descended on the scene with a wild, abrupt swiftness. No sooner had he merged with their ranks, lack of invitation be damned, than he began interjecting with all kinds of opinions. Expectantly, it almost seemed. Hey, that’s really presumptuous, you know? I say, what a rude little man! Smile now somewhat strained, Renault gave the newcomer a brief scan. Why, we had the same idea! Ha! I ought to file a plagiarism charge. He arched an eyebrow, serving the boy a steady, unwavering stare.

“Oh, are we picking our classes? Ah, how wonderful! Let’s see - " I see what you’re doing, you’re sizing up the competition - my, my, I may just have a rival! How thrilling! “ - I do think I’d have to pick the life of the daring, glamorous rogue! Since you’re a barbarian, we’ve got to round out this little entourage somehow, hmm?”

There was always the chance Renault had misconstrued the newcomer’s intentions. There was always the chance this entire blasted class consisted of nothing more than idealistic children, content to spin tall tales and dream about foes vanquished.

But in the event that he was right? That this boy might prove a competent challenge?

His grin widened. Wouldn’t that be something?

---

"You will either live long enough to go insane and lose whatever sense of self you have", the instructor had said, "or die in battle."

Inspirational stuff, that. Not exactly the sort of memories one wanted floating through their mind during the brief moment of respite a lunch break offered, and yet Elliot couldn’t manage to shake the thought. She couldn’t shake a lot of things, really. In fact, the only part of her doing any serious shaking were her hands, and that was - that was only because she was annoyed! Honest!

So why were her hands trembling?

Her fingers gripped the fork so tightly it seared her knuckles white (considering how white she was normally, it was kind of a neat trick), and, letting out a disgusted scoff (it was shaky, her breath was shuddering and her lips quivering) she let it drop. It clattered to the table with a dull series of clinks. Wow, good job, asshat, crooned a wry, lilting voice in the back of her mind, way to fall for a bunch of stupid, cheap tricks! How d’you get out of bed in the morning knowing you’re the most worthless, pathetic scumbag this disgusting crapsack universe has ever shat out?

Her brow furrowed, and her lips curved down into a frown. Her fingers curled inwards, hand balling into a fist. The motion did little to settle them, as they were still wracked with the occasional tremor, but the feeling of her nails digging little divots into her palm was comforting, almost. Like she could physically fend off the uncertainty with a solid blow, childish as it felt. Besides, she was an alchemist, wasn’t she? Weren’t alchemists supposed to be brave and unflinching? Burdened with the strength of their resolve, drawing upon determination in their time of need, all that cliched crap? And fighting was brave, right? People got hurt all the time, risked their lives, and if you willingly started a scrap, that meant you weren’t a coward.

I’m not afraid of some stupid words. Swallowing a sigh, just in case some pathetic little whimper tried to make a surreptitious escape alongside it, Elliot finally relaxed her hands. Bluh, all that whining killed my appetite. Least part of me’s good at killing, I guess. Bracing her palms on the table, Elliot made to rise and discard her mostly-uneaten food, and then, in a stunning display of inconsideration, some redhead slid into the seat directly across from her, effectively blocking her in. A bold gesture - very assertive, kind of like this girl thought the sun shone out her own ass.

"I'm Maeve. Couldn't help but notice you sitting here and decided to come visit, after all, our instructor did say to get to know some of our peers better and I don't believe we've ever spoken to each other. So how do you feel about this entire 'you're about to become hounds of AMRO' thing? Nervous? Excited? An odd mix of the two?”

Heaving a resigned sigh, because this was apparently her life now, Elliot slumped back into her seat, automatically folding her arms across her chest. “First off, who in the seven realms of fresh hell are you?” she grumbled, because like hell this chick had just “decided to visit”. “The inquisition, or something? Aw, hell - don’t tell me this is some bullshit psych evaluation!” Her grumble dropped into a slightly frantic hiss, because oh, shit, they knew, how did they know, could they read mi - oh. Wait. Peers. Maeve had said “peers”. Okay, time out for the idiot. The idiot gets a time out, and shuts up for a second. That’s you, she told herself, face dusted red with an odd mix of embarrassment and aggravation. “Uh, I mean - yeah.”

WOW. I am BLOWN AWAY by your linguistic prowess. Catch me as I swoon, snickered an incessant, nagging voice in the back of her mind.

Fuck off, she told it. “I’d be stupid not to be. Excited, I mean - I get to tear shit up, knock a few heads together, all that fun stuff.”

Well, at least she’d managed to get out a sentence, disjointed as it was. That counted as a victory, right?

Outside

Sparks grinned back at Kiara. He liked her already, and she had solid points. Not only that, but she wasn't afraid to criticize the organization, something he often did to himself or alone with his sister but hardly ever with others present. The new arrival, with his height and dark skin, drew his attention, and the teen nodded. “Sure thing, you can clear a path.” The guy looked even older than Bits, and Sparks briefly wondered why he hadn't graduated yet. With her, it was because she was always avoiding using her alchemy if at all possible, though she'd started being a little less reluctant the last couple years. But for the longest time, she'd never used it, even to keep herself from injury in practice scenarios.

“I'm Sparks, this is Ben next to me, and Kiara on his other side. Behind us is my sister, Bits. Nice to meet you.” His smile came easily, though it turned into surprise as yet another student landed in front of him. He almost took a step back in surprise, only avoiding it because he was carrying Ben. “I guess?” The mention of games made his eyes brighten. “Oh, you play MMOs? Sweet!” His grin broadened. “Not all of them limit you, actually. There's some that do, but just as many that let you have parties as large as 50, especially if you do PvP. I think Kiara would be our healer. ...Bare chested? Oh, you must mean a barbarian!” The youth nodded happily. “So you're the tank. I prefer DPS, usually, though sometimes I like thieves, but thief isn't always a class. It depends on the game.” Clearly this was a topic the young man had a great deal of enthusiasm for, and it took him a moment to process the other man's subtle hint. “Oh. OH. Um, why don't you? Our hands are kinda full right now.”

Bits stopped dead when Omari landed on the grass in front of the group, turning away when he looked in her direction. She approved of helping with Ben's pain, but the implication that alchemy would be used made her grimace. There were enough people around now that she was starting to feel uncomfortable, and she wanted to get inside and find some corner to sit in. She nudged Sparks to tell him to start moving again, her gaze wandering across the lawn. He obliged, figuring that the new guy could heal as they walked, if he wanted to.

The dark man's question elicited a raised eyebrow. “Why blue? Well, why not?” He grinned. “It could be worse. I've seen all sorts of colors.”

Maeve

Maeve was ready for some kind of truculent comment from the girl when her arms immediately crossed in front of her when she sat back down. But she wasn't prepared for a wild accusation to be doing a mental evaluation. Maeve raised an eyebrow at the girl in front of her as she went from one extreme to the other, appearing to make sense of what Maeve had actually said. She smiled as Elliot turned a cute shade of red as she finally realized that Maeve wasn't a teacher or an Asylum or 'the inquisition'. She was certainly a firecracker, no mistake. A normal person would have already decided to leave and not risk pissing off the girl any further.

Maeve just smiled wider. Before she could reply a sudden silence came down on the crowd behind her. She turned around to see what the sudden silence was, just in time to see Alistair begin speaking. She ignored him for most of his speech, her eyes sparking as she noticed Vail. And here I was thinking invilgators and teachers had some universal rule against being pretty.

She turned back to Elliot, replying. "It's good to know at least someone is excited. I'm nervous myself. Maybe even a little afraid, I haven't looked too much into it. You don't know who you're going to be partnered with. You don't know whose going to share your mind and you theirs. It wouldn't be good to have someone who is revolted by what they find in your head, or be revolted by what you find. Not to mention, every time you go on a mission there's a distinct chance you could die and a definite chance you'll kill someone. In a way, the Unlinked are the luckier ones, hmm? They don't have to worry about any of that, or going insane if whoever their working with dies. And that's not even considering how we're working for an organization that seems only to be the biggest group of Alchemists around, despite it's claims, who have no problems getting rid of us as disposable assets. So yeah, I'm nervous for certain and at least a little afraid." Maeve was completely honest. After all, there was little to no point in lying. There was every chance that this girl might become her partner, and starting off with a lie was not a good beginning to a partnership.

She winked at Elliot. "But don't tell anyone I said that, Sweetie. It'd ruin my image as a tough, cocksure chick. I'd have to tell the first person the truth and then after that it'd be nothing but work, work, work."

Kiara

Kiara couldn't help but smile as more and more people joined to help her. Doubtlessly at least a few of them weren't there for the reasons she was, but that didn't mean they still weren't helping. "Yes, just unopposed." She teased Renault. "I don't even know your name, how can I be more than unopposed to your arrival? Though if you're hurt that badly by my mere unopposedness that much, you poor, poor baby, then I'll simply make it up to you later on. A conversation to scare you away from me, perhaps. Provided we don't become partners. Then you'll have to put up with my sparkling personality."

Another boy landed in front of them and spoke. I just seem to attract all kinds of flamboyant characters, don't I? Kiara looked over her shoulder again at Bits. Well, some. I'll have to talk to her later."I don't see why I should be opposed to a seventh person." She raised an eyebrow as the newcomer began to talk about RPG parties and clerics, letting the three boys talk about it (she couldn't resist a smile at the excited tone in Sparks' voice, and abrupt realization about what Omar was doing.)

"I'm afraid I wouldn't make a very good healer, right now or in our adventuring team. Healing is not my forte. Though, Mr. Barbarian, you can show us how you'd patch your own wounds seeing as we have our hands full and it was your suggestion. Besides, I'm sure Ben here would appreciate it."

Team: Pendulum

While Alistair did not receive the warm welcome or swarm of interested students that he had hoped for when he had entered the room, a small group of young Asylums in training had approached him for conversation and that was more than enough to lift his spirits. He happily answered the numerous questions that the alchemists had with a smile on his face and with his typical flair, with honesty about the hardships of being a fully qualified Asylum but made sure to keep them optimistic and eager to face their days ahead. They asked mostly about the work of a qualified Asylum; how dangerous the missions were, how frequent they were, and what their preferred styles of alchemy were, and he answered each and every question to the best of his ability. Alistair revelled in the attention, although Vail, who had positioned herself some ways away from the group, was not quite in the mood to be pestered by a whole group of kids. She leaned against her wall, arms folded, and a stern look on her face, as she looked out over the different people who moved about the room.

“Why do you not you go talk to some of the students, dear, rather than trying to scare them off?” Alistair asked, turning to face his companion for a brief moment. “I am sure they would love the opportunity to talk to an Asylum as tough and as talented as yourself, and many of them are even around your age. You may even make a friend!”

Vail groaned, grumbling under her breath that she “didn’t want to make a friend” and that “until the fighting started she wasn’t interested”.

“Scram, I’m busy,” said Vail as one of the students who had previously been speaking to Alistair came over to her, opening his mouth to speak and presumably ask her a few questions. As the scrawny boy turned to leave through, Vail grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back. “Actually, no, don’t scram. I have a few questions.”

Alistair rolled his eyes as he caught sight of this, although his smile suggested he still found Vail’s actions interesting if not just amusing. “Try not to traumatise the boy too badly. Save that for the sparring matches.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Vail replied as she turned her head back to the student that she had caught who seemed to be no older than fourteen or fifteen. Her lips curled into a devilish grin that might scare even the hardiest of Asylums.

Vail had felt a change of heart, and had every intention of doing what Alistair had suggested, but she wanted to talk to someone a little bit more specific rather than wade blindly into the crowd. She was entirely focused on the fighting that was to come, and Vail did not want to put herself up against an inexperienced rookie who could not hold their own. Vail wanted to find the toughest, rowdiest alchemist here that could make her blood boil and sock them in the jaw. If they got back up and did the same then it would be all the more entertaining; it meant she had more of a chance to feel that oh-so addicting rush of adrenaline through her body. By the way the boy caught in her grasp struggled and squealed, he was not the person Vail was looking for, but he might be able to point her in the right direction. A.M.R.O. had no shortage of sociopaths and lunatics, which Vail had always thought might have been the taint of alchemical madness in its early stages, so surely she would be able to find someone her who was up for a tussle.

Apparently there were a few here that might just be scrappy enough to stand a chance, at least according to the boy. His descriptions of their skills and alchemical powers certainly implied they could be dangerous, assuming they had enough control over their abilities. One used alchemy to channel blasts of electricity, and one girl supposedly fought by tearing her own bones out of her body and beating people to death with them.

Damn, that’s actually pretty metal, Vail thought, running her free hand along her chin thoughtfully. “What’s her name? And point her out to me.”

“M-Maeve,” the boy replied, lifting a hand to point off into the crowd. “I don’t know her last name, but she’s the one with red hair”.

The locks of bright red hair made the girl with the tall frame stand out among her peers like a beacon. So she’s a fighter and a fiery red-head too? Where were you when I was in training? She loosened her grip on the boy’s shirt and pushed his shoulder, letting him stumble away and out of arm’s reach.

“Now scram. I have work to do.”

Running a hand through her messy black hair, Vail made her way towards the red haired individual and the younger girl that she was talking to. Vail did not know who the other person was, but perhaps she would find out soon. The fair haired girl was young, but she looked like she had some fight in her too, which only made Vail more interested in approaching the group. Vail overheard a few pieces of their conversation as she approached, and it gave her, in her opinion, the perfect opportunity to interject and join their conversation. Vail cleared her throat casually to get their attention.

“So the fiery, tough girl look is just an act?” Vail asked. She stood a few feet behind Maeve, the red haired woman in question, with one hand on her hip and the other hand brought up closer to her face so that she could feign examining her broken nails. “That’s a shame. Here I was, thinking at least one of you might be able to put up a fight, but I guess you’ll end up all like the rest. Down in one punch.”

Her blank, bored expression changed in a moment, as her eyes glanced up to Maeve and she smirked.

Maeve

The red haired girl grinned at Elliot as she heard the voice behind her. She assumed it was the Invigilator from before and she knew exactly what the woman wanted. A glance over her shoulder merely confirmed her suspicion. Not that she minded. She wanted this too. A fight against a beautiful girl who could more than likely beat her? Gods did Maeve ever want this fight, and she wanted it now. Who knows? Aidin willing we might settle our differences in a better way after this. She thought, her grin turning more sultry. "What'd I tell you? Nothing but work..." She said with a wearisome sigh and a wink. With the arrival of Vail, Maeve had lost all other outside motivations to starting her conversation with Elliot. What she had originally said to the other girl was what she had meant. She wanted to get to know Elliot a little better, not sleep with her.

Maeve's fingers, hidden from Vail by her body, tapped an irregular staccato on the table. The skin on her knuckles, cracked open and a row of bloody spikes appeared, rapidly blunting into brass knuckle like objects (she didn't want to puncture anything vital after all). Maeve switched to irish, speaking softly. "Beidh cnámha Rachel cabhrú liom a bhuachan cath. Beidh a laige neart go mo lámha , airm le mo lámha , agus cumhacht a thabhairt do mo dhorn. Dagda a thabhairt dom neart."

A dense layer of bone grew from them across the top of her fists and around her forearms, stopping just below her elbows. She wanted to keep her hands open for what she was about to do next.The bloody knuckles were only made to appear even more red by the gleaming white bone around them. Maeve opened her hand and a bone erupted from it, quickly shaping into a straight knife (with a hilt and all). "I'm good at that, if you've noticed." She smirked at Elliot, sticking the bloodied bone blade into her belt as more flexible bone grew over the bottoms of her hands, essentially giving her bone gloves. She didn't know what Vail's alchemical preference was, but she did want to have as many advantages as possible. Dense bone around her forearms for blocking seemed like a good way to start.

She got up smoothly from the table, turning and facing Vail. Before she moved forward she took a look at Vail's form, eyes roving up and down the Asylum's body before moving back to those mesmerizing gold flecked eyes. "You're even more beautiful up close." She purred, walking towards Vail. "But I really don't think the cafeteria is the best place to-" She suddenly jabbed forward with her fist towards Vail's beautiful face.

The entire cafeteria fell silent as Maeve's bone-covered fist struck Vail's face with exceptional force. The taller woman felt pain in her mouth and in her neck as her head was thrown to the side from the impressive impact of the punch. Vail's stance, however, remained steady. Her boots never left the ground and her torso remained steady as if nothing had hit her at all. As Maeve pulled her fist back, Vail spat blood from the corner of her mouth and then slowly brought her head back around to face forwards. Her expression was blank, bored even, as a thin trail of blood poured from the side of her lips and as her eyes locked with Maeve's. Vail brought her arm up to her face, wiping away some of the blood with the sleeve of her jacket, her expression still stern and cold.

Maeve blinked in surprise as Vail just looked at her. Not at the complete lack of reaction, to be honest she more or less expected to be knocked on her ass the second she attempted to attack, but at the fact that she wasn't immediately attacking back. She smiled, taking a step closer. "Unfazed huh? That's no fun. Lets see if this will work." Without warning she closed the distance between them and kissed Vail. Completely worth all the pain this will cause me. She decided.

From the way Maeve had nonchalantly prattled on and on about the various ways an Asylum was expected to die (mostly in combat, she'd noted), Elliot had been expecting some sort of trouble. There was no way someone so infuriatingly cocky would be able to resist the opportunity to smash a few skulls.

So it really didn't come as much of a surprise when Maeve tried to deck . . . whomever the hell that was.

Not like I've got any right to talk. Her brows knitted, usual scowl spreading across her features. Least I'm not a jackass about it. Which, okay, probably wasn't true, but at least she didn't run around pretending to be afraid to garner some poor chump's sympathy!

Swiveling her head to level Maeve a choice glare, she opened her mouth to make a few choice remarks, possibly criticizing every single facet of Maeve's personality (even if, Elliot begrudgingly admitted, that trick she'd done with the Irish was neat. And by neat, she meant irrefutably hot). That was approximately when she learned her lesson about self-absorption and the importance of observation. That was also approximately when her scowl melted, replaced by a dopey, wide-eyed stare. Heat swelled in her cheeks, gradually sweeping across her entire face, staining it a particularly vibrant shade of red. Her mouth hung open, expression the picture of enraptured disbelief.

Kissing. They were . . . they were kissing! In public! With actual people present! "W - What the fuck! You're - d'you - what the fuck? What the fuck. What the fuck!" She tried for disgust. She'd have even settled for reproach. Instead, her voice filtered out as some kind of pathetic whimper. You can't go from fighting to fucking in the span of a few seconds, she'd wanted to say, but the words died as soon as they reached her lips. A-Are they mentally deficient? Shitty attention spans? The hell's wrong with them!

Damn it, why couldn't she look away?

For the briefest moment as her lips parted from Maeve's, Vail's lips curled into a devilish, almost sadistic smile, and she playfully bit lightly on her own lower lip. As Maeve pulled back from the kiss, which surprisingly the other woman had reciprocated, Vail brought her head forwards suddenly in a headbutt. She struck Maeve with so much force that she had to have been using alchemy, breaking Maeve's nose before she could even blink.

Vail's hands moved to her belt, where she grabbed two metal squares that hung there and pulled them off. They reacted to her touch, shifting and changing, as the metal split into fingers and the inner mechanics revealed themselves. Henry and Eddie primed themselves, tiny lights flickering into action and the machinery whirring into life.

Maeve stumbled backwards, her hands going to her nose instinctively as she felt her nose give way beneath Vail's forehead with a agonizing crunch. As her hands moved away, it being simple to use the movement to heal herself, she was grinning. It wasn't a very pretty sight. Blood had poured from her nose, covering her mouth and teeth and dripping onto her shirt. There was an audible grinding and clicking sound as her nose fixed itself.

"Gods where have you been all my life?" She practically purred, raising her bone gauntleted hands in preparation.

A voice called out from behind them as a familiar pink suited figure flashed into view. Alistair stood between them and pushed both Maeve and Vail away from each other with his long arms. "Now, now, ladies," he said, his voice still as chirpy as always. "I am sure we can all settle this like reasonable adults, and save the fighting for the sparring that is going to take place later this evening. We are all friends here, remember. I apologise for my friend's behaviour," he continued, turning to face Maeve for a moment. "But I am sure Miss Hyson would gladly help you train wh-"

Alistair caught the tiniest glimpse of metal in the corner of his eye and his neck snapped around to face Vail. "Sweetie, put those down," he said, glancing at the mechanical gauntlets in the woman's hand.

Vail slipped one hand into Henry, flexing her fingers and feeling the metal fingertips clang against the palm of the weapon. Her vision never left Maeve's figure as she responded, her voice remarkably calm. "I just want to talk to her."

"Sweetie, we both know you're not going to ta-"

"I just want one minute to have a little talk," Vail interjected, fastening Eddie to her other hand and rapping her metal knuckles together.

"But-"

Maeve interrupted him. "Move out of the way, pretty boy. We just want to have a talk. A good, long talk." Unlike Vail, Maeve's voice wasn't calm. She was excited, like a dog straining on it's leash or a race horse chomping on the bit. Her eyes were bright and she kept her fists raise, waiting for Alistair to move. "Tá sé seo ag dul a bheith spraoi."

"Enough!"

Alistair muttered a few strange, short words under his breath, and immediately spun on his heel. He brought his umbrella, Piper, up and thrust the handle into Vail's stomach. She recoiled, and as Alistair spun he brought the curved handle down and hooked it around Maeve's ankle. He yanked the umbrella back, taking her foot out from under her, and then brought it around to strike Vail on the side of the head with enough force to take her off of her feet as well. Both women collapsed onto the ground in a heavy thud. Vail particularly resembled a tangled mass of limbs as she struggled to regain her footing.

Maeve only had a split second to stare in surprise, and then she was on her ass, staring up at Alistair with an odd mix of surprise and anger. Sensibility raged with the frustration at not having her needs satisfied, only teased. In the end she stayed on the ground, her bone gauntlets falling off and her knuckles returning to her sking, watching Alistair warily. "You're no fun."

"I'm not meant to be," he replied, holding out both hands to grab Vail's wrist, dragging her up to her feet and very briefly dusting off her back and shoulders. He then took her away to the other side of the room almost dragging her, and lectured her as he did so. "We're supposed to be making a good impression, Vail. Save it for later."

A startled laugh bubbled up in Elliot's throat, escaping in a sharp, clipped burst. "Oh, shit!" she crowed, and the corners of her mouth twitched. Waging a brief war on her faculties to smother that smirk, she shook her head, grim amusement glittering in her eyes. (Maybe she was exaggerating, playing up her reaction to push the prior . . . events . . . out of her mind. On the other hand, maybe the rational half of her mind, small as it was, needed to shut the fuck up.)

Gingerly walking over to the recently-downed Maeve, she said, "Wow, way to fuck up. Seriously, that was the shittiest attempt at flirting I've ever seen." She slowed to a stop right in front of Maeve, briefly pausing to revel in how beautifully the tables had turned. Who's taller now, huh? It almost brought a tear to her eye. The key word being almost, because she wasn't a massive pansy. "You don't get that, though."

And she slammed a fist into the back of Maeve's head. "You don't get that, because you're incredibly stupid!" she snarled as she retracted her arm, voice a low, terse growl. "Seriously, what the hell! I was right there! I could've been killed, you selfish fuck!"

Shaking her head, she scoffed, disdain almost tangible. Then, sparing a cautious glance around to ensure there were no witnesses, she thrust out her hand. "C'mon, get up, you big baby," she muttered, cadence colored with a hint of gruff exasperation. She had a reputation to maintain, after all!

Maever smirked up at Elliot as she spoke. "Sweetie, that wasn't me trying to flirt. I got exactly what I wanted from that. Well.." She shot a glare at Alistair's retreating back. "The beginning of what I wanted at least. If that bastard hadn't interfered..." Her eyes went back to Elliot's in curiosity as she continued, just in time to see the other girl's arm move and feel her fist crash against the back of her skull. "Ow! What the fuck." Maeve snapped, only to be overran by Elliot's continued speech. She was obviously considering hitting the girl back, but a glance at Alistair assured her it would be a bad idea.

So instead she took Elliot's hand and pulled herself up. However, she was far closer than necessary and she smirked suggestively at the shorter girl. "I get it. You're jealous." She spoke softly, leaning down until her lips were a hairsbreadth away from Elliot's own. "I could kiss you too, if it'd make you feel better."

Elliot's face went hilariously red, and her brain kind of . . . she wasn't really sure? "I - I, uh," she mumbled, face going slack. She could almost see her own mind retreating, leaving basic cognitive functions to some kind of autopilot as it tried, desperately, to recoil from the horror. She started to say something else, offer some pointless empty platitude, before her expression sharpened. It blinked through terror, muddled its way through confusion, and finally chose hunted as its hill to die on. This emotion was different. It wasn’t like anger, which you could identify by the burn and the red and the sudden, scarily mutinous urge to strangle. This wasn’t like guilt or shame, all soft and chilly and hesitant and all-enveloping.

It was - she couldn’t classify it. It was very odd. Warm, kind of, vibrating with repressed . . . something. Very, very, very unusual, and that was precisely why it made experiencing it so uncomfortable. All she knew was it felt exactly how those hideous Crocs shoes paired with athletic toe-socks and leg warmers looked. "That's - " a really good idea - wait, what, no, what are you saying, shut up, shut up, shut up! " - that's - fuck you!", she hissed, though her voice was shaking with - oh, god, ew, that wasn't want, was it? Her brain did that thing where it translated relief into irritation. It was a parody of her former bravado, but at least it wasn't . . . whatever the hell her treacherous mind had supplied, the bastard.

Maeve chuckled gently as she saw Elliot's face go as red as the other student's hair and heard the stuttering. A wicked joy filled her, reflected in her eyes, as she waited for the poor girl to get something intelligible out. When she finally did speak Maeve only smiled wider. Flustered and falling back on Anger, or trying to at least. How cute.

"Oh, I don't think so. That'd be moving a little too fast for the both of us, wouldn't you think? I mean, we haven't even kissed yet. But if you insist I can speed things up a bit."

One hand gently went behind Elliot's head to prevent her from fleeing as Maeve moved the remaining hairsbreadth between them and gave her a soft kiss. Breaking it she leaned in to whisper in elliot's ear, "Ná bíodh imní ort. Feicfidh tú a fháil níos fearr leis an gcleachtas. It's been fun, Sweetie. See you around." With that, she began heading out the hall.

The kiss was soft, gentler than Elliot had expected, with none of the violent, lipsplitting passion Maeve had shown Vail, for which Elliot was secretly grateful. Having to explain a bloody lip would have been troublesome, to say the least - err, not that she planned on sharring, of course! This - whatever the hell this had been - was the kind of secret she'd quite happily take to her grave. (Considering the nature of the person who'd bestowed it, that was probably going to end up being sooner than anticipated.)

"Holy shit," she breathed, voice faint and awed and even a little bashful. Her lips still tingled, even moments after the fact, the lingering sensation still ghosting across them. A finger cautiously drifted up, prodding experimentally, and she was pretty sure she was gaping like a fish. Both eyebrows raised, mouth slightly ajar, shock widening her eyes - god, she probably looked like a moron.

A really, really confused moron. Flustered, too, because that thing she did with her mouth? With the Irish? Yeah. That was . . . wow. Did she always kiss total strangers, or were Elliot and the chick with the gauntlets part of the privileged few?

A crestfallen sigh spilled from Renault’s lips, his shoulders lurching into a dramatic slump. “Why, not even a “pleased to make your acquaintance”? How very, very cruel! Oh, my poor, shattered heart!” He punctuated this declaration by pitching his voice up into an obviously fake whimper. The seeds of respect had burrowed into his heart, surprisingly enough, and now, they were beginning to germinate.

If I don't test the limits, see how far I can push, then I'm an even bigger fool than I'd thought.

Even more shockingly - and really, by this point, he ought to have sounded the alarms, implored his peers to evacuate - this development was being met with minimal objections. A bit troublesome, really; forming connections, even ones without true, meaningful attachments, required expending a certain amount of effort, which, in turn, meant work. Moreover, the mere concept of ‘work’ was dreadfully dull, and Renault could almost feel the beginnings of a yawn attempting to rise. (He was also willing to attribute that particular temptation to sleep deprivation.)

Opting to take Kiara’s flippant suggestion and sprint with it, Renault added, “Oh, or perhaps a lively debate? Perhaps we’ll see if we can coax a bit of color into those pallid cheeks, hmm?” From what Renault had observed up to this point, Kiara displayed the exact comportment expected from someone with her aesthetic preferences - composed, rational, and affably distant.

So of course, Renault was ethically obligated to ruffle those feathers as best he could. Arching an eyebrow, he flashed Kiara a truly impish smirk. "Ah, but what would we discuss? Surely not that controversial comment you made to Joux, hmm . . . ?"

And, with a wry grin and a dramatic flourish, Renault flung down those metaphorical cards, unveiling his true motive. How wonderfully dramatic! I say, I really did a top-notch job!

In layman’s terms, a sensible human being. Quite the rarity, particularly in this branch of practical education. (The term “practical” being a blatant misnomer, in this case.) Then again, in comparison, Kiara’s presence magnified Renault’s eccentricities, therefore making him seem exceptionally interesting. So, I suppose I can muster up the mercy to forgive her, just this once! “And what a dazzling personality it is! If you’re not careful, you might just outshine everyone else, or blind them permanently - making enemies is a delicate art, you know!” (If he'd crammed any more sarcasm into his tone, it might have imploded, and then it would have lost all comedic effect. Over-saturation was a very real, very debilitating disease.) A dry, caustic chuckle ensued, and Renault shook his head. “Really, what a pair we’d make! I pity the poor, naive lambs we’d prey upon!”

All this discussion of partners had somehow managed to pique Renault’s interest, and, nearly overwhelmed by the sudden surge of fascination, he nearly forgot his surroundings. (He’d allegedly forgotten to offer a verbal response - he wasn’t a fool, he’d devoted a hefty chunk of time to researching legalese as extensively as his admittedly limited resources had allowed - and, by this point, was probably garnering a few concerned stares. Ah, well, no sense in quibbling over the semantics!)

His gaze swiveled, coming to rest on Sparks as he offered his two bits on the entire situation - Ah, I really ought to take up comedy! - in . . . an enormous amount of words. A quantity so high it was somewhat off-putting, honestly. "Ah! Why, as good a reason as any, I suppose! Though I've always been more partial to green myself." Despite himself, he couldn't help but smile. I say, what a stunning display of obtuseness! Why, I’ve met slabs of granite that would envy this boy’s density. Evidently, Sparks had an unrivaled passion for video games, especially those of the online, cooperative persuasion. Or perhaps ardent, frenzied, all-consuming fervor would serve as a more apt description? When the topic of games was breached, Sparks seemed like a man possessed. Well, Renault mused, amusement glittering in his gray gaze, I suppose we've got to round out this little troupe of liars and cheats somehow!

Outside

Sparks grinned as the girl in black responded to the man teasing her with as good as she got. He enjoyed banter, far more than smalltalk. But the teen tilted his head as something occurred to him. “Wait a second, Kiara. There's me and Bits, you and Ben, tall dark and imposing, and our newest arrival. That's six. Where's seven?” He wondered if she'd just miscounted somehow, but surely not. After all, it was more likely to miss someone than count an extra as had happened in this case. He looked at the two newest additions to the little group. “Speaking of, you've got our names, but what're yours, hm? You act sophisticated,” he continued, directing this at Renault, “but any gentleman rogue knows he should give his name within the first minute or so.” Sparks grinned to show that the comment was meant in jest.

Bits' gaze, however, drifted to the woman's shadow. It had bothered her since the beginning, and now she realized why. It looked nothing like Kiara, and didn't entirely match her movements. She frowned at it. It was almost like a separate person, but that couldn't be right. Shadows didn't do such things – at least, not without alchemy, and no one in their right mind would be using their alchemy constantly. And she hoped that a student wouldn't already be far enough down the path of insanity that they weren't still in their right mind....

The woman's expression darkened further at this train of thought. The path of an Asylum was not a bright one, as the professor had so lengthily insisted. She'd never seen herself as a fighter. Sure, she'd defend people, but she wasn't the sort to be unnecessarily aggressive. Rogue asylums, though...Alchemy could cause so much pain and destruction. She'd had a glimpse of that as a child, and the idea had received nothing but reinforcement since. The power was evil, and needed to be tightly controlled – or destroyed. Nothing good came from it, and those that used it did so at the cost of their own minds. Kiara's words were true in some sense, but so few Asylums paid heed to that idea. They too seemed to forget that they were fighting fire with fire, and it would burn them and everyone near. At her side, her fingers curled into a fist. They might, but not her. The image of evil was forever burned into her mind, try as she had to forget. She glanced at Sparks and found herself wondering yet again if her brother, with his carefree manner, realized just how dark their world was – how dark she herself was.

Gradually the students vacated the classroom, leaving behind only silence which the two veterans shared. Yet this silence was not one of tranquility and peace but lament, much a kin to the silence at a funeral. A desolate, helpless silence. A phantom ache.

It's been two years, how have you been? Such would have been Geko's reply but the man's lips refused to part, whether out of fear or regret he himself did not know. And so the Lost Number merely stood, lighting a cigar and occasionally staring at Joux's leg.

"Damn it, stop pitying me," The instructor replied to Geko's unsaid words, his tone calm and content. "I was after all your pupil, even with one leg short I can still beat you in a race old man."

"You have always dreamed too big, kid," LXIX finally spoke; his tone laced in self-loathing, as he exhaled a cloud of smoke and watched it disperse and fade.

"You need to stop blaming yourself old man, those four were monsters," Joux's hand cringed with the very mention of those who had crippled him. "There were far too many who got it much worse than me, poor bastards", he scoffed blaming A.M.R.O in his thoughts.

Regret was a common emotion for someone who had served A.M.R.O for as long as Geko had and every Asylum had to familiarize themselves in the art of caging away their skeletons. What do you do when the cage is rattled? What do you do when it is unlocked?

"You weren't meant to be there, baiting them was my task. Why did you disobey orders damnit, you should have left me to my fate!" There was a helpless ferocity in the man's trembling tone.

"Hey old man, want to know Man's greatest frustration? When we don't have future's foresight, we have the ability to change the present.......and when we have the knowledge of hindsight, we must live in the present created by the consequence of that knowledge."

"This place isn't good for you kid, you should take my advice and find a nice girl and have kid or five," the lecherous expression which crept its way on his face made the message clear, 'get laid'.

---------------------Xx---------------xX----------------------------



Nothing says relaxation than a hot cup of well blended tea, Joux mused as he slowly limped his way towards an empty table, the tea cup trembling in his right hand.

The anticipation of tasting the first sip made it all the worthwhile, the chair being the only object of interest for the instructor. His limping pace quickened, his heart pounding to fulfill the true mission of this dreary day.

Almost

......Almost there

Yes

The instructor finally found himself standing beside the chair, a sense of triumph overwhelming him, "Fina-", with only the first four words thought he found himself being nudged by a woman who had apparently been punched.

The next few minutes the Asylum merely observed the ongoing stupidity with a twitch in his eyes, not at the pain from having his tea spilled over his head but at the fact of having his tea...spilled.

In a matter of minutes the locking of fists had turned into the locking of lips, twice. Hard to imagine how they could have ignored their instructor standing there with his impeccable hair ruined.

"Where do you think you are going you brat!" The man slowly turned to face the gauntlet girl who appeared rather familiar.

"...You...what in God's name are you doing back here!" He sighed as he hurled his cane across the wall in front of him, ricocheting it and striking Vail at the back of her hand.

"You spell bad luck for me,” he sighed while rubbing his brows. Now that he thought about his accusation was rather accurate, as far as memory serves Vail and her partner were among his first students two years ago, saying Vail was a problem child was a severe understatement. By some twisted universal phenomena whenever something unfortunate would happen to Joux, Vail would in some way be involved. Satan spawn he concluded, under his breath.

“I was going to wait for our first official lesson to begin, but without my tea I suppose some dejavu is in order you and your kissing cohorts,” a vengeful smirk spread across the instructor’s face, his tone maniacal. A devious ploy was in the work and the first step of its execution was performed by the tapping of his cane. With that motion a forceful shockwave cleared the cafeteria chairs and tables, the stage had been set.

“Rules are simple; it is all of you….against me, the objective being you have to knock me down and do try not to die.” As Joux explained the intricacies of this little exercise he appeared to be collecting pennies from his wallet and pockets, by the time he had finished a total of seventy pennies were accumulated between the fingers of his right hand.

“Think fast,” the instructor jeered as five pennies were hurled across the walls, each darting across the room, aimed at student’s forehead.

---------------Xx--------------xX-----------
“You newbies do know I am still here right?” Ben retorted, clearly irritated at how many people ended up cluttering around him and how many times the topic changed, from his well being, to mmos, to God knows what.

“I know it must be daunting, staring at one who is your upper classman but please hold your enthusiasm, I will surely bequeath my vast intellect onto you simple folk.” The kid spoke, his fingers brushing his hair back so that all may stare in awe at his majesty.

“Oh my, look at the precious little munchkins!” A high pitched voice, almost a scream echoed as a charging figure approached the group of kids who had gathered around Ben. Leaving a trail of dust behind her in what could be said super speed the figure approached the children in mere seconds. A woman of mid thirties, though by her features one would expect her to be younger, leapt towards the hatchlings, the aftermath a tangled mess.

The woman had appeared to have fallen on top of Renault and Kiara and held Oman, Bits, Sparks in her embrace; though in all respect by the sheer force with which she cuddled them one may call it a sleeper hold.

“They are so adorable, just look at them!” The woman exclaimed, her excitement almost amusing as she twirled around, entangled among student. “Can we keep one, but I want them all. Let’s just steal them, A.M.R.O won’t notice, even if they do, they won’t argue with me?” The woman begged, her eyes staring in front of her longingly like a purring kitten wanting her ball of yarn.

“Please don’t mind my partner; she gets a little carried away when she meets children. You see we don’t have any kids of our own so you may have to bear with her antics,” Geko mumbled embarrassingly, an awkward smile on his face.

“Wait…..’kids of our own’..”, Ben repeated what his instructor had just said, requiring a moment of pause to process the implication. “What the fuck, you are telling me a lecherous geezer like you is married to this bomb shell?” The kid suddenly exploded, screaming at the top of his voice in disbelief.

“You realize this lecherous geezer is a Lost Number….and now I want you to think real hard about this……what is the partner of a Lost Number called?” Geko replied, his pace slow enough so stress on each word and syllable.

“Oh fuck.....me” Were Bens only words before the boy began limping away, making an escape from the hound that had begun chasing him once more.

Kiara

"It's not controversial." Kiara replied, looking at Renault. "It's the truth. If we're going to be fighting to keep the world from succumbing to its own madness I'd rather not be like all the other Asylums and be depressed or sadistic, beaten down by the darkness of the world we are forced to see every day. Or, even worse, turn into the monsters we hunt." Kiara paused, then quoted softly.

"'He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. For when you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.' Nietzsche was right. When fighting monsters, we have to be careful we don't become monsters." Her eyes suddenly brightened from their melancholy mood and she glanced mischievously at Renault. "Unfortunately, I believe AMRO is going to send us against wolves, not lambs. We're supposed to hunt the hunters to protect the lambs, remember. We're not quite shepherds, but we're not quite wolves either. However, that doesn't mean we can't have fun with the more gullible members of AMRO. Who knows? We might even get away with it."

As Sparks spoke she turned and stared in obvious confusion at him for a few moments, before it clicked into place what he was asking about. "Oh!" She exclaimed, somewhat sheepishly. "I forgot to mention Eric. He's my shadow. Literally." Kiara gestured behind her and Eric raised a hand and waved to them. Kiara glared at him. "Shut up Eric, and be nice. I don't care, you have to be nice to people. Yes. No. This isn't like that time at all! Stop being so paranoid." She turned her glare to Ben. "We were helping you because you were injured. We thought that perhaps you were in to much pain to talk. Please let us go back to that assumption beca-" Whatever Kiara was about to say next was lost as she was knocked over, along with Renault, by a charging woman.

As she disentangled herself from Renault, she heard Ben's comment and Geko's subsequent reaction. With a sigh she picked herself up and put herself quickly between Geko and Ben, sidestepping every time the lost number tried to get around her. "I'm sorry, he's an ass, I know, but don't you think he's been through enough for one day?" Kiara said with only a slightly nervous smile. "Besides, I think your wife is strangling Sparks and Bits." In sharp contrast to her calm, Eric launched himself free of Kiara and began swirling and gesturing around Omari, trying to get the students attention and tell him to go save Kiara from being murderised by Geko.

---

IT RAINED INCESSANTLY, and as the wind howled and scratched against the large skylight of a private fruit processing facility, the sky's tears fattened. As hurricane forces continued to puff up a stirring presence and personified name in national news channels, the citizens of the only tropical region in the continental US prepared to once again deal with nature in their own ways; Young families vacated further inland, officers allayed the traffic piling up, and struggling workers went home early to count their pennies within their tiny apartments. Some older folks seemed to either enjoy, or simply dismiss the uncaring ferocity of the planet, as evidenced by the ornery old men anchoring themselves inside their land-bound boats and the local nut-jobs striding the sidewalks as though they were majestic lords and their flaring umbrellas, their shield and sword.

But most of them bared no heed for those not of similar path and creed; For this wide-spread chaos lent shades of invisibility to those with baser aspirations, as it suited their need for criminal subterfuge.

Yet the very same boon blinded the alchemist amongst them, for whom the hunt shall end soon.

---

TRAVIS EYED HIS BROAD-SHOULDERED BETTERS walking in front of him, their black, expensive three-piece suits contrasting sharply to his dirty street garb of tattered jeans and t-shirt. Not that he cared, nor they. This was a mere business transaction, if even that. He knew to be cautious, for even though they had a strange sense of honor, one simply does not fuck with the Russian Mafia, especially if the clock was ticking on the local capo's time. Oleg Kirillov was a butcher. Literally. And that was his mindset from the start; that "Ol' Trippy Travis" was merely pulling their chain with this 'catch' of his. The story was odd from the get-go: one of Kirillov's sons spotted two overly suspicious characters in his nightclub last night. It was not a coincidence, as a deal was being made that night. They had to close up shop, and they were pissed. Later that night, Travis called them, as he was one of many eyes: folks who kept casual watch and reported leads in exchange for food, sex, and drugs; usually the first and last ones.

He said he'd found them, and that they were already dead; Kirillov had almost choked on his pelmeni.

So Travis was directed to take the bodies to one of the fruit processing facilities, which was a front for their actual product: rich cocaine and human trafficking. Needless to say, the young man was nervous as jello on ice. As they walked briskly down the dark hallway lit only by the skylight above, he went over his story in his head once again. But he found his thoughts interrupted by the shorter of the two soldiers; young Mafia men looking to prove their worth and loyalty.

"This better be good, Trav," he growled, to which his taller companion uttered something in Russian.

Before Travis could reply, the first one laughed, saying, "Da, and his girl, too."

That broke his resolve to say anything. He had a girlfriend. Or at least, an ex. They still saw each other, having left on fairly good terms. The emasculating thought of being convinced that an older, richer man only cared for her well-being renewed the boldness in the pit of his gut. And when the two Russians glanced back at him over their shoulders, he straightened out of his stooping gait, and simply nodded.

"I know my history with you guys isn't all that great, but I know a big catch when I see one," Travis confirmed, his spine shivering.

"Da, we'll see, motherfuck," the taller one rasped, cracking open the metal, single-pane door of their destination. "After you."

Travis slipped past them, their eyes raising the hairs on his neck. The room was a storage for fruit, chilled just enough to work in. Various crates stacked against the walls, their labels faded. The pungent smell of rotting fruit pervaded his nostrils as he eyed the center of the room, where three metal slabs were lifted off the ground by wheels. The furthest one empty, his gaze fell upon two bodies covered by white sheets. The two Russians sidled up next to him, their arms crossed.

"Take the sheets off half-way. Both of them," one said, and Travis obliged with haste, keeping his eyes off exposed breasts.

They squinted, taking in the details of a large, barrel-chested black man and a black-haired woman, foreign by the looks of her. Not that the fact diminished her beauty, even in death. They were a curious pair to be found together, sharing now a single bullet wound to their heads. The two Russians glanced at each other, perhaps startled that Travis was telling the truth for once. As one opened a portfolio he'd been holding and examining pictures, the other addressed Travis, his tone showing a hint of surprise, and perhaps respect.

"You stripped them?"
Travis nodded. "Yes, their shit's in the room to the side," he replied, pointing half-ass directions.
"Good boy," he commented, coming forward to look at the black man's face.

The other Russian nodded, his eyes returning to the woman's exposed figure. "It is definitely them, da. Fucking cops got balls," he confirmed.

"Got their badges, too," Travis added, pulling two FPD badges out of his pockets and handing them over.

"Why the blindfold?" one asked, to which Travis responded quickly as if on cue.

"Hey man, I only found them. Gunshots in the head and all, but that guy's eyes were gone. I mean, fucking gone. Like, a rat ate 'em, I dunno. Or whoever killed them was a--" he spieled, gesturing with his hands.

"--Da, alright, shut the fuck up," the Russian hissed, shaking his head.

The other Russian, the one who had confirmed their presence at the nightclub, seemed lost in thought as he stood over the woman, his hands lightly caressing her chest. "They are still warm?" he asked Travis.

Glancing repeatedly at the Russian and the woman, Travis managed to answer after clearing his throat, saying, "Well, yeah, only found them 20 minutes ago. I mean, you know?"

The Russians glanced at each other, as if they were still in disbelief at this turn of events. They then trained their combined gaze on Travis, nodding at him for some odd reason. But it was all Travis could do to not stare at the two bodies. Finally, the taller one flipped open his cell and started talking to someone in Russian. Only a few minutes passed before he gestured to Travis to follow him and then instructed the shorter Russian to stay and keep watch. The young man took one last glance at the bodies, his face draining of color before turning away. But being the last one to leave, he locked the door...

Left to his own devices, the short Russian sneered as he covered up the black man, the plastic rustling gently. Walking over to the woman, he let out a slow exhale and groped her breasts for a moment before lifting up the rest of the plastic to confirm something. Yup. Totally naked. He smiled at the thought of being in complete control. It felt powerful. He quickly darted over to the entrance and glanced out the small window to make sure nobody was out there. He knew he only had about 15 to 20 minutes before the boss would come back with more men and a plan to dispose of the cops. What was wrong with getting a bit more out of his job? She was still warm, after all.

Kicking his shoes off, he returned to his dead prey and ripped off the entire plastic sheet. Lovely. And there was even enough room on the table for him, having thought he'd have to put her on the floor. Turning his back to her, he started undoing his slacks.


Groaning slightly as he kicked off the sheet, to which his partner rolled her eyes, Ethaniel Baine slowly rose to a sitting position, as though waking up from a very long slumber in a very uncomfortable bed. He vaguely recalled being addressed, and about what, he wasn't too sure of. Like, their cover wasn't blown, they'd set up the ruse to lure the alchemist out. So everything was fine, and everyone could chill.

Well, maybe not that. He shivered, glancing back over at Ilana, who kept blinking at him and obviously waiting for something, with a look like that. "Uh, what? What ya say?" he croaked, his baritone voice stretching from disuse.

"Oh, don't even--" Ilana stated, sitting back and holding a hand up.
"--No, I mean, what's wrong, baby?"
"Seriously. You don't, I mean, you didn't even watch what he...?"
"He...? My red lines be all mixed, so I mean, I watched, but what, did he try stab you?"
"S-stab me? _{Is that what you said?} Oh, well, YEAH, he almost stabbed me, you know..." Ilana replied with a huff.

Ethan was quiet. They were already dead, as far as the Mafia knew. Why would they stab them? Mutilation didn't fit the profile, at least not at the lower ranks. Plus, his oculars had already looked through her, examining the Russian, looking for a knife. The guy was armed with a single gun, but that was it.

"There ain't no knife. Whatchu talkin' about, Taj," Ethan smirked at her, the nickname almost setting her off.
'Taj.' Ilana closed her eyes. "I- ... okay, never mind. Forget it."
"No, c'mon tell me. Hell, something got ya goin', I ain't blind... well, I mean--"
"It's fine, I'm sorry. I just..."
"Saaaay it."
"He almost raped me," Ilana stated flatly, pressing her legs together.

Once again, Ethan was quiet. Frozen almost, you might say. Given the function of the room, of course, that'd be natural. But no, his mind was in a state of shock. And hilarity. Not that he didn't care about Ilana, or her plight, or what women in general had to put up with. Far from it. Rape was bad. But forgetting some basic protocol about asylums while undercover?

He cleared his throat. "Illa, I wasn't about t'break character, 'kay? Thought you had it all handled, you know? 'sides, you could've jes' telepathed me, I'd gone all zombie-fuck on him. No sweating it, baby. Know whut I'm sayin'?" he asked, slipping off the table and groaning at the odd sensation of his ass simply having feeling again.



[Next Post]

Outside

Once again, Kiara showed morals and backbone. The young man was quickly growing to respect her. Then she introduced Eric, and Sparks blinked at the shadow, only now noticing that it didn't match. “Huh, that's cool. Hey, I should introduce you to Dancer sometime!” He looked at Ben, and his expression turned into a mixture of incredulity and distaste. /He/ was an upperclassman, and you didn't see /him/ acting all high-and-mighty. And he bet that Bits had been at Innocence even longer than the injured snob.

Bits, however, was busy frowning at Eric. Kiara was on a fast path to insanity, if she animated her shadow all the time. She often wished Sparks would be less frivolous in his use of that dangerous power, and he was nowhere near as bad as this. Her thoughts were interrupted as someone came at her from behind. Bits started to turn, but she didn't have enough time to ward the person off, and she gasped as she found herself grabbed and dragged into a hug. Grimacing, she struggled to extricate herself from the woman's grip. But she was held too tightly to have much success. Let go, she begged in the privacy of her mind. Please, let me go! Her expression turned from irritation to the beginnings of panic. Sparks was more vocal. “Hey, leggo!” he cried, flailing ineffectively. He couldn't get a good look at his assaulter's face, but when Geko said she was his partner, he knew who she had to be.

And once again, Ben's sheer stupidity was overwhelming. How could he be an upperclassman and not know stuff like this? It should be common knowledge, and saying such things about a Chrono or Lost Number could easily be hazardous to one's health. Sparks not only knew the woman was a Chrono, but he knew her name. “Ah, hello Ms.--” but the rest of his polite if somewhat strained greeting was cut off by the hapless young man's utterance as he realized his mistake and promptly fled as fast as his busted leg would carry him.

That wouldn't be enough to escape the rather violent Geko but fortunately for Ben, Kiara had interposed herself between him and the pursuing Lost Number, not entirely unlike what Bits might do if sufficiently annoyed. Sparks would help her, but he was busy trying to squirm free from the overenthusiastic Chrono's grip.