A sea of bodies. A storm of voices. An endless stream of clicks and ticks and flashing lights as fingers scrabbled against screens and buttons, desperately snapping shots to be slapped on a web page with some hastily written text and perhaps a choice quote or two, whichever would draw the most hits from bored or curious citizens looking for a few minutes of pointless entertainment in checking out the latest buzz on the hero scene. Some would spin it as a feel-good piece, the disadvantaged kids being offered a generous chance at redemption. Others would shoot for controversy, painting Tumble as an irresponsible upstart trying to drag mentally unstable youths and literal criminals into what was supposed to be a prestigious and tightly regulated field of work. If either story sold well enough, it might even end up being scavenged by the dead tree press the next morning.
Really, though, the whole clusterfuck could be summed up in a single sentence: it was
attention, something Toma Shuko was doing her very best to avoid at the moment.
She'd known it would be one of the risks from the moment she'd received Tumble's offer, but had hoped the hero in question would keep things quiet. Evidently, she had not. Which led to the worrying question of whether this whole affair was just a big PR stunt. It certainly wouldn't be the first time Shuko had been taken for a ride.
Luckily she hadn't been the first to arrive, and by the time she'd showed up the press and gawkers alike had already ambushed the other prospective heroes, leaving her free to watch the whole scene from some distance away. A few people might have seen her, but when there was a guy cosplaying as Satan screaming about pain and violence only a few yards away, nobody was going to pay much attention to a scrawny girl with messy hair in a rumpled grey sweater, clutching a thin notebook to her chest.
The latter was a deliberate choice on her part, meant to make her look as boring as humanly possible for the cameras. Plain features and a dead expression did the rest, and for now only one pair of eyes was actually looking at her.
"Shuko. I'm fairly sure you're supposed to be standing in
front of that crowd."
She met her father's gaze, trying to look a great deal calmer than she actually felt. "You're right. I'm hesitating again." She paused. "But the less time I have to spend in that mess, the better."
"If you're going to go through with this, you'll be seeing plenty more of the press from now on. You can't avoid them forever."
"I can avoid them
now."
"Perhaps. But the thicker that crowd gets, the harder it'll be to move through, and you wouldn't want to be stuck back here and miss your first day." Gently, he rested a hand on one of her shoulders, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I know you hate this part. I also know you're strong enough to brave it."
"Not strong."
He rolled his eyes a little at that. "You're as pedantic as your mother. Fine, not strong, but
capable. You already have a plan for this, don't you?"
Shuko's cold expression cracked, just a little. A smile, fleeting, too quick to catch if one weren't looking for it.
Her father noticed, and smiled right back. "Go on, then. Before time runs out."
She nodded, and stepped forwards.
Part of her reason for hanging back was simple reluctance, the other part was a need to observe. Her thoughts had drifted, from the types of clothing on display to the lumens of each camera flash to the absence of Tumble herself to the other hero candidates to a somewhat cynical internal discussion on the media and this whole situation. All of it was fluff. Fluff to pass the time as she watched the crowd, gathering information for her Quirk to chew on.
Humans as individuals could be incredibly unpredictable. Humans as a
group were far less so. The crowd had parameters she could use, points where people had focused their attention, which in turn determined the overall movement of the throng. Once she understood how this great mass of bodies worked, she could make a rough estimate of the fastest way through it.
Which she'd just done, leaving her with nothing to do but walk straight in.
Head down, shoulders hunched. First through the more open areas, where there remained some respect for personal space, then into the scrum at the front. Bodies pressed against her, larger than her, stronger than her, and she focused, making sure to push through in such a way as to move people
towards the centers of attention, giving them an excuse to push forwards against others rather than push back against her. Not everyone responded the same way, but the law of averages was in full effect here, and she slipped through the crowd like a ghost.
Until a roving glance caught her and made the connection, and a hand reached out to try and seize her, a shouted question already in the air. Shuko twisted to one side, away from the grasping fingers, and moved on as if nothing had happened.
Some had caught wind, now, and were yelling or snapping photos, but the most they'd get would be a dull grey blur as she moved away from them, and a stiff, unyielding silence. If she didn't say anything, then what could they write about? Enough pressure would eventually force her to speak, but she was counting on a simple rule of nature here: when presented with a choice predators tended to go after the easier prey.
Sure enough, the attention passed, returning to the dog and the devil and whoever else was putting on a show. Shuko breathed a quiet sigh of relief, her pulse returning to normal as she made her way over to a squat-looking boy who seemed to have clammed up as well. Of all the others, he seemed the least likely to be photographed- the media didn't favor the unattractive. She'd stand next to him, and with any luck they'd be ignored until Tumble showed up.
(With @Pacifista's character for now)
