What's this? Who's that? Is that really who it is? Indeed, it is actually Grant, not holed up in his room for once, walking the sidewalks of the town. As usual, his hands occupy his pockets as he watches on ahead. His eyes lazily glance around at his surroundings, taking everything in. He wasn't sure just exactly what he was expecting to get out of stepping out of his room and exploring the town. Knowledge? An actual use of his funds? But why get any new stuff if what he already has was enough? Perhaps he needed spare clothing, just in case what he has isn't enough. Yes, that sounds fine.

Yawn. Pushing a door open and returning to the great indoors. A store to buy all your needs and wants. Not as good as the bedroom, but while he's out on the town, it'll do. Wandering around for the clothing section, he is ready to release another might yawn when- oh hey, she looks familiar. She's a classmate. Name. Think. Ah, Callan. Good, he remembered. Yet, the fact that she was so close means the best option would be to talk to her. He can hardly remember the last conversation they had, and he can imagine it wasn't good. She was the one from his first fight, after all. That was not a good time. Not at all. Time to move.

"Callan?" Grant asked. Yes, good start.

Callan had already gathered a good number of items in the shopping basket around her arm. Several packages of cup noodles, a bottle of hot sauce, a three pack of pizza-shaped erasers, purple gift bag paper, and a silver basket. She'd been drawn in by a large section boasting jewelry, earrings, bracelets, and a plethora of scarves. Lost in what might as well have been a life or death decision, she was staring adamantly at two around the time she heard her name.

That voice... she didn't recognize it at all. Lowering the two scarves, she turned to see Grant, of all people, standing there. Somehow, he never struck her as the type to be out on the town shopping. Not without someone to drag him there, at least. Her eyes darted to either side of him, as if searching for that someone.

"Uh... hey, Grant," she answered, thoroughly perplexed as her gaze finally settled on him.

Blink blink. He looks left and right when Callan had glanced to his sides before their gazes collided once more. Her confusion against his stoicity. Who will win? His gaze lowers to see the many items that she held in her basket before his eyes lifted again. She seemed to be doing well, for the most part. Though, having a bit of a handful right now. Oh, it was his turn to speak.

"How are you?" His hand raises out of his pocket in a wave with the question.

She turned to more fully face him. "I'm doin' alright. All things considered...," she draped one of the scarves over her arm and pushed an aquamarine curl behind her ear, nervously shifting her weight. Things hadn't changed since the Flag Football match. Every time she saw him, the memory of her senseless shouting echoed ominously through her head.

"Sh-she's fucking dead! And you just stood there and watched!"

She mentally winced. After what happened in Wisford, she only felt worse about it. Avoiding Grant had been painfully easy ever since that day. He'd seemed stand-offish before, but still. She couldn't help but wonder if she was to blame.

"You?"

It doesn't seem Grant held any malice or ill will toward the supergirl ever since they last talked. Then again, it's hard to tell what emotion was going through him with his tired face. Though, he is hoping to gain a better understanding with Callan. With the question thrown back at him, he seems to think for a moment before shrugging.

"I suppose I'm not bad. What is the occasion for all the items?" Again, his gaze shifts to the shopping basket in her hand as he approaches since he almost quite literally called to her from a bit away.

Not an answer that carried much confidence, but Grant was a hard read. So maybe he was fine? Thoughts drawn to the question, Callan held the basket up and glanced over the contents herself. "Uh... just some stuff for Emma," she shrugged, "No occasion."

Looking back down at the basket of all sorts of goods, he tilted his head in thought. Emma... Emma... Think, think... Then it popped in his head. He placed his fist into his palm as if suddenly getting an idea.

"Oh, scarf girl. Emma. Right. She seems to have a attachment to scarves." Grant returned his hands to his pockets as he lifted his head up to look at her again. "I was in town to take a look around and maybe buy some clothes for myself. It's really my first time casually coming to town, I think."

"Yeah. Scarf girl," Callan chuckled, "Pretty sure something happened to the one she had back at the estate, though. Since she hasn't worn it in a while...." As if to enunciate her point, she lifted the two scarves she'd been looking at. Eager to steer the topic away from their last impromptu battle, however, she continued.

"Kinda late for clothes shopping though, isn't it?" she said with a slightly concerned smile, "I've been in town a handful of times, but it seems like all the weirdos come out at night."

Grant tilted his head in a bit of confusion when Callan brought up the time. A glance toward the nearest window later and he looked back to the supergirl.

"Is it? I don't think I would know the perfect time to go shopping for clothes. And if any 'weirdo' were to come at me, I think I will be able to handle myself in such a situation."

"Oh, that's right," Callan grinned, averting her eyes, "I guess you could just grab some pants off the nearest rack and smother anyone who gets too close, huh?"

Blink blink. Oh, she was referring to the flag football game from a while ago. He wondered if she had any problem with him due to the nature he had dispatched her.

"Yes, that would be a way to deal with them and make sure they don't come back again." Grant said with a nod. He takes a moment to think... "I'm sorry for dealing with you that way during the flag football game, by the way. I was running out of options."

She forced a laugh. That was definitely a bad attempt at a joke on her part-- and not just because Grant didn't so much as chuckle.

"D-don't worry about it," she waved her hand, comparing the scarves again as an excuse not to show her face, "You gotta do what you gotta do. You guys won fair and square. Besides, that was a long time ago. I don't even remember it." Lies. She definitely remembered. It was one of those memories that made her want to cringe into the next century. But at least she could joke about it now.

"Was it really that long ago? I don't think it is something so easily forgotten." Grant said before giving a simple shrug. "But I just wanted to apologize about it in case there was any bad blood between us."

"Heh," she grimaced, finally choosing a scarf and folding it into her basket, "Well, it's fine. No bad blood. Promise."

Grant gave a nod while offering a very, very subtle smile. Barely noticeable, but it was still there. Looking back down at the basket, he thought for a bit.

"Do you need any help with your shopping?"

"Uh," she was taken off-guard by the offer, "Sure... I was just about to go grab some drinks." She pointed her thumb towards the back of the store.

Nod nod. Grant's hands slithered their way back into his jean pockets as he looked over to the direction of Callan's destination.

"Okay. I can help bring the drinks to the front in that case." The offer seemed sort of redundant, due to the girl he was trying to help out already have super strength, but at least he was offering. That should count toward something, right?

"Alright, sweet," she returned the other scarf to the hanger and led the way, eventually falling in step with Grant. Desperate to fill the strange silence, as always, Callan eventually piped up, "So Grant... where are you from?"

"Hmm." Was what came out of Grant at first as he appeared to think about the question at first. Almost as if strategizing his own words and how they would work out. It only took a few moments before he spoke up once again. "More north from here. New York." Left hand comes up and brushes his hair a bit with his fingers. "You?"

Even though it was only a moment's hesitation, Callan couldn't help but notice. Most people didn't need to think about where they came from. Did he not want to say or was Grant just... bizarrely forgetful? "Atlanta," she shrugged, "Born and raised."

"That sounds nice. How was it, down there for when you lived there?" Though his stoic, tired expression barely gave anything away, he seemed a bit quick to jump on the question for some reason. His head turned to look over at her nonetheless, returning his hand to his pocket.

"Uhm," Callan floundered for a moment. Had Grant always been this talkative? "It was nice, I guess. Kinda humid sometimes. Good neighborhood." She thought for a moment, "You know, I think Marcus and Emma are from up north, too. What part of New York are you from?"

Grant looked over at that question, again seeming to pause at the curiosity of his own life. It takes a moment before he looked back ahead and he answered. "Manhattan. I did not know that Marcus and Emma were from up north too. They are both from New York as well?" Once again, quick to latch onto a question regarding something other than him. Despite that, a smooth transition. Mostly.

There it was again...! Why did he keep pausing? Callan stared at up at him fixedly. "Yep... both of 'em," she squinted suspiciously for a second before looking away, "How was Manhattan?" It occurred to her a bit too late that Grant was probably trying to change the subject for a reason, but the question was already out.

He paused again, closing his eyes as he let them both walk a bit more distance. The answer came eventually, of course. ”Luxurious. Comfortable, I suppose. I had thought I would spend my life there, but I guess not. I am here now, after all.” This time, he didn’t bother to change the topic, as there we no way to do so in a clean manner.

Hard to read as ever, Callan tried her best to gauge what he'd said, but was coming up empty handed again. It didn't good, but Grant seemed largely unaffected by what he was saying. She quickly turned her attention back to the drinks up ahead. "Right. Sorry. We can change the subject if you'd like," she offered with a weak smile.

He looked over at her when she offered a chance of subject. It was a good out of the topic that he seemed to not be comfortable with. He didn’t answer for a bit again before he shook his head, looking back ahead. ”If you’d rather ask about me, I do not mind. I don’t guarantee a satisfying answer to everything, though.”

She gave a subdued chuckle, entirely caught out in her curiosity. "I don't want to stick my nose where it doesn't belong," she said as they finally reached the several rows of drinks, "I just don't know anything about you after all this time... Less than most anyway. I don't know if I've been going blind or you stay in your room 24/7 because it feels like I never see you."

She quickly thought twice about her assertion. Hadn't she been the one holing herself up for three weeks? Who was to say he hadn't been more social during that time. "Then again, I haven't gotten out much until recently, so what do I know, y'know?" she added flippantly, picking up three heavy boxes of energy drinks and tucking them under her arm as if they weighed no more than styrofoam.

Grant blinked when Callan would easily pick up three boxes of energy drinks, tilting his head at her words as well. ”No, you are mostly correct. I rarely leave my room at all. Some words from Brent made me want to go out and talk more with the classmates around me. I barely know much about you all other than your powers to a point.” He turned to look at her again. ”Did something trouble you to hide yourself in your room?”

"Uhm," Callan hesitated to respond, but kept filling her basket with as many of the boxes as would fit. Just as the strain on the handles seemed as though it might break, she quickly shifted her hold so that it was balanced in her hand. She did so easily, clearly thinking about the answer to Grant's question while she went through the motions. "You could say that," she finally settled on, "D.C. was a rough time for me, but I'm doing alright now." It wasn't in an effort to change the topic, but the simple revival of her curiosity that prompted the next question.

"I completely forgot Brent was your roommate," she hesitated again, briefly this time, "How is that, by the way?"

Grant watched the powered girl load up on boxes upon boxes of drinks, curious. Yet, his attention was temporarily shifted from one thin to another. He looked back up at her, thinking about her question. “He is amusing, I would say. He is also encouraging. Aside from that, I have not conversed too much with him, regrettably.” A quick break from the current topic, he points to the drinks. ”Do you need assistance with the drinks?

"'Amusing', huh...," Callan briefly mulled over the appropriateness of Grant's description. She really hadn't spent much time with Brent outside of that one day at the school gym and that night at the hospital, but... she supposed it worked. Reminded of Grant's offer to help, she quickly looked down at the drinks in her arms. She already had enough to last her a while, but... "Yeah, just, uh... grab another box for me, would you?"

At the request, Grant’s attention was fully on a box of energy drinks as a chain formed behind him. It moved to a box before making contact with it, easily pulled it up and into the air. He was very well aware of his lack of strength to lift up the box of his own, so he resorted to his power instead. ”That is all?”

Her mouth formed a small 'o' as her eyes followed the chain's movements. She looked between the chained box and the shelves, greedily considering the opportunity. "...How many can you carry?" she half-whispered in excitement.

Blink blink. He looked at the box on his chain already before looking back to the shelf holding all the boxes. ”Well, I have three chains in total, so I can carry three boxes if you’d like. Unless you would want me to uproot the entire shelf.” That was his own attempt at being humorous. At least, it was funny to him. He wasn’t sure how it would deliver, as his tone barely changed. Either way, he summoned the rest of his chains behind him, letting them sway from side to side.

"You can do that?" she looked the shelf over, almost as if she were really considering it for a moment. She laughed, shaking her head. No, that was an awful idea-- even if he'd only been joking. She quite liked this store and wasn't keen on getting thrown out any time soon. "How easily could you carry this?"

She held out the basket, teeming with the other objects she'd gathered as well as three boxes.

Grant had cracked another small smile at Callan’s laughter before her question. Looking at the full basket, it was intimidating to think about carrying it with only his bare hands. He tilted his head a bit before sending his remaining to chains to the basket, both taking hold of it. Unlike previous times with his power, it didn’t seem to bother him too much, despite the weight. His chains carried the basket with ease. ”Very easily, it seems.”

"Hmmm," Callan nodded approvingly, "Awesome-- then you hang on to that. And I'll..." With her her hands free of the basket, Callan began stacking more boxes into her arms. Two... four... six... eight... ten. The stack was a good foot or so above her head, but she didn't seem to be having any trouble. "Alright," she beamed, rotating her hips so she could walk and see, "Let's go check out."

As he let Callan go do whatever she was doing, Grant sorted out his chains and how they were carrying the basket and box. It wasn’t until she spoke up when he would look back over, and his eyes instantly went up to the stack of boxes that went higher than even her. His mouth was slightly agape in awe, looking back and forth between the stack and Callan herself. ”...Yes.” was all he could manage before he would begin walking to the front with her, although he stuck close, wondering if the stack was going to topple at any moment.

Customers and staff alike stayed far away from the subnatural pair, warily eyeing the tower of drinks with the very same concern. Already familiar with the store's layout, Callan nodded Grant towards one of the self-check out machines and placed the stack on the conveyor belt. She swiped everything through in a timely fashion, bagging what she could. Before she began handing things to Grant, however, she paused. "Didn't you have anything you needed to buy?" she asked, suddenly worried that she might have been severely inconveniencing him, "I'm gonna head back to my dorm now, but I can carry this stuff pretty easily now that it's bagged."

At the self-check out, he let her swipe her giant tower of energy drink boxes down before he would do the same with his box and the full basket. He waited for a bag to be held out to him, moving his chain to it before he stopped with her. At her words, it seems it takes a while to think. “Ah, right, I was going to buy clothes.” He said, hitting his palm with his fist, tilted his head. ”I do not mind assisting and getting clothes for myself some other time. It is a strange time for it, as you said, yes?”

The concern in her expression grew more severe, "Er... yeah. But... clothes are kind of important, aren't they?" She frowned, "Are you sure?"

He tilted his head the other way from her question, raising his brow only a bit. ”It is not like I am having a mass epidemic on clothing.” Fantastic humor.

"Well... alright," she handed him several bags, taking the bulk of it in her arms again, "Let's get going then!"

Grant blinked when she suddenly thrusted several bags into his arms. His limbs shook, struggling to carry the bags of mostly energy drinks. His brows furrowed as he instantly connected his chains to the bags, freeing him from the weight. Breath out. Collecting himself again, he gave a nod to Callan so they can get a move on once again. Just as in the store, the regulars outside gave the two arbiters a wide berth. If Callan was at all bothered, she hid it well, waiting until they were at the bus stop before speaking again.

"Aw, geez," she set the stack down again, pulling out her phone to check the time, "We just missed it-- sorry." She sat down with sigh. The next bus would come by soon enough, but she was already feeling like a major thorn in Grant's side. Even if he was the one to offer-- that neutral expression of his played more in favor of her doubts than optimism.

He merely stood where he was, the bags swaying around in the air as he turned to look over at her. Head tilt and glance off to the side, as if thinking. "You do not really have to be sorry about that. It is only a little unfortunate. But I suppose I need more fresh air, after all." What's this? Grant's attempt at trying to actually comfort Callan? He looked back to the road, brushing through his incredibly messy bedhead with his fingers. "It's okay, I'm saying.

"Hmm." She didn't sound convinced. In fact, her mind had been drifting towards other, more 'unfortunate'problems. Some silence passed again, with Callan's eyes darting between her phone and the perpetually tired looking mage. Clearly she wanted to say something but... that was a long time ago. Dredging up the past might not be the best idea. She had no idea how Grant had managed to deal with Padma's death after that first fight. She'd tried to apologize, but that was it. That was all she'd done. "Grant," she said, getting his attention. She hesitated again before continuing, "Uh... so what sort of stuff do you like to do?"

Not really the sort of thing she typically asked classmates, but it was better than her original question.

Attention caught. Grant's head turned back to the girl, blinking slowly at her hesitation to ask such a simple question. He thought on that a bit, his gaze locked on her. He decided to answer her first, his eyes shifting up to the sky. "I do not really do much stuff in general. I guess sleeping would fit that the most, but I wouldn't say that's exactly 'doing' something." He took a moment to pause and let her process his answer before he spoke again.

"So what did you actually want to ask me?"

Just sleep? Maybe she could sympathize with that a little. Sleep was pretty great after all. Then again, maybe he just didn't feel like sharing his hobbies with someone like her.

"Oh. Uh...," she tensed at the sudden question. Think of something else. Something else. ...But no ideas came. Not quickly enough anyway. "It's nothing!" she lied poorly.

"I doubt it is nothing if you are making such a big deal about it. Your panic at me mentioning it is written all over your face." He tilted his head the other way, looking at her, his face unchanging from its tired state. "I would appreciate it if you just told me.

Callan bit her lip, gripping her phone tightly. She certainly couldn't try and come up with an excuse when he put it that way. Resigned to her fate, she sighed. "Okay...." He asked for it, right?

"I was wondering... if you're... if you, uhm..." Say it already! She smiled incredulously, "Why are you talking to me?"

Blink blink. Blink blink. He looked ahead at the road, then back at her, as if trying to think of an answer for that. Honestly, he was still suspicious, yet her question equally seemed to take him off guard. Grant was silent for quite some time before he finally spoke up again. ".....Why not? Is there a reason not to?"

Callan scoffed, shaking her head at him. Was he joking? "That first fight we had after we got here..." she folded her arms tightly across her chest, "I was really horrible. Yelled at you in front of everyone." A pause, watching him carefully. "She was your roommate... wasn't she?"

He blinked at the sudden mention of... Her. His gaze turned down to the ground, tensing up a bit. Breath in. Breath out. He gave a small shrug. "She was supposed to be. We only really spent one day and one night in the same room, I believe. Even so, she protected me when I was supposed to be the one who died that day. If it weren't for my panic, she would still be alive today." His eyes closed, thinking to himself. "I should have accepted that offer to run with her. If I had known that was the last we would be able to speak.

"No-- nobody should have died that day," Callan leaned forward on the bench, "And I shouldn't have put the blame on you. It was..." Just like Marcus said. "Nobody's fault."

"I'm sorry if I'm the one that made you feel that way," she frowned, taking another breath, "None of us had ever fought monsters before. We did the best we could under the circumstances."

His shoulders tensed up more at her words and he shook his head and shut his eyes. "It was my fault!" Emotion suddenly fills his voice. His chains falter a bit, drooping before they raise back up again, swaying in a faster rhythm. "I was a coward that day. I couldn't move. My body failed me and I failed Padma. I failed her. Because of me and my lack of ability to get my shit together, she died!" Heavy breaths left Grant as he recovered from his sudden outburst. His head turned away from Callan, silent.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice."

Startled by the sudden contrast in Grant's demeanor, Callan gripped her phone a little too tight. Quietly, the screen cracked. Her grip only tightened as he continued, a few small bits of glass and chipped plastic collecting in her palm. Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped. Leaving behind only regret.

She glanced down at the broken device, her thoughts far away from the inconvenience of needed to pick up a new one later. "I know how you feel," she said after a moment, closing her eyes as she slipped the phone into her pocket.

Grant took a moment to calm himself, brushing through his hair again. It took a bit before he looked over at her, his usual expression back on his face. His chains slowed their sway as well. "How so?" he asked, his tone having a more quiet volume than before.

Callan quickly averted her eyes the moment he looked at her. Bringing up the past had turned out even worse than she though it would. His question was only fair, "I mean I've gotten people killed. Tried to save them, but I couldn't..." She looked up at the sky, "It sucks, but... you can't focus on all the stuff you didn't do. Or at least you shouldn't. We do what we can and that has to be enough."

She looked back at him, "You have to make it enough. Or else you shut down... that's how it is for me anyway." Callan swung her feet, thinking for a moment, "I never forget... and the pain is still there sometimes... but it helps me keep moving."

Grant focused on the words that came from the supergirl. Of course, they were correct. Not to focus on what he didn't do, yet it was still hard for him. He let out a breath, closing his eyes in thought. "I understand... I am trying to use what Padma gave me to better myself. But I have only started now. I suppose that would be disappointing to see." He looked back to Callan, continuing to speak, "It is because of that first fight that I've realized that I cannot be scared. That I need to act or someone else close to me may die. It is also why I am talking to you."

"Me?" She gave him a wary smile. Had he been planning on bringing this up all along? Taking a page from Brent's book? At least she got a chance to speak her piece this time.

He gave a small shrug to her questioning response. "Well, I am trying to speak more to my classmates in general. It just so happens that you were nearby at the time. To be able to talk about what had happened in the first battle with someone who fought with me is admittedly... relieving," Grant said, smiling a very subtle smile once more. "So I am thankful for that."

Her smiled widened, genuinely relieved herself to hear that he hadn't been hunting her down just to tell her off for her misplaced anger that day. "Hey, any time," she scratched the back of her head sheepishly, "And... again, I really am sorry for yelling at you."

Grant exhaled through his nose, sounding like a chuckle. He shook his head and gave a simple wave of his hand. "You do not have to be sorry about that. It was warranted for the time. Let's not let that hang between us."

"Hmm... alright. If you say so," Callan shrugged. 'Warranted'. It didn't seem as though she'd fully convinced him. But if he was anything like herself, it seemed unlikely words alone ever would. Just then, the bus came rolling up the road, stopping in front of them. By some stroke of luck, it didn't seem anyone was interested in going anywhere on a Monday night. Picking up half of the stack of sodas, Callan loaded them into the second seat on the bus, vaguely aware of the looks she was getting from the driver. Wanting to keep an eye on her things, Callan took a seat near the front, stretching her legs across a whole row of seats as she waited for Grant.

Entering the bus, he probably looked just as weird with his chains bringing the bags into the bus, if not more. He set them down with the rest before making his way to a seat near her, taking it. With most of what was to say out of the way, the bus ride back was particularly quiet between the two. It even seemed like Grant easily fell asleep on the way back. After not too long of a bus ride back, they unloaded their things and themselves out of the bus where they moved to the dorms.

In front of Callan's room, he looked over at her. "I suppose this is where we part ways," he said, his chains beginning to lower the bags.

"I suppose so!" Callan sighed, setting all of her boxes onto the floor. She'd have to find a place for it all after her left. Maybe under the bed.... "Thanks again for helping."

Grant set the bags that he had been helping carry onto the floor next to all the boxes that Callan carried. His chains quickly retracted behind him, vanishing out of sight. "You're welcome," he replied with a nod. "I'll be off, then," he said, pointing back to the door leading back into the hall.

Clickclackclackclackclick!

A blur of brown fur darted from the bedroom at a startling speed for something as small as it was. Chief Tater Tot, in all his canine glory, dashed directly for the unfamiliar presence, eagerly bounding up to Grant, enthusiastically sniffing around the boy, tail wagging as though he'd discovered the newest best thing. Finding satisfaction with his identification ritual, the dog punctuated an excitable look with a bark.

Said bark seemed to be enough to summon the dog's owner.

"Tater Tot, you know that--oh!" A familiar face. Grant? Grant. That was the correct name...right? Siena offered a nervous attempt at a smile. "H-hey, sorry about him."

Just as Grant was turning to leave, he heard a... peculiar sound. Turning to said noise, he was a bit startled to see a small animal quickly rush him. This was it. This was... oh, it was only sniffing him. Grant seemed to just be staring down at the dog, his mouth a bit ajar, watching its excited exploits. His gaze turned up toward the new voice. Oh, he knew him. It was... her name... it... it was an S, that was for sure... oh, Siena. Right? Right. He looked back and forth between the dog and its owner a few times before his eyes finally settled on her. That's when he pointed down to the dog.

"May I pet him?" He asked, almost as if a twinkle just appeared in his usually expressionless eyes.

"Of course. He loves the attention." Siena's smile drifted from nervous to warm, a controlled shift of expression. The girl's mind churned, dredging up memories of recent events, of their first combat experience, and she pushed them away. Not important. "I think he likes you too." The Arbiter motioned toward the dog, the canine's gaze looking up as though expecting exactly what Grant had requested.

At the confirmation for him to pet the dog, he knelt down, his hands beginning. It has only begun. His double hand petting technique. It looked like he was even smiling a bit again as he gave the dog just what it expected. "He is nice," he stated, trying to pet all sorts of spots all over the dog. Pet pet pet. "I am sorry for the intrusion... Tater Tot, you said his name was?" he inquired, yet his gaze and attention was completely set on the brown canine.

Callan smiled at the sight, picking up a few boxes and setting them on the kitchen counter. It'd been a while since she'd seen anyone so happy to pet a dog. Captivated by the beginning of Grant's silly conversation, she watched on.

'Ah...'

It was hard to believe that the boy petting Tater Tot was the same one that she'd fought alongside with their second night at the facility. The same one that had told her to be prepared to kill if hostile subnaturals appeared in Wisford. Siena felt the smile grow a little warmer despite herself.

"Chief Tater Tot, according to the papers he came with," Siena replied. The dog gave a small sound of approval, evidently pleased by the amount of attention he was receiving. His tail continued to wag like a motor as he tried to return the affection the only way a dog knew how--sloppy licks on anything that his tongue could reach.

D'aw. D'AW. The dog's tongue lapped sloppily at Grant's hands as he pet relentlessly. No mercy. He nodded at Siena's words, his smile growing a bit more as he kept petting the canine. "Such a peculiar name. Yet... fitting," he commented, rub rub all over the animal. Will it ever end? Probably not any time soon. "Hmm... do you like this spot?... He mumbled out as he continued to pet and experiment with many strategies. Behind the ear? Maybe his stomach. "Oh... perhaps here..."

Tater Tot panted eagerly, rolling onto his back to expose his belly, one leg twitching as Grant managed to scratch a particular spot, tongue lolling out as he reveled in the moment. Clearly, he was in doggy paradise--almost.

Siena dared a glance toward her roommate, the smile on her face more than enough to relay an unspoken message. How unbelievably precious.

"Would you like to give him a treat?"

Oh. The dog was now on his back. Grant has noted where he needed to pet. The weak spot. This was it. This was the moment. This pet was the pet that will pierce the heavens. Here it comes. MAXIMUM-

"Treat?" Grant let out, snapping out from his trance, looking back up at the owner of the dog. His hand moved over to the spot that Tater Tot seemed to really like, scratching away lightly at it. "Yes.. yes, that sounds nice... may I?" he asked, continuing to pet away at the dog.

Callan's smile widened at the suggestion. She eagerly dashed towards cupboard where they kept the treats. "Here," she opened the box and held it out for Grant.

Grant blinked as he looked up at Callan who bestowed upon him a box of treats. His hand came up with a subtle nod, taking one from the box, his other hand still petting Tater Tot. "...Thank you," he said before looking back down at the dog, taking his petting hand away and now holding the treat up for the canine to take. "Here you go, Tater Tot..."

Treat!

Tater Tot smelled the delicacies before he saw them, and he rolled eagerly back to an upright position as he watched new humans person take one from the special box. The dog's tail wagged with even greater enthusiasm, expression alight with a bright joy. Treat! Treat! The dog stood on his hind legs, front paws up as though about to embrace the hand with the treat. When his balance faltered, Tater Tot performed a quick spin, falling back onto all four paws before returning to carefully--as carefully as a dog could manage it, at least--take the proffered treat. Treat!

Clearly, it was a day of celebration.

Did it just?

Oh lord, it just. Grant watched as the bright canine roll back to his front and try to take the treat. Yet, he did a spin. A spin. That was reason enough to give the dog a treat if ever. He lowered his hand for Tater Tot to take the treat and enjoy it. Once the treat was taken, his hand dropped to the dog's neck to begin petting and scratching away. "Good boy..." Grant can't help but chuckle a bit as he returned to petting.

Siena couldn't help but grin to herself. She didn't know what she'd expected, but it certainly wasn't this. Tater Tot seemed to be relishing the attention too, completely at ease. Maybe her initial judgements on Grant were off the mark. That was...nice, surprisingly enough. It wasn't often that things turned out better than her first assumptions in recent times.

"He really seems to like you," Siena claimed with a soft chuckle. "You know, if you ever want to come by and visit, I'm sure Tater Tot would enjoy the company." Ah, wait. Her gaze darted back to Callan. "E-er, if...if you guys don't mind, of course."

It took a second before Callan was able to tear herself away from the sight of Grant and Tater Tot, glancing at Siena with a thoroughly amused look in her eye, "No, I don't mind at all." She looked back at Grant, "Seriously, come over any time. Chief's in freaking paradise right now." She laughed.

As if to punctuate the claim, Tater Tot gave an eager bark.

Grant blinked at the sudden offer. He lifted his head to look at the two in the room, his hand on autopilot as he pet Tater Tot. He looked back down at the dog, bringing his free finger up to his own cheek and scratching it. He seemed to think once again, watching the dog... "...I suppose if you truly don't mind, I might take you up on that offer," he stated as he brought his hand to the dog's belly once again to find his weak spot.

"Here, give me your phone and I'll put my number in," Callan chuckled, holding her hand out.

The boy looked up from the dog that he was currently assaulting with his pets, staring at Callan's hand. It took a few moments before his gaze shifted up to her. "I don't have a phone."

He...what?

"Oh, um..." That made things a bit harder. Grey eyes flicked over to Callan, then to Grant, mind churning for a few minutes before a possible solution presented itself--aside from the obvious need to somehow provide Grant with a phone. "Do you have a roommate? Maybe we can work through them for a bit."

Grant's head tilted after Siena's suggestion, thinking to himself. His hands continued to move automatically, shifting his knee to keep it in a comfortable position. "I have Brent as a roommate, if you know who he is," he eventually answered.

One blink. Two.

"'Know' is putting it a bit lightly..." Well, that was quite a convenient coincidence. Apparently she wasn't going to get away from her fellow role-filler, though at least it provided an easy option. "He has my number, so we can work through him for now."

Grant watched her, curious as to what she meant by her first statement. Even after she explained what they could do, he stared at her. It took a bit but he nodded eventually. ”Okay. That sounds fine,” he stated, looking down at Tater Tot, halting his pets. He gave a pat to his head before standing up. ”Then I guess I shouldn’t overstay my welcome.”

"I'm gonna head out in a bit," Callan said, almost regretful. She glanced at Siena, deferring to her, "But I mean...?"

"I don't mind if you want to stay longer," Siena smiled. "I didn't have plans to head out anytime soon."

He blinked, reaching up and lightly scratching his cheek as he looked back down at the dog once more. He shrugged subtly, looking back up at Siena. "I do not have any other things to do either. I suppose staying longer would not hurt," Grant said, kneeling down and continuing the now nonstop petting.

"Aaalright, then," Callan finished putting all the boxes of drinks in their proper place under her bed. Grabbing her bag, she said her goodbyes and headed off for Ground Zero.

Even compared to her usual stints in Ground Zero, Zoe was painfully exhausted. Having to speak with Chris had delayed everything, and now it was a whole lot later than she was used to. She'd figured she could just forego recovery time and make her way back, but turned out a completely fresh injury was even more of a pain than it had been when she'd taken a couple hours to deal with it. So here she was, sat on a pile of debris not too far from the entrance as she waited to feel like she could make the journey back to the dorms.

The lateness didn't bother her, really - wasn't too long a walk back to the dorms anyway, and she'd had more than enough time to make sure things were still bandaged up. Wasn't like she'd been trying to get much sleep this week even when she did get back on time. As it was, the aberration figured she wouldn't need that much longer before she could make her way back to the room, but for now it seemed best to sit back and wait.

One mistep away from walking right past Zoe and suddenly Callan found herself hiding behind a nearby building, running at least five different scenarios through her head. All based around what mood Zoe might be in and how an impromptu chat might go. It wasn't good form-- asking someone to have your back in case you ever lose control of your ability and then angrily trying to lecture that person the moment they have the same problem. In front of everyone, no less. It was bad enough she originally planned on completely avoiding Zoe. Forever, if possible.

But now that she was here, it felt like more of a sign. She couldn't keep pretending like nothing happened. Niether of them could. Callan took a deep breath.

Meekly, she stepped out into plain sight, lowering her hood and approaching, though she was sure to keep a relatively safe distance. "Hey Zoe," she piped up, her eyes flickered to a small trail of smoke was rising from the side of her shirt. A nervous grin wormed it's way across her mouth, "Didn't expect to see you here so late."

"Guess I got delayed today." Zoe cut off her ability almost immediately as Callan spoke, trying to ignore the discomfort of trusting the task to her sub-par bandaging skills. She was more resigned than hostile, frowning in anticipation of a lecture that would probably be deserved - if unlikely to be anything she didn't already know. With a sigh, she raised her head to look at the other girl. "...so, you need something?"

Callan stepped a bit closer, twiddling anxious fingers inside the pocket of her hoodie. "Well... no, not really..." she said, noncommittal, "but can we talk?"

Zoe looked slightly surprised at that, but shrugged. "If you want. I'm not going anywhere."

She took a seat a a good couple of feet away, dropping her duffel at her feet. Clearing her throat, Callan drummed her fingers across her knees, pursing her lips tightly as she tried to recollect her thoughts. She hadn't thought she'd make it this far.

"How've been?" Callan asked.

How she'd been? Zoe wasn't sure how to answer that question. Telling the truth about that... seemed like a little much to reveal to someone that had every reason to hate her guts. That, and her issues weren't anyone else's problem to worry about. After a moment she settled on being as honest as felt comfortable, which ended up being a bit of a non-answer.

"As well as I could expect, I guess. How about you? After..." She frowned. "You know. Everything."

"I'm alright," Callan sighed, "And Kusari's..." She'd told her up front that she couldn't get over it. And it seemed unlikely that either of them would seek each other out for a nice chat any time soon. But Callan didn't want to make Zoe feel worse than she already did. That wasn't why she was here. "Coping," she finished, "But she's alive. So... you know. I'm okay."

Zoe, of course, hadn't asked about how the immortal was doing, but she thought it best to get that out of the way first. Callan wasn't about to try and bite her head off about it again, at least.

"Right." Zoe's frown deepened. Kusari-- she'd given her every warning, and not one had been taken seriously, but she knew the girl still didn't deserve that. Still, the memory was fresh, and her expression twisted in disgust as she thought it over. Words escaped almost without her realising, before she could think them over. "I wish I could take it back, for what that's worth. Everything I've..." She trailed off, looking at the floor.

Callan was silent for a moment. She thought she felt she could relate. Just a little. The gutted carcass of her old house came to mind. And that news article Dom sent her-- one in critical condition. But still. She'd never actually killed anyone herself... besides that Amigo at Bald Head. But that was entirely self defence. Different... right?

"It's okay," Callan attempted to reassure her, "I mean, probably would've been better if it didn't happen, but... uh... I don't want to speak for Kusari." She idly pushed a small piece of debris down the pile with her shoe. "I'm actually here because I wanted to say sorry. I lost my cool back there.... Completely threw you under the bus."

"I lost it completely. I've hurt you guys before, and it keeps getting worse. That's not okay." Zoe shook her head. She appreciated what Callan was trying to do, but she didn't feel like being forgiven for actions she'd probably end up repeating.

Still, it was odd. Kind of hurt, almost, to have someone else seeking her out to make an apology. Even - well, especially an undeserved one. She wasn't sure how to deal with the idea of anyone giving enough of a damn for that; although she was well aware that it probably came from Callan being soft-hearted and naive as all hell. Raising her head, she smiled drily. "Nice of you to say, but you've got nothing to be sorry for. I more than deserved it."

'Not okay'. Zoe had a point. Callan was still plenty aware of the dangers involved, but... she'd told her about Misery because she felt like she could trust her. That or she wanted to feel like she could... either way, there was something about Zoe that Callan found worth admiring. Not that she'd ever admit as much. "Well... I was just thinkin'... I asked you to watch my back. In a sense. But our agreement back at the island... wasn't very balanced, you know?" she felt uncertain about where she was going with this, but it felt like the right direction, "So, uh... maybe I could help you out somehow. If something like that ever happens again?"

She thought for a moment.

"Maybe we could carry around, like, a cow or something!" she suggested, apparently too caught up with the sudden idea to acknowledge its ludicrousy, "PETA would have a fit, but I could totally do that. It'd be easy to carry!"

Zoe was silent for a long moment as she absorbed what Callan had just said. And then a longer moment after that as she tried to keep a straight face and figure out a reply. "Yeah, well--" Despite herself, the aberration burst into genuine laughter - though she brought it quickly under control. "If you think you can get permission to cart a farm around, be my guest. I'd love to see what they name you."

It had been a while since she'd laughed properly, hadn't it? At least since the laugh had been all her, not some rabid thing that came in as a replacement. Looking back to Cal, she seemed at least a little more relaxed than before. "Seriously though, I don't think there's much you can do for me. No need to try and balance it out."

That's right, Callan hadn't been granted any sort of media nickname yet. More than the inconvenience of lugging around a cart full of animals, however, the thought of forever being known to the world based off of that made her grimace. "There's gotta be something...," she frowned, "We're both on the same team, you know. And what I asked you to do... it wasn't exactly a small thing to promise."

Zoe scowled, trying to find the right words."Told you, didn't I? That I know what it's like to be scared. That's enough." And that she wasn't the only person she'd tried to kill for it.

"Just try and make sure it won't come to that, alright?" She didn't need to see Callan's death when she closed her eyes.

Callan made a sound in her throat, voicing her discontent. Zoe wasn't one of those people she felt confident pushing, but at least she could say that she tried.

"Alright," she submitted, "I can try and manage that, I guess."

"...why d'you even care, anyway? I mean, I almost murdered your friend, took your arm off, and promised to kill you." Zoe looked at her curiously. "You've got plenty of reason not to give a damn about me."

A short sigh. Followed by an equally short silence. She was afraid this sort of question might pop up... but she didn't see much of a way around it.

"Because..." Callan met Zoe's gaze for only a moment before looking forward again, "We're both on the same team. Like I said... And whether I like it or not, you're a really strong part of it. 'The worst of us by a long shot'... I think is what you said."

She flashed Zoe an uncertain smile, "You took out most of those rogues in Wisford. Made it look damn easy, too.... Then you helped take out the baddies in D.C... And in the last fight you helped keep those tree things off our backs and then went ahead and captured one of the Amigos-- alive. And you did it all by yourself."

She propped her head up on one elbow, kicking more bits of debris down the pile, "Took like four of us just to take down that monster guy with the claws...."

Somewhere along the line, it seemed like she'd lost the point she was trying to make. Best case scenario, Zoe understood that Callan thought she was a key part of the team. Worst case....

Callan nervously scratched her cheek with her free hand, trying to hide the uncomfortable smile that was cropping up. She admired her. That wasn't to say she didn't disagree with some of Zoe's beliefs... beliefs which, now that she thought of it, reminded her an awful lot of Kusari, but...that was just the way it was. Zoe seemed to accomplish so much during their fights. A pillar of confidence and knowing exactly what the fuck to do.

Zoe was quiet for a long moment as she thought the answer over. It was true what Cal was saying, the way she saw it. The redhead had pretty much always considered herself one of their most effective people on the battlefield. It just didn't seem to cancel anything else out; being really good at killing people wasn't much of a redeeming quality, all things considered. Regardless, part of her appreciated it.

Although 'strong' was the last word she'd use to describe herself these days.

"Yeah, well," she looked at Cal with a slight grin, "can't go picking fights all your life without getting kinda good at it. Least I've got powers to help me out now." And she'd been able to save them for the most part when she was there to. Save them from everything that wasn't her, anyway. Problem was that she felt like more of a danger than their enemies sometimes.

"I'm kind of a shitty person to be praising, but... thanks, I guess."

"Heh," Callan grabbed her bag and stood up, brushing the dust off her pants, "I'm just sayin. If you can do all that... you can beat this. At least... I think you can." Emma and Ernie didn't seem to be having quite as hard a time, but everyone's stigma was different... wasn't that right?

She shrugged, finally looking back at Zoe again, "I don't want to pretend like I know you that well or anything... just... I'm here if you need help. That's all."

Beat this? Zoe couldn't find herself sharing in the optimism, but she didn't feel like arguing with someone else today. "Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. I'll try and remember you're around." A week ago, she wouldn't have considered help - and even now, she wasn't sure. But trying to do this alone wasn't working anymore, and she couldn't even get herself killed without catching someone else in the crossfire. It was worth considering, if nothing else.

Of course, seeing Callan get up reminded her she was running out of time. Gritting her teeth, Zoe forced herself to her feet with a grunt, shooting her classmate a strained smile. "Should probably get going, though. Don't think they'll like it if I'm out past curfew."

"Yeah," Callan agreed, noting the expression. Did she hurt herself? She wondered about the smoke she'd seen earlier, but didn't even think to ask about it. If she needed help, she could tell her so. Otherwise, Callan was content with the apology and having made the offer known.

"Guess I'll head back, too," Callan lied, her voice an octave too high. She hopped off the pile of debris, further than any normal person could have ever managed so casually, hoping to get a headstart so she could hide out somewhere and come back for her night training. It did occur to her that Zoe was one of the few people she didn't need to hide that from, but they were teammates. Not friends. And she preferred to keep her private sessions on a need to know basis.

"I'll see you around," she waved politely. And with that, she left.

She stretched out her hands, grasping towards the stars in the dark sky. Tentatively Hazel had removed her collar, feeling somehow odd ever since she got off that island. Now that she was back here in Ground Zero, she finally figured out what it was. That scratching feeling, that heavy weight pressing into her head at the back, the feeling of tiny hands grasping at her mind weighting it down, all of it felt so very far now.

It felt odd, dangerous, but somehow more... exciting without the collar on. Hazel could try to search for more words to describe that odd mixture of exhiliriation and utter panic that seemed to flutter in her bosom, but she would much rather try to figure out her rapidly evolving abilities more. All thoughts of invincibility with the armor upgrade she gained had fled from her mind upon that single demon tearing through her projections like nothing. And certainly trying to defend herself with her projections seemed suicidal now that she knew how much damage could be transfered from it to her. Then what could she do? Hazel had been puzzling over that, considering the others survived much longer than she did, as well as doing much more. Project a weapon, they break it, she gets injured. Project armor, they break it, she gets injured. What did they have that she didn't?

There was an unfamiliar feeling swirling around now, one she did not recognize, but it feels irritating and odd.

On the other side of a large brick wall, Callan readjusted her headphones one last time before summoning her weapon. A sword styled like a katana, but far bigger. She could only admire it for a second before it got too heavy and she was forced to let it rest on the ground. She still had a few hours before her plans with Sander and figured there was nothing wrong with getting a little training in as long as she was awake. Her mind still felt thick with thoughts since her talk with Ernie the other day, so she did her best to focus on the lyrics.

"We wasn't supposed to make it past 25. Jokes on you we still alive," Callan sang under her breath, skipping few words here and there each time she sliced through a mail box or street sign. She continued in blissful ignorance, completely unaware of Hazel being nearby.

Hearing a voice singing, Hazel ignored it before realizing it wasn't a voice that echoed in her head as usual. Someone else was actually here? Forgetting all about her collar for the moment, she skipped around the brick wall, before seeing someone swinging a large sword around. That hair, she recognized it as belonging to Callan, but she had no idea she could project items as well. It was similar to what Hazel did, but also different, and interesting, and odd because of that.

"I see. You have the ability to project weapons as well," she spoke suddenly. "Are you here to train?"

Hazel was lucky she caught Callan in between songs or else she might not have heard her. Callan, on the other hand, jumped so badly that the katana flopped right out of her grasp, dissipating into smoky tendrils that were quickly absorbed by her shadow. Getting caught in the middle of singing was already enough to fluster her pretty badly. The fact that it was Hazel of all people only made matters worse.

Callan turned and stared, something between a glare and curiousity fixed on her face for a good several seconds before she finally responded. "Yes," she answered curtly, resummoning her sword.

"Then, will you train with me?"

It was an opportunity in her mind. That shadowy construct reminded her of that demon, that thing that tore through her and her newly acquired ability like it was nothing. The unknown feeling rose up again upon the mere thought of that happening, bubbling and barely kept in check. Training with another was something she had not the chance to do much, if at all. Fighting with another one of them was apparently what she did once that cloud haze clawed into her head, but all she wanted now was someone to fight against, someone to train with.

There was an intense look on her face as she projected an armored gauntlet holding a sword as well as another arm holding a shield, her hands dissappearing from the wrist up.

Callan narrowed her eyes. There was something about Hazel that really creeped her out. Even if she used to be Emma's roommate, it was just one of those feelings she couldn't shake. Of course, D.C. hadn't helped that much either. She didn't even need to think about it-- but she wasn't given the chance to answer right away.

Almost immediately, the girl activated her ability. Her skin crawled at the sight, amethyst eyes darting upwards at the looming projections. She gripped her sword a little tighter and swallowed.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said plainly, still keeping her guard up in case Hazel randomly snapped. Still facing the 'armed' aberration, she glanced around to see if anyone was with her. Anyone who could potentially intervene if things went south.

"Why?" Hazel was genuinely curious. "I have concluded that simply tearing through helpless shadows and inanimate objects will not allow my abilities to progress further. By the same reasoning, it will not help yours as well."

She advanced slightly, getting better footing. The shield swung around to cover her front, as the sword moved closer towards the shield. A larger projection with only part of her body, one that does not contain vital organs. It was a simple test she was running in Ground Zero, to see how much she can do without exposing herself to danger.

"Do not worry. I will be sure to hold back."

Callan took a hasty step back, pulling her headphones down around her neck. She grimaced, furrowing her brow at not only Hazel's logic, but her offer to hold back. Even though she knew Hazel was strong, it felt weirdly insulting. Being made out to be less capable than a psycho girl in a maid's uniform.

"Because you don't know how to control yourself," she said matter-of-factly, trying to reason. She gripped her shadow katana even tighter. Hazel was making her nervous. Really nervous.

"Is that so?" Hazel tilted her head slightly. "I have felt much better than I had ever been before recently."

As if to accentuate her point, she stopped her projections and pointed at her neck, where the black mark sat in contrast to her pale skin. Her collar was off, and she did not feel as bad as she thought she would. It felt even less than it was before WITH the collar on. It was odd that the concept of control came up again, however, considering her last talk with Sienna. Humming an unknown tune to herself, she jumped onto a wall, walking haphazardly upon it before sitting down upon a pillar.

"Are you afraid?" She asked.

It was the same question she had asked of Sienna, wondering if Callan too was afraid of her own abilities.

Her posture relaxed the moment the projections faded away. She waited for a moment, finally figuring it was safe to dispel her own weapon once Hazel sat down.

"No," Callan answered a little too prematurely. It was a fair question. One she hadn't expected Hazel to be astute enough to ask. But for the record-- yes. She had to admit, at least to herself, that she was a little afraid.

"I'm concerned," she said instead. "Not that I don't want to believe you're feeling better, but I'd rather we not repeat what happened back in Washington."

"Washington," Hazel repeated. "What happened in Washington?"

She started swinging her feet, her shoes making a dull thud every time it hit the concrete pillar she sat on. She wanted to do something more interesting than this, but it can't be helped that Callan didn't seem to be in any mood to train with her.

"Why do you look so tense?"

It wasn't any sort of amazing observational skill on Hazel's part; it was simply the way Callan seemed a bit antsy, impatient, as if she was expecting battle very soon. Fear, apprehension, feelings she was very familiar with.

Callan gawked. She didn't know? Or did she just want her to say it out loud..?

No, that had to be her competitive side creeping out where it shouldn't be. Though it was tempting to keep Hazel in the dark, Callan ultimately sighed. Two questions, one answer.

"You attacked me," she smiled, trying to reassure her that there were no ill feelings. Of course, it was frustrating... but they were still teammates. And that was a long time ago. Callan knew as well as anyone how much a person can change in a week, let alone three. "Beat me up pretty good, too...," she chuckled, scratching her cheek and averting her eyes.

"Ah," Hazel spoke nonchalantly. "All I remember was taking off the collar and going off alone to fight an ice giant. I was so certain I would die in that battle."

She looked towards the dark night's sky still swining her feet against the pillar, wondering when the stars looked that pretty.

"I had not accounted for another also going up against it. I had assumed everyone would retreat, considering there wasn't any real reason for anyone to stay and fight. ...but then why did I stay and fight?"

That last part was spoken more to herself as she frowned slightly. She had felt her blood boil, and had wanted to fight, to destroy, to tear down that magnificent symbol of power. But there was no order to engage, nor was there any reason for her to feel threathened enough from it to fight it.

Shaking off that thought, she turned back to Callan. "Then, you are afraid of training with me, because you are afraid of losing again?"

Had Hazel been on a suicide mission? All alone? And what did she mean there was no 'real reason' to fight? Callan opened her mouth to say something, but then... that question.

She smiled defeatedly, "Uhh..." Telling someone she barely knew about Misery just to save face would be a dumb idea... wouldn't it? The fact that she even considered it at all spoke of how much losing bothered her. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt. Er-- either of us to get hurt," she chuckled, satisfied with that much of an answer.

"I'll tell you what, if you can get someone to supervise... we can spar," she negotiated, because although it was obvious that Hazel wanted to train and Callan was all for improving the strength of the team, Hazel's explaination, tone and childish feet kicking was still making her all kinds of uncomfortable. Even if they fought now and nobody was injured, the thought of possibly having to walk across campus in her birthday suit was a genuine fear she was beyond unwilling to admit to.

"I don't know anyone." Hazel replied. While she did know some of them, she had no idea who would supervise such a fight. Feeling bored, she started to lift herself with her hands, her legs straightening up as she did the feat. "I did not know your ability was similar to mine."

Having lifted herself on the pole, she started to slowly maneuver into a handstand on the pillar, oblivious to her skirt falling down. "I had thought your ability had been only enhanced physique, but to have that as well."

Already Hazel was losing interest fast in the training session. In her mind, there was no concept of 'sparring', only 'struggle'. Every single scenario with battle she had been in was for her life. A supervisor for a training session was odd for her, unless Callan meant for one to record their performances and such. Even so, the only ones she knew of would be back at the Plant.

Had Hazel always been this spry? Callan immediately averted her eyes the moment she saw the dress beginning to fall, staring up at the stars with Hazel at her back. "Y-yeah," she answered, quickly becoming flustered, "Mine aren't quite as big as yours, though." She forced a small laugh, she had absolutely no idea how to deal with this girl. Should she text Emma?

"Did you..." Callan started the sentence without thinking. Screw it, what was the worst that could happen? "... wanna see?" Hesitating for a moment, Callan summoned a large sword, pretty standard in form. Anything to get her skirt back down.

A few moments after Callan turned away from her, Hazel toppled over, her arms giving out, her head hitting the pillar as she fell into the dirt behind it. Dusting herself off, she turned towards the projected sword, rubbing the sore spot on her head. Eying it from different angles, it seemed... servicable? There were clear differences from the way hers worked and this one worked, but it was still similar. Did Callan also have a mental image of the object to maintain?

"Similar. It looks similar. "

Almost automatically, she reached out to grab it, curious about how it felt in the hand. It felt warm and solid, almost alive as it seemed to squirm in her hands. Nothing like hers at all.

"Is it alive?"

Callan seemed alarmed by Hazel's quick assessment, but quickly tried to mask it behind another nervous laugh. "No," she lied, "I don't think so, anyway." That was at least half true. If you believed all living things had something of a conscience.

Hazel stepped closer to Callan, leaning in towards her face. There was nothing but curiosity on Hazel's face as she tried to decipher that odd expression that flitted past.

"I see."

That was all she said as she stepped away. Hazel could find no conclusion, nor any real confimation of what it was.

"Then, if you will excuse me, I will need to resume training." Bowing slightly, she continued speaking. "Thank you for showing that to me."

Weighed down by her heavy weapon, Callan struggled to lean away, her mouth pursing into a thin line while Hazel observed to her heart's content. One relieved sigh later and it was over. Callan stared as Hazel made her bow, confusion clearluy etched onto her face. "Uh... yeah. Sure. No problem," she said, simply. "I'll... see you around."

Hey, Sander. Long time no talk-- you still interested in training?

Hey. Sure. Training would be nice.

Tonight after curfew. Can you meet me in Ground Zero?

After curfew?

I'll get you a pass. dw. Can you make it?

What time, exactly?

11:45

At GZ?

Ye I'll swing by and pick you up. They won't let you out of the dorm without a pass

I'll see you, then.

Make sure you get some extra rest, okay? I need you at 100

You'll have me.

As promised, Callan arrived on time that night. Not at all late, which was nothing short of a miracle. But she'd be hard pressed to fudge this up when sparing with Sander had been on her mind ever since their last match-- and especially this last week. She texted a quick "I'm here" to Sander's phone, not wanting to disturb any who might be sleeping-- or arouse any suspiscion.

Immediately, the door swung open, as if Sander had been standing right there waiting for her. He had dressed nicely, crisp shirt and jeans, more suitable for an evening out rather than a sparring match. But it was what he felt comfortable in, so the choice was easy.

"Good evening." -The blood mage greeted her with an easy smile -"Let's go."

Startled, Callan leaned back slightly when the door flew open. She was almost tempted to make a joke about it, but her eyes were quickly drawn to Sander's attire. She'd almost forgotten... but she'd already given him a hard time about what he considered to be proper training gear in the past. So for now there was only one thing left to do.

"You look like you just got back from a date," she teased as they began walking, happy to be talking with Sander again. He was still a weirdo, but it was nice knowing all her friendships hadn't completely dissolved during her reclusive episode at the estate. Not only that, but something about him seemed almost a little bit cheerier. And she thought she could guess why.

"Why?" -Sander raised an eyebrow, hauling the cooler of blood after him. Still, the smile lingered on the corners of lips, unlike the last time they did this -"I had no dates."

Oblivious as ever. "Nothing, nevermind," she laughed incredulously, stopping mid-chortle when her nose suddenly caught a whiff of... was that cologne? Shaking her head to herself, Callan decided to change the subject.

"Got enough blood?" she asked, just trying to make conversation as she eyed the cooler.

"We will see." -Sander only shrugged. He did carry far more than he needed, but with the new limits of his power, he imagined his surge of power would last as long as Cal needed.

"Okay," she said simply. Not much to go off of, but it was fine. After almost a month of not speaking to Sander, she couldn't exactly say she was used to it., but the silence that followed left her feeling a little less desperate to fill it. Her mind drifted back to the last time she'd even seen him. Not since the helicopter ride back from the island. Before that was the water... and then the fight with that shadow monster mage. Head filled with thoughts, she didn't even realize she'd been staring at him.

Sander stared back, an eyebrow arched.

"Yes?"

Callan blinked up at him, surprised to suddenly notice Sander staring right back. She quickly looked away, "Nothing," she laughed nervously, "Just, uh...." Sander was really good looking.

"How've you been?"

"I'm fine." -Another smile stretched Sander's lips, as if he found something amusing -"Best I have been in a while, though."

"How about you?"

It was nice to see Sander doing so well.

"I'm alright," she grinned, "Been training all week is all." There was a clear relief in the words. She hadn't gotten the chance to talk about it with anyone, afraid they might ask too many questions. Best to get it all out now.

"Training? So what are we doing today?"

"Mmm, well...." Callan hummed, "I was hoping we could try some stuff with Misery tonight. Since that's what I've been working on. But we don't have to-- we can save it for another time if you're not comfortable."

"It's fine." -Sander thought back to their first spar, and how that ended quite horribly. Well, he was weaker then. Things had changed -"We can do anything you want."

"Alright, then. Cool," she said, her tone a little less enthused. Had part of her hoped he'd say no? It wasn't as if she was still too terrified to summon Misery. Especially not after the week she'd had. But the idea of Sander potentially being hurt was still an uncomfortable possibility.

"So, Sandy," Callan chirped, trying to lighten the mood. She flashed him a somewhat mischevious smile, "You and Christmas look like you've gotten pretty close. It's been a while since we talked, so... I expect a full report."

"What do you want to know?" -The sudden nickname made Sander raise an eyebrow, but he did not comment on it.

"Well," she shifted the bag over her shoulder, "Are you guys dating now?"

"We are." -Sander admited easily, though it was clear he was gauging her reactions.

Her eyes lit up, smile widening. "Congrats!" Callan playfully shoved him in the shoulder, a little too rough. "Whoops. Sorry, forgot you aren't charged up yet," she patted his sleeve gently, like the dead arm that resulted could be brushed off as easily as a bit of dust.

"But hey, seriously. I'm really happy for you!"

"Y-Yeah. Thanks." -Sander forced a smile, kneading at the ache on his arm.

Callan grimaced. It would be a few minutes before they reached ground zero. "You need an ice pack? I brought some."

"An ice pack for?"

"For your shoulder," she answered flatly.

"My shoulder is fine. -Sander shrugged -"I think I told you before? Don't have to worry about me."

"Mm," Callan clicked her tongue. Now she remembered, "I know you self heal and all, but if it hurts, you can tell me."

Letting the subject go for now, Callan sighed. "How's your boyfriend doing, by the way?"

"He's fine. Do you want to see him?"

A nervous chuckle. What kind of question was that? "Did you want me to see him?"

"It's up to you."

A nervous laugh. What did he mean by that? "Okay... yeah... m-maybe later."

The rest of the walk to Ground Zero went by with similiar gaps of awkward silence and Callan's occassional attempt at conversing. Sander's shirt came from a store. An expensive store. Sander still didn't know how to swim. No, he'd never been to The Whistle Sip. No, he didn't know what bubble tea was.

With a defeated sigh as they finally reached what Callan had so far proclaimed her official training grounds, she set the duffel bag and first aid kid on a nearby bench and began stretching. Her body was still sore. Not as bad as two days ago... but it was a fair price to pay. Nothing that would severely hinder her training with Sander tonight. She glanced at the lights of the diner on the other side of the large park, a distant look in her eye as she remembered the turmoil of her first night.

Meanwhile, Sander was preparing silently. He already knew what the Change entailed, so he was quite confident that he could stay in full control. Yet, nerves pulled at his thoughts. Old habits died hard, after all. So he pressed a cannister against his lips and took a swig. The familiar metallic taste filled his mouth quickly; the blood was gasoline and his power was a spark. Power exploded in the rapid beats of his heart, and strength surged through his system. All familiar sensations, yet Sander could easily tell what was different. His power used to be a fearsome beast; it raved at his restrains and let loose his deepest, darkest desires. Now, it felt little more than a trained dog. It would snap and bark and snarl only at his behest. He could still feel the murderous intents and dark cravings, though, lurking beneath, but the feelings were so faint and weak that Sander believed it would take far more than his will to invoke.

By the time he finished most of his blood cache, red smoke was wisping up from his torso and his eyes were glowing a bright red. He stood still though, arms lax at his sides as he waited for Callan. He didn't have to wait long. Callan slid out of her hoodie and left it by the bag-- safe from the impending fight. Turning to face Sander, she quietly took in his appearance.

"You've gotten stronger, right? Since the last time," she guessed, remembering the conversation she had with Emma. All of her improvements so far had been for Misery. Not that she wasn't happy to have the reigns or for the weapons she was able to summon now (even if they were ridiculously heavy), but... giving it the ability to fly had seemed more like a cruel joke.

"Yes. I think." -Sander smiled, reaching up to unbutton his shirt -"What do you want do?"

Callan looked unsure for a brief moment before heading towards the park's center. "First person to get pinned wins. Sound fair?"

"So...do you want to win?"

"Only if you do," Callan smirked at him over her shoulder, "I mean it-- don't go easy on me this time!"

"Okay." -Sander nodded, shrugging off his shirt and folding it neatly, before putting it in a safe spot with the cooler -"Go all out. It'll be fine."

"You don't have to tell me that!" Callan called.

A moment later, and Callan stood across from Sander, crouched as she counted down. Sander kept a neutral stance though, and suddenly, both him and Callan was glowing red, the aura draping over them like a warm cloak. Callan looked down at her hands in surprise. She hadn't even thought to use Sander's invincibility for sparring-- it was a good idea considering what happened last time. She nodded in thanks, "Two... one... go!"

She'd tried to use her spare time to look up fighting techniques online, but somehow they all felt a little lacking. Obviously not designed for people who could dig craters into the ground just by jumping or running a littletoo hard, but... better than nothing. Even if, until now, she'd had no way to apply them on an actual opponent. Fists up, Callan's shoes dug into the dirt as she aimed a kick at his side. Sander only grinned as he caught the leg and lunged forward, intending to knock Callan out of balance. Her eyes widened in surprise. She couldn't keep up! The remaining leg lost contact with the ground and she slipped backwards, grunting as she hit the ground. With the assurance of his power around both of them, Sander allowed himself to use his full strength. With one arm hooked around the back of Callan's knee, his other hand gripped her shoulder to keep her pin down.

"I win?" -The blood mage grinned, though he still hadn't loosened his grip one bit.

Callan stared up at him, her expression quickly melting from shock to irritation, "Yeah, yeah. Now get off. Let's go again."

The matches continued. One after the other in quick succession. Callan lost more than she would've liked and the victories she did claim didn't feel exactly right. Sander had gotten stronger, but as they fought, she didn't get the impression he was any more so than herself. Just half a foot taller, give or take.

Almost an hour later, she found herself pinned in the exact same position. Staring up at the exact same smirk. "Ugh," breathing heavily, she gave him a weak shove, "Okay, I think that's enough for now. Let's take a break."

"Sure." -The blood mage straightened up then, offering a hand to Callan, though he had yet to wiped the smile off his face. He had just never allowed himself to fight with such deliberation and excitement. It was exhilirating.

Callan stared at his hand for a moment. Almost petty enough not to take it. "Thanks," she sighed, still trying to catch her breath. She made her way quickly over to the bench, sitting down heavily and grabbing her bag, fishing around inside for a much needed drink or two. Sander just took a seat right on the packed dirt, traces of a smile were still lingering on his expression, but when he turned to address Callan, his eyes were serious. He was once again gauging her reactions closely.

"So...was it okay?"

Unscrewing the top off a luke warm sports drink, Callan tiredly sighed again, resting it in her lap. She peeked at him sideways, noticing the look on his face. Real proud of himself, wasn't he? She inwardly groaned, always the sore loser. No use getting bent up over it. Baby steps, she tried to remind herself.

"Heh... Yeah, you did good," she admitted, smiling, "Not a single biting incident and you won a lot. Beat me fair and square." She held the drink towards him, already reaching into her bag for a second.

Sander paled slightly at the mention of 'biting incidents', but he recovered soon enough, lips stretching into another smile.

"Thanks." -He inched closer to grab the offered bottle, though he did not drink.

It wasn't nearly as refreshing warm. Taking modest sip, she thought about bringing a cooler of her own next time-- wasn't like it'd be too heavy to carry. Her eyes fell on Sander's untouched drink as she finished. "Not thirsty?" she quipped.

"Not really. " -Sander said, but he took a sip then, seemingly to placate Callan -"But...yeah this tastes nice."

"You don't have to drink it if you don't want to," she smirked.

"But you want me to, right?"

Callan laughed, "Dude, I don't care. I just thought you might want one after all that fighting.... Then again, I guess you don't look very tired..."

"I only get tired...after."

She quirked an eyebrow in surprise, "Oh." Her eyes flickered from the mark to his glowing red irises, "That explains a lot." She quietly took another sip of her drink. Certainly explained why he was beating her so easily those last few rounds....

"Well, you can save it for later if you want. I just need a few more minutes...." she more hurriedly took another drink, not wanting to make Sander wait too long.

"It's fine." -Sander looked at her with a bit of concern now -"Take your time."

Already in the middle of downing the last bit, Callan crushed the hard plastic bottle in her hand and leaned against the back of the bench. She stared up at the sky, letting her breaths even out. She wiped some sweat off of her temple with the back of her hand, expression darkening as her thoughts turned towards thier next task. That only worried Sander more. He left his bottle on the ground before walking closer to where Callan was, watching her intently.

"Are you okay?"

Callan shook her head lightly, "Yeah." She frowned, quiet for the a moment as if she might not say anything more.

"Sorry, I'm just... I'm having some second thoughts... about Misery," she smiled apologetically, "Maybe we should just stick to what we've been doing, you know?"

"Misery? Your...creature?" -Sander raised an eyebrow, recalling his previous encounter with the monstrous shadow. It had hurt him, and it was stronger than him then. But he was positive he could beat it if he used his full strength. And he would.

"I'll be fine. We can do whatever you want."

She further crushed the bottle in her hands, staring past him at the diner. "How can you be so sure?" She looked back at him, "There's a reason I don't tell anybody about this thing. I don't want to have to race you over to Christmas in a bucket, Sander."

"It won't come to that." -Sander assured Callan once more, nothing but sincerity in his eyes. He genuinely believed in his own progress -"I got better at controlling."

"It's not your control I'm concerned about," she muttered. The risks were all there. Excruciatingly there. The answer should be simple. But... she wanted so badly to know. To see if Sander could beat Misery into submission. Maybe even....

After a moment, she finally stood up, "Let's just... keep sparring...."

Sander tilted his head, looking like he was about to protest. But in the end, he only nodded.

"If that's what you want."

They carried on with their sparring, though this time around, Callan seemed far distracted. It felt like she was simply going through the motions, barely reacted even when Sander pinned her down several times in a row. Eventually, Sander noticed Callan's stamina was reaching its limit; she could barely keep up with him anymore.

"Maybe...we should call it a day?" -He asked, looking down at Callan who was once again on her back, knocked down into the dirt.

She could barely breathe, let alone talk. Nonetheless, Callan forced out a short "'Kay" in agreeance, simply waiting for Sander to get off instead of making any attempt to move him herself. Her skin was clammy with sweat, the salty taste of it stinging her eyes and invading her mouth as she gulped down air like it was going out of style. Once Sander had stood himself up, she held out her hand first, anticipating the help since they'd gone through this motion so many times already. As expected, Sander grabbed her hand and helped her up, frowning slightly.

"Are you okay? Hurt anywhere?" -There was no open wound as far as he knew, but broken bones or fracture ribs could still be a possibility. Though when he thought back to this later, he felt silly. His power had protected them both.

Callan shook her head, forcing herself not to lean over and grab her knees the moment she was back on her feet. "'M fine," she mumbled, sounding dissappointed. "Need a drink..." Callan made walked back to the bench, legs feeling heavy and sluggish. She felt like she could lay down and immediately sleep, but that wasn't an option. Sander followed Callan after a moment, offering his drink bottle to her.

Callan paused, panting loudly as her gaze darted between Sander and the beverage. Right. He wasn't tired. An irrational jealousy briefly flared, but she brushed it off, gratefully accepting the drink but too tired to say thanks. She heavily planted herself on the bench and drained the container of its contents quickly before rummaging around in her bag for a small towel and a bag of trail mix. Sander remained silent though, simply taking a seat nearby and watching Callan closely. Despite the obvious absence of his Stigma, the concern for his friend was still there, and he could help but worried. Callan had been acting a bit different, after all.

It took a while before Callan cooled down and finally noticed the concerned look Sander was giving her. "I'm alright," she smiled reassuringly, wiping the last bit of sweat off her cheek.

"You're sure?" -Sander didn't look entirely convinced.

"Yes," she emphasized, "Now stop looking at me like that. It's just... been a while since I pushed myself that hard. That's all." She flippantly ripped open the bag of trail mix, offering it to Sander more out of habit that anything. "You gotta try this one," she smirked, "It's my new favorite."

The offer prompted Sander to accept a handful of trailmix, which he picked at.

Callan frowned, "Ah, no. You're eating it all wrong. You gotta eat the whole handful at once." She reached into the bag and pulled out a small assortment of her own, quickly demonstrating. "Like that," she mumbled, covering her mouth.

"Uh...But that's just too much." -Sander squinted, but he followed suit, shoving the whole handful down his throat. It turned out to be a bit too much, after all, and Sander ended up swallowing a few whole. He coughed and choked in the aftermath, winded. He turned to Callan with a hurt look in his eyes, as if she had betrayed him.

Callan sat up a little straighter, still chewing as her expression of alarm morphed into concern before running blank at the look he was giving her. She couldn't help it. A subdued laugh through her nose quickly erupted into a series of short giggles, lacing every word she tried to say behind her hand. "Jesus, how big was your handful?" she laughed, struggling not to choke on her own mouthful of trail mix, "N-next time try a little less."

"You had more than me." -Sander almost grumbled, still coughing the residuals away.

Another laugh, "Well, clearly you need more practice." She held the bag out again, daring him to try-- even if it was just for her own sick entertainment.

Sander just stared for a while, before dropping his gaze -"You can have this round, Callan."

"Ha!" she pulled the bag back triumphantly, "Alright, but I'm sending you home with a bag." Callan leaned back agains the bench again, tossing another handful into her mouth and seeming a little cheerier. The silence between them stretched for a few moments, Callan occupied with her snack while Sander stared at a wisp of red smoke rising from his arm, distracted. Eventually, he turned to Callan.

"Do you have anyone you like?" -The question was dropped in a casual tone, like they were just talking about the weather.

She gave him a sideways glance, taking a quick gulp of her drink before answering. "I like a lot of people," she smiled, teasing a bit. She knew what he was asking.

"Oh?"

"Oh, yeah," she nodded, failing miserably at pretending to be serious, "As friends." Her smiled widened.

"Oh." -Sander just made the same sound, his shoulders dropping.

Callan chuckled at him, "Oh, did you mean something else?"

"I mean...do you like someone...uh...romantically?"

"Ohh, why didn't you just say so?" she cooed mockingly. Her smiled faltered a little, but she was sure to look away before Sander could spot it. Callan thought for a moment.

"Yeah... I guess I do," she said.

"So what do you do to...have them?"

She looked back at him suddenly, not expecting such a question as follow up. "What do I... have to do?" she repeated slowly, legitimately stumped.

"To have their person you like."

Callan frowned, furrowing her brow for a moment. An uncertain smile pulled at her lips, though her eyes seemed like they held a resigned sort of dejection, "That's not a very easy question, Sandy."

"I know." -Sander was serious though, as there was far more than idle curiosity in his question. He didn't explain much, however -"I just...want to know."

She frowned again, combing her fingers through her bangs uncomfortably. "I...," she thought of Marcus and Emma. Riley's warning came to mind. But after that-- nothing but static.

Callan look increasingly troubled, "I can't really...." She quickly smiled again, flustered by how much she knew she was revealing with just her face alone. "It's not one of those situations where I can do anything."

"Okay." -Sander nodded, noting the look of distress on Callan's face -"Sorry."

"No, it's fine," she hid behind another sip of her drink, "I'm fine, really. Fish in the sea and all that, right?"

Sander tilted his head, confused.

Callan smirked, Shoul've known better. "'There are always more fish in the sea'-- it's an expression. Mostly just something people tell you when you can't be with the person you want to be with. When that happens, you gotta just move on. Find somebody else. That sort of thing."

"You don't...fight for the one you love?"

"...Not when they choose somebody else."

"Oh." -Sander seemed taken aback. The thought simply had never crossed his mind. What if Christmas had wanted someone else? He did know what he would do, if that was the case.

"That's...very sad, then."

Callan shrugged, tossing another small handful of trail mix into her mouth. "Could be worse." She pushed herself to her feet, reaching for her hoodie and packing up her bag. Sander didn't say anything for a while, just watched as Callan slowly getting ready to leave. Then his eyes caught the ruined skyscraper in the distance, and it gave him an idea.

"Hey Callan, wanna see something?"

Pulling her head through her hoodie, Callan shot him a quizzical glance. "Uh... sure? What is it?" she asked, shouldering her bag.

"I can show you something." -Sander stepped closer and placed a tentative arm her waist -"May I?"

She stiffened at the touch, looking mildly alarmed. "S-sure," Callan stammered hesitantly. He still hadn't put his shirt back on. With permission, Sander hooked an arm around Callan's waist, and in a flood in strength, he leapted up, carrying both of them into the air. As they reached the crest of the leap though, instead of falling back down with the pull of gravity, they remained airborne, floating in the murky sky of GZ.

Callan gasped, not realizing what Sander was planning to do before it was too late, "Okay, wai--!" Her voice was lost in the in the sudden rush of wind, breathe catching in her throat as her fingers dug into Sander's warm skin. She squeezed him tightly, only daring to open one eye when they didn't immediately fall. Still petrified, however, her grip on his torso remained the same.

"Y-you can fly?" she asked, staring at the twinkling and broken city of GZ below. Her face flushed, in equal parts due to exasperation and the undeniably half-naked Sander currently holding on to her.

"Not really...flying." -Sander kept his eyes trained on the city below, still looked mildly surprised, as if he half-expected it to not work at all -"Floating is more accurate, I guess."

"Mm," she mumbled, grip tightening. Floating meant you eventually fell, right? "Th-that's pretty cool," she shivered, anxiety clear in her voice.

As if he was able to read her mind, Sander only grinned as they began to float upward, slowing every so often to dodge the suspended debris that littered GZ's sky -"Don't worry. We won't fall."

"Uhm... okay," she said, doing her best to believe him. She cringed at every impending chunck of debris, noting how Sander was able to control his floating somewhat. She was quiet after that, fully aware of how fast her heart was still beating as she tried to 'enjoy the ride'. She'd never been great with heights. Even knowing that she'd easily survive a fall from this high up, however, she couldn't shake the nerves. Having Sander there was a small comfort, though a small part of herself couldn't stop internally grumbling about this all being his fault.

Slowly but surely, she started to calm down. Her blood had stopped pounding in her ears at least. Sander gave her an odd look then, before mumbling -"Sorry. I just thought...I just want to cheer you up."

She looked up at him. "O-oh! That's... it's okay! This is really cool!" she lied, trying to be polite, "I'm just, uh... n-not really used to being up this high without a s-seatbelt or something...."

Helicopters were okay. Buildings were fine. But this feeling of being completely unrestrained?

"We can keep going," she offered with a nervous grin, "J-just don't drop me."

"Oh. That's good." -Sander gave a faint smile in return, nodding as he ascended further up into the wide expanse. Slowly, he was moving them both out of GZ and back into the dormitory areas -"It's just...you told me before, remember? You said it will get better. You're right. So I think it will get better for you, too."

A small laugh forced its way out. Her dumb advice was being thrown back at her now of all times? Coming from Sander? She couldn't explain why she thought it was so funny. "Well, I hope you're right," she chuckled, resolving not to look down anymore. Instead, she fixed her eyes on the sleeping school beyond GZ.

She thought for a moment about her classmates. All the new friends she'd made. "I hope it gets better for everyone else, too."

"I think so, yeah. Don't worry." -Sander reassured her with another smile. They made small talk on their way back, passing by the window of his own room briefly, where he noticed Christmas' blue eyes looking right at him. He waved with a light smile. Eventually, Sander dropped the Arbiter off at her dorm room. Unexpectedly though, she turned and gave him a hug, in which the blood mage froze momentarily, before patting her awkwardly on the back. She still adamantly pressed a bag of trail mix into his hands though, which Sander took with him after a bit of convincing. After that, he quickly returned to his room, thin wisps of red were still clinging to his body.

It was early. Early for Determination, at least. She wasn't much of an early riser, but... she had a lot on her mind, she suppoused. Didn't feel a lot like staying in one place. Emma was still asleep when she left, thankfully. Emma has spent a lot of nights not sleeping. She felt a little guilty - it was all too likely that she was part of the reason that Emma had been so weird lately. Or would it be worse if she wasn't around to keep Emma company? She knew that the girl liked having her around, even if she tried not to act like it.

Questions for another day, Determination decided. Part of the reason she'd left was because she needed to get some of the stuff that was on her mind off of it - stuff that she couldn't share with Emma. It wasn't like Determination had a lot of people to confide in besides her creator... something, it seemed, that she direly needed to change. She decided it would be a good idea to find someone that Emma was close to, which was... a narrow pool. She didn't really like Marcus all that much, not at all really, which pretty much left her with only one option.

Callan. Kelp head? Kelp head.

Building A, Suite 430. She was surprised that she remembered. It was a short walk - it was kind of nice to get around campus on her own for once. In fact, she felt pretty damn good stretching her legs, walking her fine ass self around with those new clothes Emma got her. Her outfit was pretty simple: a beanie, a white tanktop, those tight black jeans that are all ripped up that were all the rage way back when, a pair of Converse... simple, but it felt right. She got a few odd looks. At first her confidence was a little shot, but then she realized that it was probably because she was a regular to these people. She wasn't stopped, though, something she ascribed to an old rule she always followed: if you look like you know where you were going people won't stop you, even if you're not suppoused to be there.

Wait, no. Not a rule she followed. A rule that someone else followed.

She was lost in thought, barely realizing that she'd arrived at the suite. She stared at the door. "Alright. What the fuck am I doing? 'Hey, Cal, your brand new BFF's weird fucking thoughtform bullshit thing is here and wants to dish some dirty secrets with you. You're totally not creeped the fuck out by me, right?' Yeah, Det, that sounds great. I'm sure Kelp Head won't slam the fucking door in your face." she muttered underneath her breath, working up the courage to knock on the door. "Or shit, with my luck it'll be 'Heeeeey Scarface. Cal in there? By the way, I sleep in the same bed with as girlfriend. I'm trying to work up the courage to get under the covers with her. You don't get to do that yet, huh? Also, I look like her ex. Cool, right?" she sighed. Fuck, what was she doing here? "Maybe I'll get lucky and get the bookworm. She doesn't know who I am and I can just pretend that I had the wrong door. Then I'll be weird and a coward."

Determination knocked. Three quick knocks, forced out before she changed her mind.

The door eased open relatively quickly, revealing a tired, but freshly showered Callan whose expression quickly dropped to a frown. Clearly expecting anyone else.

"Uh," she kept the door half closed, leaning into the hall and searching for Emma before her eyes fell back on Determination. "Hey, Det... what's up?"

Yeah, that was pretty much the reaction Determination expected.

She similarly glanced over Cal's shoulder, eyes scanning for intruding roommates. ”Oof. No reason to look so disappointed kelp head, I'm a perfectly nice gal!” she let out a nervous laugh, glancing behind her, ”Whatever. Not important. We need to chat.” her tone turned serious.

Callan didn't comment on the 'perfectly nice' bit. She couldn't help it. This new version of Determination made her uncomfortable on at least 8 different levels. She needed to talk? Without Emma? That didn't sound good, either. Callan glanced over her shoulder. "Okay... Marcus is still sleeping though, so maybe we can talk downstairs?"

”Right. Yeah, sure. Not downstairs though, how about... how about the roof? Sounds suitably dramatic... and I want some quiet anyways.”

"The roof..." Callan's eyes wandered towards the ceiling. She supposed it was closer. What was the worse that could happen?

She decided not to think about it.

"Okay... uh... let's go," Callan slid her sandals on and left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Determination set off down the hallway, shoving her hands in her pockets. ”So... uh... watchya think about scarface?” Determination chanced, glancing back at Cal.

"Scarface?" she blinked up at the blue haired tulpa, "O-oh... you mean Marcus." She immediately tensed, trying to hide the sudden rise of suspiscion. "He's..." her conversation with Emma the day before came to mind. 'Like a kid who doesn't like her mom getting a new boyfriend...'

"He's a good person," Callan nodded reassuringly, her tone gaining a little more confidence, "One of the best people I know around here, if I'm being honest."

”Hmph.” was all Determination said at first, ”Like him, huh? Must be a little weird, having a co-ed dorm.”

Callan cleared her throat, quickly pretending to check her phone, "Yeah, I thought it was gonna be weird but, uh... we're all friends now so things are chill." She chuckled nervously, "Everybody gets along."

”Mmmmhm. Cool.” Determination cleared her throat, ”Hormones though. Like, not weird, at all?”

Callan squirmed, slipping her hands into her pockets. They were starting to sweat. She needed a subject change and fast.

"Nope!" she answered, forcing a smile, "Hey, uh. By the way-- where's Emma? I'm guessing she doesn't know you're over here?"

"Getting her beauty sleep. She hasn't been sleeping so well, so I figure I'd let her pay back that sleep debt. Anyways, I kinda wanted to talk about something that I couldn't really talk about with her."

They'd finally reached the stairwell-- a walk which had somehow felt much longer given the previous subject matter. "Alright, well... hold that thought," Callan suggested, her voice echoing as she led the way up the stairs. Of course, the door to the roof was locked.

"Uh," Callan wiggled the knob a little more, hoping it was just stuck, "Darn. I didn't know they kept this locked."

"Pffft. You've got super strength, man, why let a lock stop ya?" Determination sighed, reaching down and producing a bobby pin from her sock. "Whatevs, I got some mad skills. Lemme show ya how we do shit." she unfolded the bobby pin, wiggling it into the crevice of the lock. "Ya don't learn this shit in suburbia, huh?"

'I don't think that's a good idea.' She might've said it if Det hadn't already gone ahead with her lock-picking plan. Geez, she sure did know a lot. Callan raised an eyebrow at her.

"Yeahh..." she agreed absently. To her knowledge, she'd never told Det about where she was from.

”Heh. Pretty handy, huh?” right as Determination said that, a quiet snap came from the doorknob. She sighed, presenting a broken bobby pin. ”Shit. Guess I'm not as good as I thought, huh?” she flashed a weak grin, ”Y'know what plan B is, right?” before Callan could answer she elbowed the door, knocking it open with a loud crack.

"Whoa!" Callan gasped in protest, but it was too late. The door was open. She cringed, looking over her shoulder like an alarm might start blaring any minute now.

"Uhm... okay. Th-that works, I guess." Probably not the first time anyone broke onto the roof at a school like that. She closed the door carefully behind them, grimacing at the state of it before turning back to face Det. "So what did you want to talk about?"

”Hell yeah it works.” Determination said, heading out onto the roof. She took in a gulp of air, ”Yeah. Like I said, usually when I have some kind of moral dilemma I ask Em about it, but...” Determination sighed, placing her hands behind her head, turning to look away from Cal. ”Well, it's about her. There's... something that I know and she doesn't. Something that would... uh, something that'd really hurt her.”

Determination found a vent to sit on. ”She doesn't realize it, but I remember everything about the night that the USARILN guys got her. And... she doesn't know the whole story.” Determination looked down, ”She told you about her sister, right? Val? The one that came and rescued her from her parents, told her that she'd take her to California so they could forget about all this subnatural bullshit?”

Callan froze, thinking of everything she knew about Emma's older sister. They were really close-- that much she could guess just by listening to the way Emma talked about her. She was also well-aware of Val and Emma's failed attempt to run away and hide-out in California. And the fact that Emma hadn't been able to contact any of her family members since she got to USARILN. It was all chillingly familiar to her own situation, but Callan hadn't wanted to make things about her when the conversation came up. No need to make people worry. She was doing fine after all.

But was it really okay to be talking with Determination about something so personal?

After another moment of consideration, Callan nodded slowly. There was no harm in finding out what the tulpa had to say. If it was serious enough, she could always tell Emma later.

”Well, I was there. Emma's power awakened and I don't think she really figure out how to send me away, and... I was there the whole time. I saw things that she didn't. I'm not going to bother explaining everything, but...”

Determination bit her lip.

”Emma thinks that her sister... she thinks that Valentine did everything she could to help her. But... but Val... fuck, man, she decided that it was too much. She flew all the way to New York convinced that she could save her, but she realized she had no idea what the fuck she was messing with! So... so she decided to sell out her fucking sister.”

Callan stared in disbelief, turning towards where she could see Building B across the courtyard while it sank in. "Are you sure?" she asked, looking back at Det, "You're absolutely sure?" She didn't want to say it, but Det hadn't exactly been the most intelligent thing on two legs when Callan had first met it. And this definitely wasn't something to fuck around with.

”Em was sleeping, Val called 911, told them where they were. The bitch fucking... she fronted like she was going to stick by her the whole time.” Determination scowled, ”It's bullshit man. Em trusted her more than anything and she... fuck.”

That sounded pretty sure.... Callan down on the vent beside Det, mind racing. She found the words slowly, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "It... I guess it would be kind of a scary commitment, though. Right? Life on the run. Forever... Y'know?"

”Bitch shouldn't of made a promise she couldn't keep. Do you know how much that'd crush Emma? If she found it? It would fucking destroy her. She trusted Val so much, like... man, fuck that. It's fucked up.”

Callan shook her head quickly, "No, I know. You're right. There's... really no excuse for stabbing someone in the back like that. E-especially family." She rubbed her forehead, trying to stay focused on one thing at a time, "I'm just... trying to figure it out. So maybe I can help Emma understand it... when she finds out, you know?"

"I mean... what if she doesn't? Should I tell her? Like, I feel like shit. I'm lying to her, but... I think it's better this way. Right? Is that dumb? I mean, she already feels bad enough, I don't need to pile that shit on, right Cal?"

"Uhm," Callan thought. She thought hard. Man, what a mess. She looked at Det, feeling just as lost and looking it, too. If she had a chance to go back and have Dom not tell her about everything her parents did... would she still want to know...? No. Of course she'd want to know. That wasn't the right question.

She remembered the pain. The heartache. The feeling of complete and total isolation. Anger and sadness both trying to occupy every inch of her heart and head at the same time. She didn't want Emma to feel that. She wouldn't wish it on her greatest enemy, let alone a dear friend.

She had come out okay. Figured out a way to cope. But Emma... who knew how Emma would take the news? Would her stigma somehow make it worse? The truth would come out anyway, so would doing nothing simply prolong the inevitable...? Or would they all be dead before the year was out anyway?

Tell her? Don't tell her?

Callan sighed heavily, running her fingers through her bangs like clockwork and bouncing her leg in aggitation.

"Wh-why wouldn't you tell Marcus instead of me?" Callan mumbled, quickly feeling overwhelmed by the weight of it all, "He probably knows her way better than I do."

”Hmph. I'm not stupid, kelp head. You already know why I'm not talking to Marcus. The reason you're thinking is probably right.”

Her shoulders tensed, amethyst eyes quickly looking away. She chewed the inside of her cheek. That was a can of worms she didn't want to open. Especially not with Det.

None of my business!

Callan sighed again, leaning forward and propping her forehead up on her elbows. "Uggh," she groaned, "Fuck... This is so... not what I'm good at."

Determination took off her beanie, running a hand through her hair. ]”You've got, what, seventeen, sixteen years of existence on me? You're better at this shit than me.” Determination sighed, reaching into her pocket. She produced a pack of cigarettes, pinching one between her fingers and dangling it in front of her for a moment, ”You, uh...?”

Callan looked at the cigarette out of the corner of her eye, accepting the opportunity for a distraction. A brief interlude from shitstorm Determination had already given her. And she hadn't even had breakfast yet....

"You smoke?" she smirked.

A kind of sad smile flickered onto Determination's face. ”She did.”

Determination coughed.

”Uh, Riley, I mean. Guess that means I do too.” Determination eyed the cigarette again, face turning neutral again, ”So, is that a no, or...?”

Callan shook her head, "No thanks. I'm good." She sighed again, leaning back on her hands. She kept thinking as Determination lit her cigarette, finally coming to some sort of decision.

Honesty was always the best policy, right?

"I think we have to tell her," she said.

"Heh, guess you've gotta worry about lung cancer."

Determination took a deep drag of her cigarette. Tasted like smoke, she thought. She flicked open her lighter, staring at the flame.

”Emma's tried to kill herself before. Still think it's a good idea?”

Her heart dropped, landing in her stomach like a heavy stone.

"She... what?" Callan sat up quickly. "S-seriously?"

Smoke tasted like shit, Determination decided, but there was a comfort in it. She closed the lighter but quickly opened it again, then she did it again. One more time, shut then open.

”Yeah. Guess she didn't like the idea of being a sub. Dunno if she'd do it again.”

Another drag from the cigarette. She wasn't sure if she liked it but she didn't want to stop.

Callan stared at Determination, eyes flickering from the lighter to her face. She wasn't joking, was she? Her stomach felt like it was churning, any hope of an appetite anytime soon completely expelled from thought. That day when she and Emma got bubble tea... 'Giving up'...?

"Oh my god, I'm an idiot," Callan breathed, just above a whisper. She held her gut with one hand and pressed her fingers against her mouth with the other, mind racing again.

She looked back and Det. Did she really trust this thing?

"Okay, okay," Callan continued, more in an effort to calm herself down, "I don't know if... Look. Emma's... going to find out eventually, isn't she? Isn't that inevitable? And if she finds out on her own... it'd be really bad. Even worse if she's... you know."

"At least if we told her, we could, like... try and be supportive. Help her through it.... I don't know."

Callan sighed again, exhausted. Maybe it wasn't the right answer-- or even a good one. But if she could go back and change anything about the day she found out... she wished someone would have been there. Someone she was close to, who could have softened the blow and held her until she didn't feel so hopeless. She swallowed hard, unwanted thoughts of Marcus infiltrating her thoughts. Waiting up all night for her to come home. Offering to talk. Offering a hug. She wished she could have taken it.

A bitter taste filled Determination's mouth, but she didn't think it was because of the cigarette.

”She's fragile, Cal.” Determination stood up. ”This whole subnatural thing fucking sucks, huh?” for a second, Determination thought of a lifetime that she'd never lived, a lifetime way back before all this.

But it wasn't her life to miss.

”I'll do whatever you want. I'm not good at this shit.”

"I get that she's fragile," Callan mumbled, clearly frustrated. If Det was so sure about what not to do, why ask her for help at all? "I-I'm trying to think of what will make her hurt the least, okay? I'm not good at this shit either."

Callan stood up as well. Staring up at the blue haired girl who suddenly seemed to be towering over her a bit more than usual.

"Maybe just... give me some time to think. I at least need to sleep on it...."

Sleep on it. Determination had been sleeping on this for a long time. She took another drag from her cigarette, slow, long, before exhaling. She understood why Riley liked them so much – why she liked them so much. ”You ever wish you didn't exist?” the words came from her mouth all too casually as she grabbed her beanie, putting it back on.

A helpless expression crossed Callan's face. How was that supposed to help?

She thought for a second. Had she ever wished she didn't exist?

"I don't know. Not really..." she finally decided on, but felt such a vague answer needed clarification. She didn't know how to give it-- or rather, didn't want to. Was that even the truth? Instead she simply kept staring at Det. Waiting for the point to be made.

”Huh. Just me, I guess.”

Apparently, there was no point to be made.

”That's not important. Cal, you ever lied to someone you love? Lied because you thought the truth would hurt them?”

Callan pushed her bangs back against her head, sighing through her nose. Okay, she thought she knew where Det was going with that one. She opened her mouth to speak, but then it hit her.

"Like... how I don't tell Marcus that you're--"

She said it without thinking. It felt like someone had cinched a noose around her guts. She blinked in alarm, staring up at Determination like someone watching a suspensful scene in a horror movie.

Gears turning.

Something clicked.

She squeezed the cigarette in her hand, the tip falling to the ground. Not on purpose.

”Fuck me. I'm gonna need another.”

She dropped the rest, crushing it under her foot. Pulled out another cigarette. Flicked open the lighter, lit it. There were a lot of things to analyze about that statement, she wasn't sure where to start.

”Fuck you, Callan.”

Yeah, that was a good start. She took a drag from her cigarette.

”Wow, man, fuck you.”

Okay, maybe reel it in a bit. Determination wasn't looking at Callan anymore.

”Fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Goddamn, her heart was beating fast. She could feel it pulsing in her ears, pounding in her brain.

Fix it-- for the love of God, FIX WHAT YOU JUST DID.

Her voice was shaking. Tears imminent.

"Emma and Marcus are... both really special to me," she said, carefully choosing her words, "I don't want to see either of them get hurt... ever. For any reason. I just want them to be happy. More than anything, that's what I want."

”Hah.”

Determination paused for a moment, turning towards Cal, and then she broke out into laughter. It took a moment for her to calm down. ”Holy shit, I take it back. I AM really fucking stupid.” Determination, for a moment, grinned. But it faded quick. Serious. Resting bitch face, or maybe just bitch bitch face. ”Hormones, huh? One of the best people around here...?” Determination's face twisted to malice.

”God, fuck is it with you people and this Marcus guy! Shit smells Cal, and I'm getting a heavy whiff of bullshit right now. You're a really fucking bad liar. Jesus... Jesus fucking Christ.” Determination moved a little closer towards Callan, ”Your roommate? Your friend's boyfriend? God, that's fucking classless. I'm wrong, right, kelp head? Be honest with me, are you just waiting for the chance to jump in scarface's pants? If he showed up and wanted to give ya a ride would you even give a shit about how Emma felt?”

No. No, no, no.

Callan promptly backed up, thick, salty tears already spilling over a burning hot face before Determination even finished talking. Her tall frame blocked out the morning sun and everything else, too. It felt like there was no air. God, how could she forget to breathe? Her body was a freezing cocktail of of adrenaline, panic, and heaps of confused embarrasment.

"N-no, I wouldn't do that!" She shook her head sharply, tears scattering off her face. It was the truth! She tried to keep telling herself, but every second Det leered down at her, Callan felt more and more like the worst person in existence. Shrinking so small she couldn't even see herself anymore.

”Oh my god, Webb, that's fucking pathetic. Ooooh, shit shit shit shit. Wow. Wow. WOW! I'm going to be honest... I personally don't give a single shit about whatever weird wet dreams you have about the guy, but... MAN! If you fucking hurt Emma, I'll...” Determination seemed almost manic, ”Shit. Alright. Alright. Fuck. You're making things so fucking complicated right now. How... shit, how do we deal with this. You know that you're like... like, Emma's best friend right now?! Y'know how much she needs a best friend right now? A nice, honest best friend that isn't trying to fuck her boyfriend?”

Determination calmed. Her eyes narrowed, looming over Callan. ”Don't fucking lie to me right now. Webb, if you answer what I'm about to ask you with a lie, you're... you're... I'm going to be all kinds of pissed off.” Determination took a long drag from her cigarette. Composure. Like Riley. She was so good at doing this kinda thing, ”Is this little crush of yours going to go away?”

Callan couldn't decribe ever having felt more fucking terrified in her whole life.

"I-I'm trying to--" she stammered, reaching behind herself for the wall by the door. Something to hang onto-- to remind her that this was seriously happening and not just some horrific nightmare she might wake up from.

Determination's scowl turned even more distinct. Somehow, it seemed that she couldn't look any angrier but it still happened. Determination got low, moving her face dangerously close to Cal's. There was something in her eyes. Malice? Hate? Maybe she wanted to hurt.

"Yes or no?"

Callan had never been a great liar. Not even a good one, really. But here and now, facing Emma's tulpa, it felt like a matter of life and death. She couldn't say how Det would do it-- only that she had full confidence in it's likelihood of happening.

She willed the correct answer to be true and so it was.

"Yes," Callan answered, leaning away more, finally colliding with the wall behind her. Her fingers dug into the bricks, scattering little red fragments by her feet as she tried to find purchase.

Determination backed up, letting loose a grin. ”That wasn't so hard, right Cal? Phew, I don't like having to get angry like that. Makes me feel all weird. Y'know I just want to be pals, right? So, like, it would be a lot easier...” suddenly Determination moved forward again, foot quickly snapping out and kicking the vent, leaving a large dent in the metal and causing a loud crash, ”If you stopped fucking LYING!” the grin was gone, the scowl was back.

Determination, in reality, really was convinced that Callan was telling the truth. Or at least, Callan thought she was telling the truth. ”You're fucking lying to yourself right now, Cal. Right? Right? You didn't let the fact that it was your friend's boyfriend dissuade you, so why do you care now? Because you're scared. But listen, that's fine. I'm a pal. Like I said, I wanna be your friend! So, be honest with yourself and maybe I can give you some friendly advice. There are a lot of ways to get over a crush! Riley's been around the block, and I've got her knowledge, so lemme help ya. Ya dig? ” and now Determination was smiling again, just like that.

Callan didn't know why the sudden kick to the vent made her jump as badly as it did. She was stronger than the tulpa. No need to freak out.

But Determination was right. She was scared. It was all over. Everyone would know. They'd all think she was a horrible person because she couldn't get over it. She locked herself in a fucking room for three weeks and still couldn't get over it. She was weak and stupid and selfish. And worst of all-- it would devastate Emma.

Maybe she could dissappear. Run away, get a new room, change her name, cut her hair. Beg Zhang to pair her with a different group. She hardly realized what she was doing until her hand closed around the doorknob, desperate for an escape.

Determination eyed Callan's hand, still smiling. ”We're still talking, Cal. Hands off.” she sounded so cheery. ”Listen, it's hard for you guys. Real people, that is. I get it. Hormones. Like I said, I've got some advice. Some sisterly pro-tips, some scenarios that could happen! Fun, right? The first thing I was thinking... maybe it would help to move out. I know what you're thinking, but if you really want to get over this living with the dude probably isn't helping.”

Determination shrugged, ”But I get it if you don't want that. You're all pals at Suite 430, huh? So maybe that'd be hard. I wouldn't want you to resent me, so maybe we can steer clear of that one. I dunno, what do ya think, kelp head?” Determination was trying her best to bring it down, calm Cal down. She spoke slowly, softly. She didn't want to scare her off.

She didn't know why she was still listening to her. Callan's hand slid off the doorknob and she leaned against the door frame instead. The tulpa would probably just follow her if she tried to leave, wouldn't it? Oh, she wanted to throw up. She nodded uneasily at Det's suggestion, but it was so hard to listen when her thoughts were all racing around so fast.

"That's a good idea," she said, resigned, staring at Determination like a ticking time bomb.

”Yeah. Yeah, it is. Y'know, Cal, I don't want to be scary. I'm being pretty nice right now, you get that, right? You're fucking with the feelings of... of the most important person in the world and I'm cutting you a lot of slack.” Determination took another drag from her cigarette. She almost forgot about it. ”Maybe you should get a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Eh? Plenty of fish in the sea, right? Plenty of fish that aren't fucking Marcus. Emma offered you some dating advice or something, right? Maybe you should follow that up. She's real good.”

Gritting her teath, Callan nodded again staring hard at Determination's shoes, "Right. Yeah, I'll do that...."

Determination sighed. ”Cal. I'm trying to have a friendly dialogue here, but I'm starting to think you're not really listening and it's really grating. I'm, like, a chill person. Real cool. I, uh, feel bad about sperging out on you. I'm trying to help you so I can help Emma. So we can help Emma. You want that, right?”

Callan looked up again, searching Determination's face for the hope that wasn't there. "I don't want to hurt Emma," she frowned, eyebrows knitting together. Her face contorted into a grimace. She meant that. She really meant that. But did she? Was this the kind of monster that she was? Scheming and biding her time and-- Callan lost her train of thought, face flushing when the imagery of Det's words hit again. Revived by the paranoia festering inside.

”Good. I believe you. That's why I came to you – you're a good friend, Cal. And you wouldn't want to hurt her. But what you're doing right now will hurt her once she finds out. She's got enough on her plate, so I want to avoid that. Which is why I got so mad and we're here now. Right? So let's reset. We're on the same team. The spearhead of Team Emma... so move out. Find someone else to have nasty thoughts about. Maybe you'll find out that you like girls or something, whatever. Just get over this thing with Marcus, okay?”

Callan squirmed uncomfortably at the term 'nasty thoughts', but nodded. "Y-yeah. I will," she answered, eyes darting from the floor to Det and back.

Determination's eyes narrowed.

Another thought crossed her mind. Something different.

”How much do you think Emma likes Marcus? Or loves, whatever. Not a trick question, promise.”

Callan stared in surprise, gears turning over what Det was trying to get her to say in spite of the disclaimer.

"I don't know," she frowned, "They're in love... aren't they?"

Enough for him to kill for her at least.

”Hmm. Think so? Well, whatever.” Determination threw the cigarette to the ground, stomping it out. ”One more thing. Don't blame Emma for this, okay? She sure as hell wouldn't want this. I guess I'm kinda psycho. It's not her fault she can't control me, right?” her mouth twitched for a moment. The impression of her smirk but her face reverted to neutrality. ”I just want us all to be friends. You, me, Emma, Marcus, the whole funky bunch. Right?”

As usual, Callan was having a hard time following, but she nodded again, "Right." Her eyes followed the cigarrette as Det smashed it. How many had that been? Was she stuck in a time loop? Hell was a lot cooler than she thought it might be.

It wasn't like she could tell Emma about Det's episode... it was warranted anyway, wasn't it? No use bitching about it. Just suck it up. Move forward. She swallowed hard, looked back at Det. "'The whole funky bunch...'" she repeated, but things were never going to be the same. Not after today.

"By the by, I probably don't have to tell you this, but the Val thing is off the table. I'l take care of it, somehow. Unless you're gonna spill the beans to her?"

"I won't," Callan said, vaguely unsure of her resolve there. She still felt like Emma should hear it from people who cared about her, but... maybe that wasn't supposed to be her anymore. God, she was worse than garbage. Det would take care of it... and hopefully she'd do it right.

"Glad to hear it. Look, we can get along just fine now. As long as this Marcus thing is resolved, at least." Determination grinned, reaching into her pocket, producing the pack of cigarettes again. She pulled one out, placing it on the vent next to Callan, alongside a lighter. "Calms the nerves. In case you need it, y'know." Determination gave Cal a wink, and then poofed out of existence.

Callan stared at where the tulpa had once stood. Her stomch tied itself into a knot all over again and she glanced at the cigarette and lighter, staring at them as the tears eventually subsided and she headed back downstairs.

---

Ground Zero. There was a time when Zoe would have enjoyed being here.

To tell the truth, her enthusiasm for just about everything had disappeared lately. Because she knew she'd end up doing something that couldn't be fixed, sooner or later - and she knew that the Stigma had too much of a hold for her to fight back against. She'd almost died in their first fight. Part of her thought it would have been better that way.

Someone was going to die, weren't they? They'd die, and she'd kill them. It was only dumb luck that she hadn't managed it so far. She'd known it since La Plata, not that she'd try repeating that incident again. Tempting as it was, she wasn't stupid enough to think it'd work.

Dreamcatcher really was a sadistic motherfucker, huh. No way out, no matter how desperately she might have wanted it. And even if she was willing to throw herself into the line of fire while they thought, she wasn't willing to lie down and die while her teammates risked their lives. Lose-lose situation. At least if she went down fighting, she could make sure it meant something, but she couldn't be sure it'd happen soon enough. Maybe they'd shoot her once she finished one of them off, but that was too little too late.

For now, she had to keep the urges to a minimum where she could. She'd been running back and forth for a while, her victims taken care of quickly and painfully. Sitting down like this and giving things some thought wasn't good for her, really. It made what she was doing so much more real.

Her eyes fixed on the nearest target. The boy was a few years younger than the aberration, and she walked over slowly, placing her hand on his throat and slowly melting it away. And it felt good - of course it did, it always had. She met his eyes, blue locking with desperate, staring brown. She smiled, feeling the boy's pain wash over her, but it didn't cast aside her doubts. Didn't change the disgust she felt as the flesh began to drop off, falling to the ground in viscous, bloody, chunks.

Just a kid, really.

Remind you of anyone?

Zoe's eyes widened, her hand tearing away from his flesh as she stumbled back, letting the body fall to the ground with a wet thud. She wasn't on her feet anymore, a frustrated yell escaping her throat.

And it trailed off into sobs as something in her finally crumbled. Of course it reminded her, of course she remembered how she'd ended up here. How she'd torn and broken and hurt. The images were clear as day when she tried to think about them, the confirmation of just how pathetic and terrible a creature she was.

Why did it still have to feel so good?

The want had faded as the boy's life did. But that didn't make her feel any less twisted for what she'd experienced while it happened, that disgustingly irresistible euphoria. For being so weak she couldn't resist its pull, not now, not then. Not yesterday, either. It wasn't the same as her resolve, really - she didn't despise her willingness to kill, considering the circumstances of the world. What sickened her was her inability to stop.

She placed her hand on her side, underneath her vest. It was as difficult as it had been before, but she wouldn't go so far this time. She just... needed this sometimes. Needed to feel something of what she'd inflicted so many times on so many people, of what she'd do again and again as it was needed.

Especially since her new life made her sins so much worse on reflection.

"I have to do this. Just-- tell me you understand. Please."

"I knew what'd happen, but..." A pause. "I'm scared, Zoe."

"I'll make it quick."

It was such a simple movement, pulling the trigger. What came after, though... that was anything but. Always.

It stung as the surface of her skin bubbled and melted away, as she drew away a hand thinly coated in blackened sludge. The wound was large, the size and shape of her hand but not much deeper than a scrape - she knew better than to try and take on her Stigma through anything major. This gesture was more symbolic defiance than anything, deliberately painful but no more than that. And perhaps it helped with her guilt, if only by the tiniest of margins.

Pulling the fabric down roughly to cover it, she winced. The blood was unlikely to soak through the fabric before she made it back to her room. There. It'd be simple enough to maintain throughout the week without risking much reduction in effectiveness. A reminder. That memory, that loss - that was what she feared, what she had to fight against seeing again.

It hurt. It hurt, because she was in control. Not that thing. Me.

She wouldn't be able to stand for a while yet, black smoke rising as she melted the blood away - she'd have to bring bandages next time. She couldn't really pretend to be okay once she managed to stand either, but she could at least hide enough that her classmates wouldn't care to look any deeper. Functioning; that was all she could really hope to be right now.

"I don't think you're built for all this, you know."

"You say that like anyone is."

---

---

Having returned from Ground Zero, Zoe found herself exhausted. Sprinting around the place was always tiring, and the stinging pain that accompanied almost every breath certainly hadn't made things any less tiring to carry out. She was thankful her survival kit came with first-aid supplies, not that she could do anything fatal to herself anyway. The wound didn't hurt her resolve - the opposite, in fact. It was deserved, all of it. And it reminded her she needed to focus, at the very least.

Her conversation with Ernie had sparked something in her, a determination to get to the bottom of as much as she possibly could. A noble goal, but one with a pretty severe limitation - Zoe had the academic skills of a potato. Beyond helping one or two of her people through a few textbooks, it had never been a priority. Research wasn't worth the effort it'd take - and on the subject of subnaturals, she hadn't wanted to humanise them by knowing too much.

So she figured it was a better plan to ask someone who knew how to do this shit. Specifically, she'd been looking around for... there! Breaking into a jog, Zoe called out before reaching the other girl. "Hey, Siena. You got time to help me out?"

It had been an eventful day, and though she'd spent some time trying to grow accustomed to the new air she evidently gave off, Siena still found herself more uncomfortable back at USARILN East than she had been in D.C. At least in the latter, Siena knew the general consensus was that everyone hated her presence. Taking a walk hadn't cleared things up at all, though she'd at least had some progress in battling her unease around Hazel. Sort of.

Hearing a familiar voice was a relief--at least she knew her peers weren't likely to be eyeing her from across the street with unknown thoughts in their head. The brunette painted on her usual expression before turning to the redhead that had made her approach. Comfort.

Don't you want to ask? Yes, she did, but it wasn't imperative.

"Yeah, of course." She probably should have asked what Zoe needed help with first, but it wasn't as if Siena had plans. The Arbiter let the pause take her, and the smile grew the faintest bit of mischief to cover for the flash of hesitation. "Er...assuming I didn't just agree to helping you steal a cow or something."

"Not until step three." Zoe returned the smile with no small amount of relief, glad to hear the other girl's agreement. She hadn't really had a backup plan here, and wasting time wasn't on the agenda right now. Her expression growing serious, she looked at Siena with surprising intensity. "But seriously, you're smart, right? I mean, when it comes to... school stuff? You know, research and all that." And Zoe's distaste for academia was written across her expression.

"I kinda need your help looking some stuff up. It's not really my strong suit." And that was putting it lightly.

There were a few things that were hard not to make a priority in that instant. The relief, the sudden intensity--the smile faded, the faint upturn of the lips little more than a faded gesture that wasn't really there. Considering the events of their first "class", Siena had made the assumption that most of her peers shared the same distaste for research that Zoe was showing at that moment.

"I do have some advantages on that front." The answer came without hesitation despite the moment that the brunette had taken to consider the situation at hand. Even if she wasn't an information gatherer like the subnatural that the two had met in the coffeehouse, she knew the strength of being able to cross any language barrier--just like she knew the strength of a credit card number when it came to unlocking previously sealed vaults of information. "What'd you need me to look into? I'm sure I can find something."

One way or another. Siena made sure to leave out the rest of that thought.

"The Amigos, first of all, but that's probably not a surprise. How they work, what they work for, who they might take jobs from." Zoe frowned as she thought back to her morning conversation. "How they're identified, too. Apparently there's a way they do it. Something to do with mouths."

Zoe noticeably lowered her voice as she continued, glancing over her shoulder. "And I need you to find... I don't know. Accounts. People talking about what it's like to be a sub. Wisford and DC were the same people, and that was before we got any spotlight. We're special, and we're being targeted. I want to know how, and I want to know why." She was aware she might've sounded like a paranoid nutjob, but it was better than leaving her questions unanswered.

Mentally, Siena made a checklist of the requests. Information on the Amigos, accounts on being a subnatural--Wisford and DC were the same people?--the thought compartmentalized itself to be mulled on later. She had looked into the events of DC, but they had been harrowing even for a team focused on the rescue. The same people. Red flags raised in the back of the brunette's mind, but she nodded once to acknowledge that she understood.

"Accounts and information shouldn't be too difficult," Siena started, brow furrowing slightly in focus as she considered something. There were ways, she knew, outside of using the Amigos directly, but her skin went clammy at the thought. A strained attempt at a smile crossed Siena's face, but she was certain it was cold and unnerving at best. "As far as information on our Brazilian friends goes, I somehow doubt administration will be very generous on direct communication with a convenient source." The words were stilted, and Siena knew it, put too much effort into keeping the rest of her thoughts in check. "Kind of a shame, but I'll...figure something out."

A convenient source? "If you mean the straggler, they already promised me the information they get from him. How much they'll actually give me, I don't know." Zoe didn't miss the cold in her classmate's expression any more than she missed the implications of the final statement. It didn't seem like the eagerness that haunted her own thoughts, but it was dangerous nonetheless - not that Zoe was about to discourage it. "Would've asked for myself, but even if he hadn't passed out from the damage... well, it's tough to keep a teleporter down for a proper interrogation."

And make no mistake, that had been the plan; Zoe had no intention of pretending otherwise. Besides, the sadistic smile that accompanied yesterday's memories spoke for itself.

"How much will be accurate from their extractions is always a concern too. People tend to say anything to get out of an unpleasant situation," Siena replied without missing a beat. Instinctively, she ran her thumb over the screen of her phone, mind conjuring at least four different sources that would have eliminated that problem of lying. Five others that could have prevented teleportation--and that was assuming that the Amigo in question could have outrun her own sources for long. Grey eyes caught the sadistic smile, did not falter at the sight, and instead drew a modicum of comfort from it. She understood that much better when it wasn't masked behind probing words and questions. "But I digress. If I can't use a direct method, then I'll have to get creative."

Creative, she thought, if she didn't want to have to resort to asking for favors from her father. There weren't many doors that couldn't be opened with money, as she was reminded countless times before. Money and whatever connections that might have come with it.

"I assume that I should do my best to keep this between us, given the subject matter." The idea of them being targeted was, after all, unnerving at best, and terrifying at worst. For a moment, Siena imagined what might happen if that information became common knowledge among the rest of their peers. Most results were not pleasant to imagine.

"That's probably for the best, yeah. Just see what we can find and then..." Zoe shrugged. "Try to figure this shit out from there." It wasn't much, compared to what she'd already decided to hide - if everything she knew came out when it all boiled over, she'd be more than ready to push through. Still, there was one more thing that could affect all this. But even with all they'd said, she had to know that Siena shared her priorities.

"Siena." Zoe locked eyes with the arbiter, "I'm gonna ask you a question, and I need you to give me an honest answer, alright?"

An honest answer. Thoughts of the last time honest answers had been a necessity came to mind at that, but Siena didn't let it show. It probably wasn't a good idea to tell anyone that she and honesty weren't exactly on the best of terms. Trying her hardest not to break eye contact despite the discomfort that settled in at the concept, Siena gave a carefully measured nod.

"Ask away."

"If you... knew something. Something that'd stop people from hurting right now, but might make things a hell of a lot worse in the long run. And say, as far as you knew, you were the only one with that info." She looked at the other girl calmly - whatever she was looking for with this, it certainly wasn't advice. Her answer had been decided already. "What would you do with that?"

A pause was the most hesitation that Siena could give at that moment, grey eyes averting briefly to consider her answer. There were plenty of variables that would have changed her course of action, the least of which being what the information actually was. What names she had taken, what she put away as not her, things that she decided to adopt as part of her--everything had its own impact in the answer.

But she'd agreed to an honest one, so she tried her best.

"Keep my discretion," Siena started, the words carefully selected, her thumb pressing against the screen of her phone for comfort or courage. "I can't say that I wouldn't be tempted, of course, but if divulging the information could make things that much worse, then the risk wouldn't be worth it. For me, at least." Siena took a breath to give herself a moment to stop and consider the rest of her answer. "But this is coming from someone who has the means to separate emotional logic from rational logic if it's necessary. Whether it's possible for everyone is...dubious, at best."

Her gaze fell back to the redhead in question, a calm look that didn't hide the unspoken question. Nobody asked something like that for no reason.

Zoe was silent for a long moment, thinking over the answer. Separating emotion from logic... it was almost the opposite of how her own thoughts ran. It had been her emotions that kept her mouth shut - that protective instinct that had driven her to do so much. To push so many things so far. The fire that kept her fighting even when that meant her own blood had to be shed. Similar, but oh-so-different.

Still, the means didn't matter - the end result of their mindsets was the same this time. Maybe this was dangerous to admit to hiding, really. But Zoe couldn't get to the bottom of all this alone, and with that in mind it was a risk worth taking. The gaze she turned on Siena was desperate, but oddly trusting; the redhead's borderline suicidal loyalty perhaps giving her the final push she needed to make the decision.

Like ripping off a band-aid, right? All at once.

"Angel's alive. Andrew told me." Zoe spoke sincerely. "'In pieces, but alive.' They wanted something with her - they've got a goal here, one way or another." And as she finally said it to her classmate, her eyes widened in realisation. "It's not the first time one of us has disappeared without a trace either, right? Same thing happened with Aaron before Wisford. Something's fucked about all this, and I'm-- shit, I'm not smart enough to figure it out."

"But you can't tell the others. You know as well as I do they'd be planning some dumbass rescue mission before you could say 'suicide'. Hurts like a bitch, but..." She grimaced. "Seventeen's a whole lot more than one. I'm not letting anyone get themselves killed for her. Until we have more info, it's a lost cause. They'd probably hate me for keeping it shut, but it's the only way to protect them."

Alive.

It was harder than Siena wanted to admit to keep the immediate surge of emotion from coming to the surface. A mixed storm that she let brew out of sight, as always, and the brunette took a breath, shut her eyes to process the information for a moment, and wished that she had an EO's help to separate her head and her heart. One second of silence, but it felt like longer. A rescue mission into unknown territory, likely against orders. If they weren't shot first, they'd be ripped to shreds during.

"Nobody needs to know. I can think of more than one that would try to mount a rescue without so much as waiting for approval from higher authorities." She kept her tone even, each word in the phrase painstakingly measured to prevent the betrayal of any storm that threatened to surge forward. Opening her eyes again, Siena did her best to emulate what she felt back at the island, after they had managed to heal the worst of the injuries. Not there, and yet entirely so--ah, it wasn't so easy without help. "If she was alive when they took her, clearly they need her alive for something. That's as good a lead as any."

Siena realized that was a poor offer of comfort, released a sigh with a shake of her head. There wasn't much more that could be done in that regard.

"I'll do what I can to figure out more. Safely, of course." And here, she allowed hesitation to take her, conflict flickering across her features for a brief moment, before returning to a controlled mask. "And if you need updates on her status, I may be able to tell you whether she's alive or dead. It's not much, but...it's something."

"I'll ask if I need the confirmation." But Zoe didn't plan on that kind of self-indulgence. No, she had work to do, things to throw herself in to, a mind to try and keep hold of. She didn't really deserve the comfort of certainty - and more than that, she couldn't afford to rely on Siena more than she already was. Of course she needed the help - Wednesday's events had, if nothing else, made her weakness clear. Her complete and utter helplessness against the power of her own mind.

Finally, she was realising that maybe she couldn't do this alone. If she was going to keep chasing the end, then she could at least try to bring some kind of truth to light before she got there. That was the least she owed them.

"Just keep me updated with what you find, Siena. And for what it's worth..." Zoe didn't bother trying to force a smile, turning an exhausted expression towards the arbiter. Exhausted, but at the same time relieved. "I'm glad I was able to trust you with this."

Zoe still wasn't certain about what she was doing here. She doubted Allison would be in a good way right now - and Zoe knew her presence would never be described as comforting, least of all by someone who'd seen her snap again and again. Really, it didn't seem like it'd help much of anything for her to show up at the other girl's door. But here she was anyway. As for her motivation, well... the more she thought about it, the more obvious it seemed that she was driven here by guilt. Not for her loss of control at the estate; there was no point in apologizing for something she wasn't strong enough to stop. But rather, for her silence on Angel's survival.

After all, if the other girl was suffering, it was at least partly - oh, who was she kidding, it was mostly her fault. But she had to make sure Allison was accepting Angel's death, whether it was complete or not by this point. People died, after all. That was the truth of things. Even if it wasn't quite so true this time, it would hurt less in the long run for the girl to believe that than it would for her to bury herself in denial. Because whether Zoe liked it or not, there was every chance they wouldn't get the singer back.

Forcing herself to at least try and look friendly, she knocked on the door. "You there? Thought I'd check in, see how you're doing."

For a few moments, Zoe's knock was left unanswered. The room was silent, aside from the occasional tweet from Pav. A quick poke to Zoe's shoulder, though, revealed that the girl's efforts weren't in vain. Allison stood behind Zoe, a towel hanging from her neck, and her face framed by clumping strands of damp hair. She looked absolutely exhausted, though her face lacked the grim expression that had held it after the events of only a few days prior, instead wielding a smile. It wasn't particularly bright, but the fact that it was there at all was remarkable.

"Hey Zoe, here to see me?" Allison moved past Zoe to get the door open, ushering the other girl into the room. "Come on in." It wasn't a complete mess; the bed was made, and only a few of Allison's clothes were on the floor. On the desk sat Pav's birdcage aside two small notebooks, and the phone that Allison refused to keep with her though it was now intentional. "So, what's up?" Allison asked after closing the door behind Zoe and sitting on the bed.

Zoe jumped slightly at being poked, spinning around before realising it was just Allison. Smiling, at least, so that wasn't too bad-- but seeing the girl face-to-face, the guilt seemed a whole lot worse all of a sudden. Not that she'd mention that, instead forcing herself to return the smile as she walked through the door.

"Just figured I'd see how you were getting on after everything. Y'know, if you needed to talk to someone about it." Though Zoe wouldn't call herself the first choice for this kind of thing, it seemed right not to just leave Allison to herself the whole time. Taking a seat on the edge of the desk next to the birdcage, Zoe looked around the room. Didn't seem like Allison had given up on keeping things together, at least, which was more than Zoe could say for herself. "Figured someone ought to check in and make sure you're coping, I guess."

Allison knew Zoe meant well, why wouldn't she mean well? But her words were a sickly sludge that had seeped under her door. Zoe was fine, even with all that she had done, Allison liked Zoe. Those words, though, they were not welcome. Allison wasn't coping, not because she didn't want to accept reality, but because the reality in front of her didn't require "coping." All Zoe's words did were reveal that Zoe had already resigned Angel to death, just like everyone else. Suffice to say, Allison's mood was instantly soured.

"Zoe, I still don't believe that Angel is dead." Her hands had balled themselves into fists, which pressed deep into the mattress' surface, as if attempting to hide the emotions that so clearly showed on Allison's face. She wasn't exactly good at hiding when she was mad. Sadness, she could swallow. But anger? That one stabbed through the flesh and sought other people, no matter if you want it to stay hidden. "I refuse to believe it, until I see a body, I refuse to believe that she's dead." Though, even sadness was hard to hide when rage had poked its holes.

Shit. Zoe had come in prepared for the task of hiding the truth, of comforting her classmate while keeping her mouth shut about what she knew. She'd been prepared for that, but all things considered, she really should have expected denial. She'd dealt with other people's grief before, and she had some experience of her own - though she preferred to try and bury that deep. Denial was a normal part of the process, but knowing that didn't change the fact that the redhead was the world's shittiest liar.

So she stood up abruptly, turning away from Allison in an attempt to hide her suddenly guilty expression.

"Allison..." Stalling for time as she tried to think of something to distract from that subject. "We left before they could search the whole island. If there was a body, they wouldn't have given it to us anyway." Oh, great job. Really comforting there. Maybe she'd take up grief counselling once the whole psychopath thing ran its course.

Some part of Allison laughed at the response. She had thought through that line of logic enough times to run circles around it.

"No one saw a body, and I know of no one who saw Angel after the Amigos arrived. Then, the Amigos made a beeline for the boat. What group of mercenaries comes in, maybe leaves one or two of the possible targets dead, and then leaves? They would have lost more than they gained. Then, there's also the fact that they were trying very hard to keep us away from their escape. Giant walls coated in steam, living trees, AND a fucking flood? Bit overkill for a simple hit and run, Zoe. They were using that kind of fire power to ESCAPE. They were there to steal something, or someone in this case. Why Angel? Who would want Angel captive? I don't know that, but it can't be good." Allison leaned forward now, nearly hugging her knees. She sighed.

"I'm not crazy, or failing to cope or anything, alright? I went into this with the 'hope for the best, prepare for the worst' attitude, but at this point I'm just left with a whole bunch of worst-case scenarios. It's either she's dead, or she'll be the captive of some group we can't do anything about for the foreseeable future. Maybe you're right. Maybe it would be better to move on, but if I've learned anything about myself, Zoe, it's that I'm really good at bad ideas. So, I think I'll hold on to this one. Denial is part of the grieving process, so if I'm wrong, just pretend I'm grieving." Allison fell silent for a few moments. She felt hollow. Zoe didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of that. Zoe was just trying to console Allison during a hard time. Of course, Zoe had no idea that Allison had been through the process enough times that it was second nature, but this also wasn't really the same thing since Angel probably wasn't dead.

"I'm sorry, Zoe," Allison got up and darted over to the redhead, wrapping her arms around the girl. "Thanks for checking up on me, at least. You're a good friend."

Zoe stood silent throughout the rant, tense as she listened to a tirade that was completely wasted on her - it wasn't as though she needed to be convinced either way about Angel's fate. She didn't have many retorts either, the knowledge that Allison was actually right kind of shutting down her will to think of any acidic remarks. But she gritted her teeth, baring it until it finally came to an end. Hell, she could even try to make it better, tell her that they did know what was happening, that they had someone to ask where they'd taken the singer... but she stayed quiet.

By the time Allison's arms wrapped around her, Zoe felt like an even worse person than usual, and any attempt at hiding the guilt on her face had completely failed. The 'good friend' comment didn't exactly help either. Considering what she'd done to herself the whole 'hug' thing also had the bonus of hurting like a bitch, leaving her to pull away from it with a hiss of pain.

Glancing down at the shorter girl, she started to speak abruptly. "She's--" But she stopped just as quickly, thinking better of it. "Sorry."

"Oh, um," Allison attempted to fill the dead air, but came up short. She'd only made things worse. Zoe had come to check on Allison, and now she was probably going to leave the one in need of consoling. There had to be something Allison could say to right the situation... but then the phone rang out from the desk.

Allison shied back, seemingly a mix of afraid and ashamed of the noise. Why now?

"You gonna get that?" Zoe glanced uncomfortably at the phone, and then to Allison's visibly freaked-out behaviour. Probably not wanting to answer, then. Giving the girl a concerned look, she continued. "Want me to get it or something?"

"No!" Allison exclaimed, probably too forcefully, and jerked forward to grab the device off the desk. The number on the blinding display was clear. Twelve calls each day, once every hour from eight in the morning to eight at night, save for the last 24 hours. It was as if he was playing some sick game, giving her the false sense that it was over. She would have to accept the call eventually. She couldn't keep running. But no, now was not the time. Zoe didn't need to be dragged into that world. The girl had enough troubles of her own to deal with. Allison denied the call, plunging the room into silence once more.

"Sorry," Allison sighed, tossing the phone onto the bed behind her. "I thought the calls were over."

"Calls?" As in several. More than one. Which meant it was a persistent problem, and no longer something Zoe found herself willing to leave alone. Especially if it was freaking Allison out that badly - all things considered, the girl didn't need that. Protective anger shone through her expression, but she spoke calmly. "...give me the phone. I won't tell 'em you're here, if that's what you're worried about."

"No!" Allison exclaimed suddenly, though she shrunk after realizing how loud it was. "Sorry Zoe, I just can't let you do that." She swallowed, taking a moment to gather herself, "I'm sorry, I think I overreacted. They called me a few times yesterday, and I've been too afraid to pick up," she lied through her teeth. "I thought they stopped, but the phone caught me off guard." She stopped, but realized she hadn't mentioned who was calling. "It's my mother's number."

Zoe frowned. Her parents? That remark was enough to dissuade the redhead - she knew just how bad that could be. "I get that. Think I'd be s--" No. Didn't want to admit to that, to her fears, to her weaknesses. No point going into specifics. "Freaked out if my parents called too. Ran away a while back, so they've not got my number, but... yeah." It hadn't occurred to her that they probably knew she was alive now - if they'd even recognised her on the TV. "I'll stay out of your business, just remember I'm around if you need the help."

"Thanks, Zoe." Allison sighed. "Alright, I should probably call back. No use ignoring them if they're going to keep calling. Thanks for checking on me, Zoe. I'll see you later, alright?" Allison picked up the phone, and moved towards the door to open it.

Zoe nodded. Part of her still wanted to speak up, about this, about Angel... but she kept her mouth shut as she stood to leave the room. No point overstaying her welcome, anyway - although she wondered how thankful the girl would be if she knew what was being held back. Forcing a grin, she raised a hand in goodbye. "Good luck with that, then. See you."

And with that she walked away, expression becoming guilty as her smile faded. A good friend, huh?

Wonder when she'll figure out how wrong that is.

---

How long's it been since I slept? Too long, right? There's gotta be some kind of health thing I'm ignoring here. Zoe frowned, leaning back in her chair and glancing at her phone. Midnight, just about. But she didn't feel like sleeping just yet; there was too much left to do.

Kinda wonder how long it's gonna take. Drives me crazy. Literally. Figure some day I'll wake up and I'll just be gone. That thing'll be in charge. Did this count as talking to herself? Did it matter? It wasn't as though she hadn't gone crazy by now, at least a little - frankly, 'sits around arguing with herself' wasn't that much of an addition to the laundry-list of offences she'd managed to stack up. Hell, she wasn't even sure why she kept staring at these notes; there were a lot of people smarter than her around here. But then, I can't let 'em near this, can I?

Her head hurt. But hey, better than being around the others. It was strange - Ground Zero being there definitely helped, made things so much more muted, but she didn't even feel like she could trust that anymore. Paranoia, or something close to it, left her horrified at the idea of what she'd do regardless. She'd thought she could fix it before, and look how that turned out. The moment things went wrong, she'd freaked. As soon as the water covered her head, she'd been out of control. Although that was just because...

They made her weak, didn't they? Powerless.

I'm not scared. I...



Just keep on running away.

She'd thought she was over it, over that creeping terror, but she wasn't. She was still desperate for control, just fighting her own mind now instead of the people she was meant to trust. Christ, she didn't know how to solve that. Hell, she didn't know how to explain how many things she was terrified of losing - terrified of losing people, losing control, losing power. Absolutely terrified.

But she hadn't spoken about any of it. Because for better or worse, they believed she was strong. It was the only thing she really had left, strength. Power. Certainty and confidence. And that was a part of her, because she'd broken free of all that. It had moulded her, of course, there was nothing she could do about that, but it didn't own her anymore. Even if she saw parts of it in how she fought, how she lashed out...

It could be ignored. No-one had to know about it, about any of it, about anything. She preferred to bury it, even as she shattered, because that was still so much better than pity. Pity meant she was weak, meant she couldn't do things on her own, that she couldn't be relied on. And if she couldn't be relied on, then she wasn't worth anything at all.

So maybe it was better that she kept it to herself. No-one needed to know the bad parts, needed to know that part of her wasn't much more than a scared little girl. That could be kept between her and her stigma.

Just you and me, huh? She stared up at the ceiling, smiling sadly. Sounds like some real shitty company.

"Hey guys, protip: don't go to GZ right now. Peace. End transmission."

The transmission had caught Zoe's attention, but she wasn't worried enough to bother heading away from Ground Zero; or, for that matter, to reply. The roaring didn't really scare her much - though it might have been a little too close for comfort, because she'd heard it before the transmission. She really doubted anyone here would manage to kick her ass, dragon or otherwise.

Still, with how long the noise persisted, she eventually gave in to her curiosity. Besides, it wasn't certain that everyone would take the warning, and whatever the hell was going on didn't seem like a good situation. So if that was Chris, which she was about ninety-percent sure on, then she had to try and head this shit off. Judging by the beach party, this wasn't the first time he'd attacked a teammate; and if there was anyone that knew about that kind of thing, it was her.

Not that she was dumb enough to try anything while the roaring carried on. But she'd stayed close enough to keep track, and as soon as the noise finally stopped she made her way towards where it had been. She didn't say anything as she approached at first, stepping over someone's charred remains with a grimace before her gaze finally landed on Chris.

The rampage had finally ended with Chris's draconic form collpasing in exhaustion. The anger and primordial rage had been vented out, and he was too exhausted to continue. This form of break allowed Chris to regain his sanity. The lethargic grunts of the blinded beast collapsed with it, and soon the body began to fall apart and rot away to nothing. Black ooze that was once its crimson blood leaked from the breaking body, and a pool of it gathered below the beast. That tar-like substance bubbled and soon took shape as it slowly took shape, Chris's pale and naked body slowly growed and materialized out of the liquid. First his skeleton that seemed to try to crawl away on the ground in a sluggish and helpless matter, before blood and organs followed suit, flesh filling the gaps in his body. Once whole, Chris remained laying on the ground amidst the burned debris, charred corpses and half-eaten bodies of the ground zero residence. He had curled into a fetal position in silence, and hadn't even discovered Zoe's presence. He wasn't in any physical pain any longer, but the grief he held crippled him. What would have Angelique said if she saw this? Attacking Brent like that for stupid reasons, then going on a rampage. He was overcome with guilt and remorse. He could now only remind himself of how stupid he was, how helpless he was. Inner words that lacked comfort and plagued his emotions.

Knowing there was someone else there, Zoe continued trying to ignore the bodies - chances were she'd find herself enjoying the sight, a feeling that had started to frighten her more than she'd care to admit - in favour of focusing on the classmate on the ground. Who'd apparently decided to curl into a ball and cry or some shit, which wasn't something she really felt like dealing with.

That, and as she approached she realised he was completely naked. Didn't really bother her either way, and normally wouldn't be of that much concern. Not like it'd be anything she hadn't seen before, and Zoe had bigger things to worry about than a little nudity. But considering the situation...

"I know people can be into some weird shit and all, but there have got to be better ways to get your rocks off." Okay, so she didn't have much room to talk on enjoying the whole murder thing a little too much, but at least she kept her clothes on while she did it.

Having been drained of energy and rage, Chris's animosity could only be expressed in merely a bitter tone, sharing no patience for her humor. "The last thing I need right now is a horrible joke." The arbiter said, not bothering to change his position or turn to face Zoe. Everything was cold, yet the burning of regret and anguish had filled his lungs. Any sense of remorse or grief he felt was both strong, yet he had become so far exhausted that he couldn't express it beyond his bitter and emotionless-like tone. Was Zoe here to bother him to? Antagonize him? So far he isn't exactly happy that Zoe had bothered to come talk to him, especially in such a vulnerable state.

"Who said I was joking? You're the one wandering around dead people in his birthday suit." Zoe didn't look threatened by Chris's anger as she reached him, more like she couldn't be bothered dealing with it. Fact was, she wasn't looking to pick a fight for once - honestly, she didn't even have the energy to bother. Her expression certainly wasn't pitying though, and her tone was stern as she looked down at him.

"Get up. I know where to find a store in here. We're getting you some clothes first," she extended a hand for him to pull himself up, "and then you're telling me what the fuck this is all about. Unless you'd rather run back to your room bare-assed." While her tone wasn't particularly hostile, there was something in her expression that made it clear the plan was more of an order than a request.

He was certainly offended of her accusation, and had he not been drained, he would have been far more tempted to burn her face off. She did however offer help, as crude as it was. Since his pride was shattered, he could only take her hand albeit reluctantly. He was a bit flustered that he was naked, but at this point he had been used to it and he knew not to draw a scene to it. Lacking clothes was perhaps one of the few things that wasn't his fault in this situation, and that excuse gave him some internal comfort.

---

Kind of funny that she'd ended up in there again. Zoe had remembered visiting the store from before they left for Wisford - and it wasn't too difficult to find clothes that'd fit Chris in Hot Topic. If she'd been in a better mood, she'd probably have tossed something ridiculous at him for the entertainment value, but as it was she'd decided to let the guy pick things out for himself. Wasn't worth the hassle to do anything else.

Once that was over with, she'd brought him outside, taking a seat on the ground. "So... what was all that about?"

After picking out a simple attire of black pants and a warm winter hoodie, Chris followed Zoe and waited for her to take a seat, up until this point he had been mostly silent.

"You have an X right? Do you get that feeling too? That...seething rage like some kind urge to.." He paused. "When I transform, I don't just take the shape of a monster..That's the best way I can put it I suppose....Sometimes it's bad enough where I have a desire to eat well..people like back there. It was an urge that I was getting better control over, but...sometimes I like certain assholes play with my emotions too much..I guess." Since he had some time to regain energy, his once emotionless tone now sounded more defeated. It was as if he was left for dead and had accepted his fate.

Zoe listened, nodding. Oh, she knew all about wanting to hurt, about the depths that kind of urge could go to. It wasn't as though she'd been hurting the others for kicks. Which was why, all things considered, Chris's explanation didn't fly with her. Didn't help that she wasn't exactly well-disposed towards the guy in the first place.

"If you think that's bad, trust me when I say you don't want the details about my head." The blood and the horror and the rush that accompanied them - it wouldn't help Chris to know. "And I want you to remember that because I'm about to call you a whiny son of a bitch." In the interest of safety and making sure he stuck around to listen, Zoe tapped him on the shoulder, black lines appearing on her skin. He wouldn't feel anything - at most, a slight itch as she kept her power to the minimum. The threat was clear, although she didn't seem particularly hostile.

"Don't get me wrong, I get it. Not rage, exactly, but wanting to hurt, to kill. Constantly, in my case." Zoe frowned. "But it doesn't sound like you're trying to do much about it." This was, by her standards, a gentle approach to the topic.

Chris felt the danger alright, the mere presence of such a potential force so close felt intimidating to him, triggering instincts that had become dormant. There was that fear, primal fear, tied with self preservation. Much like what he felt when Siena unleashed terror upon his mind, though in a much smaller dosage, and set on a physical target. Being in his human state, and that the threat wasn't immediate, he was able to suppress that instinct well enough, but that didn't stop him feeling it. Fight or flight was trying to seep in, and the primal beast within him seemed to only know how to fight. Just like that incident before, the fear induced only translated into a berserking rage. Had he not have been released of such primal emotions prior, he would have acted much more violently, despite how stupid it would be.

Nevertheless, his control allowed to him to keep those intents tucked away to keep his composure. He continued to speak, and aside from being slightly cautious, he wasn't phased by her power. "To say I'm not trying doesn't quite cut it. Its not as simple as want, I think its more appropriate to call my...episodes..instincts. Something inherit with who I am, at least in that form. Right now? Those urges are easily suppressed. When I'm not a monster, I can handle those urges for the most part...With the exception of one instance I'll admit. When I'm a monster? Those urges aren't just some mere desire, they become much harder to ignore, as if my very core is trying to take control over my mind, my decision making. I don't feel like the same person in that state, I am conscience, I have my memories....But the state of mind...my personality, its different.....I'm not sure how else to describe it....When I'm put into danger, when I feel like I'm about to die, or some...negative emotion comes over me; jealousy, fear, anger"..." He glanced at her touch with narrowed eyes. "I can't take it in that state, I lose control. Its as if my brain receded from a sapient being into a primitive animal...Again...I...can't explain it well, but... " There was a pause. "This kind of...instinct, fluctuates. For some time it felt as though it was receding and I had almost none of that monstrous state of mind. Though recently it has been getting worse, certain people have been getting on my nerves as of late...and after what happened to Angelique I...I haven't been taking it well, I suppose." There was a sigh of exhausted relief, talking like this only made him miss Angelique, he felt she was the only one who deserved to listen, anyway. She wouldn't give him pity, just understanding. He couldn't fault Zoe, despite her somewhat...aggressive approach on the matter. He couldn't let her in, he wanted Angelique to know, not her.

Even in the sliver of his emotions that wanted someone to hear him scream from the dark pit he laid in, there was that fear that he'd just lose them too. Just like the rest, it always happens. "I've been trying to deal with it. I tried to get used to it in Ground Zero but that proved to be a disaster. I'm considering to just abandong my form until I'm confident in controlling it...I figured that I could at least go to Ground Zero to train that in privacy, but.." There was a reluctant pause. "Well the grounds are open to all the students, I shouldn't have expected otherwise."

"See, there you go again. 'People were getting on my nerves'. How about you confront them. I don't mean throwing your toys outta the pram like a baby, try and actually work out your issues. If you're not gonna try and control yourself when you're all lizardy, then talk to whoever you're pissed at and try to work something out. Try and make sure you don't have a reason to go for them." She frowned at him, her irritation more than clear. "Grow some balls and take some fucking responsibility. Don't sit there simmering in 'woe-is-me' bullshit."

An edge of something dangerous crept into her tone as she continued.

"And don't you dare talk like you know what I'm going through. It's not as simple as 'want' for me either, so don't imply that again. First and last warning."

Chris at first didn’t respond, only giving a silent glare to Zoe. He definitely could not find to appreciate her tone, and that urge to attack only increased by that conversation. ”You were the one to compare it to want first. I won’t deny that I can’t read your mind Zoe, but you don’t know what I’m going through entirely either. Don’t preach advice to me like I’m sort of child.” He had pushed himself away from her to stand up.
There was that same, angry force trying coherse him into burning Zoe in the same he tried to do to Marcus. An emotional drive that he still managed to suppress, though if she tried to do anything to him, those flames could come out as a reflex. All he did was just give a silent glare, and while he was trying to supress his inner demons, he was also still remaining cautious of her. It was clear Zoe also had a short fuse, there was that very real possibility that she could kill him, but if that became the case he wanted to make sure his flames could get her too.

”This isn’t helping either of us, unless if you can calm yourself down I’m certain this won’t bold well.”

In contrast to Chris, Zoe was barely registering the other sub as a threat. More of a minor irritation than anything, really. "I'd win if we fought, but that's not what I came here for. We both know I'd win, so I won't start if you don't. Trust me, you'd know if you really pissed me off." Truth be told, she didn't want a fight because she was scared of how far she'd go if she started - not that she'd tell him that.

Instead, Zoe grimaced. Always ended up this way, didn't it? Honestly, she didn't mean to provoke people so much, but it seemed to happen whether she planned on it or not. "I'm not angry at you, I just think you're pathetic. I'm talking to you like a child because you're acting like one." She shrugged, looking at him with a frown. "Hell, if you've got a good reason for all this, I'll even admit to being wrong here. So tell me; why were they 'getting on your nerves'?"

Chris was silent at first. He tried to calm himself down with a sigh, and forced himself to continue so that this little conversation could be over with. The sooner it ended, the better. "What I had done to Marcus was inexcusable. I've already come to terms with that. What started as a brawl to teach that shit not to fuck with me ended up with me burning his leg. I let him beat the shit out of me after that. I can't expect him to forgive me for that. The message got across at least, I suppose. As for today, well, my reasons were far more trivial. Fortunately it wasn't Marcus that pissed me off this time, I think he knows not to fuck with me too much anymore. An excuse for that? There is none, I fucked up and let my idiocy and power control me again. The only thing I can do now is look forward and solve that appetite for destruction and vengeance. Maybe I'll apologize to him later, but it won't make a difference anyway. Not that I care anyhow, making acquaintences with anyone is futile, especially here."

The arbiter had lowered his defenses, and crossed his arms with a scowl. "Are you satisfied? Is there anything more you want to preach to me like the 'pathetic child' I am?"

The explanation didn't satisfy Zoe one bit. Still going with the 'woe is me' bullshit, and more than that the pettiness of it bothered her. It was so childish. And maybe that was why she couldn't stand it, because it reminded her of the part of herself she hated the most. The part that was so terrified of being a victim it forced her to lash out just to pretend she was in control. The part that hurt Marcus, that nearly killed Kusari, and that she couldn't destroy no matter how hard she tried.

And that comparison was enough to twist her irritation into something genuinely hateful.

"Fine. I tried, but screw it. I don't know what you think's happening here but you're not intimidating, you're not mature, you're not some put-upon martyr. What you are is an overgrown baby; a spineless little bitch who can't control his temper-tantrums." Zoe shook her head, her lip curling in disgust as she cut off her power and walked away, pausing only for a second to spit one last venomous remark over her shoulder. "Go strip off in another graveyard or something - you're not worth wasting my fucking time."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." Chris retorted in a cold and almost sarcastic tone, his scowl never left his face. He let himself open up, only for his explanations to be rejected. Not that it mattered, no one could compare to Angelique's compassion anyway, no matter how much he longed to have a conversation like that. It was a comfort he could never have again, and he had to accept that along with Angel's death as a whole. Though he came to despise Zoe a bit more, he was more confused if anything. Why bother going out of her to talk to him if this was how he was going to be treated. Was she suffering as well, from that same bitterness? That disconnect you have once you've lost everything. It didn't matter, she had her own problems to sort out it seemed, and Chris had no reason to care. There was a sense of triumph of how that conversation went, partially because he refrained himself from burning her head off, and partially because he avoided both her pity and kindness. He couldn't afford to care for anyone else now. He was convinced of the doomed fate both he and his fellow subnaturals carried, and right now Siena was perhaps the only thing he could try to keep. Once Zoe was out of sight, Chris went his own seperate way. He could no longer transform for the day, but he still decided to continue training to practice his base form.

---

---

Zoe had kept herself busy since returning to the Institute, to what was probably an unhealthy degree. Whether it was working herself to the bone in Ground Zero, running around the track until she puked, or falling asleep at her desk as she tried to puzzle out everything that had been happening, she certainly hadn't given herself much time to rest. Between all her work and everything else she'd been trying to cope with, she was completely and utterly exhausted.

But she had a goal to try and achieve while she was still here. If nothing else, she prided herself on her effectiveness, and she didn't forget things easily. Margot had promised her she'd be told what was happening, and Zoe found herself holding out for that as she sat in her room, scribbling page after page of theories and notes. She probably had more information than anyone else in the unit did as far as all this was concerned, when you got down to it.

Which was why her inability to make any real progress was getting so mind-numbingly frustrating - Zoe wanted to be making progress one way or another, if only so she could tell herself she was doing something. Waiting around for answers didn't sit well with her, but Margot had said she'd give her the information and for better or worse Zoe still figured she could believe that. All she could really do was wait.

It took until the late evening of October 13th before an unknown number called Zoe's USARILN-issued phone, the caller ID marked only as "Restricted" while the phone buzzed stubbornly at one in the morning.

Zoe woke up with a start as her phone went off, her head shooting up from the desk like she'd been hit with an electric shock. Who the fuck calls this early? Managing to hold herself back from a torrent of swearing that'd probably wake everyone in the dorms, she took a moment to glance at the caller ID. 'Restricted'... she had a pretty good guess what this might be about, so she picked up, trying not to sound too pissed about the rude awakening as she mumbled a half-asleep greeting.

"Zoe here. What's up?"

"We found your friend. Or at least we've got a pretty good guess where she is. Thank Freddy for that." Margot's rough voice skipped the formalities, announcing the information before inhaling slowly. The faint sound of paper and rolled tobacco leaves sizzling on the other end revealed the woman hadn't given up the vice that ruined her voice at all. A slow exhale and she continued. "I've got business to deal with, so I can't help or anything, but I don't think Zhang's going to sit by for long. We found out two days ago. By now she's probably got a team lined up to deal with this. Your friend should be back soon--if not alive, you'll at least have her body."

"Thanks." Zoe couldn't hold back a sigh of relief at the news. Of course there was some worry there - the very real possibility that Angel wouldn't come back alive wasn't ever going to sit well with her - but at least she'd know how this ended either way. And beneath that, she was relived that all the lies and violence that she'd tormented herself over hadn't been for nothing. By the chance that she'd achieved something by falling so far, that maybe for once she'd have managed to protect someone.

Still, that wasn't Zoe's only concern, and she didn't hang up quite yet. "Did you find out why they took her?"

"Zhang's not the only one who likes collecting abnormalities. At least she provides. The Amigos...they're after something dumber. Always the way with these sorts. Teleporter boy didn't know much, but he caught the phrase 'Unravel the dreams from their vessels. Call down Utopia beyond the sky.' " Another long drag on the cigarette and the woman sighed. "That's not an Amigo thing. That's a Fracture thing. And these underground nutjobs might be as bad as the Cradle, if not worse. Long story short, we don't know exactly why they took her, but there's no way in hell Fracture's idea of paradise is anything good, which is more than enough reason to take her back, especially if Fracture's reaching out to enlist even the Amigos."

...the fuck does that mean? Zoe frowned, silent for a long while. 'Fracture', huh? So that's who was at the root of all this - although the idea that they could be worse than Cat's Cradle didn't exactly fill her with hope. Add that to the idea that they were doing all this for some bullshit 'paradise', and it was a perfect recipe to piss Zoe off.

"Wisford and D.C. were the same guys, if you need to know."

Fracture.

"So they failed twice, then decided to send someone else after us instead. Unless--" She frowned. Did all this really start in Wisford, or... her conversation with Siena sprung to mind. Angel wasn't the first one to disappear. It had taken talking the whole thing through for Zoe to even remember that, but it was still important. "The kid that went missing first. Aaron - mouthy little prick - you never told us where he went. He get taken too? And what do you mean 'abnormalities'?"

”Not sure about any previous issues, though I did hear about the D.C. incident. As far as things sourcing back to one place goes, you’ll be surprised how often it tends to happen. But that’s not what I called you for. Besides letting you know, I thought I’d tell you Zhang’s not likely going to send any of you guys out again, especially if their goal is to capture more. So before the separate strike team gets sent out you should find her at the bar or call her personal phone. If you feel like making it personal that is.”

"Good to know. I'll deal with it in the morning." Zoe thought it over. Of course she preferred to keep the others out of the line of fire too, but that didn't mean she wanted to stay out of all this completely. There had to be some kind of middle ground here, and talking to the Director seemed like a plan either way. This type of thing was better discussed face-to-face. "Thanks, Margot." With that, Zoe hung up, figuring Margot would call her back if there was anything else important to say. For now, she'd get some sleep, but once she woke up...

Looks like I've got a bar to visit.

---

October had long lost the holiday fervor of All Hallow's Eve, better known as Halloween to most. In a world saturated with monsters, people no longer needed to dress up as one. All they needed was a functioning monitor and some connection to the internet for all their news and even that sometimes failed when an attack here and there would damage the undersea cables that encapsulated the infinite space of the digital world. Surprisingly, people did their best to avoid speaking of monsters and mayhem on Halloween, the tradition smoothing its way into more genteel practices where children and young teenagers would dress up as heroes or fairies who could smite away the terrors of the world. Others held on to the classic monsters of Halloween, but for the most part people let the day come and go without much notice. On the third floor of the dining hall, however, the bartender had decorated his corner with the customary orange and black laurels of dangling paper leaves that defined old-fashioned Halloween, propping even a small scarecrow up beside the liquor cabinet in an attempt to mimic the festivities of better days.

The Director had returned only the day before, wrapping up her business in Washington and leaving the rest to the contractors when news of the incident on her private island reached her. There was little to be done about what had already happened, but she was solemn as she sipped her Last Word cocktail, staring into nothing while the gray-haired bartender cleaned the glasses nearby, keen eyes ready to refill her drink the moment she finished.

True to her word, Zoe had made her way to the bar almost as soon as she felt ready, cutting short her time at Ground Zero as much as she felt comfortable doing. She definitely had no plans on drinking - the last two incidents had been enough to put her off that idea for a while - but if there was a hope of tracking down Zhang then she was going to take it. There wasn't any time to waste on this, so she didn't bother taking time to talk to her classmates. She wasn't sure how much she was willing to tell them yet anyway, and this'd probably change the circumstances anyway.

There hadn't been much time to decide exactly what she'd ask, but she'd decided to figure it out once she had the details. She gave the Halloween decorations a curious glance as she approached the bar, taking a seat next to the director. Cautiously, of course; didn't want to risk making a wrong move and getting herself tased or something. Without bothering to make an order, she spoke. "I'm guessing you know what I'm here about."

"No, actually. But I've found that my bar visits tend to coincide with others', your group in particular. Happenstance, maybe." She sipped at the pale yellow drink in her coupe glass, finally turning to face Zoe. "Go on, then."

Zoe paused, surprised. So Zhang didn't know what Margot had told her? Either that, or she hadn't made the connection between it and her appearance here. Strange either way. "I know you figured out where Angel is." She didn't mention how, on the off chance that Margot had been breaking some kind of rule by telling her. "If you're sending a team, I want to go with them."

"And who gave you this information?"

"Someone I'd rather not see getting in shit for doing me a favor. Why's it matter?"

"She's 'in shit' no matter what, if I'm guessing the person right. And for a lot more than just telling you classified information. As for your request, the answer is 'no.' There's no reason to send even more of your group to them if they were so adamant on catching just one of you." The Director pulled her phone from the pocket of her suit, checking on something with a grimace.

Zoe winced. Well, at least she'd tried to keep Margot out of trouble. As for the rest, it was the answer she'd expected, but one 'no' wasn't enough to get her to back down. "What's to stop them bailing as soon as your strike team turns up? If they think there's something to gain, they'll stick around and fight. I'm not asking you to put the others in danger, just me." She shrugged. "My powers don't make me easy to capture safely, and I work better alone anyway."

"If you're asking me to send your very successful group against the Amigos, I find that a laughable--" She stopped then, looking away like she had just seen something absurd. It wasn't a scenario she had considered until then, simply because it seemed--by all logic--ridiculous. Sending their untrained powers against mostly mindless creatures was one thing, but against the ruthless organization of the Amigos they were ducks lined up for slaughter. Or so she had thought. She drummed several fingers on the counter top, waiting on something as she stared at her phone without seeing it. "Fine," she answered at last, the acceptance abrupt. "You and the rest will be joining the strike team. I'll let you deliver the news since you seem so eager. Have them remain ready for further instructions."

All of us? Zoe paused. Part of her almost regretted this, knowing the danger that was to come, and a larger part of her was incredibly wary about what Zhang might be up to. It had been easy. Too easy. But she bit her tongue, didn't voice those protests. Didn't want to give the director an excuse to take the order back. She didn't have much choice but to let it go. Deliver the news. Get the others ready.

And if anyone else died this time... it was on her head.

She nodded, standing up and taking a few steps away. "Transmit. We're heading out with a strike team, so be ready. We'll get more instructions later, and..." She grimaced, continuing with a frown. "I'll explain everything once we're together. Over." After a long pause, she looked over to the director, suspicion and frustration mixed in her gaze. "Good enough?"

A cold smile answered her. "Good enough." The woman raised her glass in Zoe's direction, in mock offering of a toast, before downing the last of it. The bartender was there in an instant, another cocktail already shaking in the tumbler. He said nothing to suggest he had heard it all, but he did give the Director a curious glance, her acquiescence too easy even for an old friend to process.

For some reason, the smile unnerved Zoe - this whole interaction had unnerved Zoe. The way Zhang had given in so easily, her suspicious behaviour, the obvious surprise of the bartender... it was strange. And the toast, the smile, all of it felt like she was being mocked. But she had nothing more to say, no protest that wouldn't sound insanely ungrateful. So after a few seconds of searching for the right words, she just scowled, forcing out an insincere "Thank you, Director." before walking away.

It didn't make sense. When she thought about it, she'd succeeded - achieved everything she'd wanted to, made sure she could be there to help her friend, that no-one was left behind. Things had turned out just the way she'd wanted them to.

So why did it feel so much like she'd lost?

Ernie stuck his head around the corner, scanning every possible location until he was satisfied that the coast is clear. From behind the wall, he emerged, wielding formidable containers in both hands. In his left, a bulky first-aid kit, far too large for use on an active battlefield. In his right, a picnic basket. Both were gently placed in a location hidden from most angles as the Aberration pulled his phone out, accessing the Team SAP group chat.

"Setting up now how long til bday girl comes"

It was a very difficult endeavor for Marcus to try and hide his texting from Siena, playing it off under the guise of texting Max. Still, he was worried that at any moment, she'd look over and the entire thing would be ruined. So, he'd tried to distract her with small talk everytime his phone buzzed.

"So where are we going again?" he asked, knowing full well where they were going.

T-minus 5-10, do I need to distract?

5-10 is perfet for me. Any idea where brent is tho?

Late. Stall a bit longer.

Looks like its up to yuo marco

Fortunately for Marcus, Siena was preoccupied with their plans for the day. The last thing she really wanted was for any serious injury, and while she doubted that would be the case with training knives, there was always the potential. Glancing at Marcus at his inquiry, the girl took a moment to process it. A small upturn of the corner of her lips indicated some attempt at a smile, though it wasn't really the warmest one she could muster.

"Training grounds. You're not having second thoughts about getting poked and jabbed, are you?"

"It's entirely possible that I'm having some second thoughts, yes." Marcus said. That part wasn't a stalling tactic; he was honestly a little bit worried about knife sparring, especially considering the Ernie had speared him through the leg with an arrow not that long ago. Who knew what he could do with a knife?

"Whoops. Hang on a second, my shoelace is untied." he added, kneeling down to tie his laces very slowly. Hopefully they didn't need too much time, because there were only so many ways he could draw this out.

"You really must be having second thoughts." Siena glanced down at Marcus's oddly slow procedure of tying his shoe. "I'm sure that they'll only stab you a little bit, but you don't have to come if you don't want to."

"Nono, I do want to come." Marcus said sheepishly, finishing his knot. Apparently that one hadn't exactly been subtle enough. "I definitely need the training, or at least the practice. I'm just...not super confident in the other two."

For varying reasons.

"Do you think we should get more band-aids? I've got this whole box of Precursor ones back at the suite we can use..." he said, jerking his thumb back towards the dorms.

"That sounds a little unsettling," Siena replied with a faint chuckle. "And I don't think having Benediction's face plastered over a cut will really make it heal any faster."

Still, the girl slowed her pace to a stop, facing her roommate with a cautious smile. Not entirely happy, she reminded herself--something that did its best to remove malice.

"If it makes you feel more comfortable, I'm reasonably certain that I can keep any serious injuries from happening, and relatively confident that I can fix anything that needs immediate attention." One way or another. The brunette let her lips twist upward into something closer to teasing as she rounded off the thought. "Buuuut if having the Precursor band-aids makes you feel safer, we can always go get them."

"Ech. Even if Bene did heal them faster, all I've got left are Kadabra. And he's got a weird bug-eye thing going on. It's super unsettling." Marcus said, grimacing a little and shaking his head.

The whole 'distraction' thing was starting to delve more into issues that he wasn't certainly he wanted to face. Would Siena being there make him feel more comfortable...or less? Somewhere in his mind, they were at the estate again; Siena calling into account how much he actually trusted her.

But this was a lot of introspection over some dumb bandaids.

"Can we? Just as a secondary Plan C? When you guys are all bleeding and I'm panicking?" Marcus said, attempting to sound as innocent as he physically could.

"Oh, ye of little faith. I sincerely doubt I'll be bleeding much," the girl replied with a light tone, but she realized in the back of her head that she wasn't entirely sure how serious the statement was. "But if you're that concerned, we can grab whatever you need from the dorm. The point is to make you feel more prepared, not like you've run through a battlefield."

---

It was a few moments later, and Marcus was sincerely hoping that his stall tactics had given Brent and Ernie enough time. There really wasn't much more he could do without arousing Siena's suspicion, and he was growing increasingly nervous as it appeared that neither of them were present. "Well...we're here!" he said, trying not to allow his uneasiness to show through.

Overhead, a tall figure was watching the Arbiters approach the training ground. With practiced efficiency, he dived down to deliver the perfect sneak attack, a cord trailing from his feet.

"SURPRISE!" Ernie shouted into Siena's face, noticeably golden and upside down. It seemed that he was hanging by his feet, his rope suspended metres in the air.

Siena had a few possibilities in mind when they arrived and the training ground seemed to be empty.

What was effectively someone pulling a Spiderman maneuver and shouting in her face was not one of those possibilities.

'Whattheholymotherfuckshitwhatthefuck?!'

Her body jerked back, her feet spacing themselves to better brace her, eyes widening in surprise as her mind tore through plausible reactions. Not enough time for her phone first, didn't have a source up and at the ready--what the fuck--she'd have to hope that her own strength was enough. Every makeshift plan fired through her head in the blink of an eye, and she felt her arm draw up, fist made--shouldn't have stepped back, that removed the option of using a knee or elbow effectively--prepared to drive forward in the moment of blind instinct.

The spectacle was amazing, really! He wasn't sure what Ernie had up his sleeve, but the sudden bungee-jump dive surprise was a neat little show. Hell, he was in the middle of giving Ernie a round of applause when he saw Siena's stance shift. Despite all the past experiences he had, and the fact that he absolutely should have expected this, he still didn't. This whole situation was more a point against him for not warning Ernie than anything else.

"Woah woah woah!" Marcus exclaimed in surprise, nearly leaping to grab Siena's hand before she could knock Ernie around like the pinata he resembled.

While Ernie was bungee jumping, Brent had been in position as well, silver circuitry racing down his forearms to overclock the party popper he had bought at the last minute. Fireworks had been a miss with Siena, but surely this wouldn't be as bad?

...no, he was totally doing this just to see what sort of reaction he got.

Wheeling around the corner after 'surprise' rang out, the arbiter pointed the popper at Ernie's suspended back, before letting it rip, a resounding 'FWEEEEEEEE' sounding before strings of colorful silk and glitter shot out with explosive force, saturating the immediate area with prismatic garbage that he had no intention of cleaning up. WIth a big fat grin, he leaned over to the side and called out (hopefully in unison to Rope Boi), "Happy birthday, 'ena!"

Too many things at once. Hand was caught on something, a pop that should have made her flinch, strings of color showering down. Too many things going at once. Her heart thundered, blood pounding in her ears, and the need to reason out what she was doing shut down, replaced by a much stronger need to survive.

That was probably most unfortunate for the single person that had nothing to do with invoking the reaction.

Fluidly, her feet pushed her away from the offending presences, closer to the one keeping her in place and hindering the very real need to respond to a flight or fight impulse. Unfortunately for Marcus, he was in the way of the "flight" instinct, which only left one option. She dropped her weight, one foot rising to slam down into the nearest unfamiliar foot, a heightened sense of danger pushing her to twist slightly to allow easier access for her free elbow to swing into the space behind her with as much strength as panic could muster.

'Oh my god, that's his face?!!'

Explosions, confetti. These guys really had everything planned out. It was a shame Siena had just tried to punch Ernie.

"Oh yeah, I should have mentioned, Siena's not good wi- OWCH!" Marcus started his apology, cut off by Siena stomping on his foot. He looked down for a brief moment to see what it was that was actually crushing his toes, before shooting an angry look at Siena. A look that wouldn't been seen past her own elbow.

"Oh, shi--!"

CRUNCH.

Oh boy. Crunch wasn't a good noise. Especially not when it was coming from his nose.

Marcus was vaguely aware of a pressure on his face, and a warmth. His thoughts were a little muddled by the ensuing concussion, a thousand little dialogues firing off at once.

Where had it all gone wrong? Why was his face so warm all of the sudden? Was he falling? Or was the ground rising? Was he on an elevator? That would explain things. Everything smelled funny. Man, his nose was really runny; hopefully someone brought a box of tissues. Rewind? That was silly - he wasn't even watching a movie! Man, Siena looked pissed. Who made her so mad? Why was there so much fog around? Was he doing a cartwheel? He couldn't cartwheel! Well, maybe he cou-

And then he crumpled to the floor. Like a five dollar sack of potatoes.

Eyes colored gold with the ability and name of her favored healer, Siena had chosen to remain faithful to the duty of fixing her roommate's face.

It was hard to believe that she'd managed, for the third time in a month, to hit the scarred boy directly in the face. With Marcus too far out of his wits to rewind the damage, Siena had found that profuse apology wasn't a viable option, and instead settled for fixing Marcus's very damaged nose. Without having to rely on a secondary ability to numb the pain, the brunette was able to at least deal with the worst of it with only a few pulls of the name--odd that Skonos had lingered longer that time than she ever had before. Still, the bruise had been a signal of the unfortunate event.

Grimacing, Siena focused on trying to fix that too.

"I can't believe I hit him in the face again."

Who could have seen this tragedy coming? No one, that's who.

While Siena wrapped up her healing magic deal, Brent was busy mentally absolving himself of any sort of guilt that may have spawned from watching his scarred buddy do a cartwheel after being elbowed in the face by a scrawny white chick. Yup, this was clear indication that Marcus needed to start working out his face muscles. Maybe he'd be more receptive than Emma to a workout routine? The arbiter took a bit of a corndog. Yup, that'll be his birthday present, whenever the hell that was.

"No worries," Brent said airily, "I'm sure we can all agree that this was just a misfortunate accident, 'ena. Get all the bad luck out of the way BEFORE we bring knives and swords into the mix, eh?"

"That doesn't sound too bad," Ernie chimed from a distance away. There was only about the third of the silk and streamers left to pick up, though he still hadn't thought up a way to clean up the glitter. Maybe there'd be a broom in Ground Zero... "Wait, did you say 'again'?"

"I didn't hit him with my elbow the other times..." As if that made any of it better. Siena grimaced at the memories. "Though I still feel terrible about it."

" 'Times'? With an 's'?!"

"Totes wild," Brent said, chuckling, "'ena's basically got Terminator reflexes, ya know? First one I recall was back in DC, where Marcus popped out from between clothes and got a...right jab, was it?"

"T-Terminator reflex--that's not a good thing." The girl grimaced again, scolding herself slightly when she felt an uncanny tugging sensation in the back of her mind for letting her focus drift too far. "I just...don't do well being startled."

"Yeah," Ernie sighed, "that one's on me. Sorry, Siena."

"I'll keep that in mind for future hijinks too," Brent replied, even if it was totally up in the air as to whether or not he'd continue to mine this little quirk for entertainment value, "And hey, it's not totally a bad thing. If a mugger leaps at you from the darkness, you'll be the one elbowing him in the face instead of screaming and doing nothing!"

"Uuuuurghl..." Marcus softly moaned, slowly opening his eyes. Blurriness slowly formed together to actually become the world, and Marcus squinted in confusion as his eyes attempted to focus on the closest object. It was...a person...small...female...

"Siena?" he muttered out loud, slowly sitting up. Why was he on the floor? He blinked a few times, trying to regain his bearings. Training Ground. They were in the Training Grounds. And....Ernie and Brent were here too. Things were starting to come back to him. Including what had actually occurred. After only a few moments of blankly staring into space, he'd reestablished his surroundings and actions.

"Did...you punch me in the face? ...Again?" He said, gingerly touching his nose.

"I-I'm sorry..." And she really was. "Try not to move too much, I'm almost done fixing the damage."

"Why me?"

"Um...well..." Siena winced a little as she tried to reason out the most plausible explanation. "If I had to venture a guess, I'd say probably because there was only one of you behind me to keep me from bolting?"

"Sounds about right," Brent added unhelpfully, "Between us gym bros, breaking past definitely wasn't an option." Ernie cackled heartily in the background.

"From now on, I'm wearing a goalie's mask around you." Marcus said, the last of daze finally clearing as he shot an irritated look to both Brent and Ernie. Lots of help they were. Team SAP...more like Team...something else.

Maybe the daze wasn't completely cleared.

"On the topic of hockey masks and ice skates, seguing into blades," the amethyst eyed arbiter spoke, "Let's get that cake up and out here, Ernie! Get a preview of 'ena's knife skills and all."

"Sounds good!"

Reaching into the picnic basket, Ernie pulled out his creation. The icing practice had gone well, many delicately piped flowers bordering the piece. A neatly written (and spelled) 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY' sat at the top, as well as an unlit candle that read '17' in bold red lettering.

It was only an instant, but she knew that the mask had failed. A flicker of something between hurt and betrayal that was just as effectively overwritten by confusion. She couldn't deny that the cake looked immaculately prepared. She couldn't deny that part of her wanted to feel good about the fact that they'd cared enough to put something together.

A much larger part was utterly uncertain of how the information had gotten out to begin with.

"H-how did you know it was my birthday?"

"Uhhh," Ernie frowned. That flicker of emotion hadn't been sustained enough to make him feel bad but, between this and the reaction to the friendly surprise, it certainly hadn't looked good. "The school gives out that information if you want it. And then Marcus confirmed so...I'm sorry, was that not okay?"

Before Marcus could even come up with an excuse, Ernie had thrown him under the bus. A painful and ill-advised facepalm was quickly turned into a 'my bad' face, as Marcus could nearly predict the accusatory glare he was going to get from Siena.

How? Her gaze slipped toward her roommate, still confused and uncertain, but she replaced the expression with a sheepish grin. Sort of.

"I-It's fine, I was um..." Careful. "Just trying not to make it a big deal or anything. I didn't really want to think too hard about it."

Not entirely inaccurate, if not quite the truth either.

"Right...sorry, man. If we knew birthdays weren't your thing we never would have shoved this on you."

"Oh, no, I...think I'm flattered?" Nervously, Siena tugged at the end of a stray lock of hair. "I've never really had anyone around that put this much effort into a birthday."

Was that weird? She had a sinking suspicion that she should have kept that to herself.

"Maya just used it as a count to--" A moment of hesitation, and a helpless shrug to make the entire matter seem smaller. "--to remind me that I had to be ready by this year to be properly shown off, I guess."

"That sucks." Marcus muttered from his still-sitting position. Birthdays were supposed to be special, not just showcases for the model child. Another of a long list of things ruined by Siena's upbringing. A list which was starting to make Marcus bitter for his fellow roommate.

"Well, hey! A proper birthday today! It's a celebration of you, for you, and to be enjoyed primarily by you. And next time we'll try and remember not to do anything surprising. Even remotely." he gave a chuckle with the last part, which was hopefully indicator enough that there were no hard feelings.

Uwah, things got heavy real fast. Though he had really just trusted that Ernie/Marcus's information was accurate, Brent hadn't actually considered how they knew to begin with. Still...

"Eyup, let's have some wholesome fun before we start stabbing at each other!" A zippo lighter spun into his hand, the lick of flame setting the candle ablaze. "Now, just like we rehearsed, guys!"

They didn't rehearse, but a birthday song as basic as this didn't need to be, right?

Rehearsed?

'What are they going t--oh. Uh...' They were singing, and she had no idea what she was supposed to do. Smile? Expect it? She settled for trying to grin through the entire performance. It didn't entirely work, she was certain.

It was a learning experience, at least. An awkward, stumbling, learning experience that was made worse by the fact that she didn't know why, after their song, her training comrades were staring at her like they were expecting her to do something--it was not until an agonizing awkward silence had passed that someone decided to tell her to blow out the candle. Of course, that had gone badly when Ernie had innocuously asked if she'd made a wish--apparently a birthday tradition because when she had foolishly admitted that she had not, in fact, made a wish, the Aberration had Brent relight the candle. When all was said and done, Siena was fairly certain that the only thing she had done even remotely correctly was cut the cake, and that was only because that, at least, had been self-explanatory.

...at least the cake was good.

Well, that was over...quickly? Yeah, Brent was happy enough that all the party festivities and eating was done. There were no happy birthday cards, only a set of cute dog (Tater Tot?) sweaters gifted to Siena from someone who wasn't even there, but he was happy that they could get a selfie of the birthday girl and the members of Team SAP, all awkwardly smiling in front of a half-demolished cake. Perhaps offering her the katana for cutting the cake wasn't the most brilliant idea? ...no, these were the memories that they'd keep with them when they grew gray and old. Totally worth it then.

Doing a few dynamic stretches to get his body warmed up and his blood flowing, Brent rotated his shoulders clockwise as he paced around.

"We ready to go in a bit for some fun, festive Birthday Stabbing Lessons?"

"Should you be so pumped up to stab someone?" Ernie joked, clearing the paper plates, "People might get the wrong idea."

"I wouldn't count on it being 'fun' or anything..." Understatement of the century, really. "It's not exactly as flashy as it is in popular media."

"Good thing we're not popular then."

"Speak for yourself, neeeerrrd." Marcus said with a laugh, walking over to give Ernie his plate and playfully jabbing Brent with his elbow as he did.

"Oof. Better watch out or you're gonna get shoved in a locker, Brent." Ernie grinned along.

"You're all incorrigible." Siena gave a mock-sigh before drawing her phone, tapping the screen to life, glancing through her sources, flicking through the list until she came upon the ones she'd prepared specifically for their training session. "All jokes aside, we should get started if we want to get much practice in."

Speaking of which...

"Other than Brent's...katana, I guess our equipment is limited to what I have...?"

"I brought band-aids!" Marcus said, unhelpfully as always.

"Well," Brent replied whilst lovingly carressing his probably-authentic katana, "We do have those knives."

"I still can't believe you bought that thing," Ernie chuckled. He wasn't sure why Siena made 'encourageable' sound like a bad thing so he moved past it, " 'Those'? Did how many did you bring, Siena?"

"A few, but they're all a bit on the older side." Older meaning 'outdated', but if it had a sharp edge, it would do. With a faint motion toward the sole bag she'd arrived with, the brunette didn't seem to be bothered by her own possession of legitimate weaponry. "You're free to take whichever ones you want. It's not like Gerwulf was using them when I left."

"Ladies first," Brent gestured towards Marcus.

"Yeah? Well, age before beaut- wait. Dammit." Marcus started, cutting himself off abruptly when he realized that phrase didn't work in his favor either. "I'll go. Not because you told me to." he said, glaring at Brent as he pulled a random knife out of Siena's bag. Wasn't like there'd be much difference between them; a knife was a knife, after all.

Ernie moved to pick one out too, though he put more consideration into it and took a weapon that didn't look as worn. As he did, he shot Marcus a glance that read something along the lines of 'Dude, why does your roommate have an entire bag of knives?'. It didn't seem like a safe question to ask out loud, especially when said owner of the bag of knives was right in front of them.

Brent grabbed one as well. No real difference, really, and if he ACTUALLY had to tryhard, these knives were one overclock away from becoming quality combat blades anyways.

Something like butterflies landed in the pit of her stomach. Ah, somehow it felt odd, being the one teaching how to hold a knife. She pocketed her phone, flashed an apologetic smile, and was in action.

Ths was how she'd first learned it too, wasn't it?

It wasn't in line with the usual, hesitant movements the girl took. Each step served a purpose in closing a short distance toward Ernie, each mechanical motion engrained so deep into memory that it was more reflex than thought as she grabbed for clothing with her off-hand--Guess off-hand's misleading for you--her free hand moving in equal measure for what would have been a stabbing motion had there been an actual weapon in her hand.

Ernie, whose attention had unwisely been on the scuffs of the borrowed sheath instead of the stabbing instructor, let out a small yelp as he was dragged to Siena. Fuck, he hadn't even seen her move! His gaze moved warily to where the knife would have been.

Her movements stopped short, of course. Not as precise as Gerwulf's would have been, her hand several inches away rather than a hair's breadth. The Arbiter released her grip while stepping back, expression still apologetic.

"Case in point on the popular media thing. Nobody's going to announce they're coming at you with a knife for a challenge." It had been significantly less pleasant when she'd first learned that lesson, and Maya had given Gerwulf an irate seminar about the entire ordeal. Siena wasn't certain whether that was a memory she enjoyed. "Most of the time, if it comes down to it, you won't have time to draw your weapon."

Ernie took a quick step back as soon as he was released, taking a nervous breath. "Alrighty. Lesson definitely learned."

"Glad you're the guinea pig, Erns!" Marcus said, chuckling from what he believed was a safe distance away.

"Zero to a hundred real fast, huh?" Brent remarked, still becoming accustomed to the weight of the knife itself. "So is the plan here that...technique doesn't matter if they get the jump on you?"

"It's not a plan, just a point. Knives aren't exactly a tool for prolonging a fight," Siena noted while glancing at the knife in Brent's hand. "They're for ending a fight, and the fact we have superpowers won't mean much if someone slits our throats before we can react."

That sounded a little too serious, so she gave a helpless shrug, tried to bring herself a step away from Gerwulf.

"At least, as far as the four of us go. Entirely different story for the durable ones."

Ernie frowned. slightly bummed that he wasn't included in what Siena considered the 'durable ones'. Guess he still wasn't a Callan or Kusari or Sander.

"Gotta hit 'em hard and fast, or get hit yourself," he nodded, saying out loud to absorb it properly. It was pretty much in line with Devon's philosophies and had worked well while it lasted.

Marcus hummed thoughtfully. 'Hard and fast' was pretty much specifically what his power was all about, but being in a position where he actually had to fight wasn't really his forte, despite how often it seemed to be occurring. Perfect for either evacuating people quickly...or for lethal hit-and-run tactics. Something to think about, for sure.

"Hm...so with that line of thought...what are you going to teach us, 'ena? We gonna go through the boot camp of hell to increase our awareness of our surroundings to thwart assassins?"

"Hardly. I'm going to show you how to use a knife." That was what they'd agreed on, wasn't it? She shifted her weight slightly out of nerves moreso than anything else. "That said, I was only taught how to use a knife on...um..." The brunette grimaced. "Things that work like people. So don't...don't count on the same theories working on things that are significantly less human-looking."

But they'd faced off against subnaturals more often than abnormal creations at that point, and the idea of being targeted was still fresh enough in her head. She kept that to herself.

"Anyways, for now we can focus on where you should aim your knife and...I guess how to avoid getting stabbed if someone does get the jump on you." It occurred to the brunette that she probably wasn't being very encouraging for a first lesson. Again, she tried to correct herself. "Though if it's any consolation, you'll all probably catch on how not to get stabbed a lot faster than I did?"

Ernie raised his hand as if it were an actual classroom, again looking over a vast part of Siena's words.

What the fuck does learning 'how not to get stabbed' mean?!

"For the aiming thing, are we going for lethal and...non-lethal?" He reined his confusion in for now. "Like, are we gonna learn how to just disable people with sharp stuff?"

"Non-lethal, primarily. I don't really think I like the idea of teaching you guys how to actually kill a person."

Marcus remained very quiet for that statement, finding extreme interest in the design on the knife sheath instead. Ernie couldn't help but have his gaze flicker in the scarred Arbiter's direction but otherwise responded with a simple, "Cool, thanks."

"Would imagine that it'd be pretty simple how to move onto killing someone after disarming them anyways," Brent shrugged, either not noticing or not caring about Marcus's sudden silence. "But cool, we gonna be pairing off? Or are we going to be imagining peeps for this exercise?"

"Let's work on demonstrations before we get to stabbing each other."

Siena had been mostly right. Mostly. Her trio of students did pick up not getting stabbed faster than she had, though she wasn't entirely certain whether that was a matter of their ability or her lack of it. The girl had decided that it wasn't worth the anxiety to keep thinking on it, and certainly not worth the potential injury that a distracted mind would result in. Demonstrations had been easy enough with the use of an illusionist's abilities, particularly when demonstrating how to actually stab an opponent.

Allowing herself to be cut by an illusory knife for the sake of "teaching" was also much less painful than getting hit by a solid one, sheathed or otherwise.

It was unfortunate, of course, that illusions weren't ideal for practice with actual impact, and her ability to solidify them was...not nearly enough for their purposes, but that was where the benefit of having partners came from...right? They were all about the same level, right?

"Cool. Cool, cool," Ernie said mostly to himself as he faced his training partner. He hadn't thought this part of the session through. Obviously they'd have to face off together at some point but...man, he really didn't want to straight up shank any of them. Luckily Siena had said it was okay to leave the sheaths on. He observed the stance she'd used and imitated it well.

"So do we count down from three then jump each other?" he asked his partner and official instructor.

"We'll start slow. I'll try to attack, and you counter. Remember, a few scrapes with the sheath when you counter is fine--nobody really ever gets out of an encounter with a knife without a few cuts." Even if one of the two had virtually no training with a knife. "No countdowns though--kind of counterintuitive to lesson one if we do that."

Reminding herself to start at a reasonable pace, Siena gave herself a moment before starting her movements once more. Your typical knife attack will have one hand trying to immobilize so the knife has easier access. She imitated the motions she remembered in her head, one hand prepared to immobilize Ernie's knife hand, the other keeping the sheathed blade brandished without being too overt. Not as neat as her instructor, but it would pass.

"Yeah, I think I'll take a pass on the cuts," Ernie summoned his glow, "But--yah!"

Luckily, he'd been paying attention to Siena this time. He saw the knife whip towards him, as well as the free hand. Right, don't let yourself get pinned. But heck, he only had one knife. What was he supposed to do with that free hand while he was trying not to get snatched?

No more thinking time. It was a sloppy action. The Aberration's knife swiped at Siena's empty hand while the other hand blindly aimed to grab the knife hand by the wrist.

Not quite what she'd expected.

The sheathed knife slid across Siena's palm, and the girl mentally commanded it to flinch back like it would have, had the blade been brandished to bite into her skin. Her attention, however, was on her knife, watching as Ernie seemed to forget, for a brief moment, that it wasn't entirely wise to try and stop a hand with a knife in it at a small target. Without breaking her rhythm, Siena simply changed her trajectory, "injured" hand back in play, grasping for the now-exposed elbow to gain control over the opposing weapon, her own weapon hand suddenly jerking out of its original pathway, now aimed for a higher target.

Slashing at the empty hand had done nothing but expose the arm wielding the knife. Butts. That was his own fault for going for such a half-assed approach. This time Ernie concentrated on the groping hand. Seeing the knife go high, he went low, trying to grab at the free hand to yank her off balance and strike her in the torso then.

Better.

Siena could see the movements, where they would lead, and knew she had a counter for them filed away in the back of her head.

She didn't do more than adjust her steps to barely keep her from staggering into the strike entirely, muscles tensed to both brace and maintain her position.

"Little slow on the start, but not bad on the follow up." She glanced down at the point of impact. "Though you should aim lower if you can. No ribs to hit down here."

'Little slow' seemed like an understatement but Ernie was pleased with the comments nonetheless. Easiest way to learn was from your mistakes.

"Okay, thank you!" Ernie chimed and got back into position, "Go again?"

"Alright, I'm going to go a little faster this time." The brunette quickly calculated her next move. "I guess we should work out dealing with powers after you get the hang of this."

Ernie's face darkened as he recalled the Amigos. "Yeah, that sounds really important."

"Like you wouldn't believe." Siena muttered under her breath. Readjusting her stance, the brunette calculated another plan of attack. "Hope you don't mind if I check on the other two for a second after this."

And without so much as taking a breath, the girl lunged again.

After unsheathing the knife, the first thing Brent did was close his fist over the bladed edge, first gently, and then firmly.

No cut. Cool. Released.

"Ready to go?" he asked, amethyst eyes turning to Emma's boyfriend, "Or should we do some dynamic stretches first?"

Marcus was slightly nervous to be paired up with Brent. From what he'd seen so far, he wasn't exactly sure if Brent had a limit on anything he did. Case in point, the subtle sound of a knife sheath rubbing against metal. A sound that immediately caused Marcus to whip his attention around to his 'partner'.

"Wh-? Are you sure that's a good idea?" Marcus started, significantly more nervous now that Brent was wielding an unsheathed knife.

"Eh?" Amethyst eyes flickered over to Siena manhandling Ernie, both of their blades sheathed. Hm... "Right, sure. Of course."

Brent made a show of sheathing the knife again. "Thought it'd make more sense to train with real edges, yah know? Fight the fear."

"I-I mean..." What was he doing? There was absolutely no reason to try and save face around Brent; even less if he was trying to seem like he wasn't up to the challenge. Why on Earth was he still talking then?

"I'm just worried about you, man. I can rewind if you shank me...I just don't want you to bleed out if something goes horribly wrong."

"Oh, thanks man," the arbiter replied airily, "I guess, out of concern for me, you can keep your blade sheathed, while out of concern for you, I can unsheath the knife?"

"That seems like the opposite of 'concern'." Marcus said, unsure whether he should take that as a joke or not.

"Concern for your growth as a world class knife fighter?"

"You know what? Let's stick with sheathed. Maybe try for 'completely intact' knife fighter first, work our way up to 'world class' some other day."

"Sure, s-"

Brent dropped low, legs coiling before bursting forward. The distance wasn't crossed in any god-like speed, but the footwork from kickboxing still helped, his arms naturally adopting a position where his chest and face were protected. Without hestitation, now that both knives were sheathed and 'harmless', he swung out once with his knifehand at Marcus, a horizontal slice to the chest.

Baby steps, after all.

Brent's attempt to surprise Marcus worked flawlessly, as the scarred arbiter nearly didn't register Brent's approach until he was almost on top of him. Although his reflexes were only average, his survival instict was a prime motivator in situations like these. He took an awkward half-jump backwards, bending forward to try and pull his torso-area out of harm's way.

Backwards kept it simple. First swipe evaded, Brent continued his forward momentum, this time readjusting to a thrust aimed dead center.

With Marcus still on the defensive, he attempted to roll his body to the left, bringing his left arm across to try and deflect Brent's arm to the best of his ability. Were he more strategically oriented, this may have been a good opportunity for a counter-stab. Alas, he was not, still in the midst of just trying his hardest not to get shanked.

Deflection. Left side. Brent didn't force his arm to continue the course, instead flipping the knife into ice pick grip, a sideways thrust to Marcus's side while his free hand reached out for the scarred boy's face.

He had read somewhere that people instinctively prioritized their face over other parts of their body. Time to test.

Things were starting to get dicey for Marcus, as all he could was try and keep up. He brought his right hand up, attempting to block or otherwise deflect Brent's attack at the wrist, leading with his sheathed blade. It was clumsy and off center though, as he'd also attempted to bring his left elbow up to stop whatever Brent was about to try and do to his face, more out of sudden panic than anything else.

Damn, that actually wasn't bad. Brent had hoped that a hand in his face would make the scarred arbiter forget about the knife rushing for his ribs, but both were dealt with. Props to the dude for that. But he had forgotten to move at that point, and as the palm met the elbow, Brent set his right foot down onto Marcus's, braced his core, and, hand grasping onto that elbow that was so close to Marcus's face, pushed.

Christ, Brent was really going all out here. Marcus let out a small, pained breath as Brent's foot stomped down on his own. He felt the shift in weight, felt the intent at least. There was probably no way he could win a shoving contest against the muscular build of his opponent, so there was really no point in trying to shove back. Instead, Marcus brought his left arm further across, trying to latch onto whatever he could grab of Brent; his intent on grabbing the same wrist he'd just blocked.

As Marcus's hand wrapped around Brent's free hand, the well built arbiter clenched his fist in anticipation. They were toppling over, combined weight bringing each other down, but when it came down to it, he'd be the one on the top. No worry there then. What he needed was...

In that moment, Brent sucked in a breath and shouted as loudly and sharply as he could, splaying open his fingers and twisting his wrist out of Marcus's grasp. A shout to grab attention, a wild motion to present a threat, and then his right hand, wielding the knife, was in motion, pressing towards his sparring partner's stomach.

"GAH!" Marcus shouted in surprise. Brent was yelling and flailing; shit, he hadn't accidentally caught him with something? His knife was still sheathed, right? Then why was-?

And then the thick sheath pressed itself into Marcus's flabby ;-;stomach.

"There we go," the amethyst eyed youth said, taking a step back. "Felt like we barely did any actual knife fighting tho, ye?"

The sensation of something hard pressing against his body told Marcus that the sparring had ended. He took a few moments to regain himself, huffing slightly at the excurision; it had happened very quickly, pretty much exactly as Siena had demonstrated previously. In his head, he made a note to never get into a knife fight with Brent, the cheating bastard.

"Maybe to you it did. I was fighting for my life there!" Marcus said, chuckling slightly.

"Running for your life, maybe," Brent grinned, slapping him on the back. "But hey, you managed to deal with some pretty tricky stuff, dude. Ever take martial arts?"

Marcus grinned. "I'd barely ever been in a fight up until we got drafted into USARILN. Guess it's just au natural." He attempted to look smug as he said this and nonchalantly twirled the knife in his hand, but it was stymied slightly by him immediately dropping and quickly recovering it.

"Smooth as a true master of the blade," he grinned, "Better work on your footwork though. Siena's probably got tips for you on that, but generally, most people can move faster forward than backwards. So don't backpedal too much or you'll just get run over."

"You haven't seen me moving backwards that much, have you? Believe me, I am a master at backpedaling." Marcus said, chuckling.

"Both blademaster and backpedal master?" Brent took a couple more steps back, before readying himself once more. "Alright, let's see if your masteries get you anywhere in round two!"

It had been a moderately successful training session, Siena had to admit. It was nowhere near a level that she would have felt comfortable sending the trio into a fight with, but they'd at least managed to understand how to incapcitate a regular human and try to account for the potential of powers. Of course, the concept had largely been the same--attack before a target could realize what was happening if possible. If not, observe for possible limitations. If even that failed, then a knife wasn't going to make any difference in the end. She'd run a few drills, utilizing weaker abilities in her arsenal to act as a "random" subnatural, and it had gone...relatively well. As expected, there had been a few issues, but it was to be expected. Ernie, for one, took a little longer to grasp new concepts--the easiest to solve with a little extra time and attention. With enough practice, Siena was certain that the Aberration would be able to hold his own.

It was almost unfortunate that Ernie was the only one with an easy "fix" available.

Marcus's tendency to panic was difficult to work with, though Siena couldn't help but feel a slight sense of relief at that. She'd been surprised as it was that her roommate had stuck around for the training portion of the ordeal...but it was at least some minor comfort that the blonde didn't make hurting and killing a priority. Siena wasn't entirely certain she wanted to change that.

Then, of course, there had been Brent. Aggressive, which wasn't unexpected, but outside of a few minor advantages it maintained in a controlled situation...

Broken in the storm again. He could have died.

It wasn't ideal.

But Siena had little choice but to file her observations away so she could focus on first-aid lessons, which had been a weight off her shoulders. It was easier for her not to be the instructor, always easier to listen to them than anything else. Unfortunately, keeping the thoughts comparmentalized was significantly less simple when they had settled into the cafeteria after their training had concluded. Once again, the brunette had taken to pushing her meal around on her plate moreso than actually eating it, mind too preoccupied with "next times" and "what ifs" to remember she needed to actually eat her food.

Meanwhile, Ernie had the contents of his first aid kit splayed out over the table, murmuring to himself as he counted through it all. Normally he'd be annoyed if he knew most of his supplies were going to be wasted on fake Ground Zero people but today was an important demonstration. Hopefully future missions would be more successful and less deadly because of sessions like these. He'd been worried about teaching a full class of Arbiters, the potential squeamishness that would have come from those who didn't benefit from others' suffering, but they'd actually managed to push through it and learn a lot!

"Man, I didn't think we'd go through so much of it today," he remarked, "I'm gonna have to run into town to stock up tomorrow."

"I didn't realize you were going to go through it at all. Figured it would be more 'theoretical' than you made it." Marcus said, attempting to hide his grimace with a fake laugh. Some of the things Ernie had done at Ground Zero didn't exactly sit with him that well. Even if they were fake people, everything that happened to them was real. The screaming, the crying, the fear...especially the sound...euuugh. Bones crunching was not a noise he was comfortable with, and screaming...

...well, he didn't care for the screaming either.

Needless to say, he hadn't touched much of his plate while they'd been at the cafeteria.

While Marcus went green and Ernie worried about stocking up his kit, Brent mumbled to himself, eyes out of focus as he saw a different scene before him. In his mind, the arbiter continued to replay the surprisingly bountiful amount of knowledge Ernie had disseminated towards the three, visualizing each gruesome injury and the makeshift solutions for them all. Cuts, breaks, burns, bullets. Hopefully the knowledge would help. Hopefully it'd be more useful than applying knife fighting techniques against a monster. He palmed the bullets he kept in his pockets, cool to the touch, as his gaze turned skywards. No whumpf whumpf, no dragon roars, but still...

"Medical aid is a physical skill," Brent said with a shrug, "Not gonna learn if you don't apply it practically."

Well, as someone who regularly went to Ground Zero for his own training, it wasn't like he cared all that much for those thoughtless drones.

"Most training works better with application over theory," Siena claimed absentmindedly, mind still turning over what they'd gone over. She'd done her best, of course, to mitigate and remove pain where she could, but it wasn't an ability she could hold infinitely. Besides which, they wouldn't always be in a situation where tearing the sensation away was an option. Her fork scraped lightly against the surface of her plate, a dim thought in the back of her head. Would the people of Ground Zero count? She imagined crimson welling up on their skin, light that rose like wisps of smoke, then imagined--ah, no. Not then. "Better to practice on people that will get better regardless of the end result than on each other though. I would hate to have my first practical on one of you."

Ernie nodded vigorously, finally snapping the clasps of the kit shut to start on his dinner. "Yeah, what those guys said. It won't be any prettier in a real fight, though maybe throwing the newbie soldiers into the deep end was a mean thing to do..." Not that he was very sorry for it. It was only Marcus after all. Siena and Brent had dealt with it a lot better.

"Yeah...no...obviously." Marcus said, shrugging his shoulders. "It just makes me glad that we've usually got Lily or Christmas around. The wonders of modern medicine, you know?" he added, trying to play it off. It was certainly a beneficial lesson to learn, but that didn't really make him more comfortable in the aftermath.

"Pretty awk that we have to cut open Christmas for him to work his magic though," Brent replied, "Or have Lily open up her own body during transfers. If only Bene-bro could be our main healer. Not like they don't already have free invincibility in the form of Sparrow."

Ernie swallowed a forkful of pasta, his expression more stern than usual.

"Lily's off the table for easy heals, since it takes too long to convince her to use Kusari. Tulpas are off limits now too. Christmas can't be trusted to navigate the battlefield and his magical tell is too easy to find. Makes him easy to snatch."

'Stern' might have been an understatement. 'Calculating', perhaps. Disdainful.

"All the more important that we have more people who can 'heal' in the future. There's a good chance that the main two won't always get to our fighters in time to get them back in fighting shape, or even keep them conscious. Take how long it took for us to set up Lily on the island, for example."

Another forkful. Dark, hazel eyes trained on the table.

"But Wisford might be the better example here. That was a fucking shitshow."

"Shitshow, sure, but it was also our first proper operation. Did well until gargoyle girl came out from the van and fucked everything up."

A pause, linger regret that had long been resolved.

"Coulda gotten at least one of them if she didn't body block."

"She...came out from the van?"

"The gargoyle abe that..." Ernie turned to Marcus. The man in the van himself. The Aberration looked more confused than anything else.

Marcus paled. Perfectly planned. It was almost as if Brent had perfectly planned the whole day around this. The mention of Wisford had brought up the first set of walls he'd hoped nobody would notice, but the outright accusation that Brent had delivered had knocked every single one of them down. His eyes nervously flicked between every single one of them sitting at the table - they weren't the friends he'd been sitting with just a second ago. Now, they seemed like predators, watching his every move. Ready to tear a confession from him.

"I..." Nothing came out. He had no explanation.

"Yeah," Brent said, attention on the ones that actually spoke up, "I had three shots lined up for those three abes. Dunno how the gargoyle got in to begin with, but I think that surprise element was what really made things spiral out of control. Factory fight by itself was not totally horrible, right?"

Not horrible? Was that how they considered the fight against Factory?

Focus.

Her gaze shifted from one person to another. Brent didn't know how, sure, but he hadn't been in charge of the evacuation. Grey eyes fell onto the scarred Arbiter for a long moment as Siena searched for the correct words. She never found them.

"How?"

The armor piercing question. A question Marcus had only had to answer once before.

"I don't-" the words caught in his throat, coming out as breathy whispers.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you 'don't know'?" Ernie stared at him, hard. "The APC was your job, wasn't it?"

A pause.

"Don't look so nervous, Marc." Ernie added. He didn't think it was malicious.

"I mean...I mean 'I don't know'." Marcus repeated, desperately trying to stammer out his explanation without it faltering. "One second there was nothing, and then she was there. She-she...must've been teleported in or something." That made sense, nobody knew the extent of other people's powers. It was the second bet explanation he could come up with, and he'd been struggling to come up with excuses for a while now.

Liar.

Why...?

"You're terrible at lying, Marcus." The words came before she could stop them, and Siena didn't even have the sense of mind to mask the turmoil. Hurt. That was the word. Hurt. Her gaze turned away briefly. Too many thoughts. Why did he need to lie? Hypocritical, really, considering how often she did it herself, but the emotional response was too immediate. "So please, just...answer the question."

"I'm not-" Marcus started defensively. Her eyes were turned away from him. Of all the people that could call him out of a lie, she was the best. "They...they were coordinated. Knew where the APC was. She...wasn't there...and then...everything..."

Marcus wasn't dumb enough to let something like a 'gargoyle' onto the APC. Ernie knew that. But the Arbiter was acting like a really shitty liar all of a sudden.

"Wait, so did she teleport in or not?" Ernie looked between Siena and Marcus, hoping for a straight answer.

He was still lying, wasn't he? Siena struggled to control the immediate backlash.

"People died in that incident, Marcus." Ah, too late. "So just. Answer. The question."

A silence.

"Cal...blames herself," Ernie said quietly, a darker emotion starting to bleed into his words with every passing realisation, "Hell, Emma blames herself."

The Aberration looked to Marcus desperately. Heatedly.

"Dude, just...there's no reason to look like that. Can you just tell us what's going on?"

People died. The girls had been blaming themselves for far too long now. Marcus had done nothing to try and fix that; the only way to fix it would inevitably make things worse. That was what he'd come to accept, and the entire train of thought that had been driving him this whole time. Even when Brent had questioned him, he figured that if nobody knew what actually happened, he could keep trying to do damage control. He'd tried to help Callan in the hospital. He'd tried to help Emma when she was at one of her worst moments. He had desperately hoped that everything he'd done would help. That's what he was there to do, right? Help the team when they were feeling down.

But it hadn't worked. Everything was all coming to one explosive finale, and he was stuck right in the middle.

Only thing he could do now was face the music.

"It was an accident..." he started. That wasn't enough. It would never be enough. "There was a collector...and I had to make sure everyone was okay." Get to it already. There would be no sympathy here. "I didn't...check. And she got through."

An accident. Not his fault. Siena likely would have done the same, and she knew it, but it didn't calm her down. She took a carefully measured breath, trying to calm down, and succeeding in the barest amount. Another breath. Try.

"Nobody expected you to manage that perfectly." Well, that was a lie. Not his fault. "Were you ever going to tell them?"

Marcus sighed, looking to the ground. That was really the kicker here, wasn't it? The fact that he knew what happened, and had let Callan and Emma sit and stew. That was more damning than anything.

"I tried...I tried to at least let them knew it wasn't their fault. Tried to tell Callan that there was nothing she could have done. Tried to let Emma know, too..."

He played around with his food some more, daring not to look up. He knew what he'd find in their eyes.

"You didn't try hard enough," Ernie's glare was directed to his own plate. He didn't have the heart to look up, "You didn't try at all."

While the admission beat on his head with the full force of its many implications, Ernie merely rested his head in his hand. Tired. He was tired of being disappointed by this guy. Anger had passed during their talk on the island. Marcus wasn't worth such a heated emotion anyway, and Ernie doubted he could reignite it when his Stigma had flickered out to almost nothing. It had been a long time since he'd seen anyone besides himself do such a selfish and pathetic thing. Such a dumb mistake snowballing into something unforgivable.

"I had to watch them cry. Both of them." Ernie chuckled bitterly into his hand. "I couldn't say a damn thing to make it better."

That was an image he'd never be able to erase. Callan in his room, trying to hold back tears. Failing to keep that revelation from overwhelming her. All because of Marcus. Ernie hated that memory. He despised it with his entire being.

It was a fact he'd acknowledged long ago. Marcus was likable. Marcus wasn't a scumbag that acted out whenever he was in a bad mood. Marcus would always be closer to Cal in a way Ernie could never breach. Same for Emma. So if Ernie, some weirdass new kid that sat with them at lunch, had seen both their weakest emotional moments, what the fuck had Marcus seen?

Resigned hazel eyes turned to the Arbiter. Tired. For now, he was unaware of the hypocrisy of his words. "It takes some special guts to see someone hurting, someone you're supposed to care about, and just sit there doing nothing."

The Aberration sighed, hands returning to their place over his eyes. He asked it as if he was asking about last night's game.

"Did you have a nice month at least? Being in the clear while your friends tore themselves apart?"

Couldn't say a damn thing to make it better.

"Yeah. Me neither." Marcus said, softly enough that it might not even be heard. This last month, there had been a part of him that wondered how things would work out if he had said something. Would it have even mattered? Callan would still blame herself for actually tackling the gargoyle, and Emma would still blame herself for not being able to help. The only thing it would have done was come around to hurt him.

Hell, it might have been worse for them if they knew. At least, that was a line of justification he'd tried to sell to himself at one point.

"I would hardly call it 'being in the clear.'" Marcus said bitterly, looking to Ernie. There was an emotion that burned in his eyes, a queer mixture of sadness and an almost resigned anger. "I've been there while every single one of them tore themselves apart. Right next to them. Trying to make it better. Every. Single. One."

Chestnut eyes focused on Ernie. He'd never be able to stop him. He wouldn't put a friend down like an animal.

They flicked to Siena. A promise he would never keep.

"You're so full of shit." Siena muttered quietly. She caught the gaze, didn't turn her eyes away like she normally would have. "But I guess that's why you make such a good face for us."

Not his fault. He couldn't have known about the gargoyle, couldn't have known what would have happened. Not his fault, and she would regret this.

"You watched them tear themselves apart, and you kept quiet." Not his fault. "You can sell it as trying to fix it, and maybe you provided some modicum of comfort, but that doesn't change that you watched them hurt and decided that you were worth more."

Not his fault. She was going to regret it.

"But I guess that lines up with what the rest of the world thinks, right Time Scar?"

" 'Time Scar'," Ernie barked out a laugh at the heroic moniker, harsh and bitter, "The heart of our operation! Didn't care enough to not shoot a guy in the face and had even less compassion for the teammates he was supposed to comfort. What a fucking headline."

"Wh-what?"

Worth more? That was what Marcus had decided, wasn't it? Even when he was alone, thinking over everything that had happened, he'd determined that he was worth more. It the hypotheticals where he realized that the girl was an aberration, they always ended the same way. Him against her? It was no question. Even if he knew...he wasn't sure that anything would have changed. Those kind of thoughts were the ones that tore him apart. He was worth more than Savannah. Emma was worth more than a regular. His wellbeing was worth more than Callan's peace of mind.

There was nothing he could say to defend himself, even before Ernie spoke up. Even before Ernie had betrayed him to his roommate.

All he did was look at Ernie. A look that said more than he could ever hope to.

Ernie caught what Marcus was sending and all at once it was like his heart fucking plummeted through his stomach.

"W-what do you mean, 'what'..." his head swiveled between Marcus and Siena before settling on the girl. She had to have known. Otherwise that meant Ernie had just...

His tone was almost accusing. "You were there! What the hell do you mean?"

Grey eyes shifted from one party to another, and despite her best efforts, the brunette couldn't restrain a slight flinch at Ernie's tone.

No. No, no, no. No.

Her eyes went back to Marcus, and the expression on his face. No. No, no. No.

"I-I...it--" A vehement denial rose as a defense mechanism, but it was torn away so easily. The gunshot. She had heard it, but she'd assumed... Siena turned her attention from Ernie to Marcus again, seeking confirmation, denial, something.

Marcus closed his eyes in concentration, and let a deep breath escape.

"Yeah. To protect Emma."

"To release your anger," Ernie scoffed, fury momentarily reignited by the familiar excuse. He didn't care who was listening, "You could have fired literally anywhere else, used your powers. But you didn't. And you can't take that back."

He could have. He didn't. Was it panic? Was it anger? Could he attribute it to anything but himself? Probably not. He knew. It wasn't a mistake he could undo.

But again, he wasn't sure if he would, given the opportunity.

"Yeah. I know." Marcus said, a mix of bitterness and defeat. Ernie had ruined everything. Callan. Siena. Possibly two of the highest people in his world. Maybe he did need a way to release his anger. Maybe that's why it slipped out of his mouth.

"I'm sure you understand that feeling."

Ernie's hand shot out, grabbing Marcus roughly by the shirt and hauling both to their feet.

"Don't," he snarled through grit teeth, "don't you fucking start."

Shit.

Siena shot to her feet, one hand on her phone, her eyes snapping to attention.

"Stop."

Marcus couldn't really say he was surprised by the sudden lift; he had a feeling it was going to happen at one point or another, and he quickly moved to put his feet under him and relieve a little bit of the choking. He didn't even care that Siena was speaking up. He couldn't exactly worsen her opinion of him at this point.

"What? he said, voice slightly strained by Ernie's grip on the front of him, but no less defiant. "You're allowed to tell secrets, but I'm not?"

Escalate and escalate and escalate. With a single phrase, everything went to shit, and before Brent's eyes, the camaderie built up from Washington onwards crumbled just like that. Should have expected it, really. The foundations weren't all that strong, after all, and now, the bonds were burning up, disintegrating into ash by secrets kept from back in Wisford. Did Marcus seriously not tell a single soul? Did Sophia seriously not tell? Lawrence never noticed or spoke up either? Not even confided to those closest to them?

And now it was the bullet, the shot that Marcus fired to protect Emma and kill a regular. All these sins spilling out while others within the cafeteria took notice, guards eyeing the dissonant quartet. He should be taking steps to stop this, to do something to resolve the situation.

But in that moment, Brent disliked the scarred arbiter as well. It was a mistake, how the gargoyle even got inside to begin with, but to keep silent on the 'how' for so long, even to his best friends? The enhancer recalled his own talk with Marcus in Washington. They weren't close then, and it was too much to expect someone to spill their guts out that easily to a stranger. That was okay. He didn't mind that. And hey, maybe Emma and Callan never asked, so Marcus was never obligated to really explain himself. Sure. That worked out too. Made sense. Maybe he just hoped that enough time had passed, enough incidents had occured, that people would eventually forget Wisford. That the mistake that cuased the death of a young girl would remained buried, never disturbed.

Amethyst eyes flickered once more to the guards.

Keep it quick.

"We're all assholes with skeletons in our vaults," Brent said, locking eyes with Marcus, then with Ernie, "Take this shit outside before the two of you get shot."

Ernie glared back at Brent, then to Marcus. His hold didn't loosen.

"Rethink your next words, buddy."

Dangerous. Nothing good would come from this. Ernie had seen the guards too.

"You've lost enough already. Don't make me take more."

Ernie let him go then but he remained on his feet, his gaze still boring a hole through Marcus.

"I don't think there's much else to say, pal." Marcus said, straightening the front of his shirt.

With that, he turned away, walking towards the cafeteria door. Staying would only cause more problems, and he didn't even bother to turn around and look at Siena or Brent.

"Well."

Brent watched Marcus until he disappeared into the crowds.

"Shit."

Somehow, the situation diffused, and Siena felt her fingers release her phone as she released a quiet breath. No relief.

"Shit." Still no relief, but no regrets. Not yet. Her gaze turned away from Marcus's retreating form, her mind still buzzing. He'd killed someone--it paled in comparison to her own mistakes, but...ah, damn it. And what was he talking about? Ernie too...? Too many things, and worst of all, a declaration that remained constant like an underlying whisper.

If it came down to it, he was still worth more, wasn't he?

Fuck.

Ernie watched Marcus too, before he sat back in his seat with a tired exhale. He looked dazed. Then confused. Then mournful.

Silence echoed over the table until Ernie managed to find his voice.

"Siena, I'm..." he croaked. Words would never be enough. "I'm sorry."

Best birthday ever. How did everything turn out this way? Oh, he fucking knew how. Sliding away from the table, Brent stood up, took his tray, and said, "I'll be grabbing a drink. Third floor."

He'll track Marcus down tomorrow. For now, the bitterness needed to be burnt away, the mercury purged.

Never too deep, hm?

Siena took a moment before she turned her attention to Ernie, her mind still churning through countless thoughts, but she did what she did best.

You really never get any better at this, hm?

"It's...I'll be fine." Siena claimed. She wouldn't be, but that wasn't for anyone else to know. Taking her own tray, Siena gave a weary breath. "I think I'll...get some air before I try heading back."

If she even went back at all.

Ernie didn't try to stop her, nor did he offer to go with her.

"Okay. I'll see you later."

He packed up his and Marcus' trays when he finished eating. Pocketed Siena's phone after she uncharacteristically forgot it. Then he headed up to the bar.

Brent waved at Ernie as the buzzcut boy appeared. Before him was an empty shot glass, the tips of his ears the only indication that the arbiter was slightly buzzed.

"An Old Fashioned, please," Ernie called to the bartender and took a seat beside Brent. The drink came quickly and Ernie took a sip, slightly grimacing at the taste.

"Rough day, huh?"

Ernie scoffed. "I'll say."

A larger sip this time.

"You knew about the APC."

"Yup. Pieced it together after a bit." A pause. "Never knew he didn't even tell Emma."

"What about everyone else?"

"Who else?"

"Callan. Siena, me, the whole freaking class." Ernie had a dangerous glint in his eye, though he kept it trained on the tumbler in front of him. "You didn't think to tell us?"

"Talked to Callan," Brent replied. "La Plata hospital. Turned out for the worst, and then she holed up. Spoke to Marcus in Washington, after I thought he had time to sort it out. He didn't, so I let it go. Confirmed with Sophia. Non-answers there, but enough to draw the conclusion."

He tapped the shot glass, slowly, like a metronome.

"Thought it was Marcus's story to tell. Thought that he already did."

The finger stopped, resting on the rim.

"No one brought that incident up, not to me. Not about Sav. And not a single person in the APC ever spoke of it."

Even then, would he have been all that eager to pin the blame on anyone? No. Perhaps this problem only escalate so dramatically because of how long it had been kept under wraps.

Ernie didn't know what he was looking for with this conversation. Another person to blame? Was he willing to drive off Brent too? A nauseous feeling started churning in his stomach.

"I see," he muttered, and gulped down the rest of the glass.

It felt like a frightening reenactment of the gym on the island. A bridge freshly burnt, still smouldering. Ernie looking to Brent for reassurance.

"I was too harsh on him."

"If I saw what you saw, I probably would have broken his nose back when I first talked with him."

Ernie chuckled. "Yeah, and get shot straight after. Thanks for stepping in when you did, by the way."

"No problem."

A thoughtful expression emerged then, the warmth of his vodka dissipating.

"Will you tell them now?"

Ernie hesitated. Ordered another drink, a Manhattan this time. The intent in his eyes only deepened as he drank.

"Only if I have to."

"Give him some time," Brent replied. "Noticed how he didn't bring his gun back on Bald Eagle Island?"

"What are you trying to say?"

"Not too sure. But..." He motioned to Steve, pointing at the empty glass. "I can understand the fear and the regret."

Ernie stared into the bottom of his glass, taking in Brent's words. "He's not a bad guy. Selfish, cowardly maybe but not...bad." Not like Ernie. The Aberration leaned into his elbows. "It's too late either way. I don't even think I regret it this time."

"Mm, relationships you want to keep are hard to make when you bury so much shit in the back of your mind, hm?" Brent raised his glass. "A toast then."

Ernie lifted his drink, amused. "What are we toasting to?"

"To Team SAP. It was fun while it lasted."

A melancholy sigh. "To Team SAP then."

Glass clinked against glass, before Brent downed it in a single go, the imitation of warmth spreading through his veins once more, fuelling the embers within his stomach.

"So, what's our new duo name anyways? Sesame Street?"

Ernie downed his drink too, laughing heartily at the quip. The alcohol was already starting to loosen him up.

"Needs some workshopping," he grinned.

He pulled Siena's phone from his pocket, placing it in front of Brent before ordering another.

"It's a start," he replied, flipping his glass upside down.

"An excellent one," Ernie nodded a few times too many. He pushed the phone closer to Brent. "Siena's."

"Forgot it?"

"She said she needed some air. Left it on the seat. It probably isn't a fun idea for her to see me right now so could you give it back to her instead? I know you guys are close."

"Oof, we're not close enough for a psychic connection, yah know? Know where she went?"

"I dunno. Just out."

"Hm..." Brent nodded. "Was thinking of getting some air myself. Guess I'll head out then?"

"Yeah. I should be getting back to the dorms anyway," Ernie replied, despite ordering another drink. "See you later, man."

"Aye."

A pause.

"Steve also makes protein shakes, by the way."

"Oh, neat."

"Yup. See ya."

And with a quick phone swipe, Brent was gone, a knight galloping for his princess.

Hey Ernie! What's your opinion on waffles? :P

Better than pancales cos of crunch
Why, yuo want some?

haha true
Well we can go wherever you want but I owe you for a ton of stuff and I want to treat you.
free for lunch?

You had me at 'treat'
Letsgo

aww yeah :)
Okay, meet me at the bus stop at 12 : sunglasses:

Ernie was there by 11:50. Today's laundry had been a light load, though even if it hadn't Ernie knew that he'd arrive on time. The same snazzy jacket he'd worn when Emma had told him about the dream currently adorned his body, paired with a pair of jeans that weren't at all suited for mountaineering. Siena had been a thorough outfitter. Of course, the usual concealer had been smeared across his neck. He sent out another text while he waited.

Ohyeh dont froget your mark

In spite of her little chat with Determination that morning, Callan was determined to maintain her good mood. Or at least keep her mind off it. Easier said than done, but she was trying her damnedest.

As if the slightly offbeat upbeat attitude wasn't enough, it seemed Callan had actually put some form of effort into her appearance when she arrived. She smiled and waved cheerily as she approached. A simple barrette kept her typically unruly bangs out of her face, coupled with a pair of stud earrings and bright white tennis shoes. As per Ernie's request, her mark was concealed.

"Dang, Ernie!" she looked him up and down, "Where can I get a jacket like that?"

The boy puffed out his chest, grinning from the praise.

"No clue, really," he replied sheepishly, "Siena took me all over the place on Friday."

"Hmm," Callan nodded approvingly, feeling slightly under dressed all of a sudden. "Dude, I gotta get her to help me out next time...." she chuckled. A noncommittal remark coming from someone who avoided shopping like the plague.

"Seriously though, you look like you just walked out of a magazine. Could've at least warned me!" Callan pinched at the hem of her hoodie. It was one of her newer and less used ones, but still nowhere close to Ernie's ensemble.

"Right?" he wiggled his shoulders happily, "Shopping with Siena is like, life-changing. Definitely couldn't have paid for even a fifth of it without her."

"With a 500 dollar stipend?" Callan gawked, stepping towards him, "Jesus, let me see that coat." She gingerly ran her fingers along the shoulder, squinting as if she might catch a glimpse of diamonds hidden somewhere in the stitching.

"Yeah, it's like wearing a cloud!" Ernie held an arm out for Cal to sample, "I hadn't packed much for the winter but luckily Siena was there. I'm pretty sure half my wardrobe now is stuff she suggested."

"Ohh," Callan stepped back, thoroughly impressed, as the bus finally appeared down the road, "That's super cool!"

"Mmhmm! We should all go out sometime. Another clothes run, another Costco visit and..." Ernie tilted his head as he heard the incoming bus, "Say, where are we going today?"

"Yeah," she agreed, actually meaning it a little. Costco was always fun. And she could probably make up an excuse to skip out on the clothes shopping. Her eyes lit up at the question as she stepped closer to the curb. "A magical place..." she smirked, "Called Waffle House!"

"I mean, unless breakfast for lunch isn't your style," she nodded at his clothes again.

"Breakfast for lunch?" Ernie's eyes seemed to twinkle, "Geez, sounds like we're breaking some kinda rule."

Called laughed, "Motel break-ins one day and waffles after noon the next... man, who's the bad influence on who here?"

More idle chatter occupied the bus ride into town. Idle and nice and not at all like her chat with Determination that morning. Callan led the way to Waffle House with all the pep of a person who was quite clearly trying not to seem terribly upset on the inside. Once inside, the hostess greeted and seated them with a smile. It was nice at least to be treated so normally-- Ernie's idea to cover their marks had turned out to be a good one after all. She'd been a bit skeptical about trying to disguise herself in a town she'd already visited a few times, but... so far so good!

Ordering their drinks and being left alone with the menus, Callan propped hers up against the booth table and hummed. "I've never eaten here, but the reviews online were super high," she mused, running her finger down the list of specials, "And order whatever you want! I've got plenty left on my card this month."

Ernie raised an eyebrow at her pep. Her unusually bright behaviour on the way to the restaurant hadn't gone unnoticed. Overcompensation for something, he was sure of that. He had the sinking feeling that it had something to do with him, the way he dressed today, but so far she hadn't raised it as a problem. Yet. Ernie decided to play along for now.

"Uhh," he skimmed over the menu. It seemed like the usual diner stuff, not that he had any problem with it. He remembered eating something similar with Angelique at La Plata, "I guess I'll take the All Star Special. Looks like a bit of everything so if I have normal lunch stuff with the waffles then the crime won't be so bad."

Callan smiled and shrugged, "Hey, you do what you want, but I'm goin' all in. That glazed strawberry waffle stack has my name written aaall over it." Callan impatiently turned in her seat to look for the waitress, waving at her.

"Hey, we're ready to order!" she called out happily. Being the middle of the week on a school day, the place wasn't exactly packed. Nor had their server been gone for an especially long time. But even under extreme circumstance, Callan had never seemed to be the sort to flag down a waitress. Especially for such a mundane reason.

The arbiter sank back down in her seat with a chipper sigh. Rattling off their orders with a hair too much gusto.

"Whew, the service here is pretty great so far, right?" she picked up the orange juice she'd ordered, swirling the pulp in the glass with her straw for a moment before taking a quick sip, "And holy cow, this orange juice is great."

Ernie took a sip to check. Tasted like orange juice. "Uh yeah, it's fine...?"

Something was definitely off.

"So how have you been? We haven't talked since...yesterday..."

Urgh. Such a simple question. Easy peasy. You can do this.

"I'm doin' great," she grinned, looking down at the table quickly. Her smile clearly faltered, but by the time her eyes met his again, she'd managed to fix it back in place. "What about you? How'd Siena's party go? Did she like the cake?"

Ernie forced a smile and pulled out his phone. He showed her the selfie Brent had taken, Siena with Team SAP and a half-demolished cake. Said nothing about what came after the party.

"It was pretty fun. The cake was a hit and so were your dog sweaters."

"Aw, awesome," Callan stared at the picture, eyes lingering on one face in particular. Her expression became unreadable for a moment, caught between her current facade and something deeply troubling. "Man, I wish I could've been there. Looks like you guys had a blast," she smiled apologetically, "I was too tired to party, though. Definitely would've fallen asleep."

"Ehhh," Ernie thought of the birthday activities, "sure. What's got you so tired all of a sudden? Don't think I didn't notice all those energy drinks when I dropped you off."

Callan laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck, "Oh, you saw my stash, haha. Oh man, that's embarrassing. I've been staying up pretty late watching Netflix. My sleep schedule's been wonky since the island, you know?"

A buzzing sound called from Callan's side of the table. She visibly tensed, but ignored it, moving right along with the conversation, "Not as cool as staying up all night learning piano. That's for sure."

Ernie frowned. "You don't need to answer that?"

Thrown off by the question, her expression blanched, eyes darting to where she'd placed her phone on the seat beside her.

Emma:
Yooooo det's been acting super weird today

"Nah," Callan smiled again, stomach turning. Oh God, why did she think waffles were a good idea?

"I'll get it later. Probably just a dumb app pinging me to buy jewels or some shit," she folded her arms over the table, leaning forward while searching for something to say next. Anything. "Weather's been nice," she chuckled, looking out the window at the incoming clouds. "I hope it rains. It's been a while."

"It's Fall--" Ernie crossed his arms. He couldn't keep this up any longer. "Okay, I can't do this. Callan, I think I know what's going on here."

She blinked at him, sitting back, clenching her fists and slowly sliding them under the table where they could shake in peace.

"What?" she forced a smile regardless, gripping her knees to keep her knuckles from chattering against the underside of the table.

Ernie took a deep breath. Looked her right in the eye and spoke with a firm voice. His expression conveyed only the utmost of seriousness.

"This is not a date. We both know that, right?"

The smile melted off her face cleanly this time. Her mouth fell open and closed at least twice before she found the words.

"O-of course I know that, Ernie," she replied, her tone serious but also apologetic. Her face flushed, though. Not a great sign. "S-sorry if you thought it was?"

Ernie narrowed his eyes. "W-wait, I thought that you thought that I thought that this was a..."

He trailed off, having confused himself somewhere along that sentence. He had a feeling his face was starting to turn red too.

"I mean, you made such a fuss about what I was wearing."

"I-I just thought they were cool," Callan stammered. And they seemed like such an easy conversation piece! She inwardly groaned.

"Aw man, I'm sorry. I should watch what I say," she frowned, seemingly far more upset about the mistake than she should have been, "Everything's awkward now, isn't it?" Jesus, was she going to cry?

Callan managed to prevent that much at least, taking a subtle breath through her nose to steady herself again.

The Aberration kneaded the bridge of his nose. "Yeah...I-I mean, no? Yes? Urgh."

This was his fault. He sighed into his hands before catching sight of Cal's distress. "Jesus, are you alright?"

God, she was falling apart. Calm down!

Those words and accusations were screaming in her ears. Louder than the pounding headache she'd accrued from trying to keep it all in. A loud crash and biting tone, forcing her to face things she'd never even thought of before. God, she was so stupid!

Callan suddenly shot up out of her seat. "I gotta use the restroom real quick," she chuckled nervously, "I'm fine-- I'll be right back."

Ernie couldn't do much but stammer and watch as Callan raced to the bathroom. Wha--he hadn't fucked up that badly, had he? A loud groan of frustration left the boy's throat, turning a few heads before the buzzing sound from before rung again. And again. Cal had seemed pretty intent on ignoring it. What the actual hell was going on? After scoping out the way to the bathroom to make sure the Arbiter wasn't returning, Ernie leaned over the table and grabbed the phone. The name on the front darkened his expression immediately.

Emma:
She mentioned that she talked to you today
Did she seem weird?

'She'? Who else did Cal talk to here, Siena? More importantly, it was probably Emma's messages that was making Callan act so weird today. And whatever that fucking snake was up to, it wasn't going to continue under Ernie's watch.

Without any hesitation, he swiped the phone open.

There wasn't much time to do this. He speed-read through the latest conversation, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper with every revelation. Determination was 'Riley'. Riley wasn't just a friend Emma threw up on, she was an ex. And also a girl apparently, but he could mull over that later. The 'ex' part was a secret. A big secret that even Marcus didn't know about but Cal did. Lastly, Emma and Callan were pretty good friends, good enough for Cal to get her a present? What the fuck, she'd never bought him anything!

A clatter from the kitchen made the Aberration jump, scaring him out of this game of phone-stalk chicken. He closed the phone in a hurry, dropping it back in the seat before sitting stiffly in his own as he waited for the girl to return.

Thank God the toilets were clean. Callan dry heaved several times before sitting on the floor, trying to iron herself out. She was hyperventilating. Couldn't keep this up. Needed to get out. Or calm down. Whichever came first.

'Your roommate? Your friend's boyfriend? God, that's fucking classless'

Her stomach lurched again, but she tried to ignore it. Callan pulled herself up and ran to the sink, splashing cold water across her face several times until her eyes didn't seem quite so red. It wasn't perfect, but it'd have to do. Just when she thought she might head back out the door, it all came rushing back. She gripped the edge of the sink and just breathed, squeezing her eyes so tightly she saw stars. Couldn't keep this up... She couldn't keep hiding in the bathroom forever... could she?

Meanwhile, Ernie hadn't dared touch the phone again, even after five minutes passed. Then ten. Then twenty. Jesus fuck, energy-drink induced shits didn't take that long. Something was seriously wrong. Pocketing the phone regardless, Ernie stormed to the bathrooms, pushing into the 'Ladies' room without a second look.

"H-hey," a woman by the sink gaped at him, "what the--"

"Cal!" Ernie blatantly ignored her and the other two in the bathroom, calling out with slight panic in his voice, "Cal, are you in here?"

Bent over the sink, her head shot up at the sound. Shit... how long had she been in here? Her eyes darted to the mirror. Her face was sopping wet. Sleeves, too. And her hair looked like she'd never styled it at all.

"Ernie!" she called out, wiping her face off on her already damp sleeves. Probably not a good idea to let him keep running around calling her name like that.

"Dude, you seriously need to--"

"Fuck off!" Ernie snapped viciously and ran to the voice. When he finally found her, he didn't know what to say. She'd been washing her face for twenty minutes? No. She'd definitely been crying. Ernie began to panic more, connecting lines and dots where there hadn't been any before. Was this because of the Determination thing? If it was, Ernie was going to fucking murder Emma. Cal was fine yesterday morning so it had to be that, right? Maybe it was something before that. Like Siena being in a mood or...

Ernie blanched. Did...did she find out about the Marcus situation somehow?

"Wha--Cal, I..." he looked on the verge of tears himself, "what's going on, man?"

"You're not supposed to be in here," she sniffled and laughed softly, trying not to draw more attention, "This is the girl's room, you weirdo."

"I've cleaned a lot worse," he said, stepping to her and holding her by the shoulders. "I don't know what to do, Cal. Why are you so upset?"

Holding back the floodgates, Callan gave him a glossy eyed stare. Here, but with her thoughts miles below sea level. Her bottom lip trembled and she quickly looked away. "Ernie, I just want to go eat waffles," she said, her voice breaking. "I don't want to think about it. I just want to joke around and be stupid and just..." Her shoulders shook.

"Yeah," Ernie nodded vigorously, desperation lacing the action, "yeah, we can do that. We can be as stupid as you want and we'll laugh at dumb jokes and eat--"

The boy paused, as if remembering something.

"Actually..."

Right on cue, the woman he swore at burst in with a Waffle House worker.

"That's the one," she spat, pointing right at Ernie.

A few minutes of apologies and paid compensation later, the subnaturals found themselves outside Waffle House with a lifetime ban.

"Fuck..." Ernie muttered, turning to check on his companion.

Callan made a pitifully small effort to laugh. "Sorry," she smiled at him, wincing, "That was my bad... we can go somewhere else." She pulled out her phone and began searching. Ernie took her wrist, preventing her from looking at the phone.

"Actually, I know a place," he tried a comforting smile himself, "Do you mind walking?"

Callan shook her head, "No, that's fine. Wherever you want."

With a nod, Ernie began to lead the way. Silence lingered so Cal could regain her composure and Ernie could figure out what he wanted to say. It was comfortable.

"Alright," he finally piped up after a few minutes, "gun to your head, all honesty, what was your first ever impression of me?"

Callan blinked at him curiously, not expecting a question like that, though she was far from complaining.

"Hmm," she thought to herself briefly, "I thought you seemed nice. Happy. Someone fun to be around." She smirked, "I remember you were laughing when I almost took Marc's head off, though. And at first I was kinda like 'I almost killed somebody and this guy over here thinks it's funny! What the hell?'"

She laughed a little, "But it was pretty hilarious in retrospect so I won't hold it against you."

"It was definitely funny," Ernie nodded with a chuckle. He took a contemplative breath, looking a bit distant. "If we're being honest here, I think I looked down on you guys that first day."

Callan laughed. "Well, yeah! You've been a mage for a while and we were a bunch of idiots who just woke up with powers!" She slid her hands into her pockets, seeming to calm down just a bit, "Hell, it stills feels that way. ...Plus you're tall."

"And still growing!" Ernie grinned proudly, "This spine's got like a year and a half of potential spring in it yet."

Jokes aside, he relaxed.

"I let West stroke my ego too much. But even before that, I...don't think highly of people. A lot of people. You really were all a bunch of rookie idiots to me."

He knew part of that was still true. He chuckled again.

"I don't really know what I'm trying to say. Maybe...'I've never been happier about being wrong' or 'I've never wanted to fight for anything more in my life'. Something dumb. I dunno. Most of all, it's probably just a 'thank you'."

Ernie didn't dare look at her.

"Thank you, Callan."

Thank you? It seemed so undeserved after the morning she'd had, but... man, she was such a moron. She wasn't entirely sure what Ernie meant, but it made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Somehow bypassing the nerves and paranoia eating away at her thoughts. Just for a moment.

She stared up at the side of his face before a sheepishly incredulous smile pulled at her lips. "Aww geez," she chuckled, looking forward, "I don't know what I did, but... you're welcome I guess."

The boy laughed. He doubted he could explain it either.

"Nah, you've done a lot. Just felt like I needed to say it soon."

His expression grew more melancholy.

"It kills me when I see you upset. A-and it's fine if you don't want to talk about it. I've been there plenty of times myself and I'll act dumb and make jokes if that's what you need. Personally, I don't think it's healthy and I don't understand why you're not telling me about it, but if it's what you want I'll suck it up for now. You shouldn't force yourself to act normal and cheery. Makes me feel weird too, like I've done something wrong."

That turned out harsher than he wanted. This whole thing had been kinda frustrating.

"Anyway, if you want to eat, you should probs search something up. Cos we've been walking in a random direction for like fifteen minutes and I never actually had a place to lead us to in the first place."

She stopped abruptly, clutching at her stomach underneath the pocket of her hoodie. A mixed emotion of longing and what looked like straight nausea washing over her, she stared at the shoulder of Ernie's jacket. Going out to eat could wait-- she barely had an appetite anyway,

"I don't want to make you feel like a dumping ground for all my stupid problems, Ernie," she frowned, "That's never any fun."

Had that been her intention the entire time? Ernie could still recall the first time they really talked, where he'd learnt about Marcus and her family situation. Frankly, it was far too late to make him feel like anything else. He was okay with that, wasn't he? If it meant keeping a friend like her in his life.

"Is this a 'stupid' problem?" he barely held himself back from snapping at her, "You're a mess right now. You can barely walk."

Callan swallowed hard.

"I'm... I'm in some serious shit.... And I don't know what to do. I feel like I can't even breathe."

She wiped at her cheek, eyes falling to the asphalt, "Ernie, you're one of my best friends." She smiled ruefully. "I know I can trust you with anything, but...." Her face reddened, "I'm so stupid."

"What shit?" Ernie pleaded, "We can work this out but I can't help if I don't know what's going on. Please."

Callan was quiet for a moment, looking up at Ernie and clearly trying to decide on if she should tell him. Though it was more a question of how much. There were some things about her problem that felt like they shouldn't be shared. Things that would upset Emma....

Just the basics then.

"Determination came by my dorm this morning," she said, her voice just above a whisper, "She wanted to talk... was asking a bunch of weird questions...."

She chewed her lip nervously, glancing over shoulder briefly. "She found out about Marcus... and she wasn't happy."

The memory was still fresh. Her voice was shaking again, "I-- I didn't... I wasn't thinking. This could really hurt Emma. R-really bad, Ernie... I don't think Det will tell her, but... I don't know...."

Ernie froze. Grimaced visibly.

"That really is serious."

He knew her poor acting was going to bite her in the ass someday but...not like this. A darker part of his mind cursed Emma, wondering if Determination had been acting under her orders. The tulpa was her lackey after all and it wasn't like Callan hid her feelings very well. He didn't know what Emma was up to but he swore to god he'd put an end to it.

"You think it won't tell her?"

'She's fragile, Cal.'

Callan shook her head, "No... I really don't think so." She stared at Ernie expectantly. Waiting for some kind of direction.

"Why not?"

"Because...," Callan hesitated, clearly rethinking what she was going to say, "I don't know... that's just the feeling I got. I think she wants me to keep being friends with Emma... to act like everything's normal. Det said a lot of stuff.... It's so weird. I'm freaking out..."

Ernie took note of it. The pauses, the holes in the information. So much she was keeping from him, stuff he'd never known if he hadn't taken it for himself. He wanted to help. She wanted him to help. But this was the limited extent she was willing to go for him.

...He didn't want to comment on it.

"So the tulpa is blackmailing you into staying...friends with Emma."

Callan sighed, pushing her bangs against her head, "I don't know... I don't know what it's gonna do. It's fuckin' nuts. I just got this awful feeling like... something really bad's gonna happen." A hysterical chuckle. "I don't know how to stop it and and it's gonna be all my fault."

"No. Having feelings you can't handle isn't your fault," Ernie preached the consolation blandly. He tried to believe it himself but it was hard when Callan was so incapable of keeping her mouth shut. Seriously, she got out-talked by a magic clone person?

"Sounds like the only thing you can do now is play along. If the tulpa isn't going to say anything to change the status quo, neither should you. In the meantime, you need leverage. Find a motive or something like that. Find or make a reason for that thing to never open its goddamn mouth."

Callan didn't seem convinced, but she kept listening. Her eyes widened at Ernie's suggestion. It seemed... a little extreme. She pressed a knuckle to her lips in thought. There was the thing with Val, but... that would only hurt Emma. Definitely not something she could use. She helplessly floundered for an idea.

"Det can't be destroyed. She just poofs right back, so you can't really threaten her, can you?" Callan frowned, "I dunno... I was never gonna let this affect anything. I thought if I just tried to keep quiet, it'd all blow over. I'd move on and everything would be fine.... I get what you're saying. But--" she smiled defeatedly, "I don't know if I could just pretend like everything's the same. Maybe I should do like she said and move out. Steer clear of Marcus for... however long...."

"Steer clear of your Marcus, the guy you live with and have classes with and head out to battle with?" Ernie raised an eyebrow. He sighed again. "Look, maybe Determination will just move on if everyone just lays low for a while. There's a chance everything can stay the same! But," this was the ugly part, "if that doesn't happen...I think you should start preparing for the worst."

"AGH!" Callan ruffled her hair with both hands out of frustration, "God, you're right! I'm so fucked!" Her voice dipped into a desperate whine. She took a quick breath, "I'll just... j-just try to stay optimistic for now! Like you said... everything might stay the same! Just gotta... not let it get to me...." She took several more breaths as she mentally tried to convince herself.

Ernie winced at the meltdown. Geez, had he ever seen her act like this before? He...didn't like it at all. It was just...so fucking weird! Urgh. He clamped his hands firmly on her shoulders, forcing her gaze onto his.

"Calm the fuck down!" he hissed. "You're a strong person. You can do this."

Callan simply stared blankly for a moment, as if broken from a trance. She took one last breath, exhaling slowly through her nose before nodding hesitantly.

"R-right... I can do this."

The Aberration clearly wasn't finished. He looked furious.

"You defeated an Amigo. You shattered an ice giant alongside Kadabra. You helped take down a Cat 3 monster. And you're shaken by this? Are you fucking shitting me, Callan Webb?!"

Her eyes widened, the changing of her expression clearly fueled by every word as Ernie spoke. Her hands balled up into fists and she shouted back, matching his volume and quickly gaining confidence.

"Y-you're right! I can fucking do this! Easy!"

"YES YOU FUCKING CAN!" Ernie roared at the top of his lungs.

"YEAH!!"

"YEEEEAAAA--" The horn of a passing car shut him up immediately, the driver leaning out of her window to flip them off. Ernie blinked, coughing from the sudden strain on his throat. Then he laughed sheepishly.

"Yeah," he scratched the back of his head, "I think you get the message."

Callan laughed with him, the magic of the moment having been so hilariously shattered. She couldn't help but smile. It was wide and genuine. She felt like a huge part of the weight that had been lifted. Still very much there-- but so much better.

"Thanks," she sighed, visibly relieved.

Ernie stared at that smile. Memorised it. Saved it in his heart. That was his work. He did that.

"Heh, well. All in a day's work, ma'am," he bowed with a theatrical flourish, knowing that the action would momentarily conceal his giddy expression. Geh, he must have been hanging around Brent too much.

She laughed. "Ernie," Callan shook her head, still chuckling, "Seriously. Thank you." She paused.

"Also... if you ever need help, you know you can come and ask me too, right? I'm not great at... er... a lot of things, but... I'll do whatever I can."

She grinned again, "Anyway, let's go get some freakin' food. I'm suddenly starving."

Ernie hesitated. Tried to accept her offer with a grateful smile. But it faltered very clearly.

Of course he needed help. He needed it more than anyone here. But what was he supposed to tell her? Guess what, he was too afraid to go to sleep now. Guess what, Sander could attack him anytime, even on school grounds, and Ernie probably wouldn't get off so easily next time. Was he supposed to explain how that feud started, let her know about everything he'd done in that alley? Guess what, he was sitting on a goldmine of gang information, unable to help Zoe and the others prepare themselves without letting everyone know what he used to be, no, what he still was. Guess what, he didn't know what to do about Emma. Did he mention that she'd threatened him but only after he'd laughed about the death of a little girl? And now she'd made him furious enough to storm to her room and set fire to everything she owned. Because really, that was the only thing he was good for: getting angry, ruining things and chatting about it later with Brent, the only friend who'd stick with him in the long-term because the guy was most likely a psychopath too.

Or hell, maybe he should just tell her what he'd found out about Marcus the other day, how he'd ruined the guy. Get that shit out of the way. Was he supposed to ask her about that?

"Yeah," he said, grinning painfully, consciously avoiding the mention of her help, "stress eats up a lotta kilojoules. Do you think that Waffle House ban was for that one store or the whole chain?"

The faintest twinge of concern crossed her features as Callan looked at him, but she didn't address what she thought she saw. "Only one way to find out," she replied, cheerful but resigned. Far more natural than before.

By the grace of God, they managed to locate another unsuspecting Waffle House on the other side of town. It of course required another bus ride, but Callan didn't mind. Ernie was good company, as usual. Her nerves still flared every now and then, but they felt more manageable after confiding in someone. The same someone. Again. She worried about her offer, unsure of whether or not he simply didn't think her capable or was unwilling to admit he might need it. Not that she had any reason to believe he was in need of help at all.


The breakfast turned out to be well worth the wait, though she was a little disappointed by how quickly the time seemed to fly after that. Before she knew it, they were back at the school waving each other off.

---

yo, you'll let me know the next time you do a costco run right? I'm basically the worlds best grocery carrier jus sayin

For sure. Save us a few taxi rides form the place >_>

it's wednesday, the fourteenth, sometime in the morning after i hit cal up. i don't really give a shit.

It was good that Emma was still asleep when she came back. It was so nice. She was so close to Emma. She could reach out and touch her, it'd be so easy. She was just thankful that she didn't have to say anything to her, not yet. She just closed her eyes, soaking in the comfortableness of the moment, a stark contrast to what happened on the rooftop only moments ago.

She could lay here forever. Wished she could, too.

"Det?"

Determination's eyes fluttered open. She'd gotten really close to Emma, she hadn't even realized. Their foreheads were touching, but Emma pulled back.

"Sorry."

"Is, uh, something wrong?"

Her voice must've given it away. "Eh. I, uh..." she had to lie but wanted to confess, so she went in between, "Had an awkward talk with Cal this morning. It's nothing."

"With Cal...? Why were you...?"

"Nothing. Really. Forget about it."

Emma sighed. She didn't push any further, instead closed her eyes for a moment. "Mmmm. I don't want to wake up yet."

"Yeah, same."

Suddenly, Riley remembered something.

"Heh. Kinda like New Years 2015." Determination shook her head. What did she just say?

"Hu-" and suddenly it seemed that Emma wasn't so interested in sleeping anymore, shooting up out of the bed. "I'm gonna go get some breakfast. Go ahead and sleep."

She left so quickly.

---

Suddenly reality hit her. She shot up. Was this morning just a dream?

You haven't dreamed once in your life.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Determination's heart raced.

No, you don't have a fucking heart.

Emma was gone. Breakfast. Was that what she said? Good. She didn't want to see her anymore. She wanted to sleep.

No, you don't sleep, not really.

Bathroom. Bathroom. She had to use the fucking bathroom so bad.

No, you don't have bodily functions, dumb bitch.

She didn't need to pee, but she felt like vomiting. She flung open the bathroom door with no regard, sending it flying into the wall.

No door stop. It left a hole.

She bent over the toilet, her mouth tasted like bile but of course she couldn't vomit.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

What the fuck did you do? What the fuck did you do? What the fuck did you do?

She ran back out of the bathroom. Looked for something, something to break. Her foot found the trashcan, sending it flying, instantly cracking the wall and sending crushed balls of paper and empty cup noodles flying everywhere.

Trash. You're trash. You're trash.

"FUCK!"

Think, think.

How do you fix what you did?

There wasn't any fixing it. She was so sure in the moment, so sure. It felt like the right thing to do. To beat Callan down, to make her feel like shit, how could she be so fucking dumb? She was ruining things, ruining one of Emma's two positive relationships.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Emma, fuck, I'm sorry."

No you're not. No you're not. You want her for yourself, that's what you're getting, that's why you did it.

"FUCKING BITCH!"

Her next target was the desk chair. She grabbed it, flinging it at the wall. Another crack, the chair split apart.

"Why the fuck did you make me do that?!"

The desk. She flipped the desk, sending Emma's journal and several loose papers flying. Good thing the laptop was left on the floor.

What happened? Where'd it go wrong? Why couldn't Cal have the common fucking courtesy to lie to her dumb fucking face? It could've been so easy.

Her fist found the wall. It flew through to the bathroom.

"Haha, whoops!"

Another fist, another hole.

"Why the fuck didn't you realize Em?!"

She turned around, kicking backwards, finding nothing but air.

"WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?!"

She stumbled, falling to a knee. She didn't know how much more she could break.

"I don't want to be Riley."

Fuck, fuck. Did Riley hate being Riley too?

She rushed to gasp in air, but she didn't have lungs. Her voice cracked. She was trying to cry, but she didn't have tear ducts. She thought she should be sweating right now, but she didn't have sweat glands. She was able to yell obscenities, but she wasn't sure how. She had no vocal chords. Her heart hurt, it hurt so bad, but she didn't have one. She grabbed her index finger and broke it.

"Agh! Fuck!"

The pain was real enough. Did that confirm that she was alive? How could someone with no soul, no heart, no brain be alive? She didn't have blood, instead inky blackness poured from her shattered finger. It would be gone by the time she regenerated.

"Why the fuck am I feeling all these feelings?! I don't need this shit!"

Why couldn't she be a big black emotionless blob? Why was she so fucking angry? Why did she want to trash the shit out of Emma's room? Why did she want to beat Cal's face in? Why was she so jealous of Marcus? Where did everything she was come from? Did Emma make it up? Did Emma want her to feel this way? To capture an image of a person that she couldn't see?

Why the fuck did she love Emma so much?

She was freaking the fuck out, spiraling down. How the fuck did Cal do this to her just by cowering when she yelled? Why couldn't Determination figure out who she was? Why was she so cold? She didn't have a hypothalamus to process body heat.

What the fuck was a hypothalamus?

Wh-

"No, no, no, no, STOP!"

Her thoughts ran a mile a minute inside an empty head, but she cut them off. She needed quiet. Quiet. Couldn't handle everything hitting her at once. What did Riley do? What did she do to stop it? She grabbed the pack of cigarettes from her pocket, lighting one. Outside. She smoked outside, Emma didn't like the smell everywhere. She took a desperate drag, hurrying outside, slamming the door shut behind her and taking off down the hallway.

Another nervous puff. She got it. Something to fixate on. Chemicals that calmed the brain. But she didn't have the ability to process those ch-

No, no. Another drag and she forgot. She willed herself into believing she was something she wasn't. She...

She looked good. She felt good. New clothes, new Determination. She was so cool. People didn't want to mess with her, she looked so badass. She was smokin' hot, Emma fucking loved her. She shook down Cal for trying to hurt her bestie's feelings. That was right, that was justice. Cal wouldn't hurt her. Cal was a lil' bitch! She had super strength but she was so fucking scared of Determination. That was because Determination was way too good! Way, way, way too good! There was no fucking stopping her! Her finger hurt, but she didn't give a shit, she was Emma's DETERMINATION!

And that was fucking perfect. Determination. No one would fuck with Em. Not Cal, not Marcus, not Zhang, not even fucking Dreamcatcher.

She laughed. Erupted with giggles. She was so happy. Another drag and it felt good, not bitter like on the roof. It was like she was feeling things in four fucking dimensions, and now that she was feeling good there was not stopping her. She just had to catch the feeling. Catch it, let it ride and suddenly wow, why was it so fucking cool being Riley? Emma made a good fucking choice, huh?

God, she was so fucking good she wanted to dance, so she did a little dance as she walked. She was spinning on all cylinders. Emma didn't need Cal. Emma didn't need Marcus. Emma didn't need Val. She didn't need her mom, she didn't need Frank, she didn't need her dad, she didn't need Riley, she needed Determination. That was it. She could do it all, she could-

She caught herself, flicking the cigarette away. She had a room to clean, she realized. Didn't want Emma to have to worry about it. She'd need to make an excuse for the holes, but...

Well, she could deal with it whenever Emma came back.

Another round of training out in the early morning dew for Marcus. Last night hadn't exactly been the most restful of nights, a worrying trend that was starting to appear more frequently. He felt mentally exhausted, but there was seemingly no respite for him; he'd hoped it would get better in the days after he got his powers, but it seemed like it was getting worse. Not that the hell they'd been forced through was helping at all - Marcus knew that the 'superhero missions' they'd been sent on had only exacerbated the problem. The only solution seemed to be trying to distract himself long enough to put it out of his mind.

Which was why he was out here on the track.

His foot caught the hurdle that had been set out, bringing his latest flash-jump to an abrupt halt as he faceplanted into the rough surface of the track. As usual, however, the sound of static brought him back, healing the abrasion that had started to trickle blood down his face. He stretched anxiously for a moment, and if one were paying very close attention, they would see him shimmer in place briefly: using up a Flash to start the 'cooldown' while he waited for his two rewinds to come back.

Zoe herself didn't exactly look like she was in the best of moods, not that she ever really did. If anything she looked less angry than normal, but that was still a long way from breaking into a smile - her movements were stiff and lopsided, and despite her best efforts she couldn't hide the occasional wince. Putting all that aside though, she'd come here for a reason; a reason who was a little busy eating dirt. At least he had been until he'd jumped back, anyway.

Didn't seem to her like he'd noticed her approach, at least. Couldn't put it off forever, though. Unlike their first meeting, she wasn't interested in startling the guy, so she kept her voice carefully level as she called out. Stayed back too; it was becoming a habit, to try and keep as far from people as she could. Better that those urges were only directed towards herself. "Hey. Marcus. Alright if we talk?"

Marcus's head whipped around as soon as he heard the voice. It wasn't anything to do with it being Zoe's voice, just a byproduct of the 'constantly-on-edge' feeling the recent events had just about drilled into him. The red hair, the tall stature...it was Zoe alright. A double-edged sword; he wanted to be amicable and talk about the entire situation that had happened at the lighthouse, but until now, he hadn't been sure if she'd be willing to listen without turning him inside-out. Indeed, he was still a little wary of that distinct possibility, but she was doing a good job of lulling him into a false sense of security if that were the case. Still, it almost seemed like it would just be easier to let the events fester, leave the bridge to burn rather than try and repair it. He could run, and just try and stay out of Zoe's way in the future...

"If you're willing to talk, I'm certainly willing to listen." Marcus said, finally. A little more snippy than he would have liked, but that might have been unavoidable in the scope of their last interaction.

"I'll take that as a yes." A harsh note crept into her voice in response, but Zoe was used to the hostility by now. Dealt with it once, she'd deal with it a thousand times, and it was never undeserved, really. So beyond a slightly withering glare, she didn't make much move to counter it. There didn't seem to be much point, and at least he hadn't decided to run screaming. First things first.

"Shouldn't have lashed out at you. It's kind of a default reaction when I'm..." She paused. Pissed? Yeah, she had been, but that wasn't the root of it. She was pissed almost all the time lately, if not at anyone other than herself. She hadn't hurt her classmates because of anger, not really. So she sighed instead, settling on a compromise. "When I'm freaked out. Not a good one."

She was apologizing? Marcus was...a little surprised to say the least. He hadn't exactly expected a full 180 so quickly, especially not with the impression that he'd been given. Another mark for him not knowing what anybody was actually like, he supposed.

There was a slight pause before he spoke. "That's.... he struggled for a moment, trying to come up with the right words, "I'm certainly not going to say 'Everything is fine, that's okay', but I guess I can at least understand. It was a little bit tense, to say the least."

"Don't." She glared at him, something about the statement getting to her. Understand? How could he - she'd been losing her fucking mind since the day they arrived here. No, she was sick of that, of people thinking they had any idea what she was fighting with. "I'm explaining, I'm not really saying sorry." Because 'sorry' invited forgiveness, and she couldn't be sure she wouldn't do it again.

"I went too far." Calm. Deep breaths. In, out-- she winced. No, wasn't a good plan. Forcing herself to meet his eyes, she spoke firmly. "But that doesn't mean I'm taking back what I said."

The harsh tone caught him off guard, especially since she had seemed to be trying to apologize. Now that it was clear that she wasn't...there were a few things that he wanted to say to her.

If you're not here to apologize, why even waste the breath?

I don't need you to explain your actions, I can pretty much figure out why an Aberration would lose her shit.

Does 'explaining' yourself make you feel better about yourself?

"Fine." he said, bluntly. There was a bitterness to his voice, the remnant of the things he wanted to say to her, but wasn't going to. "Is that all you came here for?"

"I wasn't trying to be--" Lashing out again, wasn't she? She frowned, glancing away. "You can't forgive me, that's all." Something in her voice caught, afraid, vulnerable, helpless - but the moment passed as soon as it had arrived. Zoe was almost talking to herself as much as she was Marcus, as though trying to reinforce something in her own mind.

Just as she was ready to leave, she paused. "You told me you saved Lawrence in Wisford." And again, she was uncertain. Uncertain that she'd even get the time of day, even less so that she'd deserve the consideration. But this was something she had to make sure of. "You looked after him, right?"

A faint memory; the last time the ocean had opened up to him, he'd been able to save Lawrence with his power. Or, he assumed he'd been the one to prevent Lawrence from bleeding out - he didn't even know how much of that he could attribute to himself. Maybe Lawrence had been fine, and it was Christmas and Lily that had saved him entirely. He'd certainly been at hand in getting Lawrence injured, but he wasn't sure how much he'd been when it came to helping.

"Yes." he said, the half-truth sour on his tongue. "I tried to keep him from losing too much blood when the subnaturals showed up. I...I looked after him as much as I could." he finally finished.

"I can't do that; look after people. Never could, even before all this." There was something that might have been regret in her tone as she glanced down at her hands. She wasn't sure where this was coming from, really. But it was true - all she knew, all she ever trusted, had been the work of her own fists. She didn't like words, not really. They never turned out true when it mattered. But right here, words were all she had.

"Even there, I hurt people who didn't deserve it. Not just the subs that attacked us. I had reasons, but to tell the truth, I'm not sure I know how not to. I'm in no place to ask any of you a fucking favour, but here..." She shook her head, the laugh that emerged sounding bitter and unhappy, cut off with a grimace. "Just keep doing that. Keeping people alive."

It seemed obvious enough, but it bared saying regardless. She wasn't quite done with the request, watching Marcus almost warily as she tried to gauge his reaction.

Marcus's own reaction mirrored Zoe's; his eyes scanned her face to try and figure out what she was thinking, to no avail. It was almost satisfying to hear Zoe say that; not just because she was the one asking him favors (he wasn't quite to those levels of cattiness), but the fact that he felt justified in a way. Sure, he'd hurt people...the man in D.C would probably never leave his mind...but he'd done so to keep his own team alive. Even if some people, and himself sometimes, didn't quite agree with it, here was someone who was in a similar situation.

"That was my intention, right from the start." There was almost a slight tinge of pride in his voice, as if he'd convinced himself that he was doing the right thing.

Zoe frowned, unsure how to take Marcus' reaction. It wasn't the same situation - she'd never killed anyone it would have been smarter to keep alive. Well, not for a while, anyway. And back then, it had seemed better to eliminate the threat. How was she supposed to know they weren't all that rabid, that they were just--

"Don't do it for me." The words spilled out before she could stop them, her mind fixed on a memory that brought a vicious light to her expression. Her eyes widened in shock for a second, before she squeezed them shut. Just a couple of seconds before she spoke again, almost eerily calm. No doubt in her mind about what she was asking. "If I'm the one bleeding on the ground, just turn your back. Walk away. That's the favour."

I am telling you to make that sacrifice if the need comes, because if you won't, then I assure you, I will make sure that someone else will.

It seemed like a lot of people were making that request lately, and he was forced into the same situation that Siena had put him into. He sighed almost wearily, eyes darting around to avoid meeting Zoe's. It wasn't a promise he could keep, or a favor he'd be able to deliver on, he knew that, and it physically hurt him to listen to people make that request. Even Zoe, who had done her fair share of damage to him...

"Let's hope we never end up in that situation." Marcus finally said, noncommittally.

"If you say so."

She didn't understand why, but she knew enough to know he hadn't agreed. Even when it would be a benefit to the group, when she'd hurt them again and again; she didn't understand why it was such a difficult concept. Of course she wouldn't ask anyone to kill her - they didn't deserve to bear that burden. Just to look away, to let it happen. To run.

I thought you'd be pretty good at that.

"In that case..." She sighed, shaking her head. "I guess I'll take my cue to leave."

"You're free to stick around if you'd like." Marcus opened up, trying to clear the faint air of hostility he'd gathered from her response. He knew, she knew...they both knew where they stood, for better or for worse. "I'm just going to be eating gravel...might be a chuckle or two to be had." he said, shrugging slightly.

God, things were easier when they were just making fun of his pinball skills.

"Thanks, but I'm good." Zoe forced a small smile as she turned to walk away. Drawing her hand across to her ribs, she glanced downwards, gritting her teeth as she pressed on the fabric of her shirt. It was a reminder; she'd made her choice about all this.

And for better or worse, it seemed like Marcus had too.

The administrative office was a long way's away, and it had been a long ass day as well, but Brent didn't show it as he strode down the dark asphalt towards the imposing building in the distance. Already, the afternoon was fading into evening, purple hues painting the skyscape. A chilly breeze chastised him for taking only a nylon windbreaker, but he took comfort in the fact that his pants weren't soaking with seawater and piss. It could always be worse, after all. Without Lily's healing, he'd probably be wheelchair bound instead. He clicked his tongue and picked up the pace. With as many as encounters as they had been getting throughout the last weeks, the arbiter wouldn't even be surprised if an interdimensional rift tore into the scenery, demons from some nightmare realm pouring out to wreck havoc upon the already damaged campus.

More reason to pick up the pace then. A handful of minutes later, he stepped through the automatic doors of the administrative building into gloriously room temperature warmth, before flashing a smile at the receptionist. There was a bit of a queue, but Brent was a patient man, occasionally greeting a familiar face within the line. Before he knew it, he was first place!

If only everything else was this easy...except it wasn't.

Fuck, he missed the check-in system.

After repeating the process, this time with an actual ticket in hand, Brent walked up to the counter, sliding over the ticket with the suaveness of someone heading off to the movies. "Hey there...Marcie! Would I be able to find a 'Rosa Schur' in this building? Need to chat with her about some stuff."

Marcie, a dark-haired woman, glanced up. The bags under her eyes had been expertly buffered out beneath a layer of makeup.

"Yes, her office is located here. But I'm afraid that you'll have to make an appointment, which might be booked back for two weeks at least. Ms. Schur is a very busy woman and--"

"Heck yeah, I am!"

Rosa popped her head out from further back the offices, startling a worker next to her. After handing the stack of papers she was fetching to a stone-faced soldier, she walked over to Marcie's area and leaned on the desk. "But I can make time for a TV celebrity. How's it going?"

The receptionist leaned away, beckoning for the next student to approach while the pair talked.

"I'm fine," Brent replied, glad that two weeks of waiting wasn't necessary after all, "Less busy than you, at least. I'll cut to the chase though: turns out I can never have enough guns cause they have a bad habit of vaporizing in my hands Is permission to grab stuff from the armory still out of question?"

Rosa hissed through her teeth, cringing and looking apologetic.

"Ooh, not sure there. Armory is more Kardy or even Grumpy's jurisdiction and, well, to be frank," she frowned deeply, "I wouldn't be optimistic. Especially when they know that any equipment you take is almost definitely gonna end up looking like modern art. I don't know if you've noticed but the Institute's kind of in a frizz right now. Budget's so out of wack that I can't even keep the art department's printers maintained. Imagine what the military expenditures are right now, especially after the D.C. Catastrophe."

The staff mage breathed.

"So I'm gonna have to apologise. The armory's kind of a big ask at the moment."

"And I suppose the modern art market is pretty dead these days," Brent replied, hiding his disappointment with a joke. A part of him wanted to point out how he could do much more with a gun than any of those other fodder soldiers, but such vindictive reasoning was pointless, and well...

"Suppose I always was the most expensive sub though. If not total access to the armory, do you think they'd be more willing to part with ammunition, by itself? 50 cal HE rounds, if I were to be greedy here?" A pause, an extra moment of consideration. "I was thinking of circumventing the need of a gun, Rosa, with my power. See how it goes and all."

"Yes, that's definitely possible. Obviously I can't promise an endless supply but I'll personally arrange a delivery soon."

As she spoke, her powers flared to life, white lines beginning to shine around her eyes as she stared at Brent. Beside her, the Regular secretary flinched visibly.

"Hm. That's interesting." The lines dimmed once more. "Anyway, I'd suggest you hang onto more reusable items. Batons, knives, and the like. Hell, I'm sure there are BB guns you can pick up in town that could help too."

"Mm," Brent nodded, "Generally figured to leave the close range stuff to people who can actually manage it, but I'll definitely look into the Way of the Sword, Rosa. Thanks, by the way. You were always the coolest staff dude in the East, even if Steven's more dapper."

His lips quirked upwards, pleased enough with this small victory that he could crack a joke.

"You think they sell katanas in Crimen Culpae?"

"Steven's the dapper one? Oh boy, don't let Freddy catch you saying that. And puh-lease."

She leaned in closer.

"There's an antique store on Warner Street. I've got no idea how he managed to get so many collector items, but he's got a pretty impressive stash."

And with one last friendly wink, Rosa turned to leave the front desk area.

Siena stared at a plate of food taken from the cafeteri. A small portion as per her usual, but even then the brunette did little more with what she had than push it listlessly around the surface. Things were spread out thinner, making it seem as though she'd made at least some effort in clearing her plate, but the brunette knew better than to think the level had gone down at all. It was a tactic that rarely worked with her usual company--well, what used to be her usual company, but it wasn't as though there was anyone with her to make any complaints.

She wasn't entirely certain that was a good thing.

'I guess I don't have to finish it...' She'd been there for long enough, aimlessly pushing edibles around on her plate when it was clear that she lacked the appetite to do more than that. Besides, she had other things to think about, and...well, she could provide justification until the hours went by, but that wouldn't change anything. Shaking her head to clear it, the brunette set her utensils down, pushing herself to her feet in preparation to clear out her place at the table. Things to do and things to look into, after all.

"So much for trying to get normal meals," the girl muttered to herself in a mixture of mild frustration and even milder disappointment. With everything that had happened, she supposed not being hungry was a natural consequence, but that didn't make acepting a fruitless effort any easier.

Gah, his hand still throbbed. Even with all those safety measures (read: none) in place, it still hurt to do so, huh? There went his original plan of dual wielding for a faster fire rate. Wincing as he juggled a full tray with one hand, Brent looked around the cafeteria for a spare seat, and found them all few and far inbetween, filled with strangers that he once would have loved to sit down and meet, but whom he was now too tired to bother with. There was something in his bones that told him what he felt now wasn't even close to the exertion of the fourth, but that didn't mean he couldn't mentally complain about it.

After another couple minutes of walking about, a spot was finally present, alongside a familiar face. Siena, going for seconds when no one prompted her to? Or Siena, about to dump a tray of food and go back to her air-only diet? It was an oasis within the cafeteria, a shitty, tempermental, and psychotic oasis, but still an oasis. A few steps and some careful maneveuring of his hands later, and he found himself over, a grin on his face as he waved at her with swollen fingers.

"Hey-o, 'ena, going for seconds?"

It was like the universe was trying to scold her for finally deciding that she didn't have to finish what she didn't think she could stomach.

"Oh, no, I was j--what's wrong with your hand?" Grey eyes snapped to the fingers that definitely did not look like they were the same size as the last time she'd seen Brent. No, they were certainly not the same size. Instinctively, the plate went back to the table with a faint clatter--Maya would have given her a look of disapproval for that ungraceful showing--freeing a hand to reach for her phone as she continued the thought. "Did you drop a brick on your fingers or something? Geeze..."

"And were you just doing some avant-garde painting with your food or something?" Brent shot back, waving off her concern. "Just had a bit of a mishap. Nothing that won't heal on its own time."

"At least my painting stays on the plate, which is more than I can say for yours if you try to use a fork with fingers that look like sausages." Siena returned fire, an uncomfortable sense of familiarity sinking into her at how naturally the response had come. Uncomfortable? Something like that. She couldn't quite put a finger on a proper descriptor. "But if you want to try that challenge, be my guest."

"Oh, that a real challenge, 'ena?" Brent grinned wolfishly, plopping his own tray on the table, before gingerly picking up the fork with his swollen hand. Thank god he hadn't brought chopsticks this time. That would have been the true hell, right there. "Just you watch. The ingenuity and tenacity of humanity shall never bend to mere swollen fingers."

With that, he steeled his expression to be perfectly unpained as he grasped the fork in his fist and began to dig away. Swallowing a spicy meatball, the arbiter said, victoriously, "See? Easy-peasy. Now finish your peas, 'ena. Can't always cook you corndogs."

To say that it wasn't at least mildly entertaining to watch Brent's valiant efforts against his meal would have been a lie. The ordeal wasn't nearly as much of a disaster as it could have been, at least. Relenting with a shake of her head, Siena seated herself again, though she still slid her phone from her pocket, setting it beside her plate with no intention of hiding the option for a faster fix.

"I see you've gotten nowhere on the 'playing tough' front." Again, the disturbance wriggled in her chest. Uncomfortable, but not painful. The word repeated itself again in the back of her head--familiar. The brunette pushed the thoughts aside, deciding in the moment that she could categorize it later. Instead, she covered with a mock sigh of exasperation followed by a weak attempt of a smile.

Lying broken in a storm, her fault. Should have been more careful. Should have stopped it to begin with.

"Are you still trying to--what's that turn of phrase again? Fatten me up?"

"Of course. Betting that if you had it your way, you'd just become weightless and get blown into outerspace by a deflating balloon," Brent said, carefully spooling spaghetti around his fork, "I'd prefer if you stayed on earth with the rest of us peasants myself."

There it was again, a familiar twinge that brought with it one too many emotions. Try as she might, Siena couldn't quite conjure a reason for the sensation. Once more, she pushed it aside, watched Brent's movements out of the corner of her eye, wondered if she should just heal the minor injury and be done with it, but...refrained. For the moment, at least.

"If I had it my way, I wouldn't have to eat so much to gain weight." True enough, she supposed. After all, trying to follow a normal meal schedule had evidently done nothing but make her realize how little appetite she had to begin with. It was hard to remember whether that had always been the case. Absentmindedly, the girl pushed a pile of food with her spoon, not really making the effort to eat, but with any luck, her mealtime companion would be preoccupied with not getting spaghetti and meatballs on everything in a five foot radius to notice. "Besides, I thought getting here at a normal hour was an improvement."

Wrong words, Too late to change them or their meaning, so she didn't try to.

"Eat so much'?" Brent chortled, before he almost choked. Snatching his glass of orange juice and downing half of it in a single gulp, he let out a long, lung-emptying sigh. "'ena, please, you can talk about 'so much' once you actually have something that's more than a light snack on your tray."

The pain was more or less numbing now, and he dexterously speared another spicy meatball, before pointing it at the much-too-light arbiter.

"Definitely is an improvement though, arriving on time for the dinner rush, so here, this is on me."

"Wow, you don't have to die laughing at me," Siena claimed with a mock pout. Despite the superficial reaction, she felt her muscles tense, as though prepared to take action. Had she always been so jumpy? Even with concentrated thought, Siena wasn't certain she would have come to a conclusion, so she focused on the present, and--

'Now he's just making fun of me.'

She paid the thought no mind.

"On you? And here I thought..." The words trailed off as the brunette finally took notice beyond the isolation of their table. A few stares, a few poorly disguised whispers, and the reality of the situation came crashing back into the girl at full speed. Right. Recognizable. The smile faltered, the natural fluidity of her reactions suddenly seeming like a mistake in hindsight. "...er...nevermind." Way to kill the mood.

"Hm?" The meatball lowered. "What's wrong?"

Ah, and the hesitation returned in full force. Sending a surreptitious glance from one group of students to another, Siena lowered her voice. Soft enough not to carry far, though she hoped she hadn't overdone it. "Forgot about the entire...staring thing."

"Mmm...well, after Washington, I guess we are famous," Brent said, making it clear he was aware, and clear that he didn't care. "First time on the spotlight, 'ena?"

"I didn't go to high school. Or any school," Siena reminded, a faint grimace crossing her face as she finished the thought. "And I never got formally introduced, so the spotlight was usually a bad thing to have."

"Well, we've certainly got it now, so hey, might as well e-"

Splat!(tered across the pavement)

In the breadth of a second, Brent dropped the fork back onto his plate, plucked the meatball from her skirt with his uninjured left, popped it in his mouth, while his right snatched the paper napkin out from beneath his plate, stamping down onto the tomatoe-y stain.

The moment could not have lasted for more than two seconds, but the world seemed to slow each instant to an eternity, and Siena was helpless to do anything against it as movement in her peripheral vision alerted her to something catastrophic about to occur. A sphere of meat separated from its spear, and Siena swore she could count each millisecond as it made its journey through the air, its trajectory clearly headed straight for her--the splat surely couldn't have been audible, but it sounded off like a cannon in Siena's mind when she felt the contact.

A meatball, she could have lived with, but the fiasco continued from there as the meatball disappeared, snatched before it could roll from its place, and a napkin pressed over the stain. Firmly pressed over the stain on her thigh.

"I-I can--you don't have t--I'll take care of that," Siena managed the final phrase in a single breath, her hands going for the napkin on instinct. Except instinct didn't wait for other hands to clear, which really resulted only in two pairs of hands pressing on a napkin, which was really just more of a disaster than before--and other students were still staring?!--which effectively led to Siena making a too hasty attempt to stand up, which almost led to another disaster when she felt the elastic in her waistband start to stretch for a fraction of a second. With equal haste, the girl planted herself back down, clamped both hands before her, and was absolutely unsure of what to do.

The entire affair couldn't have lasted for more than two seconds, she was certain. Heat rose to her cheeks--unfortunately for Siena's relatively fair skin, that only meant a noticeable red flush coming to life. So much for not being in the spotlight. A small voice was the best that she could muster.

"...I can handle that."

"No, don't worry about it, I'll just ov-" Brent stopped midsentence, realizing that, yeah, with all eyes somehow drawn to them, there was definitely no way in hell that he'd survive doing something like that, even if it WAS the best way to remove a stain. And with the brakes pressed on his long string of actions, the arbiter had the time to realize that somewhere along the way, Siena's fair face had become a tomato.

Ah, if only she had green hair.

More brakes were applied, this time on his sudden need to laugh his fucking lungs out. His lips pressed into a tight line, his eyes narrowed, and his cheeks clamped down, solid, unmoving, as the amethyst eyed youth stood up, took the tray in his left hand, Siena's hand in his right, and managed to squeeze out, "Yup, let's bounce."

'Great showing, Siena. Really. Good job.' Needless to say, each thought was drenched in noxious sarcasm as the girl in question lightly adjusted the waistband of her skirt, regretting her outfit for the day, wishing she'd picked a skirt that didn't have a simple waistband, or god forbid, pants. Between the unfortunate display of embarrassment on her face, her less than graceful attempt to remedy the blunder, and the situation at hand in its entirety, Siena was relieved for even the slightest chance of escape. Stiffly nodding her head, the girl got to her feet, this time with a slower, deliberate speed that prevented any potential mishaps.

One hand gingerly lifted her phone from its place before promptly gripping it until her knuckles paled. Unwilling to trust her voice at the exact moment, Siena tried, tried, to save what little dignity she had left by decidedly not bolting at top speed from the cafeteria.

It probably wasn't as bad as it seemed, the logical part of her chimed. The series of events had been relatively quiet, and bar for the eyes already on the duo, Siena was certain there hadn't been that much of an audience. Cool logic kept trying to parse through the information, presenting conclusions that made complete sense, yet her mind seemed unwilling to accept such a simple answer. That had been a disaster, and that was the only explanation that it was willing to take.

She didn't trust herself to speak again until she was was fairly certain they were out of earshot of any other students.

"I think I'm about ready to not come back here for about one lifetime."

The night air was good for cooling off. October had a cold bite to it, but it was nothing he wasn't already dressed for, and the chilliness was pleasant, really. With his veins icing over, perhaps the arbiter could calm himself, could relax and finally, fully extinguish the laughter broiling in his stomach.

"PFTTTT AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Nope. That wasn't happening at all.

Only barely managing to place his tray of assorted food hijinks somewhere stable, Brent burst out in laughter, genuine and not mean-spirited despite the subject matter. Oh hell, to think that a monster could make such a hilariously cute face. To think that the Santana girl could melt that far! Her flushed, embarrassed expression flashed through his memories again, and nitrogen was added to his laughter-fuel tank, as Brent continued on until his lungs were hurting more than his fingers.

After a short eternity, the youth finally stopped, wiping tears out of his eyes as he laid flat on the grassy mound neighboring the cafe. Picnic spaces in summer, but just shitty cold hills in fall.

"Oh man," he gasped, "Haven't laughed like that since forever!"

Siena wasn't sure if Brent's reaction was better or worse than pointless platitudes that wouldn't have meant anything. Glancing from the boy to their surroundings didn't give her much by way of an answer either. Actually, it made giving a definite answer harder, but more than that, it did just about nothing to help calm the warmth on her face, the faint tint lingering even after the boy had finally stopped. Siena felt her fingers wrapping tigher around her phone, though she made no effort to seek a source. It wouldn't do anything to help her short of removing her ability to feel, and that wasn't something she wanted to sort through a second time in only a few days.

...it wasn't, was it?

"Well I'm glad someone got a laugh out of that fiasco." The tone implied anything but that. Once more, that familiar spark, but it was hard to care about it when her mind was focused on a more immediate calamity. Again, logic tried to step in to direct her reaction. There was no reason to feel frustrated about it, it wasn't like the entire thing had been a calculated sabotage, and, as that reasonable part of her kept trying to point out, it probably wasn't as bad as she thought it was. Still Siena's mind flagrantly refused all forms of reasoning. "Really, so glad."

Ah, she was angry, wasn't she? The sort of irritated, displeased anger that didn't lead to anything but a decade of cold shoulders, rather than the explosive fist fight ones that Brent personally preferred. "Real sorry about that," the arbiter said, even if he was unable to wipe that big grin off his face, "But hey, on the bright side, now you don't have to push food around more while pretending to eat AND you don't have to further endure the existence being in the spotlight as a lady that has yet to be formally introduced to East Society, right?"

Shit, he was gonna la- no. Got it under control this time.

"Serious about it though. Just didn't think you could make that sort of expression, yah know? Curveballed me into infinity, 'ena. Wasn't all that bad either." A quick pause, more to catch his breath than to reconsider his thoughts. "Pretty cute, even."

Yup, definitely not actually reconsidering his thoughts here.

'Pretty cu--what?' He was making fun of her. He was absolutely making fun of her. Short of the rare jabs from her caretakers and distant memories that she wasn't entirely certain of, Siena generally didn't become the target of...of...whatever the hell this was. Thoughts failed to formulate in their usual eloquent fashion, instead trying for the barrage of countless words and responses that didn't fit, a handful that did, but probably weren't exactly appropriate, and the one that actually managed to break through.

"I-it's a--" The words "normal human response" came to mind, but didn't escape, clogging in the overflow of reactions that wanted to break free. It was replaced by another, this one accompanied by a tone that finally fit her age. It felt out of place to be able to express it without someone immediately telling her that she was doing it wrong. A mutter that didn't fit into the category of "angry", but she couldn't quite identify where it belonged. "I almost preferred it when you were laughing at me."

Besides which, being flustered wasn't cute in most crowds, and being embarrassed certainly didn't feel like a cute thing. Cute was reserved for things like Tater Tot when he wanted belly rubs or Nessie the Plessie perched faithfully in her place in the corner of Siena's bed. In a bid to push the storm of thoughts into submission, Siena hastily tried to put her thoughts onto something else--she failed.

"Well, I guess 'not eating at the cafeteria' gives me a reason to look through town this week."

A blunt segue into something else? Well, after that unexpected 'gift' he received, Brent was fairly willing to play along.

"Doesn't mean you get to starve yourself tonight though," he chimed, pushing the tray of still-warm food over to Siena, "May as well help me finish this. No painting this time, eh?"

"You're really relentless on that." Siena claimed, relieved that she'd finally calmed down enough to feel the heat leave her face. Brushing a few stray locks over her shoulder and out of her eyes in a feeble attempt to pull herself together--no, not working, but she still tried for the attempt. A strained smile, and-- "Girls don't like persistent guys, you know."

WHAT?

'Of everything you could have said, you choose Maya's stupid catchphrase?!' She wasn't sure if that was her own thought or one that she remembered Gerwulf saying in vivid detail. Too late. She didn't have much choice but to roll with it.

"At least, that's what I've been told."

"But does that apply to you?"

That was...not an expected response to the words. The Arbiter tried to be more careful selecting her own reply, only in part because of what it might entail. Siena was acutely aware that she didn't know the answer--when it came to people, what she liked and disliked about a person came secondary, perhaps even tertiary, to how she approached them.

"There are worse qualities to have." Not an actual answer, she told herself, but she didn't give more.

"Between a yes and a no, which one is it?" He wasn't letting her off that easily.

"Out to prove my point, are you?" Another evasion, but a feeble one at best. "Besides, I think we've established that I'm a poor frame of reference."

"You know it," Brent winked, "And your viewpoint's the one I'm interested in, 'ena. So hey, persistence: virtue or vice?"

The implications of the claim were not entirely lost on the bookish mage. Entirely being the key word in that sentence. Somehow it seemed like she had already gone through this before. Hadn't she been more sardonic last time? Or were those memories wrong too?

"I should point out that this is an answer given under duress." Making certain to keep any notes that could be taken as defensive from her tone, Siena gave a small shrug of her shoulders. "But if I had to choose, closer to virtue."

"Cool," Brent grinned toothily, offering her his fork, "Now dig in. Gotta fatten up for winter."

"And what are you going to eat with, your hands?" Too quick to accept the change of subject, Siena realized too late. Not her best performance. "I'll be fine. I'm sure I'll be hungry later."

"I'm the barbaric male apeman here," he replied, spreading his hands out, "And c'mon, 'ena, you'll never fix your living cycle if you keep dinnering at weird times."

"I think 'dinnering at weird times' is the least of our worries as far as maintaining a routine living cycle is concerned." Especially if they were going to be sent into combat at any odd hour of the day, but she kept that part to herself. "And please, use a fork or let me get out of the splash zone."

Dunno," he shrugged, "Feel like to me that regular meals at decent times is pretty high up on my concerns list. But hey, sure, let's be civilized and take turns with the fork."

A teasing grin surfaced, mischief and levity clear.

"So, yeah, still waiting on you to actually start eating. Go on, stock up on dem carbs, 'ena."

"Alright, alright, geeze." Siena raised her hands slightly in mock surrender, the smile somewhere between amused and exasperated. Another repetition of the whispered word in the back of her head. Familiar. But...not quite the same. A foggy recollection came to mind, voices distorted, faces blurred--Maya once said that was a telltale sign of her memory and her heart playing tricks on her after the white mark had appeared. "You really are persistent."

Her stomach gave a light churn in protest, reminding the girl that she was not, in fact, hungry, but Siena sincerely doubted the effectiveness of that claim.

"And you're a hella picky eater," Brent remarked, watching her nibble away at the small hill. "Where I can from, we ate everything on our plates and asked for seconds if there were any."

Well, at least she was eating. Better something than nothing. Maybe he should make some custom corn dogs for her after all.

"But hey, on the topic of never showing up in the cafeteria again after that fiasco, what's your plans anyways? Gonna camp out at McD's? Dunk donuts every morning?"

McD's, she could at least assume was McDonald's--ah, what unwelcome memories. Too many faces from that time gone now--but Brent brought up a fair point.

"Haven't thought that far ahead yet," Siena admitted. She wasn't exactly confident in her ability to navigate and find a restaurant, given her limited attempts to do so prior had been on the basis of pointing in a direction and hoping for the best. "I'm usually not out looking for new restaurants."

"None of the ones in Crimen Culpae up to snuff?"

"Other way around," Siena claimed with a slight wince. Most restaurants she had ever stepped into had a dress code, and the girl wasn't entirely fond of fumbling through another ordering fiasco. "Restaurant events didn't happen much where I came from."

"You mean you've never just bursted into a diner, flashed your black credit card, and got their most expensive B-gourmet meal?" Brent clicked his tongue. "Missed opportunities everywhere, huh?"

"You could say that." A distant smile at the thought of such an exploit. Maya would have thrown a fit--that had been a stopping factor in many things, hadn't it? Something uncomfortable writhed in the pit of her stomach again, this one not a sense of familiarity like before. Longing? Regret? Something between the two, Siena was certain. The distant smile turned wry as Siena reminded herself that her circumstances weren't the norm, even among high society. "Opportunities didn't exactly present themselves."

"Well," Brent said matter-of-factly, motioning her to eat moar, "They do now. Dunno about the other places in Crimen Culpae, but my offer for glorious all-you-can-eat fish-on-rice still stands, 'ena. You in or you in?"

"It's almost like there was another option hidden in there," Siena shot back with all due amounts of cheekiness. "I guess it beats wandering until I find something. I'm in."

"Awesome. Tomorrow evening then?"

"Sounds like a plan," Siena started, paused for a moment to consider said plan. "Most of one, at least. I'll make the optimistic assumption that you'll know directions."

"Google does," he said, flashing his phone, "What's your number? I'll text you the deets if you somehow end up on the opposite side of CC."

"Remind me to give you etiquette lessons on extending invitations," the girl replied before tapping the screen of her phone to life, reciting a series of numbers with enough time between each grouping for appropriate recording. It was a pleasant surprise that she hadn't fumbled any of the digits for the number that wouldn't go to her phone.

"Will that be before or after the ballroom dance lessons?"

"That depends on how many left feet you have."

"Well, according to some, I always at least one foot in my mouth, so..."

"As impressive as ballroom dancing with one foot in your mouth would be, before." A mischievous smile accompanied the words as Siena tried to return the fork. "Maybe then you can get food in your mouth instead of on my clothes."

"Well, as persistence is a virtue instead of a vice, I suppose I can always try again."

Matching her smile, Brent took the fork, speared the meatball, and once again offered it to Siena.

"Round two, let's see how it goes."

Kusari ran through Ground Zero, her long hair trailing behind her as she leapt over debris and dashed past the strange inhabitants of the ruined town. She'd been spending a lot of time training, but the one thing she wasn't sure how to improve was her dexterity. She figured running through a complicated landscape would help somewhat. Though really she was starting to feel a little silly.

As she jumped from the roof of a building she tumbled as she hit the ground, though it seemed it wasn't enough to stop her right tibia from cracking. As she sat there to let it heal she noticed that she had landed next to two of her classmates. Brent and Siena. She suddenly remembered that she had planned to go shopping with Brent in DC. But of course that plan ran into a few complications. As for Siena, she had hardly talked to the girl. The last time they talked was when she barged into her room to find Callan. "Oh, uh, hey guys." She must have looked like an idiot.

As her leg got better she stood to her feet and brushed her skirt off. Once again she was wearing one of the custom school uniforms she had ordered.

"You here to train too? I've been uhh." Kusari looked up towards the roof she had just jumped from and squinted her eyes in realization. "...Doing Parkour apparently."

A weird day for chance encounters, huh? First, it had been Siena, turning the corner and almost getting shot, and now, Kusari had landed from god knows where, a horrifying 'crack' of a bone announcing her arrival. Looked like the albino's pain tolerance was getting places, at least, if she didn't even let out a bit of a scream from that. What a badass. May as well call her the Terminator at this point, even if she was more flesh than steel.

"Don't think parkour's supposed to be bone-breaking," Brent remarked with a dry smile, "You alright?"

Siena hadn't exactly expected to be alone, per say, in Ground Zero, but to say that she had been expected to almost be shot and then see one of her peers land apparently from a rooftop onto the ground would have been a lie so grand that even Maya wouldn't have been able to sell it. The brunette blinked in surprise at how casual Kusari was with her injury--even if it could be healed quickly, surely the pain was still present. Siena had gotten used to watching her own injuries heal, but that didn't mean she wanted to be injured to begin with.

"I...think I'm inclined to agree with Brent on that front." Siena responded with careful words. She'd never spoken in depth with the pale regenerator before, but there were unpleasant memories that came to surface. Siena let her eyes trail up toward the roof that Kusari looked at, her brow furrowing slightly in concern. "Did you just...fall from there?"

"Jumped actually." Kusari responded quickly in a matter of fact tone, rotating her leg to make sure it had healed fully. She had heard it so many times that it almost didn't register, but they were of course expressing concern. "I've literally died and come back, I'm fine, I'm fine." She said. At this point a few broken bones was about as annoying as stepping on a lego. "I will try to avoid jumping from that height from now on though. At least when I've got these legs on." She patted her thighs as if they were simple articles of clothing.

She felt she was rather done here, at least for now. She hadn't interacted with many of her classmates, and against her better judgment she wanted to get to know them better.

"You guys wanna go grab something to eat?" She said suddenly. "Or maybe go out and spend some of our government mandated cash?"

"I'm always down for food," Brent replied, slightly surprised at the sudden offer, "How 'bout you, 'ena? Do some pre-sushi dining?"

If it wouldn't have been a major act of hypocrisy, Siena might have said something about how flippant Kusari was with her physical wellbeing, but as it were, Siena doubted she could have changed any outlooks. Instead, she paused, thought about the past several minutes, and gave a gesture of relent at the notion of food.

"I guess literally avoiding a bullet is something I could eat to." A sly, almost playful glance toward the gunman in question insert itself here, the surreptitious look wiped clean with a casual shrug of the shoulders. "It certainly worked better than coffee on waking me up."

Kusari snapped her finger. "Alright then, let's go. I heard about this place that serves chicken and waffles, at the same time!" She was perhaps a bit too enthusiastic, but she felt she needed to enjoy herself for as long as she could. These peaceful days wouldn't last forever after all.

Woah, who was this person and what did they do to Kusari? Considering how broody and aggressive the immortal arbiter usually looked, this enthusiastic, peppy Kusari definitely wasn't something that Brent was used to at all. What happened to the suffering artist or the psychotic self-harmer? But then again, this sort of unrestrained happiness was something that he only saw in people who were forcing themselves to enjoy the present or who were off their rocker, so hey. He'd play along.

"Lead the way then, Kusari. Let's see what your taste is," Brent said, pocketing his training gear, "And gee, 'ena, if almost getting shot is what you need to eat a proper meal, I'll be happy to deliver a bullet in your direction three times a day."

---

Bells jingled as Kusari pushed the door to her chosen restaurant. the sign outside read 'Buck's Chicken and Waffles' and judging from the aroma that hit her as she walked inside she could see why. She walked up to the greeting counter, ignoring the man behind the counter's glances at the cuff around her neck as she requested a table for three. She slid into her seat and quickly picked up a menu. In spite of the sign outside the menu was fairly varied, offering different drinks, meats and salads. A fidgety lanky young man soon came to their table, standing a bit farther than one would imagine a waiter should.

"W-what would you li-"

"The chicken and waffles fuckboy" Kusari said, still examining the menu. The young man looked down at his name tag, as if it was the problem.

"Wha? My name is Fra-"

"What are you guys thinking of getting?" Kusari lowed the menu, looking to Brent and Siena.

Following Kusari into the dining facility had been...interesting, to say the least. With paler girl sporting a cuff around her neck instead of her ankle, there had naturally been a few stares, but that meant relatively little in the wake of being stared at, pointed at, and presumably whispered about behind a few hands. Siena couldn't help but be relieved that people probably weren't looking at her.

It was much to her surprise, of course, that the menu didn't feature only variations of chicken paired with waffles--a combination that sounded bizarre in the brunette's head, but she'd also thought the same thing about cornbread and sausages, and that hadn't turned out to be too much of a disaster. Though the menu had been a quick read--and by quick, she really meant obscenely quick--coming to a decision was an arduous task.

For one thing, what the hell was meatloaf?

Glancing up at the server, then to Kusari, then to the menu again, Siena felt herself in quandary. Well...maybe it was best to go for what was popular? One didn't name their establishment after a dish for no reason.

"I'll...have the same?"

"Didn't see that coming," Brent grinned, both at Kusari's prickly attitude and Siena's indecisiveness. "I'll take the chef's recommendation."

"The w-"

The arbiter coughed, summoning a moer aristocratic tone, one that was all posh and authoritative.

"Chef's recommendation, boy. Get to it." He snapped his fingers, before crossing one leg over the other and taking a...oh, no complimentary water. Definitely not a high end establishment for fine, gourmet dining, huh? Of course, a part of him knew that he'd much rather just take the goddamn chicken and waffles, maybe with some sausage on the side to terrorize Siena with, but on the other hand...

This sort of pretense was fine as well. Been a while, after all.

Kusari let out an amused puff of air. Between Siena looking at the menu as if she'd just discovered the dead sea scrolls, and Brent doing an imitation of a posh aristocrat she was in danger of letting out a chuckle. The waiter quickly acknowledged their orders and walked away, clearly in a hurry to get away from them.

"Don't be mad if he comes back with something weird." She said to Brent. She adjusted her seat, relaxing and letting herself lean back. "So..." She said, addressing the both of them. "You two seem to hang out a lot,
you dating?" She asked, zero regret, zero awareness.

Glancing at Brent with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and exasperation, Siena was prepared, absolutely, to give him grief for his poor performance of class. She was absolutely not prepared for the question that Kusari posed. The brunette paused for a moment, as though uncertain about what she'd just heard as her mind tried to process the words. Dating.

Not a concept she was entirely familiar with. Not one that she was certain that she was entirely eager to become familiar with. Given what she had seen, it was more complicated than she really wanted to try and balance on top of their already chaotic lives.

It occurred to Siena that she'd stayed silent for a fraction of a second too long.

"Naw. Not yet."

'Yet?'

"Oh. Oh wow." Kusari leaned forward and raised her hands on an apologetic manner. "Sounds like I just stepped on a landmine there." Her mouth was an issue, she really needed to learn some tact. But that was about as likely as her getting the cuff around her neck off.

"Naw," Brent laughed, waving it off, "It's more of a small lego brick than a landmine. Though I do love Siena."

A beat later, his grin became toothier.

"As a friend, if nothing else."

It took most of Siena's self-control not to grimace, maintaining her prior expression with a professional ease, even if she was torn between wanting to groan in embarrassment and wanting to smack Brent upside the head for exacerbating the situation. The fact that she did neither of those things was a testament to something, she was sure.

"I'm amazed as many people inflict themselves with his 'friendship' as it is," Siena retorted as soon as she found the appropriate words. She gave a half shrug to mark the next statement, offering an exasperated smile to Kusari as a means of communicating the lack of malice behind the words. "But somehow it persists."

Kusari was relieved to know she hadn't just tanked the mood, she relaxed again, easing into her seat. "Yeah, I know what you mean, sounds pretty... familiar." She said, thinking about Callan. She wasn't the easiest person around to like.

"Hmm." She looked at Brent for a moment, feeling as if she were forgetting something. "Oh right, we were supposed to go shopping weren't we? I've already bought some art supplies, would you mind if I drew you?" She put her hand to her chin and examined Brent further. "Now that I think about it you're pretty in shape. I could use some practice drawing muscle definition like yours."

"Well, my persistence IS world-class," Brent chimed with a winning grin, "Though I guess you'd prefer 'obstinate', 'ena."

As Kusari segued into painting, however, mentioning the shopping date that he had no idea she was actually down for, the amethyst eyed arbiter gave the offer a false amount of consideration, before smiling. Wasn't like this was the first time someone asked him to model, but it was definitely a first as a subnatural. "Why not?" was his final answer. "Draw me like a Greek God, and maybe we can get rich off Proteus merch."

Siena gave a playful roll of her eyes at Brent's mannerisms.

"I can't believe you're encouraging this behavior," the brunette shot to Kusari. Dropping the joking tone from her voice, Siena felt a small spark of curiosity come to life. A gentle tide this time, far from the usual fire that consumed her when something was just beyond her grasp. "I didn't know you drew though. I guess you learn something new every day."

"Proteus?" Kusari repeated the name, not sure what Brent meant. "Oh, is that the slave name the public gave you?" She said with a chuckle. "Thank god they haven't given me one." She was never fond of the nicknames people gave Subnaturals, it was as if they thought their lives were some game for their amusement. Who they really were didn't matter, all they cared about was what power they had.

Kusari's eyes widened for a moment at Siena's comment. "Hah... Yeah it's basically the only thing I'm good at. Really good mind you." She said that, but she hadn't had much motivation lately, for obvious reasons. It was then that their waiter came back with their orders. The chicken and waffles were a fried breast on top of two thick waffles. There was maple syrup at each table to go along with the restaurant's signature dish. Brent's dish was...

"Is that, is that poutine?" She said mildly surprised, looking at the baked fries covered in cheese and gravy. She turned to face the waiter, but he had already walked off. He was so not getting a tip.

"Oof, slave name? I think it's quite endearing myself," Brent replied airily, "Rather be a Proteus than a Private Roless, and hey, least I'm not stuck with something like Time Scar."

Before they could continue further on the topic of superhero names, however, the food had arrived, practically dropped onto the table before the waiter strutted off, apparently too nervous in the presence of celebrities to even ask for an autograph. He pitied the good fellow, but at the very least, the food presented looked pretty good. Compliments to the chef on that. And poutine?

"Not sure of it's authenticity, but it does look good," he concluded, "Let's dig in, eh? Last person to finish has to foot the bill?"

A part of him wondered, in that moment, if Angelic had also gone here before, ordering the same appetizer before him now.

A small part.

Odd. Slave name was an interesting way to take the popular nickname front--Siena couldn't say that it was entirely surprising that someone thought of it like that. Thankfully, the topic didn't get far with the arrival of...

Did the chef throw up on Brent's plate or something? Kusari and Brent both seemed unphased by the fact that he'd been brought a pile of brown goop though, and apparently it looked good. Perhaps it was an acquired taste--heavens knew that caviar looked atrocious the first time she'd seen that too.

...

Well, that might have been different. Caviar still tasted atrocious, but Siena had learned to tolerate it.

"I think I'll have to admit a preemptive defeat," Her eyes lingered over the size of the portion on her plate. Not that Siena was ever one to worry too vigorously over the healthiness of her meals, but she was certain that she wouldn't be able to finish. Awkwardly, Siena tried to envision how to start her own plate--probably by putting the chicken between the two patterned pieces of bread. "I thought the portions would be a bit smaller.

As Kusari wondered if Brent had added that eh just to mess with them she noticed Siena out of the corner of her eye. The girl was pondering over her food as if it were an ancient sphinx riddle. Surely she wasn't this sheltered? She must at least know what waffles were. When Siena finally spoke Kusari let out a chuckle, feeling silly for thinking so poorly of her.

"Oh, is that what that look on your face is about? For a second there I thought you didn't know how to eat waffles or something. You could always save it for later if you can't finish it." She said. Speaking of waffles she turned her attention to her own food. She did what she considered the most important step first and poured a not so healthy coating of syrup onto the waffles, lifting one up with her fork to get them both. She cut a piece off and popped it into her mouth. She squinted at the chicken as she chewed, then taking a piece of it as well. "Hmmm." She chewed with a critical expression.

"This chicken clearly isn't greasy enough, but other than that it's pretty good."

While the two girls talked about frilly bullshit, Brent had already started on his self-made challenge, forkfuls of gravy, potatoe, and melted cheese launched into his maw. Mmm, it was good. Compliments to the chef indeed, if a chicken and waffle place actually specialized in poutine. Looked like he had unlocked the secret menu, hmm?

"Oho, a trained taste tester as well?" he joked between mouthfuls of poutine, "Never thought you were so talented, Kusari. I just know if I like it or not myself. And gee, 'ena, what happened to that post-near-death appetite? Maybe today's the day you'll break your limits?"

"Celebrate a near miss with a lethal shot?" Siena murmured while doing her best to sandwich the piece of fried chicken between the waffles. Unlike Kusari, the brunette didn't make a move to drizzle any of the syrup on her own serving, utilizing the available silverware to split the meal into easier to consume portions. Her eyes drifted between the two with her, attention once again drifting over the pile of unpleasant-looking slurry that Brent apparently took to with gusto. Despite her best efforts, Siena gave a slight roll of her eyes again.

Geeze...

"You can't sell the artistocratic attitude if that's the most you can do." Siena claimed while starting on her own meal. Nothing too offensive--though she didn't usually make much effort to find things to offend her when she'd eat it all the same. "And here I thought you might almost hold your own with the high society crowd."

"Please, I just know what tastes good." Kusari said, digging once more into her food. She listened to Siena, raising a brow as she realized why her behavior seemed so off. She really had been a sheltered rich kid. "You really haven't had waffles before, have you? Jeez what other foods have you never seen before?" She glanced at the menu of food, wondering what items on it would be new to the girl. "Hey, why don't you come when I draw Brent? I'll bring a bunch of food you can try." She said, putting on as friendly a smile someone with a face like hers could. Was she coming on too strong? She wasn't used to being this forward in trying to make friends.

"I'm grateful for the offer, but apparently my stomach is about half the size of a normal person's." A small, sheepish motion of the hand accompanied the claim, followed by a brief, hesitant smile in return to the one that Kusari gave. The expression didn't sit as "natural", but... "Though if you don't mind, I'd like to observe for a while."

"What she's saying," Brent amended, taking another scoop of the surprisingly well-made poutine, "Is that the food you offer up to this literary goddess should only be the size of supermarket samples, Kusari. And please, 'ena, unlike some, I don't make the aristocracy the entirety of my life. I'm cool enough to hang out with high society AND low society. You're talking to the student council secretary of a high end private school, after all~!"

Of course, that wasn't really a strong point, but the arbiter wasn't here to debate his ability to act well-mannered within hoity-toity society. He was here to finish his food before it got cold. Slurping in a long strand of cheese, he clenched his fist underneath the table in a small show of celebration, before remarking, "By the way, something good happen today, Kusari? Feel like you're way cheerier than normal."

"Something good?" Kusari repeated, blinking her eyes at Brent. She really was overdoing it, even someone that hardly knew her could tell. "Not really, I can have days where I'm in a good mood too you know." She said. That must have been the biggest lie she'd told in a while.

"So you'll come Siena? Like Brent said I can just bring samples." She said, going back to her food.

"I may have to excuse myself a bit early, but I'd like to come." Her mind wandered to the rest of her day's schedule--still a few hours before she needed to make herself scarce.

"Alright, let's go as soon as possible then." Kusari said. She wondered what plans Siena could have already, but frankly it wasn't any of her business. After finishing her food and paying for the three of them Kusari left the establishment with a quickened pace. She felt the sides of her cheeks rise, was this an actual genuine smile? She was smiling, and for once dark thoughts weren't attempting to rain down on her, telling her how wrong everything could go. Ah, now she was about to cry. She sure had turned into a crybaby over the past few days.

After taking the bus and a short walk she reached her dorm room. She wasted no time going in and taking out a few of her art supplies. She set a large sketchbook on a cheap looking easel, and then picked a few different pencils from a backpack that was under her bed. Her room usually looked borderline barren, but with the easel and two other people here it didn't seem quite as depressing. "Oh, I don't have a chair you can use..." She realized as she looked around. "Eh, whatever, you're fine with standing right?" She said to Brent. "I'll leave the pose up to you."

"Got it, boss."

Taking a few steps around Kusari's room to get a feel for the amount of space he had, Brent considered his options for a moment. He could, of course, take the easy way out and just do a generic standing pose, much like Michelangelo's iconic David. Nice and easy on the body, with no need for an air chair that the Thinker would. But at the same time...if they've already gone such lengths, and under the assumption that Kusari's writing days are numbered by whatever other hellish catastrophe there would be...

Yeah, two birds, one stone.

His face turned stony as Brent tossed off his shirt, revealing the musculature beneath. The first motion was a lunge, dropping his body as his front leg to a ninety degree angle whilst his other pressed against the floor. Back arcing so that his elbow rested against the front knee, the quite-possibly-insane arbiter turned his wrist and did his best to visualize gripping a legendary two-hander in that hand, while his free hand was splayed against the side of his back thigh. He took one deep breath, before he flexed.

The Warrior Philosopher pose.

Then, out of curiousity, he turned his head and checked out Siena's reaction to this madness.

Siena had made a few observations about the room--how surprisingly empty it was, considering Kusari was an Arbiter, and considering the extent to which her own room was furnished came to mind.

Most of those observations were effectively smashed into oblivion when Brent struck a pose, so to speak.

'Should he really be throwing his cl--' The thought never had a chance to finish when her attention turned back to the owner of said discarded shirt. What in the hell was he--?! It took a few moments longer for her to comprehend the pose in its entirety, but that--where was she supposed to--was he going to hold the pose for--what?

She tried her best to mask the storm of uncertainties and questions stirring in her head. This wasn't normal, right? This absolutely wasn't normal.

"Er..." Should she ask...? Uncertain of where to turn her gaze, Siena turned her attention to the artist in the room. "Is he going to have to stay like that the entire time?"

If either Brent or Siena were to look at Kusari at the moment, they might have seen a gleam in Kusari's eyes as Brent took his shirt off and posed. Brent was even more toned than she thought, her hands twitched with impatience. He was acting rather silly, but Kusari was taking it very seriously. She'd finally felt inspired after so long after all. "Yes! Hold that pose." Kusari said, pointing to him with her pencil before beginning to sketch Brent's form. Soon enough she was fully engrossed, so much so that she hardly noticed as ten minutes passed. As she leaned back to take a look at her rough outline she looked to Siena. "Oh yeah, I was supposed to be feeding you peasant foods. Look in my fridge and cabinets." She said before resuming.

Inside her mini-fridge was what might look like a rather odd selection of food.
Greek yogurt
Protein shakes
Baked chicken
Iceberg Salad and Spinach
Eggs

In the cabinets was a long large bag of Funyuns, with a post it on it that read "Not until you earn it bitch."

Kusari had recently been... getting into shape. Her change in diet was something that somehow slipped her mind.

Isometric excerise was great, and Kusari's 'inspired' expression, full of dramatic focus, was a treat for the eyes as well. Alternating between tensing and relaxing in fifteen second cycles, Brent maintained his posture with a resolve that was slowly becoming real as his body rebelled against his iron will.

Definitely great, definitely tiring. Maybe this wasn't the best pose for a painting after all?

NO. NO REGRETS.

"You should try it too, 'ena!" A pause. "Getting a painting done of you and all."

Watching the progress of a few lines that resembled a shape becoming more than a vague representation was fascinating. She'd never really been around the artistic while they were at their craft, and the experience was certainly one that she didn't regret coming along for. The brunette had obliged, at some point, in taking a quick browse of the food located in the fridge and the cupboards--she didn't ask about the sticky note on the Funyuns--but had reserved herself to a protein shake, though even that had been more to prevent any feelings of unfulfilled obligation than anything else.

Of course, holding a position for so long, especially one like that, probably wasn't--

"Urghk--pgk!" Siena nearly choked on the small sip of the shake she'd been taking at Brent's suggestion. Clearing her throat with a few coughs, the girl winced slightly before she responded. "I'm not sure I could keep a pose for that long. 'n I'm pretty sure my clothes're more interesting than I am."

Kusari continued drawing, as she was aware of how uncomfortable the pose must have been for Brent she tried to quicken her pace as much as she could without compromising quality. That said, she stopped when she heard the back and forth between him and Siena. She looked over to the girl, framing her mentally. "You're selling yourself short Siena, you don't have to do that." She said, going back to drawing. It seemed like she'd be finished soon.

"And I'm pretty sure most people would think that you're more interesting than your clothes, 'ena," Brent chimed in, a reflexive smile bursting to life. There was a part of him that wanted to add that the gray eyed arbiter would probably draw more attention without clothes than with, but...that was a ditch he wasn't willing to dig yet.

"While Kusari's fired up, you might as well get something drawn of you, eh? Some good ol Slyph fanart?"

It was hard to keep back the slight grimace at her new media name, but Siena somehow managed it. Somehow.

"You can rest assured that I'm terrible at standing still." That seemed to be the easier excuse to follow, given the reactions of her temporary companions. She'd rarely even stayed still long enough for a good picture, must less a portrait. "Much less standing still in a posture like...that."

Kusari leaned back and took a look at her drawing of Brent. She thought it could use more shading, but she always thought something needed more shading. "You can relax now Brent." She said, picking up the sketchbook and turning it around so the two of them could see it. Brent was clearly portrayed, with not a single important detail left out, if she had an entire day she was sure it'd be close to photo realistic. The only difference from reality was the shading, which was exaggerated enough to leave intense dark shadows on the piece. "So what do you think?" She asked, a hint of a smug smirk on her face. She turned to Siena. "Still on the fence? I'd love to capture those eyes of yours Siena."

It was impressive, really, how effectively Kusari had managed to illustrate Brent, and Siena didn't have to have a critical eye for art to be able to see that. It was almost...disheartening to see the skill. It must have been a shame to come to a facility then be thrown into battle instead of being able to hone a talent.

"My eyes...?" You've got your dad's eyes, kid. Siena blinked in surprise. "They're a little...bland, aren't they? Grey's not exactly an outstanding color."

Kusari's lips flatlined as she looked to Siena. She sat her sketch book onto her bed and walked up to the girl. "You don't really believe that, do you?" She said, looking her right in the eyes she seemed to believe were bland. "Your eyes are special Siena, they stand out. Even more than mine do if you ask me." She said, pointing to her crimson eyes. Kusari used to hate the way she looked, she was teased for her pale skin and red eyes in grade school. Eventually that pale skin grew thick, her red eyes became sharp ruby daggers, and the coarse words of people she realized she didn't even care about turned into pathetic, ignorant ramblings in her mind. To see Siena speaking about herself like this irritated her, it reminded her of how she used to see herself.

"Gray may seem bland, yet when it is pushed to the forefront in a place where it is rarely seen it is transformed into a striking color." Kusari realized that she was being a bit too passionate, and was only a few inches away from Siena's face. She took a step back and let out a mock cough. "A-anyway, it's not something you should feel bad about, alright?"

"Yeah," Brent said, "What Kusari said. She's the artist here, and I'm sure that a fashionista like you would know how to bring out your eyes anyways. Gray's only a sheen away from silver, after all."

Well, he said all that, but ultimately, the arbiter was happy enough checking out the painting of himself, hyperrealistic and accentuated by non-existent shadows. Damn, that was talent and passion and inspiration right there, the thing that sparked others brilliantly. A flash of pain crossed his expression in that moment, smothered swiftly by his 'surprise' at how great it looked. So much talent, and now it was gone.

For all the flak he mentally gave Sav, she still had musical aspirations.

Despite knowing she was a hell of a rockstar, Brent only got to experience Angelic's nation-class talent a couple of times.

And even though he was so goddamn accessible...he had never, ever questioned what sort of new zany hobby Gregory had picked up.

A low whistle passed through his teeth.

"Real sweet art you did here though," the arbiter said after a pause, "Like, damn, I'd hang this up in my room, Kusari. Maybe over Grant's bed. With an alarm clock hidden behind it."

Too close.

Siena felt her defenses attempt to rise.

Why aren't you breaking eye contact?

Uncomfortable, shouted the first emotion on the field. Afraid, whispered the second.

Do something.

"I--um...r-ri...right." The brunette took a step back herself, though the distance wasn't necessary at that point, gaze darting elsewhere several moments too late, catching a familiar flicker. She filed it away--not a topic for that moment. Taking a careful breath, the Arbiter regained herself though a significant part of her felt the need to retreat. Run. It had been easier when there were crowds she could dive through, escaping into another topic because she knew they wouldn't care.

It was rare for her to miss the events where people whispered and suspected, wasn't it?

"Behind it? Not a small one in the frame?" It was too fast a reaction, Siena knew, to cling to the nearest topic, but it was easier. "Or a normal clock on a nightstand?"

Kusari crossed her arms and let out a prideful huff at Brent's complement. "I'm glad you like it, thanks for modeling for me." She said with a grin. She looked over to his clothes, he could put them on anytime now, though she wasn't in a hurry to point that out. "If you do hang it up it better be framed. Kusari Bloodworth doesn't make cheap posters FYI."

She heard Siena speak and almost felt bad. It was pretty obvious she was trying to change the subject as quickly as possible. It took her a second to remember who Grant was. As much of an impression his powers left he himself seemed to be deliberately avoiding standing out. She couldn't say why, but she could understand the desire to distance one's self from everything that was happening.

"You had somewhere to go, right Siena? I don't want you to miss something important because of me." She tapped her drawing of Brent and looked to him. "How about you, doing anything later?"

"Nothing soon, if you want me to try out a more risque pose," Brent said with a wink, "But I do have a sushi date to get going to soon, so don't monopolize me too much, Kusari~"

"Aaaand that's my cue to leave." Siena claimed with a half exasperated laugh. "Thanks for letting me observe, and for the protein shake."

"No problem, see you later." Kusari waved to Siena as she left, then setting her sights back onto Brent. "More risque huh?" She put a hand to her chin and examined him with the sort of grin you see on mad scientists. "So, just how flexible are you, Brent?"

"Let's find out."

Having spent most of her day digging through stacks of of articles or otherwise scouring the internet for Zoe's requests, Siena had found herself losing track of time. With the cuff holding even her passive abilities in check, the bookish mage had found herself hindered in terms of processing speed. Still faster, she was aware, than she imagined most humans would ever be able to match, but it was like trying to listen to the orchestra with cotton in her ears--not ideal. The entire ordeal had been frustrating, and though it had been tempting for the girl to abandon her studies and return to Ground Zero, the brunette held herself steady. This wasn't just for her.

Even if she was starting to get irritated with something that usually calmed her, that didn't give her the right to stop.

She'd agreed to this, and she was going to see it through.

"Ugh...alright, just...a little break for my eyes..." And her head. Even if she could process the words and understand them as though they were being read to her in a language she'd known from the moment she was born, the Arbiter couldn't deny that parsing through the information wasn't giving her a headache. She'd slowed her speed down, choosing to break down whatever she could in part and parcel, but she was reaching her limits. Rubbing her temples lightly, the brunette felt a dull throbbing behind her eyelids, regretting not taking the time to pace herself...but still, there was another title that might have brought her somewhere.

Fortunately, before the girl could get it in her head to start another set, her phone buzzed, notifying her of a text message.

Hai domo, Burento Roressu desu! Meet me outside the lobby and let's get going!

...was it that time already? Quickly pulling herself out of her chair, Siena straightened the stack of books, pocketing the leafs of stationary paper she'd been taking notes on, ensuring that they were safely nestled in the cover of her e-reader. Shortly after putting everything back to its proper place, the brunette was moving out of the library, the temptation to use a teleporter to speed her pace along tempting, but not convincing as her feet took her to the appropriate location, her hands smoothing out the slight wrinkles in her blouse as she walked, only ceasing the nervous action every so often to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face and behind her ear.

Well, it was as good a break as any, she supposed.

Leaning against the two-seater bicycle that he had rented from a fellow student for the night, Brent crossed his arms to fend off the autumnal cold as he waited for Siena. As far as transportation was concerned, this wasn't nearly as ritzy as the limos and horse drawn carriages that Siena must be accustomed to, but as far as new experiences went...she probably never had the displeasure of riding one of these bad boys, eh?

"Yo, 'ena," he called as she strode out, tossing bike helmet in her direction, "Ready to get going?"

She caught the bike helmet without issue. That did not make the bicycle before her any easier to believe.

"Um, sure...?" Siena did not remove her gaze from the odd shape of what she assumed would be their transportation, her mind wandering back to her last experience with a bike. That had been embarrassing enough, and it wasn't as though she'd had the chance to relearn how to ride a normal bike, much less one that probably required actual teamwork. "Are we...using that?"

"Why else is it here?" Brent asked, hopping onto the front. "C'mon, light exercise is the best appetizer. Cause where we're going, we won't have appetizers!"

"Sure, this can't end badly." Siena grimaced faintly, distinctly under the impression that it would do nothing but end badly. Securing the helmet in place, Siena approached the bike, having to perform a few impressive manipulations of her skirt to actually get on the bike without showing a bit more than she wanted.

She really had to start wearing pants.

Though he was curious as to how Siena was going to position herself whilst wearing a skirt, Brent's decency won out over his curiousity, the arbiter waiting for the sounds of fabric behind him to stop shifting before saying, "Alright, let's go!"

Well oiled chains rattled briefly before the gears spun, sending the two down the road out of USARILN. It was colder, now that the night breeze blew against him, but Brent toughed it out regardless. His head bobbed to a nameless song as his heart beat comfortably, the last rays of sun giving away to fluorescent streetlights.

Thankfully, taking the back seat hadn't been as stressful as Siena had initially assumed, though it would have been hard to see that with the start of the ride. Thoughts alternated between regrets over not telling Brent that she was far from the best at riding a bike to deciding that it wasn't so bad as long as she kept pedaling because she wasn't the one steering. It had taken a moment for the girl to grow comfortable with the balance, though that hadn't made the ride much easier with her eyes constantly trailing briefly to her unfortunate choice in attire.

For the second time in as many days, Siena regretted her wardrobe choice.

Though there were various hijinks such as the CC Motorcycle Gang's monthly road race (dodged, thankfully) and Brent's suggestion of trying out some tandem bike acrobatics (denied), as well as a high speed footchase featuring a shoestore mascot and a granny on a scooter (wild world out there), the duo reached the restaurant with little fanfare. Part of a larger building, King's Way Sushi looked like the usual Americanized sushi joint, its name written in outdated 'Eastern' font, while the waiter that 'greeted' them as they entered looked more like a Mongolian than Japanese.

But who went to AYCE for an authentic dining experience anyways? Punks, that's who.

With a comfortable table that was only a few feet away from the men's washroom, and a small vial of soy sauce to share between the two of them, Brent settled in with a sigh. No one in their right minds would steal a tandem bike that had a USARILN East sticker on it, right? Especially when the couples around them were already picking up their eating pace, scarfing down fish and rice in order to leave before two psychotic arbiters blew up this joint.

He paid them no heed, and offered Siena one of the laminated lists carrying food item choices.

"Pick whatever you want, however many you want, ye?"

The trip was without incident, that was a plus.

That was about where the positives had decided to end, and Siena was reminded once again that as far as the rest of the world knew, she and Brent were unwelcome monsters in their midst, waiting for a chance to snap. She did her best not to notice the changes in behavior around them, eyes glued to the laminated menu, the sauce bottles, things that pulled her attention away.

"Roger." Weak. She blinked away the stupor and painted the expression she had come to expect from herself with Brent's company. It was harder with her head still buzzing with unsorted information--she doubted any of it would be useful. Somehow that thought frustrated her more than anything else at the moment. Clearing her throat as though it was a good cover for the imperfect response, the girl bolstered the smile with another masking remark.

"I'd ask for recommendations, but you'd probably suggest half the menu and I'd be left holding the bag."

Distracted. Considering the lack of back and forth between the two as they had their totally peaceful, definitely not life-threatening ride through town, Brent could tell that something was amiss. A bit of strain, perhaps, some stress. Looked like it was the 'church' effect all over again, the literary girl affected by the gazes of others within the restaurant. Weird, wasn't it? Didn't they punch each other apart back in Bald Eagle Island because she wanted to be treated as a monster?

Guess the commitment wasn't there after all. He'll wrestle with this after the food comes.

"Hey now," he said, putting his hands up in a show of innocence, "That's totally a valid tactic though. Order one of everything and see which ones you like. Personal suggestions would be California and Alaska rolls though. Imitation crab is a real miracle of culinary technology, I feel."

"Imitation crab? Using what?" A flicker of curiosity was quickly fed by musings of possibilities. Tofu, perhaps, to provide a vegetarian option? Something that bordered on pain fired a pulse through the back of her head, reminding the girl that trying to sort out more wasn't going to be a pleasant endeavor. Trying her best to keep the impulsive barrage of thoughts to a minimum, Siena took a breath. No better way to learn than to experience.

...

'There's an idea...' The thought filed itself away for later as Siena gave a helpless shrug.

"Well, it'll be a new experience. I guess I can take a chance."

"What I like to hear, 'ena! Bring on all the food!"

---

Fifteen minutes later, the table for two was filled to the brim with a variety of small, colorful plates, featuring everything from raw beef tongues to fried octopus. He hadn't been lying about the amount of variety there, after all, and, leaning back to take a picture of the glorious display, Brent snapped a shot before getting to work. Expertly wielding chopsticks, he filled a small bowl with soy sauce, before mixing in horseradish, occasionally tasting the mixture.

Definitely flavorful enough.

"Righto," the arbiter said, "What's been on your mind today anyways, 'ena?"

Siena was significantly less dextrous with the chopsticks provided than Brent, her motions slower and more deliberate to maintain what felt like a delicate balance. Asian cuisine had rarely ever been a theme, and though she had become passable in the use of chopsticks, the brunette certainly lacked much experience. That aside, she glanced at Brent's own routine every so often. Her prior experiences with sushi had largely kept it from sauces, but she was quickly learning she was sorely lacking in basic knowledge on how to enjoy most meals.

Of course, she did not create the swampy concoction that Brent did.

"Hm?" Ah, and her attention was stolen away from its original focus. It took her a moment to long to recall and process the words properly. "Oh, nothing mu--well, that's not very accurate. Just checked through a lot of sources, that's all."

That was certainly not all.

"They're only as useful as I make them and all."

"Always so hardworking, huh?"

Brent pushed a plate of beef sashimi over, offering it to the aristocratic bookworm, before he popped a California roll in his own mouth. It wasn't as if it was particularly delicious or mind-blowing, but it was familiar, and it was tasty. No surprises, compared to how much other shit spun out of control.

"Woulda thought you had enough sources though, considering all your bookmarks," the arbiter continued, "Who's the new crew you're looking at?"

With as much caution as required with her less-than-pristine control of her chopsticks, Siena made a few selections of her own, a few familiar ones, a few unfamiliar ones, plated with minimal regard for appearance for her own pacing needs. It gave her enough time to give a slight shrug of her shoulders to Brent's inquiry.

"Trying to keep myself up to date on more options." Half a lie. "Found a master illusionist and a pretty impressive lockpick. And a lov--uh...aura manipulator." Complete lie. Those names had been in her arsenal for months. "And a few better options for some of my fallbacks."

She fumbled a piece of fish back onto her plate, wincing a little at the miss.

"The illusionist is probably the most useful one out of the new names though."

"A master illusionist, an aura manipulator, and a lockpick?" The item enhancer laughed. "One certainly doesn't belong, though I'm sorta surprised that you didn't grab an illusionist earlier. Or is the dude just straight up better than your last pick?"

"I have another illusionist, and she's certainly stronger in most regards, but..." Her mind filled with thoughts of her arm swathed in crimson, envy that bordered onto desperation. Of magic that required sacrifice before it would do a damn thing. "She's not quite as convenient. Besides, if I can figure out how Bi'ul works, I can make the illusionist into a summoner. Kind of."

"Heh, and become budget Emma? Or are we talking summons as in creation?"

"Illusions are limited only by imagination and tangibility. If you could remove the second limitation..."

"...wait...was that how you made the stone cart?"

"Not really..." Thoughts of the island were far from welcome memories, but she allowed them to be dredged up all the same. Setting her chopsticks down so she could bare a wrist, she traced a vein with her finger as she spoke again. "That was more or less the love child between a druid and a blood mage. I asked the land for some of its magic, and it provided. All it needed was some blood. Would have worked a little better if it were--" She paused, uncertainty taking the words from her for a moment. If it were...where? "Home...? I guess."

"Well, certainly would be useful if you could make objects without bleeding all over the place." A light remark, glazing over that tense statement about 'home'. Thank God his own power was that finicky, even if it did come with much more irritating limitations. "With infinite versatility comes endless headaches, eh?"

"Everyone has their own limits." Siena claimed, offering a small gesture of nonchalance as though it might brush away any implications that might have hadded. "So I have to memorize a few more than other people. It could be worse."

"'s long as you don't get it into your head to try memorizing everyone," Brent replied, noticing that she had stopped eating. "And as long as you don't spend all your time getting new names, eh? Dunno if you've got godly processing ability as well as super-reading powers, but too many options might just hamper your performance futurely. Ya know what I'm saying?"

"I like having the options open." More ways to retreat if she felt the need, but that wasn't something she was keen on bringing up. Grateful for the moment of reprieve, Siena did her best not to stray too close to topics that weren't up for discussion. "It's been giving me something to focus on too. Better than sitting around doing nothing and all."

"Tsk tsk," Brent grinned, wagging his index finger, "Shouldn't decry the benefits of meditation, 'ena. Filling up your free time with hard work would just lead to negative effects in the near future."

"Ouch, coming from you, that's gotta mean something."

"Eyup," he fingergunned, "You know the advice is solid when it comes from the workhorse himself."

"A workhorse is a terrible thing to compare yourself to." Siena murmured. "They don't know when to stop, y'know."

"Accurate though," Brent replied, taking a slice of teriyaki chicken and offering it to Siena, "That's why I got you and Team SAP."

"Flattering, but somehow I have doubts about how lo--ah, damn." Splat! The poultry performed an impressive flip as Siena's less-than-expert manipulations of her wooden utensils fumbled it into the middle of the table. "This is hard enough with a stable surface."

Brent flinched, involuntarily, as the bread-coated, sauce-drenched chicken dove into her soy sauce dish, black drops splattering every which direction. Wisely (for he was truly a wise and well-adjusted subnatural), he didn't instinctively reach with a napkin to smother and soak up the stain, instead opting to hand a sheet over like a normal person.

"Should I ask for a fork? Or would that bruise your pride too much, 'ena?" the arbiter said, a cheery smile forming.

"I think I'll stay with the chopsticks. I'll probably get better at it, right?" Siena returned the smile with one of her own, though between rampant thoughts and the faint, irritating pulse in the back of her head, it was hard to maintain. Thankfully, trying to clear off the small spattering of stains was something to focus on, a perfectly plausible excuse to change her expression. "You know, it kind of seems like you only get that cheerful expression at my expense."

"I only feel like that when I'm with you," Brent corrected with a wink, "Though I'm curious. Have I seemed weirdly upbeat recently?"

"When you're with me or when you're making fun of me?" Siena shot back. Her gaze returned to the boy as she formulated a response to the question. Oddly upbeat? It was an oddly specific question, but everyone had seemed to be in...surprisingly high spirits, considering their recent losses. It had been easy to play along with the facade--easier than it should have been. "I think everyone's been oddly upbeat, given--" ...well, she didn't really want to bring that up, she supposed. "--recent events."

"I'm not 'everyone'," Brent replied, no real irritation or aggression in his tone as he popped a roll in his mouth.

Not 'everyone'--a fair enough point.

"Persistent as always." Ah, damn, not enough in the words. "But you certainly have seemed a little more...upbeat, to steal a turn of phrase."

Not that she was exactly a great judge at that moment.

"Granted, this is based on 'almost laughed to death' and 'almost shot you', so..."

"So I can basically be confirmed as someone with some real big issues?" Brent replied, eyebrows lifting. "Great, I love confirmations of the eldritch madness that plagues my mind."

"Now, really, what's in yours?"

"Not exactly what I meant, but if that's how you want to take it..." She let the tone remain casual. Of course, she should have figured that wasn't the end of the matter. Siena was somehow not entirely surprised that it circled back to their first topic, though it didn't prevent the faint, writhing discomfort in the pit of her stomach. The Arbiter still gave the expected half-exasperated smile in response. "Didn't we just have this conversation?"

"Wow, so sassy," Brent grinned, leaning back, "Guess I couldn't pull a fast one over you after all."

Siena had said that he was a little more upbeat than normal. Perhaps he'll do better to maintain this 'upbeatness' then. No need to start a fight over this. No need to get in her face and no need to cause any trouble. A part of him knew, of course, that he was giving up on this far too easily. That if it had been a month or so back, he would have jumped at the chance to 'win'. But not now.

He didn't have to turn an enjoyable time into a 'meaningful' time, after all.

"Well, just let me know if you'd rather not answer questions next time, instead of giving me half-baked shit, yeah? Thought we cleared out all the bullshit after our romp in the library, but I guess these things never come easy."

Ah.

"Right, sorry..." Offering an apologetic smile that felt more helpless than it should have, Siena reminded herself that she was supposed to be working on being honest. It was harder when there were actual secrets to keep--for everyone else's benefits, she told herself. Bolstering the smile as best she could, the bookworm did her best to explain.

Baby steps.

"Force of habit. Gotta have an answer if you don't want the question asked again." Uncomfortable again, this time not because it was familiar, but because it felt as though she had to pull a defense away. Again, Siena tried to trivialize the matter. "All that high society stuff is hard to override."

"Yeah, I can understand that."

It wasn't an answer yet, for the question he had posed himself, but it was an...explanation. That was fine. He could accept that, if only to clear the air around the two.

"Though my personal technique used to be just to make vague comments until they connect the dots themselves. Used to be a pretty subtle guy, yah know? None of the shoe-mouth battering-ram hijinks these days."

"How long ago was 'used to be'?" And there's that bad habit again. "Subtlety doesn't seem like something you drop overnight."

"Gee, asking that sort of question when I can't even tell if I'm more upbeat than usual? Who knows?"

"Oof, I might have had that one coming." It was a little disappointing, but not an entire loss. "For what it's worth, I think the foot-in-mouth straightforwardness is kind of charming."

He stopped for a moment, before taking a long sip of now-lukewarm water.

"Prefer sushi-in-mouth myself instead," Brent said, pointing at all 80% of the dishes on the table that remained untouched due to their incessant need to talk instead of chew. "Better chop-chop with your jaw, 'ena, or we're gonna get kicked out and slapped with a waste food fine."

"Alright, alright."

---

Maybe it had been a bad idea to give Brent free reign over how much they were ordering. Siena had been comfortably full after they'd managed to clear the table the first time. Of course, Brent had ordered twice more afterwards, which served as a reminder that apparently overeating became a near tradition whenever arrangements were made for them to share a meal.

With a piece of half-eaten mochi still on her plate from the ordeal, Siena released a breath.

"How in the world do you eat so much?"

"Eating's part of training too," Brent replied, enjoying the warmth of miso soup after crunching down on two thick, greasy portions of karaage, "Don't worry, 'ena, you'll get used to it sooner or later. Just gotta keep it up, you know?"

"Get used to feeling my stomach about to rupture? I'm not sure this is 'training' I want to undergo." She glanced at the half-eaten portion of dessert on her plate, her stomach performing a very impressive lurch at the idea of having to pack more into it.

"Consider it an exercise in pain tolerance and willpower," he suggested unhelpfully, "Thought all girls had room for dessert though."

"At what point did I fall into the category of 'all girls'?"

"Ah, apologies, 'ena. You're my one and only."

"Always one extreme or the other with you, huh?" She attempted, with little success, to split the mochi still on her plate without fully giving the action her attention. Another distant smile rose reflexively as her mind wandered to less pleasant thoughts, as though the action made anything easier. "Though I really shouldn't be surprised at this point."

"You know it," Brent laughed, "All in, all out. I'm many things, but being complex isn't one of them."

Reaching over with his own chopsticks, he pinned one half of the mochi, anchoring it to the plate.

"That's absolutely believable. Really." Her smile grew a fraction closer to genuine for a moment, her attention pulled away by the sudden aid as the dessert split. Another unpleasant memory, and the expression faded. Complex or not...

"How have you been? Honestly."

"Fine," he replied, "But you know why, right?"

The arbiter paused, before drinking down his portion of mango pudding.

"Been working on aiming bullets with my hands, so I can bypass the usage of a gun unless I really need the extra punch. Been cooking less recently, or at least, experimenting with it recently. I guess a part of me wants to talk to Grant, but another part doesn't want to bother anymore, so I haven't been inside my room much at all. Also talked to Emma for the first time in a hell of a long time, and we have plans on knocking on DC's cocoon to have a chat. Honestly, it's pretty weird, you know?"

His chopsticks stopped snapping away.

"We just lost two classmates, and yet, the fallout is hardly there. Everyone IS too upbeat, and I'm not sure if constant death of those I was close to is something I want to adjust to. Almost feel like Chris's rampaging makes more sense than whatever the fuck I'm doing these days. Hell, Allison looked fine, and she was in a relationship with Angelic."

There was only one cup of almond pudding on the table, and he slid it over to Siena.

"But what are your thoughts on this?"

Too many thoughts. That was the accurate answer. Siena had been quick to notice how off it felt with the others. Nobody wanted to bring up the island. Nobody thought twice about Gregory--you didn't even try to save him--or Angel. Brent was right. Everyone seemed to be...fine. On the surface, as long as nothing dredged up the unpleasant thoughts. Everything about their situation was fragile, and the slightest gust of wind threatened toppling the picturesque palace of glass.

She knew that already. Understood it, and didn't go against it.

"I want to give the benefit of the doubt. They're responding like humans do." Her attention fell to the almond pudding, not feeling any hunger, but grateful to have something else to keep her gaze on. "Denial is an easier emotion to deal with than guilt, remorse, or acceptance. At least...I prefer that explanation over the alternative that yo--we've lost enough to grow desensitized." Or the explanation further than that--that nobody cared to begin with.

"I doubt anyone is really 'fine'." More than that, Siena didn't know if she wanted anyone to be fine. A selfish, helpless wish because if they were, she wouldn't know what to do.

No, that was another cover, but she pressed everything down.

"Which brings us back to you. Are you really 'fine'?"

"Use your own judgment there. Didn't we go over how emotionally out of touch I am?"

"But you have an opinion, right? Do you think you're actually 'fine' or not?"

"I...don't want to be fine," he said after a short consideration, "But there was neither fire nor fury, like it was with Sav."

His expression twisted. How easy loss became for a nobody like himself.

"Only ice."

"Not every loss has to be met with fire." She knew that. Why...? Not important. "Ice is worse."

Because fire devoured, left ash behind. Ice did not give that luxury, left behind a wasteland where nothing would grow, but where nothing would die. Not properly, at least.

Should have stopped it before it started, but she could have tried harder.

"I guess you're not 'fine'."

"Hah." Brent scratched the back of his head ruefully. "If you put it that way, I guess you're right. Yourself?"

Not in the least.

"I have to be." She offered a cautious smile, making a small motion toward her phone. "It comes with the territory."

"I'll take that as a 'not fine' then," he replied, flicking her lightly on the forehead.

Eck.

"Hey!" Siena gave a slight wince in response to the flick. Rubbing the point of impact out of reflex, the girl gave a weak laugh. "Not after that, geeze."

"Hey now, I should be entitled to this much entertainment at least, while we both wallow in differing amounts of not fine-ness."

"Oh, great, I've been demoted to entertainment now." She kept the smile firm despite the false roll of the eyes. "What a momentous occasion."

A pause.

"I guess if I have to be 'not fine' around anyone though, I could be stuck with worse."

"Promotion, actually," Brent grinned. "Court Jester of House Roless is a very illustrious role, Siena. Pays in corndogs and sushi too."

He took a long sip as the second line hit. Thought for a while. Let it sink in.

"Gee, I'm neither worst nor best? Guess I'll put more effort in becoming the best 'non-fine' dude around next time."

"So-rry~" Siena laughed softly. "You've got your work cut out for you if you wanna beat Emi--"

Oops.

She choked on the name.

"Who?"

Siena cleared her throat, giving a half-hearted grin in response.

"Not important."

"Wow, gonna just rob me of my point of comparison? Harsh, Siena, that is harsh." Brent grinned. "Almost sounds like you don't want me to ascend to best-dom."

"Here I thought you liked a challenge." The girl shot back, keeping the mask firmly set in place. Not important. It wasn't wrong, she supposed. Far from honest, but not a lie.

"I also like to know who my rivals are," he replied, "But sure, can totally understand that you wanna keep your friends from my corrupting influence."

"Well, you are a terrible influence," Siena grinned, sly and playful through no small effort on her own part. "But like I said, not important."

"Oof, you're quite a cruel mistress, Siena," Brent remarked, "Now finish your goddamned pudding."

Emma wasn't sure what lead her to Ground Zero now. Ever since that dream her stigma has practically been gone, like she was a whole new her... but still, she'd never actually come here besides that 'training' session they did as a class, and she was curious. A place for 'stress-relief' for the Aberrations. Maybe something she should've used, not like it mattered now.

She'd walked around a bit, scoping out the confines of the area, until by chance she spotted a familiar face. Lying down on a piece of rubble, staring at his phone, seemingly muttering to himself. Under normal circumstances she might've avoided him, but... there was actually something on her mind that he might've been able to help with.

”Brent!” she called out, waving.

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakn-

As a familiar, yet surprising voice sounded, pulling Brent out of his reading, the arbiter closed his phone and slipped it into his back pocket smoothly, turning with slightly upraised eyebrows at the dark haired aberration. A surprise indeed, but not an unwelcome one. Standing up, he patted the dust from his pants before smiling tentatively.

"Don't see you often 'round here," he said, "What's up?"

”I was just looking around, but I'm actually glad I ran into you. There were some things that I wanted to talk to you about...” Emma's expression darkened a little, ”About that night under the medical building.”

Still?

"Go shoot."

”Well, there are a couple things, but I guess the first thing I'm concerned about... you saw Miranda, right? Dominating the CC1 skyline? Do you think... I dunno, what do ya' make of that?”

A careful shrug. "Musta ate a lot."

”Yeah, I guess...” Emma sighed. After seeing Padma and Savannah again... ”Makes me sick to think about. But, uh, that's not all... you've been having the dreams, right? The ones that change your power?”

"Improve," he replied, a smile quirking up, "Not change. Don't have guns speaking to me yet."

”Right, well, either way the important part is that everyone in our class is having them. But not just us. Hector and Clark too. Remember, crocodile face and the psychopath kid? Isn't that... interesting?”

"Everyone in our class? Or every subnatural out there?"

”Nope, pretty sure it's not every sub. Someone from our class scoped it out on Death and Taxes – not an every sub thing, at least, that's what the administration thinks. It's everyone in our class, Hector, and Clark, maybe more. Before I just thought it was us, but if Hector and Clark have them too, they're probably more in the loop about it than we are.”

"More in the loop regarding..." It was certainly interesting, but after everything that had gone by in the past couple of weeks, was something like a dream really that important? Or was there perhaps a way to just immediately grab the power within that garden? He decided to voice those thoughts. "It's interesting, but to what end, Emma? What's your goal here?"

”I mean, there's obviously something more at work. They've singled us out, made us their B-team to the Precursors within a week of being here. We're strong and getting strong. We're obviously... different. Don't you want to know why? The dreams have gotta be connected.”

"..."

He smiled, and then chuckled.

"Well, I guess the worst thing that can happen is us getting electrocuted and then Freddy shittalking us again," Brent said, as pleasantly surprised as he was when Emma first showed, "Another trip to the creepy underground place? Or do you have a better plan this time around?"

”I dunno. Clark wasn't that hard to meet the first time around, right? You're more the planning type than me, aren't you? We've got all kinds of new powers, either way it shouldn't be as much of a hassle this time, right?”

"Well, I suppose some of us do have a couple achievements in our belts now," Brent said. Some things never changed, huh? "Why not just ask Freddy or Rosa about seeing the dude?"

”The direct approach? I mean, that's an idea, but something gives me the feeling they won't want us messing around with them. We can certainly try, though.”

"You saw how these cuffs are, right?" Brent lifted up his foot, indicating the white-silver band around his ankle. "They're probably already listening in and shit. No real point in going cloak and dagger...and 's long as we're there for a friendly chat instead of snooping around for East's dark secrets..."

He trailed off from there.

”Shit, y'think they're listening all the time? I mean, we got in last time and they didn't stop us, but... I guess you're right.” Emma glanced at the cuff nervously, ”Well, if we're going to ask I think we should go for Rosa. She seems... nicer. Plus, Freddy caught us last time and didn't seem to like what we were doing.”

"Definitely know a hell lot of peeps here that didn't like Freddy much," Brent laughed, "Must be Rosa's rad attitude that's grabbing all her fans."

”Yeah, well, rad relative to the fact that the administration here is-” Emma cut herself off, glancing at her cuff, ”Absolutely lovely. When do you wanna do this?”

"Don't got any guy dates lined up with Marcus, so how 'bout now? Or should we put on some formalwear first?"

”Uh, I think we'll be fine with what we're wearing. Shall we, then?”

"We shall." A majestic dip of his head, a chivalrous offer of an arm, which Emma readily ignored, and the two were off.

---

Well, it certainly went to shit since last time he was there.

Sliding into the administration building with his super best buddie Emma, Brent was surprised to see just how busy the entire place had become. Yellow tape cordoned off the check-in system that laid with a cracked screen, while a crowd of students formed a disorderly line as a poor attendant went through hell ripping off handwritten tickets and issuing them to the magical rabble. Poor dude, really.

"Looks like a long line," he said, cocking his head in Emma's direction. "You ate yet?"

Emma sighed. This certainly wasn't what she expected. Knowing how busy their 'teachers' were she had no doubt the wait for Rosa would be... very, very, long. She turned towards Brent, ”No, I haven't. Why?”

He produced an energy bar from his pockets. "Don't want you to get hangry enough to have Determination start tossing kiddos out of the way."

Emma simply stared at the energy bar for a moment before accepting. ”Thanks. Always prepared, huh?” she thought about mentioning Determination, but decided against it, instead moving to take a spot in line.

Thirty-five minutes of nightmarish bureaucracy later, the pair finally reached the front desk.

"What can I help you with today?" A practiced smile graced Marcie's face as she looked between the two.

”We're here to see Rosa, please.” Emma said simply, confidently. It was like the DMV – you just had to sound like you knew what you were doing and talk loudly if they say no. Simple.

The receptionist released an almost imperceptible sigh as she reached for a bright yellow walkie talkie on her desk. It had most definitely not been there at the start of the week.

"Ms. Schur..." the receptionist looked like she had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes, "there are students asking for you. Again."

"Hmmyeah?" Slightly crackly but remarkably bright. Rosa's voice, no doubt. "Who is it?"

"Brent and Emma from Unit B."

"Whew, you kids must be my biggest fans. This is, what, the fourth visit this week?"

”What can I say, Rosa? You're just waaaay too cool for us to pass up.” Emma said, sounding 100% sincere.

"Emma's being sarcastic here, but don't worry," Brent added, "She'll come around to the Church of Rosa Schur eventually."

"Sarcastic? Me? Not a chance, Brent, I'd wager I'm the number one Rosa fan on the block."

"Oookay, that's enough." She sounded a bit miffed. "If I wanted my ego stroked I would've lurked by the water fountain until Greten showed up. What do you kids need today?"

”Answers. About Clark, Hector, and the dreams we've all been having.” no point in prolonging it, Emma figured. Either Rosa would tell them what they wanted to know, or they'd find it out the hard way.

"Apparently, Clark and Hector have the same dreams as us, preceding a growth in our powers. Is there an explanation here?"

A very noticeable pause crackled through the walkie talkie.

"Marcie."

"Yes, Ms. Schur?" the receptionist replied blandly.

"I'm gonna have to ask you to hand the Little Quacker to these kids here."

With a sigh, Marcie handed the yellow walkie talkie to Emma.

"Let's talk somewhere quiet," Rosa said.

”Perfect.” Emma said, grabbing the walkie. Where exactly was somewhere quiet? ”Errrrrr...” Emma grabbed Brent, moving away from the lines, away from the waiting people, and then outside towards a secluded corner of the administration building's courtyard. ”Alright, quiet spot acquired.”

"Cool. Here's the dealio, see. It's not super clear to me either, the dreams and the wacky powers. I tried bringing it up with Claudia but she gave me her usual daziness before getting pulled back into class. Even afterwards, we couldn't figure out much. My theory is that DC's a lot closer to some mages than others...or the other way around. You've probably figured out by now that your powers aren't meant to be changing like this."

A sigh on the other end.

"That's pretty much it. Hector only gives me information when he's in a good mood and Clark is...Clark. Trust me, if I had more to tell you, I would."

”Huh... that's... a little disappointing. I was hoping that you guys would have everything figured out by now. Guess DC is still a big mystery... er, who's Claudia, though? Don't think that's a name I recognize, how exactly does she play into this?”

"Oh, she's one of the students. She can go and swim around in other people's dreams or something like that. Sometimes a bit overzealous with her explorations but she's a lovely girl overall."

”Huh...” hey wait, that sounded a lot like... ”Uh, is there a way I could talk to Claudia? Any deets you can toss me? Maybe she'll be a little more forthcoming with another student.”

Rosa hissed through her teeth.

"IIIIII...doubt that. Claudia's a private gal. Likes her space. You wouldn't guess that from her hobby, right?"

The sound of some sort of cabinet rung out before Rosa plopped back into her chair.

"Building A, Suite 324. You can always give it a go but personally, I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you."

"Mmmm. Thanks for the info, I think that's about it." Emma feigned, "Oh, wait, actually... one more thing, since I've gotchya and we're talking about all the people that you guys don't like to talk about. What... what the hell is Miranda?"

"Eh." She was probably shrugging behind the walkie talkie. "Something Hector made."

”Uhhhh...”

Wait, what?

”I don't suppose you're going to explain that, are you?”

The laughing went on for a lot longer than it should have.

"Heh, I don't suppose that either."

”Fantastic. You guys sure love your secrets, dontcha? I guess we're done in that case, unless Brent's got any followup.” Emma said, holding the walkie up for the boy.

"Yeah, I do," Brent said, having been focused more on internalizing the information himself. It wasn't much, and what little they were willing to share was disappointing, but...

"Hector, Clark, and all the members of Unit B share this...connection to Dreamcatcher, yes?" A pause. "No one else within East does?"

"Not as far as we know. And we know a lot, so."

Clearly not enough to know what was actually going on.

"Thanks anyways," Brent said, "Guess I'll leave you back to work, Rosa. How's that mountain of paperwork going?"

"Urgh, terribly. Freddy won't even help me anymore cos he's got so much of his own work to deal with."

"My prayers will be with you," Brent said solemnly, "Here's to hoping you don't develop carpal tunnel and hunchback after this. Don't forget to stretch, Rosa!"

A hearty laugh echoed through the channel before it was switched off.

Emma switched off their own walkie, sighing. "That... really didn't tell us a whole lot, did it? I'd suggest we follow up on Claudia, but truth is I've already talked to her and I'm not sure she knows a whole lot more than Rosa let on. Which means... I dunno, I doubt Clark or Hector can tell us more either. You got any ideas? Think it's worth checking out or are we dead-ended?"

"Well, seeing how Rosa doesn't know and Claudia doesn't know, and how we don't know, despite having these dreams ourselves..."

He scratched his chin, looking skywards.

"Seems like this is one of the great mysteries that won't be solved simply by chatting with people and asking questions. Gonna have to do wetwork ourselves, eh?"

"How exactly do you suggest we do that? Go up and have nice chat with Dreamcatcher?"

"Wow," Brent remarked, genuinely surprised she caught on so fast, "You're sharp. With infinite range, a talking Determination, and a fair idea of where the big antler boy is cocooned in, isn't that worth a try?"

"That..." Emma looked up towards the sky too, "I was joking. Don't think that's possible anyways, unless you've got some kind of beefy telescope up your sleeve. I can only summon my tulpas to places I can see."

"Oh, what? Huh, always thought you just had infinite range for summoning, 's long as you didn't mind not being able to issue orders. That another change?"

Emma let out a slight groan, ”Nooooo, not exactly. Let's just call that a misconception on my part. I think I did say that the range was infinite a while ago, but... that was when I was still figuring out how shit worked.” Emma let out a nervous laugh. That was some bad info to get wrong, huh? ”Some good news, though, the earshot thing isn't an issue anymore. I can communicate with Determination mentally now, and she can order around the others.”

"Hm...so basically, what you're saying is...we request a good telescope, Google Dreamcatcher's general location, overclocking said scope until you can see it, and THEN your tulpas have their heart-to-heart with DC?"

Emma shrugged, ”I guess? Never tried to spot the dude's cocoon before, not sure how hard that'd be. Plus I don't really know the rules with my power telescopes, but then again, don't really see why it wouldn't work. If you think you can do it we could always try.”

"Won't know if we don't try...but this is probably gonna be a long-term deal anyways," Brent admitted, "I can get the telescope, if you do some good ol research on where the hell that cocoon is, Emma. Sounds good?"

"Sounds good." Emma said, still looking skyward.

Running out of time, but also running out of bullets, huh?

Orange light burned against the cold pavement, so warm and yet so heatless, as the amethyst eyed youth stood in the central plaza where the first round of Flag and Seek had started. Like always, he wore his gas mask over his face, combat helmet and infrared night vision goggles the last remnants of the equipment he had once carried with him into Wisford. The Desert Eagle was gone. The machete was gone. All that lethality, reduced to just a handful of bullets that he never actually got to use.

Brent sighed through his nose, fiddling with the high caliber slugs, his black wrist braces snug against bare flesh. A new acquisition, relatively, but an important one. Simple enough that the destructive growth of his overclocks didn't strain it that much, but potent enough that his wrist no longer creaked.

Well, after all that training, they were still sore, regardless.

Wiping the sweat off his brow, the arbiter slowly rotated his wrists, before turning to head on to one of Ground Zero's more prominent landmarks, in search of Ernie. It was still a bit early, really, but...ammunition was precious, and he more or less understood the concept now. It'll do. For now, it'll do.

Chris had already transformed within the city limits of ground zero, as the arbiter had planned to test out and hopefully expand his abilities. Strength was needed, he was not strong enough to save Angel, and if he didn't force himself to evolve he'd eventually lose everything once again. Just as he flew into the air to observe the enviorment, his ears picked up distant gun shots from the distance. With use of his forked tongue, he picked up the scent of Brent. Immediately the burning anger he felt when Siena last touched his mind triggered along feral rage, unstable emotions that were still stirred from the loss of Angelique. Upon flying to his direction, he discovered he was alone, and now was the perfect chance to take a swift vengeance.

He wasn't so far gone as to kill him, he only wanted to teach that bastard a lesson. By his instincts, that rage was fueled by territorial motivation, Brent was invading on his Territory, for what he thought he had done to Siena. Whatever side of his conscience that was still human deemed this time necessary to practice restraint of his own powers. The 'people' of Ground Zero were insignificant bait, Brent was an ally, an ally he'd rather not have, but an ally none the less. If he could keep his own rage from mortally wounding Brent, then surely he has mastered his own instinct. It was that flawed logic mixed with boiling and unstable emotion and instinct that caused the dragon to dive straight down and land abruptly infront of Brent with a briefer version of the roar he had shouted before on their little 'dispute' from the aftermath of that battle. That roar was the only announcement he gave, a challenge by his definition, and without any other warnings he began his attack by standing upright and swinging the end of his tail towards Brent like a club, though he made sure not to swing it too fast or too hard to give the rodent a chance.

The whumpf whumpf of draconic wingbeats gave it away, but Brent was still slightly surprised when Chris divebombed from the air, gusts billowing outwards as the pavement cracked against the scaled beast's mass. A roar, so much shorter but so much more vicious, blasted dragon spit in the amethyst eyed arbiter's face once more, before Chris almost immediately launched into action. A three hundred pound whip barreled towards Brent from the side, barely evaded as he leapt backwards. There was still surprise there, that such an attack would be launched out of the blue.

Did he finally snap? Or was this just an accumulation of weeks worth of grudges? Who fucking knew, there was a dragon on his ass!

Clamping down on speculation, Brent clenched his fists, eyes locking onto that upright scaley lizard shit. Oh hell, if he had just decided to go raze the earth with a flamethrower, Brent would have definitely been fucked huh? So this was more of...playing. Great. Awesome.

"Sup dude," the arbiter said, a big grin on his face even as he took a few more steps back. "Whatcha here for? Work? Or pleasure?"

As he spoke, silver circuitry raced down his forearms, his wrist brace dissassembling and reassembling into a shiny, black carapace. Protective gear. Times like these were times where Brent wished he had come with literally everything he had.

The dragon had lowered back to a four legged position, but rather then some kind of feral stance, he stood highly with his eyes glaring down at his fellow arbiter; As if he were some mere insect that held no threat, a stance of arrogant pride where his lack of initiative was only spared out of 'courtesy' to give Brent some small chance that his twisted instinct deemed 'fair'. That stance didn't change as Brent spoke to him, only prividing a snort of smoke that would be typical of a cartoonish bull. In the moment he braced himself with a protective plate, Chris took the challenge. He raised one of his front claws and slammed it directly over his guard to see if his strength was superior to his make-shift shield. A mighty roar followed his attack.

Eyes, nose, mouth. Without a proper gun to give him that extra boost, those were the only options available.

But thankfully, those options were fair targets when his opponent was as large as he was. In his clenched fist was the bullet he had been steadily overclocking while his wrist brace served as a fair distraction, and while Chris postured, Brent only continued to maintain his distance. A vertical claw slam wasn't something he had any intention of trying to withstand. Legs coiled, he shuffled hopped back further, taking the fighting posture that Angelic had drilled into him day after day until everything fell apart.

Kicks and punches and knees and elbows weren't going to do anything here.

But the footwork was still important.

As the ground shook and Chris's mouth opened once again, rows upon rows of teeth separating to unveil the fleshy maw within, Brent opened his clenched fist as well, a silver bullet gently pulsating with a myriad of blue hues.

The first to fire.

The second to aim.

The third to destroy.

A blue flash cut through the air, diving for the back of the dragon's mouth.

Without looking at the result of his shot, Brent turned and booked it, fist clenching over the second bullet.

The sudden bitterness of acid filled the beast's mouth as he recoiled in disgust. In a clumsy matter he retreated from Brent by a few feet as he stood upright and screamed into the air at his discomfort. The acid didn't seem to burn his gums by any visual cue, but it definitely did trigger some kind of pain. Abrupting his own scream a jet of intense, steel melting, flames ripped out of his throat in an attempt to vaporize the acid that sizzled his taste buds. Fortunately for Brent, this fire was aimed upwards instead of towards him. The fire towered above the dragon into the sky like a 12 meter geyser.

By the time he ceased his breathe Brent had already gained some good distance, but that little stunt only made Chris angrier. The dragon whose mouth was still writhing in pain sprinted forward after Brent, quickly gaining speed as he charged up on two legs, a sprint that resembled a prehistoric theropod only with long front limbs that were ready to pin Brent down once he caught up to him. In the first few seconds of his charge he was already close to 40 mph, but his rapidly increasing momentum and method of movement made it obvious that this charge wasn't very good at direction changing on a dime.

At the sound of the scream, Brent immediately dove to the side, flattening himself against the ground as he felt the heat radiate all around. But there was no hot flash, no searing pain, just the prominence of dragonfire erupting skywards. Good god, the third, aimed at a vital, unprotected part, wasn't enough to take him down?

There really was a difference between having a gun and not, huh?

As the bullet writhed beneath his grasp, the arbiter forced himself back up, picking up the pace again. How long until the next jet of flame? How long until he ran out of bullets? How much more lethal should he be? Was this escalation already too far? More questions that he clamped down on, as the rampaging beast chased after him, gathering up momentum at a much too frightening pace. Oh, the adrenaline was pumping now, his heart hammering and his mind scrambling. This is why he wanted a goddamn shotgun. This is why he wanted a goddamn rocket launcher. This was why he wanted a goddamn assault rifle.

Eyes? Nose? Head? Ears? Throat?

Knees.

Rubber soles scraped against the ground as Brent leapt out to the side, tumbling against the ground before rolling onto his knees. Same set up. Same dance. But the destructive variable had turned into a particle laser instead, perfect for an accurate strike.

Brilliance spilled from the black carapace as a second ray shot for the dragon's front knee, aiming to cave it inwards. Momentum would do the rest, if a flying magical monster's knees functioned the same way as a human's.

The beam didn't pierce his scales, but the force was definitely enough to knock the beast off of its path. The dragon shouted in surprise as he fell to the side, his body tumbling a bit due to how fast he had been moving. Rolling onto his back there was a brief pause,a break, before the audible outrage of a dragon roaring filled the field. Once he had gotten back up it was clear he was uninjured and his attack had only managed to slow him down.

Chris darted forward, but instead of his previous charge he merely started to gallop. Three long steps with four feet jotting off the ground before the beast took flight and into the air. He soared upward in a u-shaped formation. His speed in the air dwarved that of his previous land-based charge, and at first it seemed like he was flying away from Brent. After gaining a great distance away from him, the dragon arbiter suddenly steered back towards Brent and downwards, gaining massive velocity. Flames began to trail out of the lips of his closed maw, and just as he flew overhead of Brent, he released that jet of flames about 10 meters infront of him, cutting Brent's path off. In a loop motion he swiftly landed upon the burning earth, his mere rapid descent almost quenching the flames. As he stood back in that arrogant stance, the flames only contrasted his monstrous form more so, crimson reptilian eyes gleaming through the silhoutte of his form that the fire and smoke created.

Wait, so was this...a fight or not? Having fully expected an actual charge, or at least some sort of offensive action, Brent instead found himself with flames behind him and a shitty dragon in front of him, no longer moving in a particularly aggressive way. A test then? Some sort of...exchange? Fuck if he knew.

"Right..." the arbiter began carefully, brushing off the dust from his legs, clenching his fist so that his hand wouldn't shake, "How bout we call it quits from here? I'm not even fully armed, yah know? And I really don't want to draw out my full power here anyways, cause god knows what'll happen if I did that, so..."

He spread his hands out to the side.

"...let's just be nice and say it's a draw, Chris."

As the beast stood there, it only looked angrier at his words. As if it were being mocked. A draw?! He was far from going to accept some kind of, meaningless 'draw' to this conflict. He wanted to make sure Brent knew where he belong, under his goddamn foot. The more he dwelled on it in his draconic form, fully exposed to his primordial instincts, the further it poisoned his nature with arrogance and pride. He leaped out of the flames and once he landed, lashed his tail in an arc, in a motion where he could wrap it around Brent's neck.

But the bullet struck first, released with the simple motion of opening up Brent's hand. Arcing upwards, it dug into the dragon's right nostril, before the arbiter was on the move once more, flattening himself as a tail arced over him, before pushing himself back up and running like all hell.

The bullet released its acid into his nostril, which immediately caused the beast to recoil in pain as it flooded his naval cavity. This time there was no fire to burn away the liquid, causing him to thrash about blindly in a fit of uncontrolled rage and pain. The writhing beast tore through dirt blindly as it tried to force the acid out of his nostril, all the while shouting in a fit of beastial anger.

How many of these had he fired at this point? Wheeling around at the roar, Brent took a split second to aim, casting another empowered energy bullet down the throat of the beast. In another time, he'd be amazed at the pain tolerance of the dragon, but for now...

...he'll slap Chris on the back for this later. The plaza was plenty open and the arbiter had a hell lot of ground to cover. Silver circuitry sparked up and down his arm as his legs pulled him further and further away.

Before the dragon could even recover from the acid that irritated his naval cavity, a precision beam pierced straight through his soft gums. The sudden kinetic force and new source of pain knocked the dragon onto his back. Toxic blood spewed from the deep blunt wound the beam had caused as Chris struggled to get up.

He reminded himself that Chris healed fully after transforming to his human form.

So Brent clamped down on that pity as well, more silver blood pumping out of his veins as the black carapace rattled, absorbing the recoil of consecutive firing, slivers of light smashing into both eyes. He didn't have the fire power to take out a limb, not with this current set up, not if he wanted to give up on escape.

So it would be the eyes. The senses. Enough to cripple the beast's ability to give chase.

The remaining bullets within the box rattled. He was definitely dealing with single digits now. But, somewhere within, Brent couldn't help that feeling of joy. Must have been what Angelic felt, huh? Overcoming that great beast, the inferior copy of the monsters that razed China. But that elation lasted only a moment, before Brent turned and ran off, towards the taller buildings that ringed the plaza, towards some semblance of safety and cover. Behind him, the roars sounded again and again, but there was no longer any focus, no longer any crystal clear killing intent. Slowly, the adrenaline left, replaced by the steady rhythm of his running pace instead, as the arbiter dove into the maze like buildings.

A moment of consideration later, and Brent said, rather flatly, "Cuff transmit. Hey guys, protip: don't go to GZ right now. Peace. End transmission."

Welp, that was that. Good exercise, training, and a sense of his own limitations.

Already down, two well placed shots caused both eyes to burst into a display of gore. The bleeding, empty eye sockets of the reptilian monster caused him to thrash about violently. He could no longer see, and with his tongue disrupted by the acid and the smell of his own blood in his mouth, there was no way he could track Brent's scent accurately enough to compensate his lack of vision.

I can't see! I can't see! Damnit it all he blinded me, that insect, that filthy rodent!"

His inner rage was quelled, the vulnerable he felt now slowly drowned out his initial rage. It was in that darkness that he was reminded of time and time again, his lack of power, his inability to save Angelique, and more terrors. Instinct and adrenaline were taking over conscience thought, and his hatred for Brent only fueled the fire of the beast's instincts.

From what he could smell from his forked tongue, beyond the writhing pain and defeaning sound of his own pained roars, was human flesh. Not just Brent's, if he was even sane enough now to even still reckognize who Brent was, but the people of 'illusions' of Ground Zero. This was bad, perhaps even worse his rampage on the island. The loss of Angelique still in his mind, his hatred for Brent, intensive negative emotion prayed on his conscious like maggots over bread. All that remained on the surface of his mind was the instincts of a monster. What started out as a toying revenge transformed into a blind rampage.

That smell of flesh, among his maddened state, transcended his pain. He needed to feed. Feed on the insignificant worms that plagued these lands. Chris, if you could still call him that being so far gone to his own natural drive, rose from his writhing state; still in pain, but with anger beyond measure. Another roar was released from his maw as recovered from the pain, it was different in tone from his previous shouts, perhaps even angrier then his roars directed at Brent.

The dragon had followed Brent to the ringed plaza. At least, to his general location. The people there occupied his attention, as if he had forgotten of Brent entirely. Flames flied to incinerate civilians, others spared from the flames were crunched and swallowed by maw, or crushed underfoot by claw or tail by a blind, angry, and hungry beast. Walls and houses didn't shelter anyone from his wrath, whatever wasn't burned to the ground in his path was merely trampled through by force of his body.

A rampage that continued for hours.

Siena hadn't noticed that she'd left her phone in her rush, hadn't even stopped her incessant wandering for long enough to realize it until she was certain that it was too late to retrieve it from the cafeteria.

'You fucked up.' The thought kept replaying in her head, along with everything else that had just taken place. She shouldn't have done that...ah, but it was too late.

Gingerly, the girl rubbed her now-damaged hand, abrasions singing their praises for her less-than-professional need for some sort of release. A mistake, considering that she was still under the full assault of too many emotions. Anger, remorse, guilt--she shouldn't have been so harsh. A bigger mistake, considering her last vestige of sanctuary did not include any names that would heal her, only names that might have prevented the damage to begin with, had she bothered to remember. Despite all the sentimentality she carried for the booklet she'd looked through, Siena had tossed it aside near her bag, the pages open and splayed haphazardly over the sheathed blades. Absentmindedly, the Arbiter continued to run her fingertips over the abrasions--she'd have to find a healer to fix that later.

Shouldn't have left her phone. Damn it.

'I should apologize.' Was that really the wisest course of action? Her stomach lurched at the idea of heading back to the dorm. It would be easier to apologize--it had really been her fault, right? For pushing so hard for an answer, even when Marcus hadn't wanted to give one. Her fault for not keeping herself in check when she should have been able to. Another mistake.

...at least she still had a few hours of peace.

"Yo, 'ena, catch."

A beat later, a thin, rectangular object hurtled through the air towards the preoccupied literary girl.

'Wh--shit!'

One hand shot up, the phone hitting her knuckles, earning a slight wince at the impact. The second hand moved to correct the mistake, managing to catch the device by pinning it against her torso. It took a few moments for the identity of the object to fully register in her head, grey eyes retracing the trajectory to its source.

She failed to offer the weary smile she wanted to give, instead only managing a weary tone.

"...thanks."

"Nice catch," Brent replied, stepping out from the shadows, "Where you headed?"

"Does it really look like I'm heading somewhere?" Too sharp. Siena grimaced faintly at the tone. "...sorry."

Brent ignored the unexpected sharpness in her tone, rolling his shoulders instead. "If you don't have anywhere to go, wanna do some sparring? Haven't gone over my kickboxing routine in a while."

Sparring...an uneasy part of her warned her to tread lightly, but a firmer part stamped the queasy feeling away. It wasn't like she had to worry about controlling another name.

"...yeah, sure." Pocketing her phone, the girl ignored the stinging protests that came alight across her knuckles. It was a welcome distraction, she told herself.

"Training grounds then," he nodded, before departing.

Past evening, the amount of people present in the place was even less than before, making it ideal for having a fight without getting into too much trouble. The subnaturals in USARILN East probably had better things to do than gossip about who's brawling with who, right? Right. Stepping onto the empty field and enjoying how open the entire place was, after the almost claustrophobic cafeteria, Brent breathed deeply. His eyes flickered back to Siena, up and down, before he asked, "Don't mind grass stains?"

"Probably the least of my concerns." Siena replied, finding a sense of relief at how empty the space seemed. Fewer people meant less to think about, didn't it? Less to consider in case the small pocks of starlight started to flicker out into flesh one by--goddamn it. Masking the momentary lapse of thought with a reflexive motion to brush stray locks of hair out of the way, Siena sent her gaze over Brent, not exactly looking at him, but close enough. Pulling her bag from her shoulder, the mage moved to drop it out of the way, the contents clattering against each other as the bag hit the floor. "Probably won't need these either."

"Entering a fist fight with a bag o knives would be pretty cheap, yeah," Brent replied, before tapping fists with Siena. "Let's have a fair fight."

---

Fair as it was, it still only worked out as exercise. Brent had stuck to the basics, no real effort made to rush Siena down, while the storm eyed girl seemed to be drifting off on her own. No conversation, no kiai, only a silent exchange of fists, elbows, kicks, knees, strikes without the intent to maul either party. Almost rhythmic, an ebb and flow of combat many times less frenetic than their last physical encounter. For really training their individual fighting skills, it was lacking, but for getting the blood flowing? For casting troublesome thoughts away with motion and muscle memory?

Suited that purpose well.

Wiping sweat off his brow, Brent let out a sigh, breath misting in the cold, night air. Above, a purple night sky dappled by clouds. Around, fluorescent lamps shining searingly bright light.

"Guess we can call it a day."

"Sounds like a plan." Regaining her breath had been easy, but regulating her temperature was a task that might have been more easily completed if it had ever occurred to shed her coat. As it were, grass stains were the least of her concerns, heat trapped against her, a light coat of sweat clinging to her skin. The movement wasn't quite as distracting as she'd hoped--at least, it hadn't been until the first time she'd hit the floor rather unceremoniously--but it had been enough, for the time being.

Part of her wished that it had been more, but a greater part understood why. If she wanted to be honest about it, the temptation was enough to make her stomach squirm in discomfort. Would they count? If she allowed just a little bit of that hunger course through her veins, would it have sated her long enough? Again, she imagined scarlet welling up over skin, of how quickly the unrelenting heat might pull back if she just indulged one time.

And she knew the only reason it kept coming to mind was because it was getting harder to believe that light would shine with a pristine white on anyone.

"Thanks for the sparring practice." It was nice to stop thinking for a bit. "It's nice to get some air."

"No prob," Brent waved, "Looking forward to seeing you punch out a DC monster now."

"You mean the ones that look human?"

"Pretty sure you've already done that," he replied, always so light, "Gotta move on to CQC against Black Dogs now."

"I think I need more protection than a Burberry coat before I try that." Only half-joking, she realized, but casual was...easier, right? She tried to stoke the usual flame. Easier, even if the expression felt forced. "Contrary to popular belief, I want to keep my arm intact."

"Tsk tsk, that's the problem, 'ena, you think instead of do," Brent laughed. "And really, your arm will be fine if you just don't get hit."

Terrible logic, of course, but everything lead somewhere.

"How are you feeling though, after Marcus?"

She faltered. Of course.

"I don't know." Liar. "It's...a lot to take in at once." Liar.

He peered into her eyes, through her eyes.

"That's the general response, yeah."

Fuck.

Out of habit, Siena turned her gaze away. It had been worth a shot.

"I'll take a wild guess and say that's not cutting it for you."

"Thought I cleared that up before. If you don't wanna answer, just say so, instead of bullshitting."

A smile crossed his features.

"Pegged you as someone who would know more times that not, anyways."

"You'd be surprised." Siena made no attempt to hide the faint, bitter tint in her voice, one hand jammed into her pocket, tracing the edges of her phone again. Comfort or courage. She didn't know which one it provided then.

But she did know what she was feeling then. Too many things that she had to compartmentalize. Too many things to know which one was taking the lead at that point.

"I want to be angry." Because anger felt good. Better than the other emotions it usually came coupled with. "..but I'm honestly just...disappointed." Not disappointed. Hurt. Aching. Disappointed was just an easier emotion to express because there was only one form of it. Again, her fingers traced the edges of her phone. Comfort or courage. She didn't know which one she wanted more.

"Suppose I'm the same," he said, glancing skywards, at the stars that have yet to fall, at the invisible veil that Dreamcatcher enshrouded the world in. "Though to a lesser extent. Had a long time to let my thoughts on it settle and numb."

She couldn't suppress a bitter fascimile of a smile.

"So did he."

"Gonna be pretty awk rooming with him after, huh?"

"Understatement of the hour, really."

"Well, if you don't have a doghouse to banish him to, you could always chill at my place. Doubt Grant minds."

It was a tempting offer. More time to put her thoughts together, more time to pull everything in and get the worst of the backlash under control, and most importantly, less time to let the storm get the better of her. It might be the wiser move--there would be no need to try and explain to Callan if the girl saw anything wrong either.

"If...if you're sure," Siena started the carefully formulated reply. "It's...probably better if I make myself scarce around my dorm for now."

She was the most expendible one there, after all.

"Cool, let's call it a sleepover then. Haven't had one of those before, have you?"

"Unless recent lodgings count, no." It took more effort than it should have for her to piece together the smile she needed. "No bodyguards to try and eviscerate you here for the suggestion either."

"Just as planned," Brent chuckled.