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shslpopper:

“Oh, really? How’s it like to have a big family? Mine’s not really huge, so I wouldn’t know. Is it loud and hectic? I mean, that’s what I’m always hearing from friends who have big families as well!”

Truth be told, Hayate always thought that a big family sounded really nice! Sure, maybe you didn’t get as much privacy as you’d want to, but that wouldn’t be such a bad deal if you asked him. For a person like him, being surrounded by others felt better than to be by yourself and whatnot.

Given that Carlos said that his help wasn’t necessary, Hayate just took a seat on one of the nearby chairs and observed how the other made breakfast. The popping dancer supposed that he might’ve been able to cook up an egg as well, though he’d have to put a timer down, in case he gets distracted and doesn’t remember that he’s cooking something anymore. It happened sometimes and the food was always burnt in such occasions.

“Yeah, Nonary said something along the lines as well! About having dinner and such together and whatnot. Uh, in case you don’t know who I mean, it’s the dude with the lines on his face! Really cool lad, by the way~!”

Hayate, you found everyone to be cool here right now, especially ever since knowing that all of them were heroes… well, not in all cases, granted, but hey, can’t have it all now, huh?

“But anyway, I’m all for that idea! Like you said, it would certainly strengthen our bonds if we eat together everyday! Get to know each other, just talk about all kinds of stuff… I’d like that.”

Carlos laughs through his nose. “It’s loco,” he says, dumping the contents of his cutting board onto a hot pan. They start sizzling quickly. “I’ve got three older brothers, and of course my parents are around, but there’s also a million cousins, aunts, uncles - and abuela lives right nearby, so she was always around, too. Makes for a very full house. Lots of noise.”

The house back home is big, though, and could fit an army of screaming children. He’s older now, though, and his oldest brother is 30. They all still go home a few times a year, and if it wasn’t full when they were all kids, it is now. At least there’s less screaming. Carlos catches himself smiling, thinking about the family. He’s never had a good poker face anyway. And maybe it’s the confinement that’s making him miss Nevada more.

He snaps himself out of it and looks up at Hayate. Breakfast is cooking away nicely, and smells pretty good, if he does say so himself. “Nonary, huh?” he says, “Manic-lookin’ guy with the weird face marks?- yeah. I didn’t expect him to be the team-spirit kinda guy, but I guess that just goes to show first impressions aren’t everything.” Granted, he’s maybe introduced himself, and not much else.

That’s good, though, having someone else on the same train of thought. Maybe if they can all get along, this whole thing won’t be so bad. There’s a flicker of hope. Optimism is key. He smiles, and focusses back on Hayate. “So, how not-huge is not-huge?” he asks, “Is the family here in the States, or all back in - Japan, right?”

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medicalsmith:

Oh. She hopes he wasn’t actually taking the bedsheet thing seriously. She has to resist the urge to explain that it had been a joke and the exact science behind why it was actually impossible, in detail. But she has a rule for these kinds of things, and the rule is that if you ever want to explain a joke unprompted: don’t. Even if she really wants to. It’s just not worth it.

Carlos seems decent enough, though. Nice enough. Doesn’t really give off murder vibes, as far as she can tell.

But she’d only spoken to him for the first time five minutes ago, after they’d both heard that recording. Assuming the hero thing was true (and after seeing a certain profile she was far too familiar with on this table, she was willing to consider it) the people here lead double lives. Heroes or not, they were probably all good at acting, lying, pretending. So whether she thought Carlos seemed like a good guy or not really didn’t matter right now, did it? It’s why she wants him to lead the way. And he even holds the door for her. What a gentleman.

“I know I thought so.” Specifically, she remembered thinking that any supervillain would have to be crazy to step foot anywhere near the place, especially on a night like last night. “And the gala probably had to have been the highest concentration of heroes the city can offer, right? It’s hard to believe anything could’ve happened at all.”

She ends up speeding up a bit to walk alongside him down the hall. Tactical advantage or not, having a conversation from behind just felt weird. And being sideways relative to someone else would made her a smaller target, anyway.

“And if we’re still here, then what happened to everyone else? And then there’s the clothes situation. I still have plenty of questions. Not sure if I want to know the answer to most of them.”

Especially not after how the last time any of her questions had been answered went – namely, why she was in Paragon Tower with a bunch of supposedly random strangers. ‘Oh, you’re all superheroes, and by the way there’s a forcefield and also you’re supposed to kill each other.’ If the recorded voice thing decides to tell them more about what happened, it’d probably come along with the dog-delivered news of a zombie apocalypse outbreak. Or something even worse that she can’t think of, because she’s too preoccupied by the vague feeling of impending doom to be creative right now.

“…Have you ever seen that dog before, though?” For one weird, long moment when the dog had first appeared, her mind had jumped to Doctor Fido. Which made no sense at all. The guy seemed mostly harmless, not to mention that he was neither a shapeshifter nor an actual dog. “I don’t know if old dog messengers are the trademark of some supervillain I haven’t heard of, or…” She trails off. It’s kind of a long shot, anyway.

Distracted as he is, Carlos starts to answer before Sara’s even finished her question. “There’s gotta be a million dogs like him in the city, I don’t see how-” Oh, duh. “Oh. Yeah, no, I dunno. Off the top of my head I don’t know any supervillains who takes their fuckin’ dog to work. I mean, I’ve covered a lot of them, so maybe there’s one, but none come to mind.” Wouldn’t taking your dog with you on crime sprees - or whatever this is - be putting the dog in danger, and therefore a bad thing? But would a supervillain care about that? Touche, inner Carlos. He shrugs as he turns and backs into the door to the foyer, pushing it open. “He’s cute, at least. It helps things. Just a little bit.”

The foyer’s just as dusty and creepy as the hallway, but at least it’s not dark too. The broken chandelier’s a bit unnerving. He doesn’t look at it. Something crunches under one boot as he steps and he doesn’t look at that either.

“The clothes thing is pretty freaky, though, yeah,” he says. He’s been up to his assigned room, very briefly, and found clothes that, although totally his style and exactly his size, were not his. Actually, it’s very creepy, now that he thinks about it for more than just a moment. How did the supervillain know this shit about him?

He pauses, something coming to him, something he doesn’t like. He frowns at Sara. “It’s like... like they knew about us already. I mean, fuck, of course they did, they know our secret identities. But they know us right down to our fuckin’ underwear size. That’s... shit, they planned this out in advance, didn’t they?”

The realisation makes him very, very uncomfortable. Was he being watched? Studied? By who? And how? He didn’t notice anything, but... Ugh. He shakes his head. Too late for that now. No, he’s here now, either way, and can’t affect that. But he can try to make it out of here - with no bloodshed.

#reply #current events #ch 1 #sara

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medicalsmith:

It was a relief to hear that she hadn’t accidentally crossed some kind of line with Carlos, but it still got her worrying about her dad – less about what might happen to him if someone figured out her secret identity than how worried he must be right now, if something big happened last night and she hasn’t answered her phone. She knows he follows the news in Arcadia; he’s called to check up on her after hearing about things that she’d had nothing to do with.

“…Well, hopefully we won’t end up needing any medical help.” Hopefully no one was bothered enough by the recording to jump to something drastic…

For the seventh – eighth? – time today, she took out her phone and tried to turn it on. And then, for the third time today, she considered flinging it into a wall when it refused to work. But if it ever did start working again, she needed it in one piece, so she settles for squeezing it tightly in frustration before slipping the stupid thing back into her pocket.

But stairs? She did vaguely remember passing by a set of stairs, on the way here. “If we can get on the roof, maybe someone can just fly down. Or Tronik could jump, with her fancy kinetic shoes. Or we could just make a rope out of bedsheets.”

There were problems with each of those plans. She hadn’t seen flight listed in any of the profiles she’d looked at so far, for one. Tronik’s profile, which was right in front of her, did say something about shock absorption – but it only refers to a height of several meters, not something as absurd as jumping off of the tower. The bedsheet thing… was just a joke. She’s pretty sure she saw a TV show once that proved the bedsheet-rope thing wasn’t a viable option past a certain height. Maybe smoke signals were the way to go, after all. Regardless, she nods. “But that sounds like a good idea. Let me just…”

She loops around the table, flipping open each unopened folder, not bothering to do much but look at the picture and the name inside each. Just to get an idea - she can always come back later, if she needs to. When she’s finished, she looks back up at Carlos and nods again. “Okay, so… stairs, right? After you.”

“The bedsheet rope trick is always a solid backup plan,” Carlos says, nodding sagaciously. Even if smoke signals and the like, he’s sure they could figure something out. After all, they’re superheroes, apparently. A superhero who can’t even save himself is a pretty lame one. Okay, maybe that’s a personal thing, but he’s nevertheless optimistic.

He lets Sara flip through folders, and while doing so examines the room. Not much to see here, really. The Paragons and their associates would hold meetings here, probably. He can imagine Mayor McCain in this chair here, overseeing things. The chalkboard is pretty old-school, but given that everything’s busted all to hell, something newer might not work now. If he ever needs a big, public place to write things, it’s as good as any.

“Hmm?” Her voice snaps him out of his thoughts. “Yeah, stairs it is.” He circles the table and then hesitates, ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. Sara would be behind him, where he can’t see her. No, don’t be stupid, he tells himself, she’s not going to do anything. She seems too sensible to knife someone an hour into this ordeal. Besides, if she were to, he’d just ... ...

“This way,” he says uselessly, stepping into the hallway and holding the door for her. The hallway’s cramped and dark, and he doesn’t like it. A place to avoid. At least there are four easy outs- no, stop thinking like that, things will be fine.

“I wonder what happened to this place,” he muses, kicking dust and dirt off the floor. “You’d think Paragon Tower’d be the safest place in the city.” More importantly, where are the Paragons? Why does the guy on the recording now have control over the Paragons’ home base?

He feels like learning the answers to those questions might not actually help him. Might make things worse. Scarier. He can’t help wonder, though. Maybe he’s been a reporter too long. Curiosity is just in his nature.

#current events #reply #ch 1 #sara

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shslpopper:

Why did his name sound so familiar? Hayate could swear he’s either read or heard about it before, but… he couldn’t exactly place where and when. At least not right now - he faults his weariness for that.

Carlos’ offer was the perfect excuse to shove this nagging feeling aside for now and instead, focus on the person in front of him entirely. The popping dancer couldn’t help but smile appreciatively.

“Dude, really? That would be awesome! But… I’d feel kind of bad if I didn’t do anything to help out! So… yeah! Where can I give you a hand? I mean, not really a cook myself either, but I should be able to handle the basics just fine!”

He didn’t really comment on the food poisoning remark, because as far as he was concerned, it was just your typical answer when you weren’t a 5 star chef or something. Not to mention that he didn’t believe that anyone would ever kill a fellow superhero! No way, they were all good people!

(… Alright, that’s actually debatable, given some of the assembled heroes here, but-)

(In the end, they were all heroes. They were acting against injustice. So surely, even the heroes who were more controversial wouldn’t do anything to harm another comrade! He had to believe in them!)

Okay, so maybe the food poisoning joke was a bit tasteless given their current situation, but no harm no foul, right? Carlos isn’t a 5-star chef by any stretch of the imagination but he can make edible food - which is saying something. He has a vague recollection of one of his brothers fucking up instant pasta.

He laughs. “Thanks for the offer, but there’s not much to help with. I’m used to cooking for lots of people, so it’s no sweat anyway. Big family, you know. I’d probably step on your foot or something by accident, anyway.” He puts down the knife and goes looking for the eggs - not hard to find.

The kitchen is big, but it’s well organised. There’s a bit of shuffling around, opening cabinets looking for things, but nothing is too hard to find. In minutes, there’s a pan heating on the oven and the food is just about prepared.

“It might be nice to have breakfasts or dinners together,” he says, musing idly to fill the silence. Carlos doesn’t like silence; he needs to be doing something or else he gets fidgety. “Like, all sixteen of us. It might help boost morale, you know? Promote a bit of camaraderie, or whatever.” The unspoken implication is that camaraderie, or whatever, might keep the whole murder thing to a minimum. Or so he hopes, anyway. Finding a way out and keeping spirits up are Carlos’ primary objectives here.

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medicalsmith:

“Nice to meet you too.” Her voice jumps up at the end, like it’s a question – could she really consider it to be nice to meet anyone right now? Did it matter? It occurred to her that Carlos was probably an actual superhero. Then it occurred to her that everyone she’d already met, before the dog-delivered recording had appeared, and everyone she was going to meet in this building were all also literal, actual superheroes. She waited a second for the fresh wave of panic to hit, but the response was lackluster. A tiny pang of anxiety, nothing more. Maybe she’d already hit her saturation point for the day.

Ah, medical school. Some of the people she’d met there considered it hell in no uncertain terms, but she’d be glad to get back to it now. There were plenty of different reasons everyone had to be there, but there was always that one right answer – the one that sounded better than going after the prestige or paycheck that came from the profession. How many of them actually meant it when they said they wanted to help people? Saving lives. “…Yeah. One day.” It comes out flatter than she’d meant it to.

After a second, she nods with more certainty, pushing back whatever was bothering her. “Right. I’m in my third year, so I’m not a full-fledged doctor or anything - but I’ve been studying this sort of stuff for a long time. I know what I’m doing.”

Her confidence falters, though, as her thoughts wander back to the profiles, the ones she still hadn’t opened. If someone turned out to have healing powers, something much faster, more efficient, it might not be as useful as she thought.

“I didn’t mean – sorry. I don’t want anyone to know, either, and there’s my dad to think about, and I just… the thing in the recording, about the forcefield, I’m worried about that. I tried to get those doors open earlier, they wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t figure out why.” A pause. “I don’t… have anything else I could try now, either. Not for a door. I don’t know what to do.”

She looks back at the table. The guessing game seemed like the better option – better than literal murder which, granted, wasn’t hard to beat. But even if pursuing this option seemed better now, even if it could mean that no one would die, maybe he was right. Maybe there really was another option. Or maybe he was planning to kill her right now and it was all an elaborate trap and-

“Okay,” she says, a bit too loudly, interrupting her own train of thought. “I mean – yeah. Let’s look for another way out, first.” Another pause. “Did you mean right now, or did you want to look through the rest of these, first?”

“Hey, Sara, it’s fine,” he says, “We’re all a little wound, you know? No offense taken.” Easy as that. His point still stands, though. He’d rather keep his secret identity to himself, not because he’s worried for his own safety - he’s been through some shit, he can handle it - but for the safety of other people around him. If someone had it out for his hero persona, that’d be dangerous for everyone around Carlos.

Not a pretty thought. He shakes it out of his head. He’s not going to spill that secret anytime soon. And he knows enough to respect others’ privacy too. Which rules out one method of escape. “Full-fledged doctor or not,” he says, “Some medical know-how is welcome. I’m sure you’re great at it.” No sarcasm, either.

“We passed by an elevator, right?” he continues, “And I remember stairs. Those are my next guesses. If we could get to a higher floor or something there might be a way out. Hell, maybe we could get onto the roof and put up a smoke signal or something.” It’s a long shot, but he’s just musing right now, no idea if it’ll pan out. There’s got to be something, though; he’s sure of this.

He unfolds his arms and puts the recording back in his pocket, and forces himself to let go of it. His fingers ache just a little bit from it. “If what the creepy, disembodied voice said is true,” he shrugs, looking over the folders again, “We’re going to be here for a while. Which means I’m not in a huge rush to get moving. So, if you want to keep looking at folders, go ahead.”

He takes the next-closest one. Roulette, apparently. He doesn’t actually know much about her; he knows he didn’t write on her. One of the others did, maybe. He has no idea who she might be, who any of them might be, but he’s not thinking too hard on it. This guessing game thing is a last-ditch resort.

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shslpopper:

A good night’s sleep had been truly too much to hope for.

As Hayate awakens from his slumber, he decides to stay in bed at first, cuddling into the warmth that the blanket gave him. Sure, the bed was rougher than what he was used to, but nothing that would make him too uncomfortable. However, he felt himself becoming more restless after awhile, despite feeling still tired.

With a slight groan, he got up and rubbed his eyes, before lazily feeling around for his glasses. As they’ve been on top of the nightstand, it didn’t take longer than a second or two to grasp the object in question and place it on top of his nose. The world becoming sharper around him, he finally realized that no, this was not his room and the entire fiasco with the ruined Paragon Tower wasn’t just a bad dream. It was sadly reality.

Well, it wouldn’t help him or anyone else to lament over this! So up he went, getting fresh and dressed for the day to start. Actually, what time was it even? He… wasn’t too sure. Hayate wasn’t normally one to wake up super early, but then again, his sleep schedule was capable of being all over the place.

Now that he was dressed - albeit in clothes that didn’t really belong to him, but oh well, can’t always wear the same clothes for days! -, Hayate decided to get himself breakfast first… or maybe lunch. Dinner even? Like he said, sleeping schedule could get fucked up for all he knew.

Making his way to the floor below, it didn’t take him long to get to his destination - and when he finally arrived, he wasn’t the only person in the room.

(Déjà-vu much?)

Well, alright, there was no Dash in sight (sadly), but this was already the second occasion that he met someone in the kitchen. Then again, it was more likely to run into someone here, as this was the only place that offered food and drinks…

Either way, it gave him the perfect opportunity to strike up a conversation with someone whom he didn’t really talk to yet! And he didn’t even need to be the first one to greet the other!

(That was spanish, as far as he knew. Cool!)

“Good morning!”, Hayate said in return, also waving at the other, albeit a bit less energetic than normally. His other hand rubbed his neck, before he continued on with his response:”Well, could’ve been better, but it wasn’t that bad either! So I guess… okay-ish? What about you?”

It was only polite to return the question, after all.

“By the by, I’m Hayate Minami. It’s nice to meet ya!”

Well, as nice as it can be, given they were trapped in a destroyed Paragon Tower and told to kill each other if they ever wanted to leave.

“What are you making there? Looks certainly healthy!”

Carlos is in the business of remembering faces but this one sticks out to him. Not that he’s spoken much to Hayate yet, but pink hair is always memorable. More importantly, though, Hayate seems pretty upbeat. Carlos likes to think that he’s a good judge of character, and usually he is, and right now his judgement is saying that Hayate is one of the friendlier people around here. He’s not getting any major warning flags or danger signals or anything, at least.

So, he relaxes his grip on the knife. And gets back to using it to make breakfast.

“Carlos Capello,” he replies, and decides that it’s too early in the morning to plug his website. “Nice to meet you too, Hayate.” He glances down at the cutting board, little piles of bell pepper and sweet onion on it. “I’m thinking omelettes. Want some? There’s a ton of food in here, more than enough for two. And I’m not the best cook around but I promise not to give you food poisoning.”

Sometimes he even surprises himself with how easy it is to hold a smile and act like everything’s fine. He’s decided to leave the panic and serious stuff until after he’s gotten something in his stomach, save for the chance appearances of unexpected people. But it’s fine, Hayate’s clearly not here to kill him, so he’s got nothing to worry about for the next few minutes.

#reply #current events #hayate #ch 1

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Here he is, the morning after. Yesterday’s events seem like a weird dream, his memories hazy and blended together. When he wakes up he isn’t sure where he is, thinks he might be in his apartment. But then, as he wakes up a little more, he realises things: the bed’s a little too hard, and the room smells of dust and concrete. Still in Paragon Tower. Still kidnapped.

He stretches and drags himself out of bed. He has no idea what time it is. His body’s usually pretty regular, though, so it must be early- or mid-morning. He tries to go about his regular routine: he showers, cleans himself up, styles his hair, puts on the tiniest bit of makeup. Whoever set this place up stocked him with a blowdrier, hairspray, concealer, and eyeliner - all the important stuff. He appreciates it.

It’s a solid hour later before he’s finally ready to go. He pulls on a shirt that isn’t his, pants that aren’t his, and a jacket that is. It feels strange. And he doesn’t have to follow his routine, but he does anyway. It keeps him feeling normal, feeling grounded. In such an abnormal and confusing place, he needs it.

Carlos makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen. It must be early; no one’s around. That’s fine, though, more space to move around. If this room wasn’t so rusty and busted up it’d be great. His apartment kitchen is tiny. The homestead in Nevada has a big summer kitchen out back. A brief memory of an early morning there, watching the sun rise over the Mojave...

No such thing here. Just cracked marble and nasty rust spots. He makes do. He’s chopping up vegetables when he hears the door swing open somewhere behind him. His fingers reflexively tighten around the knife handle. But he turns, smiles in the stranger’s direction anyway, and tries to make himself look as non-threatening as humanly possible.

“Buenos días,” he says, waving his free hand, “How’d you sleep?” He can guess the answer, but it’s friendly to ask anyway.

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medicalsmith:

“I’m not,” she automatically insists, but it sounds pathetic even to her. It’s not like she has any evidence to back it up – that recording was the only information they’d been given, and if it was to be believed, her very presence here was enough to – maybe not prove it, but if everyone else here was actually a superhero then oh god that had to mean that someone knew she was too, and that was bad bad bad.

She’s just on edge. About everything. Including Mr. Calm Guy over here.

She watches him closely, but seems to relax a little once the table’s put between them. Enough to take her eyes off of him long enough to check the contents of the folder she’d snatched. Feline Fiasco? She almost smiles at the memory of how a friend of hers had never let her forget the one time she’d misspoken and called him Cat Disaster – but something in the profile catches her eye. She brings the entire folder up, holding it inches from her face, because there was just – no way. Unless there was. Which there wasn’t. After several seconds of intense squinting, she drops the folder back on the table like it’s on fire and takes a step back, returning her attention to Carlos.

“I don’t know, okay? We don’t know if that dog was lying - that recording, I mean.” Relieved that he was just politely implying that she was lying rather than outright accusing her, she takes a few seconds to get her thoughts in order before she’s ready to say anything else. Deep breaths. She nods. “Whatever happens, I’m just going to try to make sure no one gets hurt. It doesn’t matter whether I’m a hero or not.”

And this guy was… a reporter? Any thoughts of blabbing her secrets went straight out of the window. Not that she’d really been considering it in the first place – but, god, maybe telling someone would make things easier to deal with. One less thing to stress about. Just… not a reporter.

“My name’s Sara Smith. I’m a medical student over at AU. And… if there’s anything I can do to help with that, let me know. -Anything reasonable,” she added.

Superheroes were cool. They were pretty awesome. She was honestly even a pretty big fan of some of them, but the idea of facing off against a superhero was just… not something she liked to imagine. Ever.

“If…” She paused, thinking. “If we figure out who’s who, someone could leave. And get help. That’s what that recording said, right? No one would have to die.”

With that, she drifts over to another folder, opens it up – Tronik, this time – and starts scanning through it.

“Nice to meet you, Sara,” he says. It’s in his disposition to make friends with everyone but he’s half-thinking that really trying at it might be good. Given the circumstances and all. “Med school, huh? I’ve heard that’s tough stuff, but hey, if you’re that dedicated to it, power to you ‘n all. Gonna be saving lives one day, yeah?” One day, because, you know, he’d rather not have anyone die.

His eyes flick away from her, just momentarily, barely noticeable. “You know your way around medicine, yeah? That’s good. That’ll help, I think.” He isn’t sure if there’s much in the way of medicine around here, but it’s a nice thought. Maybe she could at least keep anyone from bleeding out.

Any advantage was welcome, really.

He’s about to say something, not realising that she is too. He frowns, and folds his arms - the recording still in his hand. He’s turning it over and over in his fingers. He’s not sure why. “That’d be nice, yeah?” He doesn’t sound like he means it. “But that’d mean, y’know, matching everyone up. Let’s say I am one of these heroes. I’m not sure I want anyone knowing which. All of these heroes have pissed off some very bad people, and I sure as hell don’t want them coming after me - or my coworkers, or my mamá, you know?”

He shakes his head, quickly, like he’s clearing it out. He is. Alright, sue him, he’s worried. He’s trying to be as confident as he can but, like, forgive him if that’s a little strained right now.

“I hate to be that guy,” Carlos says, “The one who’s scared of everyone else. Those are the ones that make mistakes. But you learn to keep your secrets real close.” He stops turning the recording over, instead drumming his fingers against it. “Besides, I don’t trust it. That’s playing right into this sicko’s hands. There’s gotta be another way out, and I’m gonna find it.” The smile is back, the confidence is back.

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…A dog? That was a dog. There was a dog on the balcony, and then it was on the ground floor, and now it’s gone again.

Of all the possibilities she’d imagined new information would come from, this hadn’t been on the list. Frankly, she was still having trouble processing all of it, even after she’d calmly walked into the meeting room. Except that was a lie, because she wasn’t calm, and while she hadn’t exactly been running, she was going just about as fast as her feet could take her while still keeping at least one foot on the ground at a time.

Because she had to know. Dubious information delivered via dog aside, the idea that everyone here – including the people she’d talked to not five minutes ago, including her - everyone here was supposedly a superhero aside, that whole… thing about murder and forcefields and rules aside, she was kind of freaking out the most about the guessing game.

She was definitely freaking out about everything else, too, don’t get her wrong. But if the dog knew which sixteen out of the whole of the gala were the right heroes to provide the profiles of – wait, no, not the dog, the dog’s owner, whoever had recorded that voice message, dogs couldn’t talk – then that would imply they knew everything. Enough. Too much.

She froze with her hand on an unopened manila folder, though. On second thought, she… really didn’t want to know. Not at all. Nope. Was she panicking? Probably. Yes. It was mostly internal, though. On the outside, she was busy staring a hole through the table, trying to decide whether or not to open it-

Right up until someone gets within a three foot radius of her, at which point she nearly jumps out of her skin. She recovers quickly – though she almost wishes she would pass out or have a heart attack or something, just to get a break from all of this – and plants a hand hard on the table, right on top of the folder, as she turns to face them. She has no clue whose profile it actually contains, but still. Don’t touch it.

“This is crazy,” she says, agitated. And then, because she can’t think of anything else to say- “This is crazy.” Then lower, almost as an afterthought, “…I’m not a superhero, okay? I’m not. None of us – you’re not, are you?”

Her eyes flick to the folder again, and she picks it up and hugs it to her chest. She still hasn’t actually opened it yet.

“…This isn’t good. I feel like bad things are going to happen. There’s no way anyone would…”

She mumbles that last part more to the floor - which probably doesn’t care, one way or the other.

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Carlos makes sure to walk around the table, to stay within in sight of Sara. Sneaking up on her, intentionally or not, wouldn’t do anyone any good. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t feeling a bit spooked by all of this. Murder? Secret identities? There’s a hell of a lot at stake here.

But he’s Carlos Capello, intrepid reporter. He had been at Vortex as soon as he’d heard the news about the Burden, with Animalice still out there. He hadn’t run away the last time FENRIR appeared. He’d walked into Black Smoke territory, head held high. Stupid? Probably. But there are no stories in safe places. Carlos has learned to be brave, because bravery is rewarded.

And so, now, he holds his head high. He’s not going to shy away from this, or retreat to safety. What is there to gain from that? Besides, he can handle himself. He’s a goddamn superhero.

“It’s fuckin’ insane,” he agrees. He looks weirdly casual; weight leaned on one foot, hands in his pockets, easy half-smile on his face. It’s a front, obviously. He can feel his heart thudding against his ribs. But he has to try. “But, you know, if what the weird computer voice said is true, we’re all more than capable of handling ourselves. Even you, I’d wager. Even if you’re not a superhero, like you say.”

He still has the recording, in his pocket. He’s turning it over and over in his hand. It scares him, but that’s why he has it. He glances over the folders, taking in the names. He’s reported on most of these people. And they’re all here, were all the people standing around the hall moments again. He sees himself there on the table, and it makes his heart beat even harder for a moment.

He clenches his fingers around the recording, holding in the urge to grab his folder. That’d be pretty fucking obvious. Instead, he flips open the one closest to him. Lady Moon. Quite a character, that one.

“Maybe I am,” he shrugs, “Or not. If I’m not, and you’re not, then what are these here for?” He glances back up at Sara. “Look, I’m not going to pry. I don’t think any of us want that. And I’m not going to do anything, to you or to anyone else. But... we gotta be careful, yeah? Whether this is real or not, we’re in some hot water.”

He flips the folder shut. “Name’s Carlos Capello, with Arcadibuzz. I’m going to do my best to get to the bottom of this shit. I figure I’m made for it, yeah?”

#ch 1 #sara #current events #reply

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stargazelongintoanabyss:

What is it, Cassie wonders idly as yet another stranger walks directly up to her and starts loudly talking, about a girl clearly trying to avoid any human interaction that makes other humans come up to her and interact with her? She doesn’t look up at the person who approaches her, head bowed as if out of fear, one hand nervously fidgeting with the ends of her pigtails.

Her voice is not just quiet but soft, almost gentle; it’s barely above a murmur, and an observer might be forgiven for thinking she’s talking to herself. “My head is fine, thank you so much for asking. Nice to know I’m in an unknown and… potentially dangerous situation with someone who cares so much. Nice of you to… make that obvious for everyone.”

She frowns, still not actually looking at him. “But. Hello, I guess. If you don’t mind me asking… could you tell me. Exactly who you are. I… don’t know anything about the situation, before you ask. And I’m going to assume that… you don’t know anything either.”

She taps her fingers against her arm shiftily as she looks up at him, at last, narrowed eyes darting quickly over his face before she looks back down, not maintaining eye contact. “My name is Cassie. If you care at all.”

Well, this Cassie sounds like she’s had better days than this. But haven’t they all? Carlos’s smile is persistent, though. Half of it’s training and half of it’s just natural disposition. She seems like the shy sort, and he belatedly half-wonders how she ended up in a place like this. The Gala wasn’t a great place of introverts. Maybe part of the staff?

“Name’s Carlos Capello,” he says, “Arcadibuzz.com. Great to meet you, Cassie.” He gives a small wave, judging that Cassie might not be the type for handshakes. “And I was just about to ask.” He shrugs. “So, you too, huh? Whatever happened sure was big; you’d think at least one of us would remember.” Yeah, thinking back, his memory cuts out right about the time he heard that big crash. Odd. It’s probably important. “Which is to say, no, I don’t know anything either.”

“Still,” he says, casually as he can, “Good to see you’re okay. Looks like all of us are still in one piece so, that’s good.” Better than not good. Being physically fucked up would make everything else much more difficult. “Next step, I think, is to get out of here, and maybe call someone about this.” Could he even call the Paragons? Wasn’t this their headquarters?

He glances to the back of the room, to the two shut doors. “Right. Yeah, I’m gonna give those doors a try. Coming with?”

#reply #current events #ch 0 #cassie

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waiterwithasideproject:

Suga had been walking around, trying to somehow piece together what they were all doing here. Talked to some people who had as little of a clue as he did. Or maybe a little less, even. Least he had some ideas. Most of them extremely unlikely, but…. What about this situation was likely?

He’d sort of gotten lost in thought, though. Just staring at what had once been a mirror. It was shattered entirely, some shards strewn about on the floor, reflecting this wrong image of the tower back at him coldly. Alternate realities were a possibility. And with how many superpowers were around, maybe… But this was Paragon Tower! It wasn’t supposed to ever fall. It wasn’t supposed to look like this. All broken down and forgotten. Where was the glory? The meaning of it all?

What thankfully brought him out of his dark and entirely unhelpful musings was one of the others, more and more of whom had been regaining consciousness and walking around themselves, approaching him. Right. That’s what he should be doing, too. Talking to people.

At first he thought maybe he just hadn’t been paying attention, even when he had turned to the new arrival right away, but it quickly occurred to him that the first thing he had said just wasn’t English. Or Japanese. And thus not something he’d understand. Thankfully the next things were.

“Oh!”

The stranger seemed friendly enough, and Suga was glad to return the smile, almost relaxed though the feelings of unease in his guts seemed to have no intention of going away.

“I’m alright, weirdly enough. Thanks for asking, though.”

Tall. Trustworthy. Friendly looking and approachable. Handsome too, in a somewhat trashy way. And somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling of having seen him before, maybe just in passing. Well, he didn’t look like the type who would come to Le Rossignol, didn’t have that air of way too much money and undeserved self-importance about him. So maybe he’d just seen him in town at some point. It would come to him if it was important enough to remember.

“I’m Suga, by the way. One of the waiters for….”

He looked around him for a moment, taking in the absolute lack of gala. This part was rehearsed. He’d had enough time to come up with a story, not that it’d been hard. Given his profession it’d practically fallen into his lap.

“….The gala.”

Carlos can’t help but size up the stranger either. Well put-together, sharp, even in the disarray of their current surroundings. Looked like the sort of person who went out each day like today was the day he’d be snapped by Humans of Arcadia, you know, that sort of look. Not a bad thing, necessarily. Just odd for the present moment.

There is a glimmer of familiarity, though. Carlos rarely forgets a face; it’s in the job description, really. Everyone is a potential (repeat) contact. Carlos is sure they’ve met before, but maybe not for an interview. Hmm. He’ll think on it - later.

He flashes a smile that’s all white, mostly-straight teeth, and sticks out one hand, the right hand, the corners of his tattoo poking out from under the sleeve of his coat. “Carlos Capello, for Arcadibuzz.com. Nice to meet you, Suga.” After, potentially, a good sharp handshake with a healthy grip to it he sticks his hand back into his coat pocket. “Glad to see you’re still in one piece.”

“Yeah, the Gala,” he agrees, so bewildered it comes out as funny, “Sure looks like it was a wild night, huh?” He glances around and, yep, it’s still a disaster zone in here.

“I was covering the Gala,” he lies, very convincingly, “It was all going smooth until, well, whatever the fuck this is happened. I was hoping you’d know a little more about it, Suga. I figure I might as well do my job while we’re here and get to the bottom of this, yeah?”

#suga #current events #ch 0 #reply

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He picks himself up slowly, head aching, everything aching. What the shit just happened? A few minutes ago, he was at the Gala, and there was a crash, and- he claps his hands to his hips, and feels leather. Not the costume. Exhales... and then his breath catches again. How in the hell- He glances around. Dust and debris. Seems like the Gala wrapped up a while ago.

“Mierda,” he mutters. Was he really still in Paragon Tower? It... sure looked like it, but it was hard to believe.

And then, about ten seconds after he woke up, he shakes his head, wipes the distress right off his face, and quickly replaces is it with the usual confident smile. No sense making it obvious, right? He brushes the dust off of his coat and surveys his surroundings properly.

Carlos Capello, on the job. Whatever happened here is definitely worth looking into. Two exits, both at the back, and firmly shut. He recognises one as the door he came through a few hours ago. Looks up to see the balcony, still reasonably in tact. So, no major structural damage. That was probably good, the ceiling wouldn’t be falling in. Sure the fuck is cosmetic damage, though. Whatever happened in here was wild. He remembers a crash...

Smile on face, he strides straight up to the nearest person, trying to look as friendly and casual as possible, and usually is pretty good at it. He might look a little on edge, sure, but weren’t they all?

“¿Qué onda?” he says, “How’s the head? You feeling okay?” Smooth enough. He can get into the details in a second.

#current events #ch 0 #lhc open

Opinons on: The Astrals, The Burden, King Shark, and Moon Foxes

“I interviewed one of the Astrals for a piece a few months ago. They’re newbies, yeah? But already involved in some pretty big stuff. It’s impressive! I hope they’re not in over their heads, but it seems like they’re doin’ okay for themselves. I’m rootin’ for them. I always love the newbies.”

“Oh, my god, I remember that culo. He really had a whole lotta shit comin’ for him, you know? Whole city hated his guts. I’d say serves him right what happened to him but shit, it was messy. Wouldn’t wish that on much of anyone. But--- well, I was one o’ the first reporters on the scene. I saw the blood. Yiiiikes. Glad I wasn’t in the room when it happened.”

“Freaky lookin’ motherfucker if I ever saw one. Dude and shark all rolled into one, and it really ain’t pretty. I saw him for real once, you know? Ugly. And scary. He was no joke. Glad to see he’s off the streets, yeah?”

“Never heard of ‘em, but I looked ‘em up. Those are some sweet moves, I gotta say. Not really my thing, but hey, they’re good at what they do, and you gotta respect that.”