Baklava

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

BLARGH

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

_{ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 / / @Baklava@Diggerton}

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𝕋𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕤: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕚 𝔾𝕠𝕝𝕗 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖 / / 𝟙𝟠𝟘𝟘

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It had been a slow day. A slow week, really. Emma had gotten out a little, but...

"Dude. Check this." Determination said, tossing Emma's own phone back at her. It was a video of a golden retriever trying to carry a stick that was way too big through a narrow hallway, and that pretty much summed up Emma's day besides her chat with Ernie, a small trip to Crimen Culpae, and fruitless attempts to fix her scarf. "Cute as hell, right? Why don't we get a dog too?"

A slow day.

She did, however, see something in Crimen Clulpae that piqued her interest: a mini golf course. It was the kind of stupid thing her and Riley used to do all the time... but it felt weird hanging out with the faux-Riley that always followed her around. Instead, she knew just the person to ask out.

"I'm gonna go out, kay?"

"Ooooo, can I come?"

"Not today. Give Spartacus a bath while I'm gone, that'll keep you busy."

"Ugh. Fiiiine. Seeya."

Emma nodded, waving as she left. She grabbed her phone, as she set off down the hallway opening up her messages and finding Callan.

Awake yet? I got a hot tip that there's a pretty good mini golf course in CC.

:0 that sounds awesome. Im down. What time?

Is it good if I come now? I kinda already left

Callan groaned, holding her phone up as she rolled over in her bed. It wasn't that she didn't want to hang out with Emma, but her sleeping schedule was in dire of fixing.... No, it would be fine. Still had plenty of energy drinks left.

Sure! Cya

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Emma's new walk from Building B to Building A wasn't a long one- it only took but a minute for her to end up at the door of Suite 430. She gave it a quick knock, quietly hoping that Cal wasn't still in bed.

Callan answered relatively quickly. Quicker than she had the day before, at least. Though the effort of her attire was the same as always, she seemed ready to go.

"You ready to lose?" she smirked, hoisting a small cinch bag over her shoulder.

"Pfffft, not a chance in hell, Webb. I'll have you know that I have smashed every minigolf course in NYC. Like, I'm a certified minigolf pro, so don't take it too hard when you lose."

"Oh boy," Callan's confident smile only wavered for a second, "It's gonna be really embarrassing when you lose to a total noob like me."

"Here I was thinking I would go easy, seeing as there's not a chance that you're good as me. Looks like someone is gonna have to be put in her place, though."

"I ain't scared of you, Party Queen."

The afternoon went by as pleasantly as Callan felt it could have, sleep deprivation aside. Her muscles were sore, but thankfully she wasn't required to do anything too strenuous. Not that doing so would have helped in a game like minigolf-- as she quickly found out. Emma's self proclaimed title of 'minigolf pro' turned out to be nothing to sneer while Callan's ability turned out to be a major hindrance for such a green player. It was frustrating to lose, but the casual chatter and good company was enough to soften the blow.

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Callan and Emma's List of Useless Information. Obtained While Playing Mini Golf.

Birthday: January 30th
Birthday: December 21st

"And no, I don't get two Christmases. Total bullshit. Not even extra presents!"

"Ha, my folks at least got a chance to replenish the funds before my birthday came around."

"Hmph. Bullshit, I tell you!"

Sign: Aquarius
Sign: Sagittarius

”That means we're supposed to be, like, BFFs aren't we? At least, I think my horoscope said that before.”

"Haha, yeah I think I remember reading that, too. But don't think I'll be going easy on you just because of that. You're goin down, Halwell."

"We shall see. Weee shaaall seeeee."

Favorite Color: Purple
Favorite Color: Purple

”Twinning!”

"Purple is the best color. Confirmed."

Favorite Animal: Wolves
Favorite Animal: Cat

”Wolves... don't, uh, seem very cuddly.”

"Okay, cats are a close second. They're great, don't get me wrong but... wolves. There was like this four hour special on National Geographic about them a few years ago and they've been my favorite ever since. They're seriously just so cool, you have no idea."

"I think I'll go with something that can't bite my face off."

"No fun if you can't pet them, huh?"

Favorite Food: Steak
Favorite Food: Pizza

”I'm a New Yorker, after all.”

"Oh, pizza's good, too... now I'm getting hungry. We're grabbing dinner after this, right?"

"Fosho. I could always use some grease."

"Heck yeah~!"

Favorite Junk Food: Snickers
Favorite Junk Food: Pizza

”I can have the same answer for both, right?”

"I think that's probably cheating, but I'll let it slide."

Favorite Snack Food: Jerky or Trail Mix
Favorite Snack Food: Uh... Pizza?

”What? Leftover pizza is totally a snack.”

"Now that's definitely cheating. Come on, I need something you can like... buy at a store immediately. What are you gonna do? Scour the campus for day old pizza every time you want a snack?"

"Hey, why not? But if you're twisting my arm I guess I'll say... cup noodles. With lots of hot sauce."

Favorite Ice Cream: Cookies n Cream
Favorite Ice Cream: Cookie Dough

”Close, young Cal, but cookie dough will always reign supreme.”

"Not even close. And you'll never convince me otherwise~"

Favorite Beverage: Sports Drinks?
Favorite Beverage: Coffee

”Black.”

"You know, I think I heard somewhere that people who like their coffee black are either psychopaths or megahipsters. You better have a knife on you somewhere, or I might need to rethink this friendship."

"Oof. Caught out on both accounts. I'm from fucking Tribeca, hipster is in my blood. Now you know my darkest secret, Cal."

"Ew, oh god. That better not be contagious."

Favorite Weather: Snowy
Favorite Weather: Rainy

”Snow is a close second, but there's something magical about a rainy day.”

"Ha, I was just about to say the same thing about rain. Definitely a close second, but I dunno. There's something about freshly laid snow that's kinda magical, too. Makes me think of fresh starts. Like a white sheet of paper or a perfectly sharpened pencil..."

"Deep, Webb. Very deep."

"Psh. Shut up."

Favorite Precursor: Sparrow
Favorite Precursor: Sparrow

”That's what I'm talking about! She's just so... hnnng.”

"I knowww. I don't know how anybody can be that perfect and still be human."

"Oh man. You get me, Cal."

Favorite TV Show: The Office
Favorite TV Show: Always Sunny

”It speaks to the terrible person inside me.”

"Oh, Always Sunny's a good choice. Not enough feels, though. I like my comedies with... er... a lot of romance... I guess?"

"Soooo, about that secret crush...? Speaking of."

"I plead the fifth."

Favorite Holiday: Christmas
Favorite Holiday: Halloween

"What can I say? I love dress-up.”

"The costumes are kinda cool but..."

"But? Man, you get all these badass decerations and an excuse to eat tons of candy. What's there not to love?"

"Yo, honestly... scary movies."

"Oh no. Oh noooooo Cal. If we're gonna hang I'm gonna have to give you a masterclass on horror movies."

"Haha, thanks but I think I'll pass...."

Emma smirked. "We'll see about that."

Favorite Sport: Basketball
Favorite Sport: Pass

”Yeah, not really a... ugh, just not my thing.”

"Hey, I don't judge."

Favorite Movie: Love and Basketball
Favorite Movie: Blade Runner: Director's Cut

"Tears in rain? That shit makes me cry every time. Plus, Harrison Ford... and Pris! Mreow. C'mon! Classic."

"Wait... Love and... what? What is that? You're totally making that up, I've never even heard of it."

"You're kidding, right? It's literally one of the best love stories of all time."

"Yeah, you're totally shitting me. That sounds like... I dunno, it sounds fake as shit. 'Love and Basketball'? That sounds like the title of a movie that's in a TV show."

"Oh my God, that's it. I'll just have to show it to you some time."

"Oof. Fine, but I don't have high hopes."

Favorite Music Artist: Frank Ocean
Favorite Music Artist: Radiohead

"Sorry, is my douchey hipster showing again? I try not to let that happen, but man OK Computer is like the theme to my life and Kid A was transformative."

"I can't see anyone ever hating on Radiohead. It's a solid choice-- even if I already know what a filthy hipster you are."

"Ayyyy. Frank Ocean is a pretty solid choice too."

Even through all the smack talk and smiles, however, Callan couldn't help but notice that Emma seemed tired. And after that lecture the other day about taking care of yourself, too. She made a mental note to try and do something extra nice for her soon. Not that she felt Emma needed it. What with someone like Marcus around. The Riley situation had to be stressful; she could only imagine. And while she would have loved to help Emma find an escape from both Riley and the secret she was keeping from her boyfriend, Callan desperately needed a full day's sleep tomorrow.

The night ended casually. No intense discussions. Minimal Marcus references. Callan was surprised to hear that Emma had moved to her own room, though it made sense. Not a big deal considering how she didn't seem especially close to either of her roommates, though Callan couldn't help but think she might get a little lonely. A stupid idea. She supposed it made hanging out with Emma a lot easier if she could convince herself, even for a few hours, that she and Marcus weren't together. But things always came full circle.

Nonetheless, she wished Emma goodnight, promised to kick her ass next time, and headed home to prepare for another tiring night of training at Ground Zero.

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After Texts

Bitch I still can't believe you've never heard of Love and Basketball

Omg.
Cal.
Stop making things up, please.

Ugh I'm gonna have to find some time to educate you :P

Hmmmmmm. I guess I gotta give it a try, since it has the blessing of the honorable Callan Webb.
Only if you watch Alien with me tho

uh. :worried:

That's my deal. Take it or leave it.

:weary: man that's brutal. I'll think about it

Dw Cal, if you get scared you can jump in my arms :kissing_heart:

:sob: great so if I dont die of a heart attack first...

marcus will totally murder me for makin moves on his girlfriend :sob: :sob: :sob:

I won't tell Marcus about what happens if you don't :smirk: :peach:

omg go to bed

Pretty tempting to skip a good night's rest with you around :heart_eyes:

-______-
ok
fine
we'll watch ur dumb alien movie
JUST GO TO BED

<3 I'll make sure you're not disappointed :wink:

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

_{ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 / / @Baklava@Chasers115}

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𝕋𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕤: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝕊𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝟜𝟛𝟘 / / 𝟙𝟙𝟘𝟘

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Pep Talks and Toast

Callan fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow. Halfway off the bed, she hadn't even bothered with the blanket. Having almost nodded off in the shower beforehand, it was frankly a miracle she made it to the bed at all. Even with the dismal state of the school, few words had been exchanged between herself and her roommates after landing. She certainly didn't mind it, though. Exhaustion had a way of numbing most concerns. Her bed was still intact and that was all that mattered. Groggier than usual, it took a few minutes of staring at the ceiling the next morning to remember where she even was.

Still slightly damp, Callan's hair stood up in at least eight different strange angles once she finally managed to roll off the bed and slump into the bathroom. Siena and Marcus were nowhere to be seen. Breakfast, most likely. She couldn't blame them for not waking her, but there was a certainly a nostalgic pang at the memory of their little lunch crew. She wondered if they'd had many meals together during their stay at Zhang's estate. Not their fault, though. Marcus had tried to come see her. She had some regrets about missing out on so much, but.... that was what she had to look forward to. Her ability simply wasn't like theirs. Might as well get used to it. Getting dressed, Callan thought about her plans for the day, flipping on the news as she ran a brush through her hair-- a habit she'd acquired over the last month.

Marcus's face lit up the screen and she lowered her brush for a moment. She'd seen this clip before, but... she couldn't help but watch it again. Every time it came on, she watched it. Could probably recite it if she wanted to. As the interview went on, Callan slid over the back of the couch, making herself rather comfortable as she gripped the brush tightly to her chest.

"Yes. I'm not sure why I was chosen by DC, or if there even was a reason, but I know I was given the ability to help where I hadn't been able to before. If you had the chance to help even one person Mari, wouldn't you?"

The reporter laughed. "I think anyone would say 'yes' in this context, Marc. But it's good to know that for all that's happened, you'd still help those who can't help themselves. Do you think that philosophy will remain true in the days to come?"

"If it didn't, then I'd be very disappointed with myself."

With a belly full of pancakes, Marcus made his way back to the Suite. It had been nice to go back and get breakfast, despite the odd pile of rubble he had to navigate his way through. It wasn't home, that much was for sure, but it was at least comforting to return to familiar territory. Here he could settle into a rhythm, a schedule that he could at least adhere to - even if he didn't do the same thing every single day, he was at peace when he had some constants in his life. Constants and routine being some of the hardest things to find when USARILN was involved.

Already nearing the door, Marcus could hear the sound of a running television; Callan was probably awake by now. He'd done his best not to disturb her as he was making his breakfast exit, but with Siena already having been gone and Callan's ability to sleep through heavy construction, he had probably been worrying a little bit too much with his morning routine.

He'd managed to get all the way up to pressing his hand against the door before recognizing the voice on the television: his own. He knew exactly what segment it was, too; he'd only self-consciously watched nearly a hundred different versions of it...including a rather ambiguously worded link that Sammie had sent him. That had resulted in a hurriedly cleared history and an angry text.

He swung the door open unconsciously, saying nothing as he did. Instead, his eyes flicked immediately over to the television screen, confirming his evaluation. There he was displayed on the screen, heavily disheveled, while Mari shoved a microphone into his face.

Callan's eyes flickered from one Marcus to the other, immediately doing a double take before she gripped the brush in her hand so tightly it snapped, each half spinning off in two separate directions. "Marcus!" Callan's hands dove for the remote. She easily managed to also demolish that device-- though not before successfully turning off the television. A feat which had apparently required the use of both thumbs.

"Uh-- Oops. Sorry, I was just--" It suddenly occurred to her that this was the first time in three weeks since she'd spoken to him. What difference that made, she wasn't entirely sure, but she certainly felt it the longer she tried to think of what to say. "S-sup?" she stammered uncomfortably, tiny bits of plastic spilling out from between her fingers as she slowly lowered the evidence of her latest mistake onto the coffee table.

He flinched slightly at the sound of snapping plastic, eyes following the careening half of what appeared to be a brush as it sailed away. Aaaand the sound of more snapping plastic as his face disappeared from the television; the final hurrah of a poor, unfortunate television remote. A fate undeserved, for sure.

It was a comedy of errors that happened so quickly, leaving Marcus stood there in utter befuddlement for the briefest of moments. However, the confusion changed to a smirk and a rolling of the eyes, and Marcus could only let out a little chuckle. Pulling out his phone and pretending to type, Marcus spoke to himself, eyes glancing towards Callan every now-and-then. "Reminder to self. Requisition another remote. Consider getting extras."

With that out of the way, Marcus finished walkingw into the room and closed the door, shaking his head at Callan. "Sup, huh? That's what we're rolling with here? he joked. Sure, they hadn't talked in a while (he could theorize a few plausible reasons as to why he hadn't seen her at all during the Estate trip), but sometimes the best remedy was just moving on like nothing had happened. If they wanted to talk about it, they would, and sometimes forcing it would make things worse.

He knew that much firsthand.

"Alright, I'll roll with it. Not much, Cal! 'Sup with you?"

Callan's face burned with embarrassment as she leaned over to pick up one of the brush pieces. "Er-- not much," she mumbled, further flustered when her poor attempt at acting like nothing had happened was blatantly called out. She quickly realized that not only would that be a difficult thing to achieve, but she really didn't want it. She wanted to talk.

No use putting it off. And with Kusari's admission still fresh in her mind, she wanted answers now more than ever. She didn't want to be the only one here trying to do the right thing either. And she felt, more than anyone, Marcus seemed to get that. Or she imagined he did, at least.

His interview implied as much, didn't it?

She took a deep breath to try soothe the nerves. "You busy right now?" she asked, her mind drifting to Emma for a moment.

"I've always got a second for you, Cal; What's up?" Marcus said, strolling over to pick up the other half of the brush.

Agh, don't say stuff like that, she mentally scolded him. Then again, he was probably trying to be extra nice. Anyone would worry if their friend holed themselves up in a room for so long. Still didn't make the butterflies his comment triggered any less of a thing, though. She cleared her throat.

"Well," Callan waited until Marcus handed her the rest of her brush, "First off, I owe you an apology." She frowned, shaking her head at herself, "I shouldn't have ignored you like I did. I, uh. I guess you could say I've been having a hard time adjusting."

"Yeah, I think you could say that about all of us." Marcus said. Everyone had been dealing with things their own ways, and none of them seemed to be necessarily good. Still, it was nice to hear the genuine apology: between driving a fairly significant wedge between him and Siena, and Callan holing up her room, he was starting to get a little bit worried about the future of Suite 430.

"But hey, it's good to actually see you again instead of shoving pasta under your door!" Marcus said, grinning widely.

Callan laughed. "I still can't believe you did that." She sighed, relaxing a little more now that the initial shock of having Marcus walk in on her fawning over the TV had settled. "Didn't really feel like I deserved it though. After what happened in DC and all..."

None of them deserved anything more than a short trial after what happened in D.C.

It occurred to Marcus that he didn't actually know what had happened to Callan in DC. He'd assumed that she'd been off fighting the Ice Titan and the Slime, but he hadn't actually seen her during the event, and he was definitely doing his best to avoid footage from the scene. Supposedly there wasn't any video evidence as to what had happened during the evacuation, but he didn't want to chance it by looking.

"Listen, D.C was rough...you handled it the best you could," a widely encompassing answer for a scenario he didn't know. "We're friends, Cal. I'm not just going to turn my back on you. Who else would be there to provide witty commentary in your hour of need?"

"Ha, I guess you're right," she chuckled.

'Rough' was one word for it. Cat's Cradle being there probably hadn't made things any easier either. They were cold-blooded criminals. Simple as that.

"You can only do so much," she frowned, glancing at the TV. "They're the worst kind of people. Even worse than the jerks who attacked us back at the estate. Squishing people like they don't matter... abusing their powers just because they can...."

She paused to think for a moment before smirking, "But hey, as long there are heroes like us out there, things'll turn out for the better, right? Speaking of which-- I saw all the clips of you guys on the news..."

"Don't call me Zip Zip Boi I swear to God."

"Haha, Timescar's way cooler anyway," she shook her head, "But I was gonna say you guys were amazing. You saved all those people-- you know? I was really impressed. And I know it's petty, but I guess I was kind of jealous, too. All I did was snooze in a ditch somewhere."

"Yeah, because taking down that Ice Giant definitely didn't help anybody." Marcus said, rolling his eyes in Callan's direction. "We've been in three major missions, and you've taken down the biggest target every single time. I'd certainly say you've done your part in saving people. Probably more than I've saved, at least." His eyes darted to the side as he said that; how jealous would she be if she knew what he'd done?

Even though she felt the praise was misplaced, Callan couldn't help but smile sheepishly. "I think you mean I've tried to take down the biggest target every time. Siena took out that giant two headed thing in the first fight," she counted on her fingers, "Sander practically took down Factory single-handedly, and there's no way I would've been able to put a dent in that ice giant without Kadabra's help. Same story as yesterday-- if Sander hadn't been there, I probably would've been sliced to pieces."

As Callan continued, she held the two broken edges of her brush together, running her finger along the jagged crack. "I just feel like I should be doing so much more," Callan frowned. "I didn't know either of them very well, but it drives me crazy that Angel and Gregory didn't make it back. And those staff members who tried to protect us-- I couldn't get to them in time, either. It's like... I'm trying, but I'm moving in mud, y'know?"

"Trust me. I know the feeling." Marcus said, sighing exasperatedly and sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. "No matter how much you do...you always wish that you could do more."

Images of the old man from the APC, or the guard that had been speared through flashed through his mind. And lord only knew how many people he'd condemned to death preventing Siena from getting herself killed in D.C. Plus, losing Angle had been a little harder on him than he cared to admit. Less than a week ago, he'd been riding in the passenger seat of a car, talking with her about using her powers for practical jokes...and now she was dead. It was hard for him to think that those were some of the last words he said to her.

"But I can tell you...even the Precursors can't help everybody. It's war out there..."

"Yeah. You're right," Callan agreed, setting the brush halves on the coffee table next to the ruined remote. She went quiet again, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she became lost in thought.

She exhaled sharply, finally making up her mind to speak. "Can I tell you something?" Callan looked at Marcus seriously, sitting forward in her seat as her hands gripped the cushions for support.

A small portion of Marcus immediately tensed in response to Callan's request. Another one of the buzz-phrases that made him incredibly nervous. The silence that had preceded certainly hadn't done any favors to alleviate his worry.

"Sure Cal, whatever you want!" he said, attempting to maintain the guise of nonchalance.

She noticed the discomfort that followed and couldn't keep the subdued smirk off her face, thinking about all the things she could say after a question like that.

"It's dumb," she laughed disarmingly, "So don't tell anyone, but... I like to think I might be as strong as a Precursor one day. And maybe even... more than that? I dunno..." Hearing the words out loud, she suddenly realized how incredibly ridiculous it sounded. Not only that, but it made her sound really full of herself. Immediately regretting her decision, Callan folded one arm and ran her free hand through her bangs nervously, hiding half her face, which was becoming increasingly hot.

"What?" Marcus asked in confusion, quickly hurrying to continue his thought before Callan could get the wrong idea. "That's not dumb at all! In fact, we're probably the closest to actually achieving that; definitely way closer than all the regulars out there in the world."

His attitude quickly switched to mocking, as he rolled his eyes and looked at her while she tried to hide herself. "That's like a guy with three arms saying 'I like to think I could be really good at piano', or a master chef being like 'I like to think I might be able to make really decent pancakes'. The only dumb thing is you thinking that's dumb, dummy." he finished.

"Tch," Callan scoffed, lowering her hand and shaking her head in disbelief, "That's one way of putting it." She smiled, averting her eyes again. Why was she so happy all of a sudden?

"It's just like you said in that interview. We were given these abilities so we could help. I think it must be destiny-- or something like it-- because when I was a younger..." she stared at the television with a distant look in her eye, "I always thought it'd be so cool to be a Precursor. Even after the world came crashing down, I thought... 'Wouldn't it be nice to be able to do something about it?'"

"But I was just a kid and nothing bad ever happened in Atlanta. So it was kinda easy to just forget about all the bad stuff and move on. ...Keep thinking it'll never happen to you, so why bother daydreaming? ...Sometimes I still can't believe this is all real. Other times I sort of hate it. But mostly I..." she hesitated, blinking as if she suddenly remembered that she was talking to someone. "Well, nevermind. You get what I mean," she laughed nervously.

There was no denying it. Even with its frustrating quirk, Callan loved this power. She was damn proud of it. She loved the idea of vanquishing monsters left and right-- having the ability to do so without anything ever standing in her way. It was why she believed she was here. It gave her purpose.

But with the most recent events, she wasn't at all ready to try and explain why some others might not have been meant for such a life.

"I think we all grew up thinking it would be cool to be one of the Precursors. Everybody wants to have superheroes to believe in...feel like there's people out there protecting them. Before our time, they had comic books and stuff like that to pretend with. We were raised with living, breathing, superheroes. People who actually could do things about it. It was a nice thing to pretend, at least." Marcus said, a brief twinge of what seemed like disappointment in his voice, quickly covered up by his usual chipperness.

"But yeah, I get what you're saying; it's definitely got it's ups and downs, but we're the superheroes now! Destiny, fate, whatever it was that put us here; we've got to make the most of it, you know? "

"Exactly!" Callan seemed plenty fired up by this validation, scooting closer to the edge and center of the couch. Grinning from ear to ear, it was hard to imagine she was the same person who, up until yesterday night, had been hiding away in her room.

"I'm glad somebody gets it," Callan smirked, not-so-fondly recalling her conversation with Kusari back on the island. She'd chalked most of it up to Kusari having just experienced what's it's like to feel Zoe's full wrath, but still... it was refreshing to hear another contrary opinion.

Marcus grinned as well, it was good to see Callan actually excited about something, rather than the down-and-discouraged version he'd seen the last month or so. It was the same Callan from the first mission, from the Capture the Flag game. Pumped up and ready to kick ass. In a way, it encouraged him, too.

"I feel like we need to make some sort of dumb toast or something. 'To being heroes', you know what I mean?"

She snorted at the suggestion, stifling a small laugh. "With what?" Callan teased.

"I don't know? Our imaginations? I can pretend, I don't know about you!" Marcus said, shrugging wildly.

"Hmm," Callan hummed with a mockingly stern expression, narrowing her eyes at him. All at once, she smiled again and held out her hand, formed around an invisible glass of champagne.

"To being heroes, then!"

"The best that we can be!"

_{ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 / / @Baklava@banjoanjo}

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𝕋𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕤: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝔸𝕕𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕆𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕖 / / 𝟙𝟚𝟘𝟘

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Permission Slip Up

Callan stood before the administrative building, slowly lowering her headphones as she took in the view before ascending the short set of steps leading up to the lobby. It felt strangely daunting. Far more so than the administrative office at her old high school. She hadn't felt the need to seek out Rosa or Freddie or anyone in charge since she arrived. Of course, she'd had plenty of questions and concerns, but up until now she'd resolved to simply go with the flow. No matter what Kusari said, Callan trusted them. Even if she was just a tool to them, she could at least reason out that the government value herself and everyone to some degree. Enough to keep them fed and wanting for virtually nothing.

Enough to make them Unit B.

And after seeing what Unit A could do, Callan was certain that was no petty title.

Even so, none of that stuff was the reason for Callan being here today. Pushing open the door slowly, she paused in the doorway, craning her neck for any idea of who to talk to.

Not that it made things any clearer. The lobby was a hub of bustling activity. Suited workers traveling to and fro from the elevators, carrying files and papers more often than not. Paces were brisk and conversations were usually little more than a passing nod of acknowledgment. Front desk clerks evaluated student queries with a frightening efficiency. There was an atmosphere of controlled urgency to it all. The number of guards posted on the four corners of the room did nothing to assuage that.

A ticket machine by the front door blinked, inviting Callan to register and join one of the numerous queues by the desks. In the far corner of the lobby, a particularly large throng of soldiers stood at attention, bulk and armor easily obscuring their assigned staff member as she spoke to one of the clerks. Only a tinge of tied-back brown hair could occasionally be seen.

Eyes fixing on the machine, Callan made her way over quickly, careful to avoid getting in anyone's way. She tapped the touch screen gingerly, inputting what information she could up until one of the 'next' buttons seemed to be taking an extra long amount of time to register her command. In that moment, she did exactly what any other normal, impatient human being might do. She tapped the screen twice as hard.

Crack!

Callan's hand recoiled and she gasped, gripping the offending appendage, still frozen in its pointed position.

"What the hell did you--"

An attendant gaped as he hurried to the ticket machine, tapping frantically in vain hope for a reaction. The screen glitched, unresponsive, the display artificing in a shattered display of color.

"Uh, I'm sorry!" Callan stammered, moving out of the way, "I-it was an accident!"

"Accident?! Do you know how many people use this thing?"

The staff member gripped his jaw. Must've been some kind of coping mechanism. One that wasn't working at all.

"Argh, it's gonna take days for the repairman to arrive. What am I supposed--"

"Woah, pump the brakes there, Henry!" a female voice cut him off.

The cadre of soldiers on the other side of the room had relocated to the commotion by the entrance, a familiar, diminutive figure leading the pack. Rosa ignored the hapless attendant for the moment.

"Supergirl! Ah, it's been too long," she chimed with a friendly grin.

"Uhhhh," Callan knew better than to say she could fix it. Though a small, darker version of herself couldn't help but think that if the machine hadn't been so buggy, she never would've pressed the screen too hard in the first place. Nonetheless, she did feel awful.

Rosa's sudden appearance was nothing short of a godsend. Callan smiled, somewhat uncomfortable with the sudden friendliness from someone she still considered to be a total stranger. The massive entourage of soldiers didn't help much, either.

"Hey, Rosa," Callan answered, "Yeah, haha. It's... good to be back."

"What's the haps around here?" the staff mage continued, catching sight of the broken screen, "Gee, I hope that's salvageable. You'll give poor Henry here another meltdown."

"It was one time," the attendant muttered quietly.

"Yeah, I really am sorry about that," Callan reiterated, looking between Rosa and the disgruntled man.

"See? She's super sorry," Rosa physically turned Henry to face the Arbiter, who he regarded with an annoyed pout. Seeing this, Rosa sighed. "I'll give the repair guy a call. See if he can fast track this job."

"The one with the sideburns," Henry insisted, "Everyone else leaves scuffs on the tiles."

"Right, right," Rosa glanced behind Callan, "We should probably head off now. You seem like a busy guy."

With that, Rosa beckoned the girl to walk with her, leaving a bewildered Henry behind to face a throng of students entering the lobby.

"So, how've you been? Helicopter flights are always a such a job on the ears."

Callan gave one last apologetic glance to both 'Henry' and the broken machine before hurriedly following. "Uh, I've been alright," she answered tentatively, "I think the helicopter rides are kinda fun."

Rosa whistled. "You should tell that to Greten. Guy has the worst motion sickness I've ever seen."

A wave and finger gun to one of the desk clerks before she continued.

"You've got something on your mind? Or are you just paying your supervisors a friendly visit?"

Callan forced a small laugh, still not quite sure what to make of her friendly neighborhood 'supervisor'.

"Actually, I wanted to make a special request," she took a deep breath, "It's about the curfew. I'd like special, exclusive permission to access Ground Zero at night. W-with extra soldiers along the outside to keep anyone from sneaking in while I'm in there." She did her best to keep her voice from shaking, but it was plenty obvious that how serious Callan was about this.

Rosa's smile only shrunk a fraction. Her tongue clicked as she thought it over.

"That's a big ask."

"I know," Callan squirmed, nervously running her thumb over her knuckles, "But a person almost died the last time I tried using my ability in there. My, uh... whole ability."

It was a weird thing to come to terms with-- knowing that Rosa and all the other supervisors had to know about what happened in Atlanta. Really made her think.

"To be honest, I'm not even sure why I wasn't put in my own room when I got here," she admitted.

"Yes, previous incidents are no secret among the staff. We don't have you wear those cuffs for no reason."

White lines suddenly flashed around the mage's eyes. She seemed sympathetic.

"Practice makes perfect. I get that. You've been getting closer to what you want but you want to speed up the process, right?"

Rosa gave the girl a once-over, raising her eyebrows at what she saw. It didn't seem like she would be making any comment at the moment. Her eyes drifted upward as she thought aloud.

"Your request though. There's the paperwork to go through, the Ground resets to work around. Plus Zhang's beefed security by like a thousand so I don't even know how long it'll take to acquire soldiers to block off that whole area..."

Callan followed Rosa's line of sight, warily shooting glances back at the ominous white lines around the woman's eyes. She frowned, disheartened, "So... there's no chance of me training there any time soon?"

"I'm thinking it over. Why does it have to be outside of curfew? Kids need eight hours of sleep a day, they keep saying that. Are you sure we can't just cordon off an area for you in the daytime?"

Callan shook her head stubbornly, "I can sleep during the day. Please-- I promise I'll take care of myself. Besides, I..."

Callan hesitated, knowing that the safety of her friends wasn't the only thing at play here. "I just don't want to risk it. Misery has a pretty far range, and I think it might be growing. It's already managed to grow wings!" Her tone was beginning to sound a bit pleading, though she did her best not come off as some whiny teenager.

"...You gave it a name? And you can fly now?"

"Uh," Callan twisted her fingers, "Yeah...? I named it Misery...." Never name something when you're in a bad mood. Of course, she knew she could change it whenever she wanted but... w-wasn't it kind of cool?

She cleared her throat, "And I can't fly. Only that thing can."

"Hm. Not the zinger I would've gone with," Rosa hummed thoughtfully. Her translucent pupils stared back at the girl, "You keep talking as if you and Misery are two completely separate things."

'Misery' was the perfect name for something that caused so damn much of it. But epithets aside, Rosa's second statement was far more concerningly contrary. Confused, the young arbiter cocked her head to one side. Her eyebrows knit together and an incredulous smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

"What do you mean? I have barely any control over it. It's just like... super angry all the time! Attacking anything that moves like some sort of starved animal!" Callan explained, exasperated.

"Okay, okay," Rosa raised her hands in surrender, knowing she'd crossed some line, "Sorry. I was just telling it how I see it. Literally." She tapped her white-branded temple with two fingers. "I'll keep it to myself next time."

"Well--- no, wait. What do you mean 'how you see it'?" Callan asked. She wasn't used to talking about her ability in depth with other people. Much less people who could apparently tell her something about it. "I'm sorry, I just.. it's been really frustrating," she admitted.

The staff mage tried a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I know. All this--your case, especially--must be a lot to take in. You've been working harder than most. That's why you're here, right?"

Her hand withdrew and she took a breath before launching in. The white lines thickened, almost forming a solid mask around her eyes. "Grumpy keeps me around because I don't just record powers. I identify the specifics too. As far as your Misery is concerned..."

A pause as Rosa took another good look.

"You already know that she's deeply connected to your emotional state. Mental too. But I'm not talking about heat-of-the-moment, temporary stress and stuff like that. She's connected to you. Something," her arms waved about in a vague gesture, "bigger than your current feelings. You."

Callan furrowed her brow and rubbed at one of her temples. "I don't suppose you could be a little more specific?" she chuckled hopefully.

Rosa's smile dropped an uncharacteristic amount, wavering for only a second. "Hmmmm," her gaze roamed Callan once again, settling on something, "sorry, can't say. My power's good but it's not that good. Here."

The staff mage beckoned to one of the soldiers behind her. Apparently he was the one in charge of holding her desk supplies when Rosa was on the move.

"Thanks Jer," she said, before handing Callan a sheet of paper. 'Callan Webb can go to GZ and sleep late' was hastily scrawled on the back of a repair bill. Hopefully that wasn't an important document. In the bottom corner was Rosa's signature and a strangely patterned stamp, a symmetrical series of branching lines, reminiscent of those currently flaring around her eyes.

"I'll put the word out. Official paperwork'll be done later but you should be able to go by tonight. Protocol says that GZ has to be cleared for the midnight reset by 11:45 but I'll make sure that you can enter afterwards. Use it wisely, 'kay?"

Her eyes were as wide as saucers as she watched Rosa write out the note and hand it to her. "Really?!" she beamed, momentarily forgetting all about the disappointment of not being able to gleen more information from the staff mage. "Thank you so much!" Callan exclaimed. Nigh unable to contain her excitement, she grasped the smaller woman's hand a little too tightly and gave it a rough shake before bolting towards the door.

"You won't regret it!" she called back, waving the permission slip over her head and flashing Rosa one last smile before disappearing out the door.

Rosa waved back happily, using the hand Callan hadn't shaken. As soon as the girl was gone, she turned to the soldier, indicating to the other hand. She hadn't dared move it.

"Jerry," she said, her grin looking strained, "tell Dr Patterson I'll be visiting shortly."

_{ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 / / @banjoanjo@Baklava}

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---

𝕋𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕤: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝔸𝕕𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕆𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕖 / / 𝟙𝟚𝟛𝟘

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Barely Aware

Enough was enough. Ernie didn't know that it'd be so tiring to be kept in the dark like this. But Zoe was right. Lives were starting to get lost. He needed answers, fast.

Even if he had to talk to a traitor to get them.

The Aberration walked with his eye on his phone's clock. Midday. If her appearance on his first day was anything to go by, Rosa would be making her way to the cafeteria around now. He'd cut her off from the administration building. So that was the plan. Slow paces kept him from idling too suspiciously outside of the building. His eyes were trained on his phone. Something started rumbling towards his direction. He glanced up.

Huh.

Was that a blue-ish green or a green-ish blue?

Ernie managed to get his rope up in the knick of time, right before he was cleanly knocked off his feet.

"AHH!" Callan had been looking down at her permission slip while running. A terribly awful decision in hindsight. At the very last second, her eyes met with Ernie's, desperate to try and communicate at least eight different things at once.

Get out of the way.

Sorry you had to die like this.

I'll be at the funeral.

She squeezed her eyes shut in an effort to at least avoid seeing the aftermath. Certainty she tried to stop, but ultimately ended up falling as well. Right on top of him with her arms outstretch and face buried in the front of Ernie's jacket. He was miraculously more sturdy than she thought he'd be. Opening her eyes a fraction of an inch, she noticed the tell-tale glow and released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"E-Ernie," Callan stammered, voice slightly muffled.

"...Yeah, hi."

Ernie had a few principles to live by. One of them was to keep blackberries out of as many recipes he could. They stained his hands. Another was to avoid being horizontal outside of sleeping hours. There was very little reason to dirty his clothing. It was because of this principle that he was currently trapped a Matrix-esque backwards lunge, suspended by his golden rope but pinned by Cal's weight. Hopefully his jacket hadn't touched the ground.

"Do you, uh..." Ernie mumbled, noticing that the girl was very close all of a sudden, "could you..."

"Y-yeah s-sorry," she stammered again, face burning even hotter as, finally over the initial shock of almost killing someone, Callan found herself struggling to find any solid ground to push off of. Her arms flailed uselessly for a moment before she quickly noticed exactly how Ernie had managed to fall while partway suspended in air. Eventually she realized she'd have to place her hands on his torso in order to get off without sprawling onto the concrete. Muttering more apologies as she did so, Callan carefully pushed herself back up into a standing position.

"Are you okay?" she asked, pushing her hair out of her face as Ernie pulled himself up the rest of the way using his rope.

"I'm fine, just...surprised," he breathed, inspecting the bottom of his jacket, "It'll take a lot more than a football tackle to take me down."

He found an almost invisible line of dust near the bottom seams. Ah, crud. Another thing on the to-do list. Suppressing his frown, Ernie turned his attention back to Callan. His eyes widened marginally, guilt lining the back of his mind. Shit, when was the last time he'd even tried to talk to her? It felt like he rarely even caught a glimpse of her these days, unless she was unconscious or mortally injured.

"You're not in your room?"

"Oh," Callan had been so caught up with everything else, she almost forgot how long it'd been. "Yeah, I'm... trying to get out more," she chuckled nervously, still needlessly fixing her hair with one hand as she shoved the other into her pocket, tightly clutching the permission slip.

"I was goin' through a rough patch after DC... but I'm alright now," she tried to smile reassuringly.

"Yeah, after everything that happened there, I can't blame you. We all let each other down that day."

Over her shoulder, Ernie could see Rosa inside the building. She was...flopping one of her hands in a soldier's face for some reason? Either way it didn't seem like she was leaving at the moment.

"It's great to see that you're feeling better! I know I should've visited but..."

But there wasn't a reason. She just hadn't been a priority over this whirlwind of weeks. Ernie averted his gaze.

"Dude. Ernie, it's okay," she smiled again, waving her hand in front of her face, "I was bein' a real wuss so I wouldn't even have answered if you did. And I know it was tough for everyone involved, so... you know. Don't worry about it. ...okay?"

Ernie shook his head. No, he could totally understand why she'd want to shut them out. They were monsters. D.C. had made that clear for everyone to see. Hell, maybe it would have been better if he just shut himself away too. That Lily mess wouldn't have happened. And Angelique...

"You're not a wuss, man. I totally get it. I'm just glad you're back now." A bitter chuckle escaped his lips before he rolled his shoulders. "It's been ages, huh? Honestly, last time I saw you was when you were fighting that Amigo. And before that, you were being carried away from the Hazel thing in D.C."

"Ohh, yeah," Callan groaned, "That girl can sure land one heck of a punch... I'll give her that much." She squirmed uncomfortably. Callan didn't like the idea of being so vulnerable for so long and getting pounded repeatedly by a giant ethereal hand wasn't very far up on her list of things she liked to remember. She hadn't even woken up until she was in her room at Zhang's Estate.

"B-by the way...," she Callan began hesitatingly, "Any idea what happened to me after I got knocked out?"

Ernie grimaced at the memory. "Uhhh, Sander finished Hazel off. And then he carried you both away to the evac zone. I-if you saw that leaked footage, that would've been the clip that got him his nickname."

His eyes averted once more, but for a completely different reason now.

"I told him to find some clothing...if that helps."

The insinuations of Ernie's final sentence sank in slowly. Her expression shifted into one of sheer horror. Callan buried her mouth and nose in her hand, shoulders becoming stiff. She wished she could melt into the floor.

"Sh-she... she vaporized my clothes...?" Callan asked, closing her eyes, her voice shaking with hopeful desperation.

"Uhhhhhh," Fuck, he'd made a bad move. It wasn't like he had wanted to see--urgh. Naked stuff was the worst. "I..."

Behind Callan, it seemed that the squad of soldiers was starting to shift. No, no, he needed that information.

"Look, I--" he said more hurriedly than he liked, "Rosa is--I, uh, I need to go."

And go, he did.

"But I promise we'll hang out sometime," he shouted over his shoulder, disappearing into the building, "Text me when you're free!"

That would be a yes. Callan was suddenly so happy that she'd chosen to hole herself up in her room after DC. God, she wasn't sure if she'd ever felt this embarrassed in her entire life.

She didn't even get a chance to say goodbye before Ernie left, apparently late for an appointment with Rosa or something. Not that she minded. It took a few more seconds before she was even able find the nerve to walk, trying to think positive thoughts about the permission slip and her plans for that night.

Anything but the idea of her naked ass being hauled across Washington D.C. by Sander, who was probably just as naked if their past fights were anything to go by.

She found a nearby bench to collapse into, desperately in need of a mental recouping. Honestly, she wanted to go home and hide under her covers for a good several hours, but she had a full schedule today. Burying her face in her hands, Callan sat like that for a good 20 minutes.

_{ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 / / @ERode@Baklava}

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𝕋𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕤: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝕆𝕦𝕥 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔸𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 / / 𝟙𝟟𝟘𝟘

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How's Your Fine?

A part of himself wanted to stop.

He crushed that part of himself as he strode through the grounds of USARILN East, stowing away the combat phone that had been such an excellent way of finding people before. Brent supposed that he could just ask instead. Supposed that this was a bit stalker-ish, creating these chance encounters by using these trackers. But the arbiter didn't care. If he had all this information about her whereabouts, he was going to use it before he got cold feet, before he decided that it was better to leave her alone for a bit longer.

He couldn't do that anymore. Couldn't slow down and couldn't act as freely as he had. And, as that bobbing turquoise head appeared around the next bend on the road, Brent picked up his pace.

A part of himself wanted to slow down, prepare a bit more before saying 'hi' once more.

He crushed that part of himself, dug deep into the scabs of that particularly pathetic conversation, and prepared to break more than a few bones to fix that bridge once more.

"Hey Callan," he said, calling from a 'safe' distance.

If she ignored him, that was fine too.

Callan had never had much of a problem with napping-- even in the worst of circumstances. But today was different. She hadn't felt this excited for a long time. When sleep stubbornly continued to allude her, it seemed only natural that a walk around campus might tire her out. Every few minutes, she stopped to summon a weapon, feeling the effects of it drain her stamina at an alarming rate. She'd have to be careful pacing herself later tonight when she finally got a chance to let loose in Ground Zero.

In the middle of adjusting her headphones, Callan heard her name and stopped. She recognized the voice immediately-- Brent.

She hesitated for a moment before turning to face him, pulling her headphones down around her neck and switching the music off on her new phone. Phone number three, if she was remembering correctly.

And there he stood. The only person with the guts to recognize what she'd done and say it to her face. There were plenty of mixed feelings that rose to the surface. Shame, fear, disappointment, discomfort. He'd put on such a face before mentioning Sav, too. She'd never quite figured that out, but his words had still stuck with her. Another phrase in the choir of things that haunted her every time she dared remember.

"...you could have done better."

And she would.

"Hey, Brent," Callan answered with no small amount of uncertainty.

That was as far as he had planned. There were abstract stuff, of course, like getting her trust, mending that bridge, tearing off that scab, but the words themself...there had been nothing planned past the first exchange, the first greeting. The loss of Sav was still something that numbed him, but now...Gregory. Angelic. And a truckload of maids and butlers who had no right to get caught up in that storm of Mexican bullshit. How about a myriad of folks in DC that were crushed, assimilated, or frozen? How about...

No.

"Feeling better?" he asked, maintaining his distance even if her superpowered legs cared little for it. "Haven't seen you at all on the island."

"Uh,"" she wasn't sure what she had expected. Maybe he was going to let her have it for what happened back at the estate. Or maybe D.C. She could've been way 'better' in both cases, but... why now?

"Yeah, I'm fine. Had some things to sort out, that's all."" It took a moment before she finally felt confident enough to meet his eyes, but when she did, all her nervousness seemed to melt away. "What about you?"" she asked pointedly, "You alright?""

"Glad you worked things out. Marcus was worried."

There was a pause as he considered her own response, amethyst eyes locking onto her own, not budging an inch. They more or less broke over Sav, huh? But now Gregory and Angelic were gone too, and yet he felt...less and less about it. Was this something that he had adjusted to as well? When so many others said how it never got 'easier'? Thoughts to lock away.

"Could be better," Brent said, finally, "Could...definitely be better. Not sure if I should be happy about being alright though. How's your 'fine'?"

'Marcus was worried.' Her train of thought almost completely derailed at that and it showed. Just for a moment, though. Because there was that word again. 'Better.' Though this time it didn't seem to be directed at anyone in particular.

How was her 'fine'? She knew she messed up in Wisford, but did she really owe him that sort of answer? Opening up to her roommates was one thing, but getting that real with someone as suspiciously tactful as Brent was something else entirely. He stared back at her with just as, if not more serious resolve. Weird, considering what she remembered of his interview. A stark contrast to the one Marcus and Emma did.

"I mean, looks aren’t everything, y’know? I don’t know how much you’ve talked to him but… he’s kind of… I don’t know how to put it, kind of off putting.”"

Callan frowned at the memory. The words that came out of her mouth surprised her, but she managed not to show it. "Why do you care?" she asked, her tone more curious than angry, though the irritation was definitely there. She almost immediately regretted it. Basing her opinion on someone else's was a dreadful habit, even if she did trust Emma.

"Because..."

Slight hesitation, before he pressed on, even though he had lost his original train of thought. Spontaneity, so unstable, so dangerous.

"I want to know where you are, after Washington, after Bald Head Island." A breath. A moment to gather his abstract thoughts, which provided him with no stimuli even when a close friend of his died. "How are you feeling?"

"I..."

She still didn't want to answer-- but that was unfair. They were teammates, after all. The well-being of one person could affect the whole team and Zoe and Hazel were perfect examples of that. She of course could understand that much.

And two more people were gone. People she'd hardly known. But if this scenario was anything like what happened with Savannah, then...

"I'm here," Callan replied, "Very much here."

She sighed, "Sorry if it didn't seem like it these past few weeks, but yeah. I'm feeling alright, all things considered. Washington was... it was kinda hard for me to deal with."

"I'm glad you're alright." A bit of tension left his shoulders. "It was hard on a lot of us. Still is."

Angelic, utterly destroyed by the ramifications of her actions. Siena, regressing into monstrosity in response. Zoe, falling further and further. Hazel, still in whatever nightmare state she currently was in. Ernie and Marcus, both wrestling with their own demons. And Kusari, a total, complete meltdown.

"For what it's worth," he said, "I'm sorry for running away."

Callan nodded in agreement, stopping short at Brent's apology. It made her so uncomfortable, she couldn't help but smile, finally dropping her gaze.

"You don't owe me an apology, Brent," she smirked at herself, shaking her head in disbelief, "I screwed up back there. I screwed up bad. I don't even blame you. I can't imagine how I'd feel if somebody got one of my friends killed because of a stupid miscalculation like that."

She swallowed hard, "I think about it every day."

He wasn't apologizing for what he had said.

But he bit down on his tongue and nodded, understanding the unending cycle that Callan was putting herself through. He didn't need to say it, that his real regret was running away before allowing herself a response. Didn't need to say it, that he was apologizing for abandoning the group in Bald Head Island, in Washington. That if he had stuck around, maybe things wouldn't have turned out as horribly as they did.

Ernie had been wrong about one thing.

The Proteus in Washington wasn't a pro strategist either. Not if he had allowed that hellhole of an evacuation attempt to occur.

"Don't let it break you," he said instead, "Because you did well. Both in Washington and in Bald Head Island."

While he had floundered, too slow to prevent Gregory's bisection.

'Well.' Callan couldn't say she agreed, but she wasn't one to ignore a compliment when she heard one. And as usual, it went straight to her head.

"Trust me, I'm far from broken," Callan smiled bitterly, "But I've still got plenty of work to do before our next fight."

"Get it done then," Brent managed. "I got your back, so just focus on what's ahead."

She nodded. "Same thing goes for you. Deal?"

Brent laughed, unexpectedly. "Guess that makes sense, with the round Earth and all."

His hand reached out.

"Deal."

Callan hesitated, staring at the Brent's outstretched hand for a moment before stepping forward. For all her indecision, the grip was firm-- her version of gentle, more or less. She confidently smirked, shaking his hand once before letting go.

Brent didn't seem so bad, did he? Maybe a little weird, but... there was something about him that Callan found... refreshing. It reminded her of the conversation she'd had with Marcus that morning. Maybe thinking poorly of him had just been an easy way to deal with it all. Having the chance to say sorry would'nt have done anything to help anyway. It was a selfish desire from the start. A meager hope for something that would make her feel less guilty. Well deserved and certainly nothing to get defensive about.

But he was right. It was time to focus on what was ahead.

"Alright, well. See you around, Brent," Callan waved, reaching for her headphones and turning to leave.

"Eyup, stay cool," the arbiter replied, leaving as well.

It was a good five minutes of awkward silence before the two actually parted ways though.

_{ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 ℙ𝕠𝕤𝕥 / / @Piercing Light@Baklava}

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𝕋𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕤: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜 / / 𝟚𝟙𝟛𝟘

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Knock on Wood

What exactly constituted stalking? Do you have to relentlessly follow someone for days? Surely only doing it once didn't count, right? Kusari was thinking of pointless things really, all she had done was search the campus all over for Callan. And here she found her in the same place she'd first spoke to her, sleeping outside by the track once again. Kusari didn't wake her up right away, instead just looking at the girl for a moment. This was definitely stalking now.

She needed a moment, or rather, she wasn't sure if she wanted to speak to Callan after all. But she needed to speak to someone, being alone with her thoughts wasn't helping. "Callan." Her voice was more tired than she thought it'd be. The girl likely didn't hear her anyhow with her headphones on. Kusari leaned down and lightly shook Callan's shoulder in an attempt to wake her.

Callan's headphones were definitely blaring too loudly for her to hear Kusari's first attempt to get her attention.

You're good at being bad
You're bad at being good
For heaven's sakes go to hell
Knock knock on wood

The music was soft, but the lyrics were more or less clear. Callan had thought herself sneaky, laying down behind the first two sets of bleachers with her hood up and arms crossed. The small shake worked a little too well. Callan's eyes flew open and she began to lurch forward "M'up!" she exclaimed as if caught in the middle of sleeping when she shouldn't be.

She blinked up at Kusari, the sillouette of her head and shoulders illuminated by the buzzing track lights behind them. Callan pulled down her headphones and sat up a little more slowly, too disoriented to say anything right away.

"Ah, s-sorry." Kusari said. "Didn't mean to... whatever." She cleared her throat and sat down next to Callan with her legs crossed. "I uh, wasn't able to sleep yesterday." She stated, her voice sheepish. It was true, she hadn't gotten any sleep since they'd arrived back at the school. The bags under her eyes could have told Callan that on their own. "I thought I could just get over it but I can't. I actually... I really did die back then." She covered her face with her hands as a jolt of pain went through her chest. She leaned forward, taking a deep breath before straitening herself again and placing her hands on her legs. She'd suffered all sorts of pain recently, but this was more debilitating than any of it. She didn't feel like herself, the more time passed she felt ever more pathetic and weak.

"I saw my own body Callan. I was dead and I don't think all of me came back." She likely wasn't making much sense between her context devoid words and shivering tone, but she hardly knew what to say, she just needed someone to listen.

"It's fine," Callan muttered, glancing down at the time on her phone. She still wasn't too happy with Kusari, but... she wasn't about to just leave. Not until curfew, anyway. Besides, she really did feel bad about what happened to Kusari. It couldn't have been easy.

Callan pulled herself up towards the bench directly above where Kusari had decided to sit, pausing before she sat down. A look of alarm crossed her face as Kusari continued speaking, rousing her fully from the grogginess her unscheduled nap had resulted in. Was... was Kusari losing her mind? She'd tried to put what happened out of her mind as well, but... evidently with far more success.

"Kusari," Callan sat beside her instead, "Look... it... maybe you just..." Words were really failing her. She had no idea how to fix this sort of thing. To make matters worse, she was pretty sure she knew what Kusari wanted. She'd been exruciatingly honest about the way she felt. Meanwhile, Callan couldn't keep herself from uselessly pining over someone else.

She forced a small smile, hugging herself for support before finally deciding on what to say, "You know... I was really upset when I saw you like that. You really scared me back there." She hesitated for a moment before adding. "It would've really sucked if you died."

Kusari didn't say anything for a moment, creating an awkward silence. Of course Callan wouldn't believe her, let alone fully understand what she was talking about. Even still, it was true that Callan would have been upset had she stayed dead. But for how long? The world wasn't going to stop on her behalf, many of them had died already and all they could do was move on. She couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if she were gone. People talking about her in the past tense, gradually just... getting over it. She didn't want to become nothing but another bad memory.

"Thank you." Kusari looked Callan in the eyes as she put on a bittersweet smile. "You're a sweetheart, you know that? I can't think of many reasons to live, but you have to be pretty high on the list." She spoke without thinking again. She quickly realized what she'd said and turned her head. "Sorry, I uh, didn't mean it that way." She mumbled as she twirled her braid between her fingers.

Callan's face immediately felt warm and she laughed nervously. "Oh, haha. Well-- y'know," she leaned back on one arm and ruffled the back of her hair, "I, uh... I seriously just hate seeing you like this, so... i-if I can help, I'd like to... do that...." Her nervous smile softened as she uncertainly added each syllable, ameythst eyes flickering to Kusari's fingers as they twisted around the long white braid. She silently recalled the time when Kusari had accidently sliced the poor thing clean off, idly wishing Kusari herself could recover as easily as her hair seemed able to.

Kusari noticed how fidgety Callan was for a moment, and she believed she knew why. It wasn't as if she were that naive, from her point of view Callan was clearly trying to find the right balance of words between being a good friend and leading her on. That or the girl was more unaccustomed to someone being interested in her than she thought. Maybe her filter had truly broken down completely finally, or maybe she enjoyed feeling normal around Callan, but Kusari decided to tease her a bit.

"Is that so?" Kusari leaned back to be eye to eye with her. "What type of help did you have in mind?"

If her face had been warm before, it was absolutely flaming now. Callan froze like a deer caught in headlights, the meaning behind Kusari's suggestion sinking in at a rapid pace. Immediately, she felt goosebumps erupt across her skin. "Th-that's not what I meant!" she hastily clarified, sitting up.

This reaction was more than Kusari had expected, it was just too perfect. "Pff." She let out a puff of air as she turned her head, trying not to burst into laughter. The dam couldn't hold however, and she found herself holding her gut as she went into a giggling fit. "Oh man..." She wiped her watering eyes and took a breath to calm down. "I'm sorry, you're just really cute when you're flustered like that. I think you've been helping me already Callan, more than you know."

"Hmph!" Callan snorted derisevly, giving Kusari a gentle shove in the shoulder with her elbow. A shove which was probably a little more rough than intended.

"Yeah, right," Callan rolled her eyes-- suddenly a little suspiscious of whether or not Kusari had been lining her up for that joke all along. She held that embarrased scowl for a moment or two before shaking her head. "Well, I guess it's worth it if it makes you feel better," she reasoned out loud before swiveling around in her seat to face the track. She leaned back on the upper seat behind them, propping her elbows and feet up so that she comfortable sprawled across three seats.

"What are you doin' out here so late, anyway?"

Kusari nearly toppled over from Callan's shove, was she really not used to her strength yet? At any rate it seemed she was off the hook for now. Now Callan was asking her what she was doing out so late, the same could be asked back couldn't it? "I can't sleep, and I couldn't stand sitting in my room alone. So I came to find you... Not sure what to do now. Maybe train?"

Callan stiffened a little at the suggestion. "This late at night?" she rose an eyebrow, feeling the weight of the permission slip in her pocket all of a sudden, "Isn't it almost curfew?"

Kusari couldn't help but touch the cuff around her neck at the mention of a curfew. "What are they gonna do, shoot me?" She said with bitter derision. "It should be fine as long as I stay on campus, right? If not I guess I can work out in my room."

Callan eyed the collar quietly, recalling what they'd told her back on the island. She didn't like how much it reminded her of Hazel, but it wasn't her place to say it wasn't at all necessary.

She resolved not to say anything about Kusari coming to find her-- though it did make her remember the last time she'd discovered her sleeping on the bleachers. It seemed so ridiculously long ago....

"Absolutely not," Callan shook her head and stood up, slinging her bag over one shoulder and holding one hand out for Kusari. "You just said you didn't get any sleep the other night. The last thing you should be doing right now is training." Ulterior motives aside, Callan did feel that Kusari was in no shape to push herself. "I'll walk you home and we can hang out a bit if you think that'll help. Curfew's not until 11, so we got time."

She smirked, "Don't think I've forgotten about that list of shows I gave you." She mentally kicked herself for making such an offer, but she'd already made up her mind. She and Kusari were... very different. But she was willing to let it go for now. Just for now.

"Ah, Callamom has arrived." Kusari joked, taking Callan's hand and standing to her feet. She wasn't exactly dead set on working out so she had no reason to fight her on this. "That sounds nice actually." She said, not mentioning that Callan would be alone with her in her room. Perhaps at another time she would think something of it, but she'd given up on Callan already. At least that's what she kept telling herself.

"Oh, no. Terrible pick for team mom," she scoffed as they began walking, "If anything, that'd probably be...." Her mind drifted to Angelique for some bizarre reason. She hadn't spoken with her very much, but she'd always noticed how friendly and outgoing she was.

"I just wanted to know if you were alright."

She could so clearly remember Angelque's voice-- even with the number of times she'd ever heard it directed towards herself being so few.

"I'm glad you are okay." she'd said back at the hospital in La Plata, "If you need anything, or want to talk, my room's just across. Have a good night, Callan."

Callan almost didn't notice that she'd been quite for a second too long. "Well, anyone other than me, really," she finished with a short laugh.

Kusari didn't notice the lull in conversation, her mind was busy wondering if her room was clean or not. She could remember the path from the door to her bed, that was about it. That was probably a bad sign. Oh well. She decided to face whatever state her room would be in as her and Callan arrived. "Honestly, Zhang is team mom. If only Child Protective Services could help us... No more wire hangers mom, I swear."

Kusari was tired.

Arriving at her room, she opened the door with mild apprehension, only to let out a relieved sigh. How could her room be messy when she hardly owned anything in the first place? She walked over to her bed and flopped down onto her back. "Alright, so what are we watching?"

"Heh," Callan chuckled half-heartedly, still not quite used to Kusari's more morbid sense of humor. When nothing else came up after that, Callan let the conversation idle until they reached her dorm. Kusari's room was... depressingly empty. She eyed the two empty beds, remembering Sander and Christmas had moved out before they left for the Wisford mission. She opted not to comment on that... even if it would give Kusari a chance to explain herself.

"Aw, what?" Callan flipped the light on and inspected the TV in the living room. "You haven't upgraded your TV," she frowned, unsure of why she assumed that would be anyone's first priority. "I don't have my stuff so we can watch Netflix on here without a smart TV," she mused, "But, uh... that's alright. We can just use my tablet."

Would that be okay?

Callan pulled it from her her bag and hesitated, glancing between the couch and the bed that Kusari was lying on. "Uhm...." She tried not to overthink it. Probably unwise, all things considered. Callan made her way over to the bed, seating herself on the further edge as she began scrolling through the different shows.

Kusari sat up and looked at her television. Now that she thought about it she'd never even really used it. There was always something else distracting her. She looked over to Callan as she searched for something to watch. "I don't have eagle eyes you know." She said, noticing how far the girl was sitting on the bed.

A figurative red devil appeared on her left shoulder. This is your chance to get closer to her! The devil screamed into her head. Kusari let out a fake cough and shook her head. She couldn't risk her friendship with Callan like that, as far as she knew it would be impossible anyhow. But how should she play this?

A figurative angel clad in white floated down onto her right shoulder. Do it. Her conscious was completely compromised. Kusari bit her bottom lip as her face took on a menacing glare. Again, this was sadly her embarrassed face. Thankfully Callan's eyes were on her tablet, giving her enough time to calm down.

"Sorry, I was just, uh..." Callan hurried up her search, landing on a show that she thought Kusari might enjoy. She scooted a bit closer, obviously reluctant to get too comfortable. "Here," she leaned over, reaching across Kusari's legs to prop the tablet up against the bedframe before hitting play.

Kusari's right eye twitched as Callan reached across her legs. Had she always been this easy to rile up? Perhaps being tired did it, or the fact that they were so close together on her bed. Regardless, she felt good being with someone, away from her thoughts that crawled up in her solitude.

The first episode started up, but Callan remained where she sat for the first several minutes. Her attention quickly became glued to the screen after that, every so often noticing Kusari out of the corner of her eye. Though she was really just interested in knowing whether or not she liked it. A mostly chill action comedy with a good deal of the darker sort of humor Kusari seemed to enjoy. Eventually, she found herself more engrossed in the show than she thought she might be. It'd been a while since she seen it.

"Scooch over," Callan whispered, still watching the screen. It was clear she wanted to lay down.

"Huh? oh, sure." Kusari was thoroughly invested into the show Callan had picked, to the point that she almost forgot that she was right next to her. Almost anyway. "This is a pretty good show, I'm glad because I was prepared to rip it apart otherwise." Kusari said as she gave Callan room to lay down. As they continued to watch she suddenly found her eyes becoming glossy. She wished she could have met Callan in better circumstances. The looming threat of death would forever be above Callan and everyone else. It just wasn't fair.

She rubbed her eyes and focused back on the tablet. At least she could have moments like this.

"You? A harsh critic? No way!" Callan teased, settling into a more comfortable position. Once again, exhaustion prooved to be the best cure for expelling cares. Her nerves, which always seemed to be at least a little on edge around Kusari, managed to settle enough for her relax. Mostly.

It was a great way to kill the time and definitely took her mind off what she planned on doing later. Captivating as the show was, however, Callan couldn't help but start nodding off a few more minutes in. The room was dark, the bed was warm, and she'd done a right awful job of trying to physically prepare for her impending all-nighter. She put up a hell of a fight though. Eye lids drooping, her head bobbed precariously for a moment before she finally buried her face in her arms and fell asleep.

Kusari only noticed Callan had fallen asleep once an episode of the show ended and she turned to look at her. This wasn't okay for a number of reasons. Kusari picked up the tablet and after fumbling with it for a few moments was able to put it into sleep mode. She turned back to Callan and hesitated for a moment. Her hand was above the girl's head, she was tempted to do... something, but she knew better than that. She moved her hand to the girl's shoulder and lightly shook her. "You weren't planning on sleeping over I'm guessing."

"Wuh?" only half-roused from her sleep, Callan didn't even bother opening her eyes. "What time is it?" she asked, her voice muffled by the sleeve of her hoodie.

"Late." Kusari simply said. "You have somewhere you need to be? You aren't gonna come back covered in blood again are you?"

"No," Callan grumbled, sitting up just enough to reach for her phone, "Jus' gotta leave before the-- CURFEW!" Seeing the time on her phone, Callan sat up quickly, scrambling to get off the bed and gathering up her things.

"Oh, alright." Kusari grabbed Callan's tablet and handed it to her. "Thanks for... You know."

Callan took the tablet and slid it into her bag, pausing once she finally zipped it back up. She smiled sincerely, "You're welcome. Sorry for the uh... for falling asleep. But hopefully you can get some rest now, too."

Callan threw the bag over her shoulder and moved to leave. "You might be invincible, but you still need to take care of yourself, you know. Anyway, I'll see you around, Kusari."

---

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𝕋𝕙𝕦𝕣𝕤: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝕌𝕊𝔸ℝ𝕀𝕃ℕ 𝔼𝕒𝕤𝕥 / / 𝔾𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 ℤ𝕖𝕣𝕠 / / 𝟚𝟛𝟜𝟝

---

---

Misery Training Pt 1

Alright, you can do this...

Ground Zero at night was like something straight out of a movie Callan would never in a million years want to watch. And even if she did, she definitely wouldn't want to do it alone. She glanced at either of the soldiers by the gate, feeling a little guilty for asking that they double the guard. But this was a necessary precaution. Just like her agreement with Zoe-- unfortunately well worth the inconvenience in her opinion.

She could see the lone figure of the girl on top of her building. Template. Likely the most mysterious component of the fake city and its residents. Still standing at the gate, she felt oddly disoriented looking in. It took a moment before Callan noticed it wasn't just her eyes playing tricks. The buildings and people were becoming distorted. Small details flickered like changing channels on a television screen. The warping of a sign, the disappearance of a small piece of debris resting in the gutter... Every so often, she even noticed that a damaged building would return to pristine condition, only for some shop in the distance to take on a collapsed roof or shattered window.

One visage in particular made Callan's hair stand on end. A girl she thought looked an awful lot like Template. First here, then there. Flickering in and out of existence and just... standing there.

Did this happen every night? Overcome with creeped out curiosity, Callan almost couldn't resist asking one of the guards. Before she knew it, the flickering stopped and she was given the go ahead to enter.

She took a few shaky breaths to steel herself, rolling her shoulders and bouncing on her heels for a moment before she built up the courage to enter. The air was cold, easily adding to the eerie atmosphere in Callan's imagination. Even so, she kept going until she finally found the area where they'd played flag football. Evidently, there was no need to clear it of fake people so late at night. She was surprised she had managed to remember where it was, especially with all the changes those resets had probably caused. Her cuff beeped, signaling that her restraints had been lifted.

"Okay! Callan practically shouted, dropping her duffel on the ground beside her. Her voice didn't echo like she thought it might. Another shaky breath and she closed her eyes. "Come on out."

A rush of air rising from the ground in front of her violently rustled the fabric of her hoodie. Aquamarine curls whipped around her face and she squeezed her eyes tighter, waiting a moment after it stopped before she began searching the sky. "Ugh," she groaned.

"Get down here, stupid!" she shouted, reaching for the reigns. Misery was just barely visible against the night sky, stretching its wings across the moon in a way that... almost seemed like it was enjoying itself. Hands wrapping around the invisible bonds, Callan decided to wait. Ideally, Misery would listen to her commands by word alone-- but even though she could sense that something inside the creature did obey her, Callan had never been in a position to test it.

To her astonishment, Misery obeyed-- if a little reluctantly. Upon landing, however, the creature's ear flickered and its massive, shuddering head turned to snarl at a nearby diner. Teeming with Ground Zero citizens. Callan had to throw up her arms to shield her face from the sudden barrage of dirt that was kicked up as Misery began her mad dash.

"Pbbt," Callan spit dirt from her mouth, not managing to catch where Misery had headed until it was too late. Screams erupted from the building as Misery ripped the diner open like a lion with a freshly obtained carcass, slashing out the insides and discriminating against no one.

"God," Callan had to remind herself that they weren't real people, but even just the idea that they could have been made her heart pound in her chest.

"STOP!" she shouted. Misery didn't listen. Callan started running.

"I SAID STOP!" she tried shouting louder, but with the same results. Nearing the disaster zone, Callan felt the full force of one panicked customer shove into her shoulder, knocking her to the ground.

Misery's head whipped backward at an unnatural angle before two furious glowing orbs locked onto the offender. Her eyes quickly followed the beast's line of sight to a lady clutching what looked like a limp child to her chest. Blood-- too much blood escaped down the boy's pant leg and for a moment Callan counted herself lucky that the child's face was hidden against his mother's chest. What happened after that seemed reflexive for all parties involved.

Misery lunged at the woman, who promptly screamed and tripped, falling to the ground just before Callan managed to scrambled in between the two.

"STOP!" the arbiter screamed again. And Misery obeyed.

...or so she thought.

Behind her, the woman whimpered and cried, struggling to her feet with her baby still in tow.

"Just stay by me," Callan tried to caution, "I'll--" Too late. Everything seemed to move so slowly all at once. Misery blocked out the moon once more, stepping over her like an ant or spec of dust. One claw was all it took. With a wet crunch the woman was there and then she was gone, batted so far down the street that Callan might've thought she'd been obliterated were it not for the distant crash, followed by a car alarm.

Callan stood still, her breathing shallow. She felt sick. Misery carefully stepped back over its master and craned its neck towards the diner once more. Before it could make up its mind to move anywhere again, Callan gripped the reigns tightly.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" she shouted, tone full of venom as she jerked the reigns sideways. Misery went crashing down into the dirt. Breathing erratically, Callan waited. Fresh blood ran down Misery's jawline as it opened its mouth. Blood that did not belong to Misery-- assuming the thing could even bleed at all. Repulsed by the sight, Callan thrust the reigns down again, waiting for the creature to stand before doing it again.

You're a good person Callan.

And again.

You didn't choose to do this, to be shackled and forced into battle. You're a tool.

And again.

Heroes have a choice, and it's choosing to do the right thing when a way out is behind them that makes them special.

And again.

It wasn't your fault.

You could have done better.

Do you even know where they're at?

I think you were trying to do the right thing.

Nobody did anything wrong

Was it really you causing the trouble though?

How many more people have to die before you figure out how the world works?

Those people in D.C wanted us dead the moment things got bad, I had to... Had to kill people--

"WE DON'T KILL PEOPLE!" Callan screamed before unsummoning Misery altogether.

She fell to her knees, already feeling the exhaustion of her ability. Almost as if she'd been the one to tear the diner apart as well take that beating....

"Dammit," Callan pounded her fists on the ground. She could still hear the screams. The car alarm kept wailing. A crackling fire was already beginning to engulf the building behind her. They're not real. Calm down... calm down...

It's definitely got its ups and downs, but we're the superheroes now! Destiny, fate, whatever it was that put us here; we've got to make the most of it, you know?

That's right. Marcus was right. She had to make the most of this. She was here to practice. Even if things felt helpless now, they would get better. She'd gain control.

Something bigger than my current feelings? Callan sniffled, bitterly remembering what Rosa had told her.

Like my inner desire for senseless killing? Yeah. Right.

She didn't get it. It didn't make sense.

A few minutes passed before sirens sounded in the distance. The screams died down, but she could still hear crying. It sounded so sad.... She wasn't sure how the fake cops in Ground Zero worked, but she wasn't eager to find out. Better look for a different spot.

Standing up quickly, Callan ran back to grab her bag and sprinted through the streets until she came to another open area. It wasn't quite as spacious as the one before, but it would have to do.

The best that we can be!

Callan looked over the surrounding buildings. Several windows were alight. A couple walked along the path behind her, arm in arm.

"Sorry," she whispered bitterly; her duffel bag hit the ground in a small puff of dirt.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Helicopter Highlight

Siena | Callan

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𝕎𝕖𝕕: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / ℕ𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙 ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕒 / / 𝕊𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥 / / ~𝟘𝟞𝟛𝟘

---

_{Collab with @PapiTan & @Baklava}

The sound of the outside world passing by and of steady rhythm of the helicopter's blades were muffled from their place in the transport. Siena didn't bother trying to distract herself by listening more intently to the white noise when her head was already filled with too much of it. Distance, intensity, too much and too little, but everything circled back to regret. So much that it overflowed, filling narrow chasms, overwhelming everything once Siena had managed, to some degree, to pull herself apart from what Victor left behind--no, from what he took away.

Her eyes had been dutifully turned away from Emma, memories of their conversation before Wisford coming to surface. Siena wondered, briefly, why she had admit at all what it cost her to use the names most familiar to her then. Hope that someone would understand? No...she knew that was far from what she had wanted. The Arbiter stared at the thin crack on her phone's screen, amazed that through the hell it had gone through, the crack starting to split and spread was the worst that had happened.

'A phone is more durable than I am. How pathetic.'

But that too was a distraction, wasn't it?

Quietly, Siena raised her gaze, glanced at the girl beside her, and felt something that might have been a mixture of guilt and remorse start to build as two distinct mindsets waged war against each other. The first reasoned out that while it had been a failure, using Vale's ability had been a necessary attempt to keep Cal from charging in headfirst, the second shot back that even if it had been necessary, it was still...wrong? Not quite the word. Cruel. That was more appropriate. It didn't take long for a clear victor to be decided. Softly, Siena released a breath she failed to realize she'd been holding.

"Callan...?" The name came tentative, and it was all that Siena could do not to drown in the image of her roommate refusing to acknowledge her. Harder still to try and control herself at the idea of having trampled another relationship because it was the logical thing to do. A cold voice mocked her for the sentiment--still so attached. Stupid of her, really.

Too late. Callan sat back in her seat, looking outside the window with lips pressed against the back of her knuckles. Her brow furrowed but her eyes glazed over, lost in thought. Why did it always seem like there wasn't enough time? Her gaze went in and out of focus, every so often beginning to sweep over the damaged island landscape below, as if some miracle might draw her attention somewhere important. She couldn't save anyone. Again. They never got a chance to look for Angelique. That Gregory kid was dead. She couldn't even help those staff members who tried to protect them. They were right there. What... what was the problem? Why couldn't she do this?

A familiar voice saying her name quickly pulled her from directionless thoughts. Callan lowered her hand and turned to look at Siena, memories immediately resurfacing. He expression shifted into something more guarded, though she was somewhat surprised to find that she wasn't very upset at her. What was a weird tickle in the arm compared to melting teammates and murdering defenseless civilians anyway?

"Yeah?" she replied, keeping her tone casual while looking away.

Somewhere, Siena felt a twinge of relief. At least the worst of the scenarios hadn't become a reality. Grey eyes swept over Callan again before quickly averting their gaze to her hands. It took most of the brunette's efforts not to start pulling at her hair, her efforts instead focused on her fingers twisting and pinching the skin of her hands. Nervous energy, she'd once heard Maya call it, but Siena wasn't certain that was the best way to describe it. Pain was just...easier to understand than trying to push through a thousand thoughts of anxiety-generated images.

"...it's probably not worth much, but I'm...sorry. For earlier." Words that were at least moderately honest. She was sorry, but if the situation presented itself again, Siena had little to no doubt that she would have taken the same course of action. "There were probably more politic ways to handle the situation."

Callan immediately scoffed, "It's fine. Siena. I was just...." The frustration was so overwhelming. She of course didn't like it when her teammates used their abilities on each other, but-- Why couldn't she do this?

"Tell me Callan, do you feel like a hero?"

The corner of her mouth twitched for a moment, deciding between a frown and a smile while hidden behind her hand as she lightly scratched her cheek. Finally, she grinned, forcing half a laugh for good measure. "You were just trying to keep everybody safe," she said, her voice noticably more chipper. Things will get better. Just focus. Focus. "Didn't really matter in the end anyway," she chuckled, tone slightly faltering. It was impossible for the somber meaning behind the words to be entirely hidden within the open book that was Callan. But she tried anyway. Trying in vain. The theme of her existence, it seemed.

There was only a moment's pause before she added, "I'd rather we just forget about the whole thing."

For Siena, raised around people that were experts at hiding their intentions, it was harder to ignore the thinly veiled sentiments. Harder still when she was still feeling, still reeling from the events that had transpired, but she quieted the cold, rational voice that demanded more, choosing to heed the quiet whisper that told her accept it at face value, even if she knew it was a mistake.

It might have shown in the weak attempt of a smile that Siena returned to her roommate. Still hollow, still tired. A near flawless imitation of what she was trying for, if one didn't notice exactly how stilted it was. Trying to ease the action did nothing to make it feel more natural, and the faintest traces of fear fluttered into her stomach. Had she gone too far there too?

"If...if that's what you'd prefer, then I won't bring it up again." But she knew she wouldn't forget it. Siena held back the torrent, kept in check the fact that the night's events, the mistakes she made, the things she should have done wouldn't stop their infinite loop until something else forced it out. Pale digits twisted the skin on her hand until it flared red before letting go again, the sharp sting doing little to ground the bookworm in the moment. "But...for what it's worth I--" A thousand ways to finish the sentence came to mind, but Siena didn't have an answer to which one was the correct way. "--think you were trying to do the right thing. I admire that."

Because Siena knew she never would.

Siena's fidgeting didn't go unnoticed by Callan, recalling her roommate's nervous mannerisms from before. She'd almost forgotten, yet it was still familiar enough not to phase her. A look of surprise crossed Callan's face at Siena's final remark. A second passed before her expression began to form, muscles moving involuntarily. She smiled and it was nauseatingly genuine the way she felt her eyebrows knit together and the slightest trace of moisture made her amethyst eyes twinkle for just a moment before she ultimately laughed at herself. "Thanks," Callan looked back down at her soggy tennis shoes, trying to force the smile off her face before her cheeks inevitably cramped, "I really needed to hear that."

The smile that broke across Callan's face was...relieving, somehow. No, it wasn't a matter of somehow, Siena knew why it was. A dark, bitter part of the girl reminded her that this was all she was good for, but it didn't manage to surface for long. The Arbiter quickly pushed the ominous thought aside, allowing herself to widen her smile. Still felt hollow, but surely she could explain that as exhaustion. It was more important that she take in the moment. It was probably the first thing she'd done right since surrendering herself.

In the wake of everything that had happened, Siena felt almost selfish for taking some amount of pleasure from a genuine smile. Even if she couldn't return the breadth of the gesture, Siena did her best to provide one that didn't feel quite so worn.

"Then it was worth saying."

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Friendship points have been reset to reflect Callan's current feelings towards everyone.

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Questions Without Answers

| |

Kusari | Callan | Allison

---

𝕎𝕖𝕕: 𝕆𝕔𝕥. 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / 𝔹𝕒𝕝𝕕 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕀𝕤𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕕 / / ℕ𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙 𝔼𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕋𝕠𝕨𝕟 / / ~𝟘𝟞𝟘𝟝

---

Hider

They weren't welcome here in this unsound motel. As if their words weren't enough, Kusari could see it in their faces. Everywhere they went they were a burden, people suffered as death followed them like a hungry predator. At first she thought the inhabitants of this island were similar to them, but the differences were clear. They were mages, but they weren't special, not enough anyway. She passed them by like strangers on the street and headed for a room. It was a pretty standard motel room, all she cared about was that there was a bed and that the water was running however. After checking the bathroom's sink and shower she came back to Allison and Callan. "This seems like a um, good place to stay for now, right?" She asked, fully aware that her voice still lacked her typical confidant cadence.

Callan, who up until then had been regarding the other mages cautiously, merely scoffed, shaking her head. "Stay there if you want," she shrugged, glancing at Allison for a moment before looking away, "I think we should ask around about Angel. Somebody might've seen her."

Allison slowly nodded in response. The atmosphere in the motel was oppressive. It was as if any attempt to speak would crush the air out of her lungs. Were it not for Angel's disappearance, Allison would be tempted to just hide herself away until they were taken to the next location that would inevitably be attacked by some force. Bothering those who clearly didn't want them there seemed like a deathwish, but it gave Allison a chance to find Angel. Nothing else mattered.

Allison's eyes glanced warily at the various strangers scattered around the area, pleading that somehow there'd be someone who'd look friendly enough to talk to. Every face seemed equally unwelcoming, just as unwilling to accept the presence of the trio. Allison found herself looking back at Callan, as if she'd have found the one person her own eyes missed.

Kusari let out a tired sigh as she stood between the two. She wanted to rest, but more than that the thought of being alone right now placed a vice grip on her heart. Callan was too righteous to sit by while she could be looking for an ally, and Allison had more reason than anyone to want to look for Angel. Kusari looked at her dirty arms, she felt filthy. Would they wait for her to take a shower? "While you ask around I think I'll... deal with this." She mumbled, dragging herself into the bathroom and closing the door behind her. Soon the sound of the shower running could be heard.

Callan tried not to let it bother her. The sound of the shower seemed so out of place given the current predicament. Most frustrating of all was probably the slightly jealous tickle in the back of her mind, which brought with it more guilt than she had time for at the moment. "C'mon," Callan motioned for Allison to follow, heading towards the closest unfamiliar face with the slightest grumpy stomp in her step.

"Hey, have you seen an aberration girl around here?" the intrusive bite in her tone, left over from her mood with Kusari, quickly died off and she immediately regretted it, "Er-- long black hair. About yay high with sunglasses?"

The white-marked brunette stepped back, taking in the mess that Callan's drenched outfit was bringing. Her mouth formed a thin line.

"We don't have X's here. Only person that's passed by is the redhead."

Redhead? Callan blinked in surprised, gears turning for a moment before she glanced around the hall "Zoe..." she muttered pensively, "Any idea where she went?"

The stranger shook her head.

"Last I saw, Andrew went out to-- hey, Andrew!"

Another white-marked citizen turned from his conversation with a drawled, "Yeah?"

Allison stood quietly by whilst Callan engaged the stranger. The woman's glare quickly reminded the aberration of her sorry state, soaked to the bone and coated with dirt. She only shrinked back more at the realization. Kusari clearly had some sense to clean herself off first. But with Angel still missing, time was of the essence. Allison could handle looking like a mess.

She felt guilty for having Callan do the talking, as this wasn't really her problem. The information gained from the stranger essentially proved what Allison had previously assumed, that Angel wasn't here. It wasn't proof that Angel had been captured and taken away, but it did at least narrow the options down slightly. Allison kept her silence as the conversation shifted to Zoe. Finding her was probably a good idea, at least to prevent another outburst. Allison didn't want to have to use the shard on her again.

Shifting her attention to 'Andrew', Callan self consciously pulled at one of her sleeves, feeling the uncomfortable bit of suction as the wet fabric parted from her skin. She mentally shook her head at herself. Now wasn't the time to worry about that sort of thing.

"Uh, did you happen to see where our friend went? She's an aberration with red hair."

At the very least, Zoe could help them look for Angel. Though Callan also found it unsettling to think she might have wandered off somewhere alone. Not that she couldn't handle herself, but... the memory of Kusari's empty husk of a head and torso came to mind and she repressed a shudder. Yes, it was best she find out where Zoe was first.

The man hesitated for a noticeable moment, like he was figuring out what exact words to use.

"You'd best wait here. Your USARILN buddies are getting picked up round about now."

Callan picked up on the hesitation immediately, but it took another moment of suspicious staring before she worked out what it meant. And she was in no mood for it.

"Do you know where she is or not?" she pressed defiantly, clearly irritated, "We've already got one missing teammate we need to find. We don't need two, so if you know where she went, I suggest you tell us."

"You 'suggest', huh?" he scowled at what he perceived as a threat, "I think you should take it from me--"

"Transmit. I'm gonna need a healer in town as soon as possible. Over."

"Oh, come on..." Andrew groaned under his breath.

Kusari didn't take long to get out of the shower, most of her time was usually spent washing her hair, she just needed to rinse the viscera and soil from her body. As much as she wanted to just sit and let the water fall upon her, Callan and Allison were waiting for her. It's not as if they were going to get any useful information from the people here. They would say they saw nothing, then they'd roam around pointlessly. Might as well get it over with.

She'd washed off her clothes as best she could, then wrung them out and attempted to dry them with towels. They were still a bit damp, but at least she wasn't soaking anymore. She looked down at her left ankle, which was now covered by her cuff once more. Through a process she wasn't interested in reliving she had managed to put it back. She felt like an idiot doing it, but it was better than dealing with whatever punishment Zhang would think up.

As she walked back to Callan and Allison a voice from the cuff made her jump. It was Zoe, whatever she had said Kusari hadn't paid enough attention to listen. She didn't want to deal with that girl, but they couldn't leave her alone.

"Are we leaving now?" Kusari said, walking up to her allies.

Allison turned to face Kusari, offering a quick nod in response to her question.

"We're going to look for Zoe right now, I guess," She said, her voice cautious and surprisngly hoarse. She was well aware of what Zoe had done to Kusari not long ago. c

"Uggh," Callan groaned upon hearing the transmission, pressing her forehead into the palm of her hand just as Kusari approached.

"No," she said firmly, "You guys stay and keep asking around. Somebody here's gotta know something."

Uneasy as Zoe made her, she'd rather it be her than them at this point. Making her way towards where she last saw Sander and Christmas, Callan was already busy talking to her cuff.

"Transmit. Zoe, where are you? Over."

Kusari relaxed her shoulders and watched Callan call Zoe. She was about to make things difficult again, at this point she felt as if she were watching her actions from in her mind as her body went on auto pilot. "I'm not leaving you alone with that psycho. I'm coming with you, even though looking for her is a waste of time anyway..."

"I'm not staying behind either. It's clear that no one here has seen Angel. No reason to bother them more." She refrained from adding that it was probably good to have the shard around Zoe. It would be too easy to argue that Allison would just make herself black out again.

Callan paused, turning only slightly to face the two.

She stared at Allison pointedly, clearly unhappy with the girl's sudden bout of pessimism. What happened to the girl who was ready to risk it all for a vague chance at saving Angelique? Suddenly she was concerned about bothering people? "You don't know that for sure," Callan narrowed her eyes, "You're the one that said she was alive, but If you wanna give up, go take a shower like Kusari. Then go to sleep. I'll look for her myself."

She scoffed incredulously. There she went again, trying to play leader. And already she was being rewarded with all the frustration that came along with it.

"Angel is alive," Allison snapped, "and I'm not giving up. There's just no use in chasing after redundant information. I could run around here and ask every single fucking person here if they've seen Angel, but what the fuck is that going to solve if they all give the same answer as the first? I already told all of you where I thought Angel was. If I'm right, she's as good as dead if we keep waiting around. Yea, maybe I want to be wrong, to find that Angel was actually hiding here all along and wasn't kidnapped, but that doesn't mean I'm going to delude myself in pretending that's still a possibility right now. We need to keep moving. If that means finding Zoe or whatever, so be it, but standing around asking pointless questions is just adding another body to the pile." Allison took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself down. "Don't you dare suggest that I would give up on Angel." After a moment, Allison's anger appeared to pass, though the outburst had clearly taken a toll on her throat.

"Anyway, we should all go. Better to regroup than sit around here."

"Okay! You didn't give up! Jesus...," Callan threw her hands up in mock surrender. As much as she disagreed with Allison about the whole "redundant information" bit, she found herself feeling weirdly refreshed at the sight of her determination. Refreshed and a little... embarrassed. Why did she have such little patience for Allison anyway? Her eyes flickered to Kusari for a fraction of a second.

"But that still doesn't mean we need a whole militia to clean up Zoe's mess," she frowned. "She won't..." her voice trailed off for a moment. She suddenly realized just how much she trusted Zoe-- and the answer was...

A whole lot more than she thought she did. But why? She had every reason to agree that Zoe was an unstable psychopath that would kill everyone at any moment. Even with all the evidence aside, she certainly disliked her enough to think that... but she didn't.

Zoe hadn't tried anything even though Callan had lost her temper. She'd looked really out of sorts, in fact. Like she hadn't even realized what she'd done until Callan placed the blame. She'd been too furious to listen before, but... deep down she knew, even without Zoe saying it, that she didn't want to hurt anyone. That was why she'd asked her for such a big favor.

"Look, it doesn't matter. This is where we all agreed to regroup so unfortunately, that includes sitting around here for now. Sander, Christmas and I are gonna go. I won't be alone and we'll be right back to figure out the next move, alright? "

"I'm going, Callan, and I doubt Kusari's going to listen either. Sorry." Allison's throat screamed with every passing second, forcing her back into relative silence. As adamant as Callan was to get them to stay, Allison was too stubborn to listen. Besides, Callan wasn't the leader, she didn't have any control over their actions.

..::Baklava's Character Codex::..

Wren (Mage)

"What're you lookin' at?"

---

Full Name: Wren (Emily Shaughnessy)
Gender: Female
Age: Unknown (high teens/low twenties)
Height: 5'1" (155 cm)
Weight: 94 lbs (42.6 kg)
Appearance:

Wren is a shapeless and wiry little thing as a result of malnutrition and years of relentless tree-climbing. Her eyes are a deep shade of brown, appearing almost entirely black at first glance and her skin is lightly tanned (beneath the layer of dirt that so often coats it). She has thick, untamed eyebrows and even thicker raven black hair that is unevenly cut just below her chin.

Wren is rarely seen without her handcrafted tiara of carefully chosen twigs, adorned with an old broken broach that rests on the center of her forehead. Though a lovely (if somewhat crude) headpiece, the ornament is typically half hidden by a choppy curtain of side swept bangs as well as a large, pointed hat. The hat is made of sturdy fabric, once likely belonging to someone quite practical. Now in Wren's possession, however, it seems as though it has seen better days. Thus is the tale of most nice things belonging to Wren-- namely a thick cloak with slits (to accommodate the massive backpack she carries around with her), boots so tattered that they are scarcely held together by a few strips of old, discolored clothe, leather leggings with several rips and tears, a ratty old tunic and a terribly abused fur vest.

Wren’s love for collecting pretty things comes through in the many trinkets adorning her person. “Pretty”, in this case, being as objective as Wren is discerning. The nearly flawless skull of a young deer and a pair of small antlers tied with twine drapes over the front of her bag, clinking and clattering wherever she goes. Also of her own design, a string of small bones, smooth and interestingly shaped rocks, and tiny, milky white crystals hangs around her neck. She is a creative soul, using only the finest of feathers to braid into her hair while using those less perfect for restocking the short skirt that peaks out from under her tunic and cloak.

Wren’s presence doesn’t only bring with it spectacular visuals and auditory delights, however. There is no single word that perhaps does the olfactory assault of her nearness more justice than “strong”. Her scent is very earthy with the undertone of pungent body odor that tends to occur when rain water and occasional dips in the creek during the warm months is one’s only association with hygiene. Her finest saving grace are the flowers and herbs she collects and decorates her hat with regularly. Rosemary, thyme, sweet woodruff and sage all serve as a mostly sturdy mask. They also happen to compliment Wren's floral arrangments quite well-- which, of course, is what's really important.

Wren Collage

---

History:

To most villagers living near the thick Balwyn Forests, Wren began as a rumor. A phantom, an imp, a witch. An evil, mischievous thing that would steal your belongings and slip a razor sharp claw between your ribs the moment you weren’t looking.

The truth is far less mystical.

Wren grew up in the woods alone. For how long, nobody knows. Even Wren tends to have a difficult time recalling the order of events. Calendars aren’t very commonly found in the woods—nor are helping hands. Wren learned quickly that animals and the elements are rarely ever on your side (as she had once heard in so many fairytales). Even so, in her younger years she relied heavily on her imagination to combat the harsh truths of her world. She would never surrender control, she decided. Before long, the forest was her kingdom and she, its ruler. Anyone else was either a trespasser or subject—neither of which she was very prone to trusting.

She has since done away with such childish fantasies, coming to better understand her place in the world as well as society. Still, old habits die hard and Wren is still Wren. She will never surrender control.

Brief Personality:

Wren is a young woman of very few words— both figuratively and literally. Though her vocabulary is limited, however, Wren is very opinionated, stubborn, and will not hesitate to look down her nose at anyone she deems 'odd'. Given the longevity of her estrangement, she has had yet to meet a single person for which a different adjective was even necessary. Even Amelie is a poor example of an exception.

Wren is very crafty. Wood whittling and jewelry making are only a few of many hobbies she took on during her life of solitude in the woods. Her ability to create was certainly essential when it came to trapping meals, but she prefers crafting animal figurines and necklaces to such practicality. Still, a girl's got to eat. Sometimes, however, food tends to run scarce.

During such times of need, the mulishly sovereign Queen Wren concocted a way in which to obtain provisions. Trade. And with the value she placed on her many creations being so ridiculously high, a humiliatingly unfair one at that. Over the years, she has come to acknowledge the fact that a few of her trades may have tipped a bit in her favor, but by then her theivery methods had become more reliant on habit than sense.

Emotional Bond:

The tale of Wren and Amelie began in much the same way as any person trying to bond with a stray animal. For over a year, Amelie was nothing more than a source of food and the occasional sock. Over time, however, Wren reluctantly began to feel for the girl. In spite of her best judgement, she found herself tormented by feelings she hadn't felt for anyone but the vague recollection of a mother that often made her feel sad and uncharacteristicly alone on dark and stormy nights. It was grudging at first, but eventually Wren's visits became more frequent and she found that being in the company of someone like Amelie suited her quite well.

At the present, Wren is very protective of Amelie (though she still often struggles with flighty tendencies). Amelie is reliably her very best and only friend. In a way, she feels as though the girl is hers. Always there whenever she chooses to hang around and never too far behind when she decides to wander.

Partner: Amelie

---

Fighting Style:

Whenever Wren's dirt and tiny bone riddled appearance is not enough to deter any who dare cross her, she is most reliant on speed and stealth. Never having ventured very far from her forest, she knows it like the back of her hand. Her size certainly helps when it comes to fitting inside nooks and crannies. And although small she could certainly out climb just about anyone. Other than that, Wren's only defense is her trusty whittling knife. It has served her well, but has rarely ever been used in actual combat. Her commitment to avoiding human contact is most likely to thank for that.

Aside from the occasional scuffle with a territorial animal, Wren has no outstanding combat experience.

Equipment:

- one very large backpack, teeming with supplies (as always)
- an assortment of animal carvings, some unfinished
- a whittling knife
- a spool of twine
- rope (20 yards)
- a rolled up blanket
- two mismatched pairs of dirty socks
- one extra but equally filthy tunic
- a small pouch filled with rocks and crystals
- a small wooden box filled with animal bones/skulls in good condition (also a few pilfered sewing needles)
- a leather canteen of water
- a small bundle of impressively straight sticks
- extra herbs, flowers, and twigs
- a few slices of jerky wrapped in a leather rag
- a bottle of black ink

Weaknesses:

Once caught, the amount of brute force required to overcome Wren is exceptionally small. Additionally, Wren is easily stumped by complex problems, puzzles, and large words. This almost always results in swelling frustration for Wren, but more importantly can cause a fatal break down in communication as she often has a hard time admitting when she doesn't understand.

---

Focus concept: Nature

S P E L L S

Name: Trap!
Function: As the eloquent name chosen by Wren suggests, this ability traps an enemy in place by summoning powerful roots from the earth. The roots wrap around what ever part of the target is closest to the ground, though they cannot reach anything past 3 feet. Wren's roots can spawn within and pierce through solid rock, granite, and wooden floor boards, thus enabling her to use the ability in less likely places. The range within which Wren's target must be is 25 yards. The hold only lasts 5 seconds and can only be used as quickly as a 30 second interval will allow.

Name: Fix!
Function: Wren provides Amelie with the ability to draw energy from plant life in order to heal injuries. When cast, all plants within a 5 yard radius instantly wither and die. The effectivness of the healing depends on the amount of plant life available. Wren is only able to cast this spell on Amelie. Wren must wait 2 minutes before she is able to use it again.

Name: Sharpen!
Function: This spell works in tandem with Amelie's gear. It summons rose vines that wrap tightly around the gear, enveloping it with red, white, and pink roses as well as sharp, slightly larger than average thorns. The vines will stay in place for up to ten minutes, although broken or dulled thorns will not regenerate. Wren must wait the full 10 minutes before she is able to recast the spell.

---

Likes: warm weather, birds, flowers, music, free food, crystals, smooth rocks, and Amelie
Dislikes: thunderstorms, beavers, mosquitos, bitter food, most people, big words, being touched and restraints
Hobbies: whittling, jewelry-making, trapping, singing, decorating, collecting, exploring
Character Theme: Buster Voodoo

Other:

- Wren is picky in all things other than food. Anything that is edible and doesn't taste poisoned is good in her book.
- Wren thinks she's really cool. Like... really cool. Her ego allows her to be very easily manipulated.
- Although Wren loves to sing, her voice is audaciously mediocre. Not bad, but certainly not as great as she thinks she sounds.
- Wren knows two songs. She'll often sing variations of the tunes, inserting words as she pleases if bored enough. It should go without saying that she doesn't understand some of the words in the actual lyrics, but sings them anyway.
- The Moss | Garten Mother's Lullaby

---

Credits

- 8-bitspider
- xgglitch
- mahohaku
- glassravenn
- akumiirako
- snowbellss
- moonlight-pendent13
- aelou

From Celestial Bonds

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

A chibi I ordered of Queen Bee Rhian. Because I've been thinking about her a lot lately. :P

Hider

(by millily- whose fullbody normal commissions are gorgeous by the way. they've been closed for a sad long while tho

Celestial Bonds

Wren (Mage)

"What're you lookin' at?"

---

Full Name: Wren (Emily Shaughnessy)
Gender: Female
Age: Unknown (high teens/low twenties)
Height: 5'1" (155 cm)
Weight: 94 lbs (42.6 kg)
Appearance:

Wren is a shapeless and wiry little thing as a result of malnutrition and years of relentless tree-climbing. Her eyes are a deep shade of brown, appearing almost entirely black at first glance and her skin is lightly tanned (beneath the layer of dirt that so often coats it). She has thick, untamed eyebrows and even thicker raven black hair that is unevenly cut just below her chin.

Wren is rarely seen without her handcrafted tiara of carefully chosen twigs, adorned with an old broken broach that rests on the center of her forehead. Though a lovely (if somewhat crude) headpiece, the ornament is typically half hidden by a choppy curtain of side swept bangs as well as a large, pointed hat. The hat is made of sturdy fabric, once likely belonging to someone quite practical. Now in Wren's possession, however, it seems as though it has seen better days. Thus is the tale of most nice things belonging to Wren-- namely a thick cloak with slits (to accommodate the massive backpack she carries around with her), boots so tattered that they are scarcely held together by a few strips of old, discolored clothe, leather leggings with several rips and tears, a ratty old tunic and a terribly abused fur vest.

Wren’s love for collecting pretty things comes through in the many trinkets adorning her person. “Pretty”, in this case, being as objective as Wren is discerning. The nearly flawless skull of a young deer and a pair of small antlers tied with twine drapes over the front of her bag, clinking and clattering wherever she goes. Also of her own design, a string of small bones, smooth and interestingly shaped rocks, and tiny, milky white crystals hangs around her neck. She is a creative soul, using only the finest of feathers to braid into her hair while using those less perfect for restocking the short skirt that peaks out from under her tunic and cloak.

Wren’s presence doesn’t only bring with it spectacular visuals and auditory delights, however. There is no single word that perhaps does the olfactory assault of her nearness more justice than “strong”. Her scent is very earthy with the undertone of pungent body odor that tends to occur when rain water and occasional dips in the creek during the warm months is one’s only association with hygiene. Her finest saving grace are the flowers and herbs she collects and decorates her hat with regularly. Rosemary, thyme, sweet woodruff and sage all serve as a mostly sturdy mask. They also happen to compliment Wren's floral arrangments quite well-- which, of course, is what's really important.

Wren Collage

---

History:

To most villagers living near the thick Balwyn Forests, Wren began as a rumor. A phantom, an imp, a witch. An evil, mischievous thing that would steal your belongings and slip a razor sharp claw between your ribs the moment you weren’t looking.

The truth is far less mystical.

Wren grew up in the woods alone. For how long, nobody knows. Even Wren tends to have a difficult time recalling the order of events. Calendars aren’t very commonly found in the woods—nor are helping hands. Wren learned quickly that animals and the elements are rarely ever on your side (as she had once heard in so many fairytales). Even so, in her younger years she relied heavily on her imagination to combat the harsh truths of her world. She would never surrender control, she decided. Before long, the forest was her kingdom and she, its ruler. Anyone else was either a trespasser or subject—neither of which she was very prone to trusting.

She has since done away with such childish fantasies, coming to better understand her place in the world as well as society. Still, old habits die hard and Wren is still Wren. She will never surrender control.

Brief Personality:

Wren is a young woman of very few words— both figuratively and literally. Though her vocabulary is limited, however, Wren is very opinionated, stubborn, and will not hesitate to look down her nose at anyone she deems 'odd'. Given the longevity of her estrangement, she has had yet to meet a single person for which a different adjective was even necessary. Even Amelie is a poor example of an exception.

Wren is very crafty. Wood whittling and jewelry making are only a few of many hobbies she took on during her life of solitude in the woods. Her ability to create was certainly essential when it came to trapping meals, but she prefers crafting animal figurines and necklaces to such practicality. Still, a girl's got to eat. Sometimes, however, food tends to run scarce.

During such times of need, the mulishly sovereign Queen Wren concocted a way in which to obtain provisions. Trade. And with the value she placed on her many creations being so ridiculously high, a humiliatingly unfair one at that. Over the years, she has come to acknowledge the fact that a few of her trades may have tipped a bit in her favor, but by then her theivery methods had become more reliant on habit than sense.

Emotional Bond:

The tale of Wren and Amelie began in much the same way as any person trying to bond with a stray animal. For over a year, Amelie was nothing more than a source of food and the occasional sock. Over time, however, Wren reluctantly began to feel for the girl. In spite of her best judgement, she found herself tormented by feelings she hadn't felt for anyone but the vague recollection of a mother that often made her feel sad and uncharacteristicly alone on dark and stormy nights. It was grudging at first, but eventually Wren's visits became more frequent and she found that being in the company of someone like Amelie suited her quite well.

At the present, Wren is very protective of Amelie (though she still often struggles with flighty tendencies). Amelie is reliably her very best and only friend. In a way, she feels as though the girl is hers. Always there whenever she chooses to hang around and never too far behind when she decides to wander.

Partner: Amelie

---

Fighting Style:

Whenever Wren's dirt and tiny bone riddled appearance is not enough to deter any who dare cross her, she is most reliant on speed and stealth. Never having ventured very far from her forest, she knows it like the back of her hand. Her size certainly helps when it comes to fitting inside nooks and crannies. And although small she could certainly out climb just about anyone. Other than that, Wren's only defense is her trusty whittling knife. It has served her well, but has rarely ever been used in actual combat. Her commitment to avoiding human contact is most likely to thank for that.

Aside from the occasional scuffle with a territorial animal, Wren has no outstanding combat experience.

Equipment:

- one very large backpack, teeming with supplies (as always)
- an assortment of animal carvings, some unfinished
- a whittling knife
- a spool of twine
- rope (20 yards)
- a rolled up blanket
- two mismatched pairs of dirty socks
- one extra but equally filthy tunic
- a small pouch filled with rocks and crystals
- a small wooden box filled with animal bones/skulls in good condition (also a few pilfered sewing needles)
- a leather canteen of water
- a small bundle of impressively straight sticks
- extra herbs, flowers, and twigs
- a few slices of jerky wrapped in a leather rag
- a bottle of black ink

Weaknesses:

Once caught, the amount of brute force required to overcome Wren is exceptionally small. Additionally, Wren is easily stumped by complex problems, puzzles, and large words. This almost always results in swelling frustration for Wren, but more importantly can cause a fatal break down in communication as she often has a hard time admitting when she doesn't understand.

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Focus concept: Nature

S P E L L S

Name: Trap!
Function: As the eloquent name chosen by Wren suggests, this ability traps an enemy in place by summoning powerful roots from the earth. The roots wrap around what ever part of the target is closest to the ground, though they cannot reach anything past 3 feet. Wren's roots can spawn within and pierce through solid rock, granite, and wooden floor boards, thus enabling her to use the ability in less likely places. The range within which Wren's target must be is 25 yards. The hold only lasts 5 seconds and can only be used as quickly as a 30 second interval will allow.

Name: Sharpen!
Function: This spell works in tandem with Amelie's gear. It summons rose vines that wrap tightly around the gear, enveloping it with red, white, and pink roses as well as sharp, slightly larger than average thorns. The vines will stay in place for up to ten minutes, although broken or dulled thorns will not regenerate. Wren must wait the full 10 minutes before she is able to recast the spell.

Name: Spit!
Function: Wren posesses the ability to convert her saliva into a select number of magically enhanced toxins based on certain plants. It only takes a second to initially summon, however she must wait at least two minutes before switching from one toxin to another. While her ability is in effect, her insides are immune to the chosen toxin, however, Wren is still susceptable to her own toxins via skin contact and whenever her ability is turned off. Once a toxin leaves her mouth, it will remain potent for 24 hours before reverting back to regular spit.

Additionally, Wren's tongue changes color depending on the toxin that is in affect.

Toxins

Jimsonweed

This toxin causes horrifying hallucinations, paranoid delusions, and blurred vision, which can lingers for several seconds immediately after the affects have receded. Prolonged exposure and a very high dosage may result in death.

Duration : 10 minutes. Must be ingested.
Color : Yellow

Coca

This toxin, meant to be used as a temporary buff, causes mild euphoria, decreased appetite, decreased fatigue, increased mental and spatial alertness, and can numb pain. Alternatively, prolonged exposure and high dosages may result in scary tactile hallucinations.

Duration : 10 minutes. Must be ingested.
Color : White

Giant Hogweed

This toxin merely requires skin contact to be effective. It begins as a red and itchy rash, rapidly developing into severe skin inflammation and blisters, which may leave behind permanent purple scars if not treated quickly.

Duration : N/A
Color : Purple

Valerian

This toxin acts as a sedative and calming agent. Low doses can induce calm while higher doses induce sleep.

Duration : Several hours, depending on the dosage. May be inhaled or ingested.
Color : Light Pink

Gympie gympie

This toxin causes a severly painful sensation of burning and electrocution, though it does not cause any any actual tissue damage outside of some light swelling and reddening of the affected area. Prolonged exposure could cause shock, but in most cases the pain is so severe that those with low mental fortitude may potential kill themselvesor beg for death. This toxin is extremely potent.

Duration : 5 minutes. May be ingested, inhaled, or injected. Skin contact results in light rash unless the skin is broken.
Color: Red

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Likes: warm weather, birds, flowers, music, free food, crystals, smooth rocks, and Amelie
Dislikes: thunderstorms, beavers, mosquitos, bitter food, most people, big words, being touched and restraints
Hobbies: whittling, jewelry-making, trapping, singing, decorating, collecting, exploring
Character Theme: Buster Voodoo

Other:

- Wren is picky in all things other than food. Anything that is edible and doesn't taste poisoned is good in her book.
- Wren thinks she's really cool. Like... really cool. Her ego allows her to be very easily manipulated.
- Although Wren loves to sing, her voice is audaciously mediocre. Not bad, but certainly not as great as she thinks she sounds.
- Wren knows two songs. She'll often sing variations of the tunes, inserting words as she pleases if bored enough. It should go without saying that she doesn't understand some of the words in the actual lyrics, but sings them anyway.
- The Moss | Garten Mother's Lullaby

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Credits

- 8-bitspider
- xgglitch
- mahohaku
- glassravenn
- akumiirako
- snowbellss
- moonlight-pendent13
- aelou

—(••[ 𝕎𝕀𝕊ℍ𝔼𝔸𝕋𝔼ℝ ]••)—

Psh, but that's been done before.

See: Zoe's totally real death that totally happened.