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@onlyhumanowen
@Nexus
Jesus Christ, you want one cup of half-decent coffee…She turns to the other person in the breakroom, pulling a face at her cup. You don’t know who tried to wash the coffeemaker out with soap like some kind of do-gooder dumbass, do you? This tastes like the inside of a Palmolive bottle.
Owen looks up and laughs a little when he's spoken to. You, uh, you know what the inside of a Palmolive bottle tastes like? That doesn't seem healthy. But no, no idea who did it.
Yeah, she went south that way [Caleb’s hand shoots up, he points with all his fingers— an open hand— he uses the arm that bears his flash tattoo, and his head slightly bent to the side.] I doubt you’ll catch up with ‘er, this was maybe 15-20 ago— she seemed to be in a hurry.
Damn. [Owen half-starts in that direction, then hesitates.] Maybe I'll be better off trying to catch her back in the lab. Thanks, man. [He doesn't quite make eye contact, glancing over Caleb's flash tattoo. Best to get the hell out of here before anything worse happens than losing track of his lab partner in Nexus's halls.]
Sheep and Wolves || Helen and Owen
One thing that Helen liked about working security was that there was plenty of variety, so to speak, with her work. She wouldn’t be able to sit at a desk all day, or stay in a lab all day to do work. It was good to be able to get around and have different surroundings and different assignments day by day. Tasks in security didn’t have too much variety-that was a good thing, she’d found.
Today, she was called on last minute for a “media appearance.” What exactly that was, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she’d be standing by to help a one Owen Daniels, just in case it was needed. She didn’t know him; she’d really only passed by him a couple of times in the halls (and there was that one time with the bus). After a quick search on Google, though, she found some clips of his speeches and appearances on various things. He was a nice choice for a face for Nexus, she had to admit. He spoke well and knew the best ways to respond to scrutiny.
That didn’t give away anything on what he’d be like to work with, however.
She was waiting for him out in the car-in the driver’s seat, more specifically. He’d sit down in the back, and they’d get properly acquainted with one another before heading off to their destination. It wasn’t long before he arrived, and sat down in the back seat. When he was buckled in, Helen turned to face him with a smile.
"Hi, Mr. Daniels. I’m Helen Rhoades, and I’ll be up on the stage with you today. Just pretend that I’m not even up there with you. Chances are, nothing will happen, but the agency wants to make sure nothing does happen to you.”
She turned to face the front again, eyes staring ahead as she started up the car. Her gaze flicked to the rearview when she had the car in gear and moving forward. One of us, one of them; that’s what someone had told her one time with this sort of assignment.
"Sorry for the last minute notice on this. That sort of thing is a bit above my paygrade. What are you speaking about today?"
Owen concentrated on getting himself buckled in, first-- he'd like to have said that he didn't even glance at the woman in the front seat, but that wasn't true. His eyes were nearly glued to her from the moment she came in view (except for the times that he glanced down, telling himself to be more subtle).
Once he was settled in, he glanced up and returned her smile with one of his own, turning on the showman early. There was no sense in angering one of her kind-- especially not when she was supposedly on his side. Right? Right. So he'd just. Pretend he wasn't mildly terrified.
"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rhoades," That had come out pretty smoothly, he thought, plenty convincing, right? "I'm glad this branch values my safety so highly. Do you have much experience with this sort of thing?"
He'd been told she had teleportation, which was-- well, mostly horrible. Sure, there was the off-chance that it was useful and she had it completely under control, but. He didn't relish the idea of ending up in Timbuktu with his insides on his outsides, or his molecules mixed with that of the car's. Teleportation was one of those abilities that wasn't necessarily offensive, she wasn't about to go off in the middle of New York like an atomic bomb, but it was definitely still dangerous. Incredibly so.
"It's fine, you've gotta learn to roll with the punches in today's world, right?" Owen chuckled, "According to the file here, though, I'm probably just going over the usual stuff today. Introducing myself, answering any questions they might have about Nexus, and so on. I might get to touch on the incident from last year, or the re-org, but... It depends on the the people asking the questions, really." Leo had done a good job outlining what he was supposed to say on different subjects, though, and he was grateful for that. As long as he could read something like this (the file in his hand, that he was scanning over as they drove) once, he could usually remember it. At least, for the next few days, it would be easy to call up. Sometimes it took more effort to remember something for longer than that.
"Have you worked with Nexus long?" The scientist made small talk, "Security has to be an exciting job, around here."
What, you lost or something?
Uh, nope. Just... Trying to track someone down-- you haven't seen a woman, about this tall, [he holds a hand at his shoulder to demonstrate] with black hair back in a ponytail have you?
@Leo
Well. At least Owen was fine enough to make it sound like he was fine. That was much easier to deal with than if Owen was completely unraveled. Leo decided to count his blessings. “Me?” His face scrunched as he gave the idea of leaving some proper thought. “I should be able to last a a little longer. The clean up crew should roll around here within the next 45 minutes or so I think. That’ll be my cue to high tail the fuck out of here.”
Leo smiled when Owen decided to fix his tie for him. That was just like Owen to notice a thing like that during a time like this. Leo squeezed Owen’s shoulders and shook him a little, “I’ll be alright. If I die, cremate me and give me to my mom though. You can have whatever is in my apartment.” He was joking of course but on some level that was the endgame plan if he was to really die tonight.
"Alright," Owen nodded after a few moments of hesitation and furrowed brow, "High tail it as soon as you can, though. And don't joke about that shit-- all your stuff smells like weed by now, anyway. No one wants to mess with that." His smile is a little shaky, but it's there, when he finishes up with Leo's tie and steps back.
"Anyway," He straightens out his own shirt and glances over towards his jacket, crumpled on the ground-- he decides to leave it, "Just... Yeah. Watch out. And stuff." With that, he reaches up and gives Leo's arms a squeeze before stepping back and turning to go. He's almost around the corner when he turns back and adds, very firmly--
"I'll see you at work tomorrow."
@Leo
Leo flexes his hands over and over even after the text was sent. Dying at a black tie event could not have been further back in his mind tonight. Upper management were not kidding when they said New York is a giant magnet for danger and violence. He takes in deep breathes and mutters to himself, “Calm down. Everything is a-okay, Clay—”
"Hmm?" He says in his regular voice. Owen wants to go home and he’s not exactly surprised by this. The thought ran through his mind ever since Owen first said Rogue. He tucks his phone back into his pocket, placing his hands on Owen’s shoulders. "Are you going to be able to get home in one piece? The big band we hired needs somebody to introduce them and somebody to give a closing speech but I think 80% of these people can’t even remember their own names right now. I’ll get somebody to fill in for you. You should just get as far away from here as you can."
Owen looks up at Leo with big eyes and feels himself calm minutely with someone else taking charge-- one of the few people he trusts not to stab him in the back for the hell of it, too, thank goodness.
"One piece--" Owen can feel himself trembling all the way up through his spine, and is sure Leo can feel it too, but, "Yeah, I'll be fine." It's a lie-- he's not even sure he'll be going home, he might find a hotel for the night of something similar, on the very small chance that some Rogue decides to follow him from the party. Get a hotel room, sleep in the tub-- close enough to safe.
"What about you?" As he speaks, Owen's eyes drop to Leo's bow tie, and he reaches up to straighten it without thinking, "Will you be able to get out of here soon? I'm sorry, I just-- I don't think I'd be any good up on stage right now, even if I had it in me to stick around, I'd-- I think eloquence is beyond me. But if anything happens, I don't-- they'd be able to run it without you for the last bit, don't you think? I'm sure you've laid all the groundwork well enough."
@Leo
"R-Rogue? Like Rogue Rogue?” Leo is well aware he’s rambling. It’s a cute quirk of his when his mind starts freaking out. Sure, he’s heard of the Rogues. The only reason why he even agreed to come up here was because upper management told him the Rogues were gone for good. He didn’t sign up to be ambushed at a banquet for heaven’s sake.
He pulls out his phone, “Let me just text security and surveillance about this.” Hell, he will text every goddamn number in his phone until this problem is resolved. He does not want to die tonight in an uncomfortable tux. “I’m glad you’re okay by the way— Fuck, my hands need to stop shaking like right now," he thinks out loud.
Thank god, Leo's doing exactly what Owen had hoped he would-- that is, handling the situation a lot more logically than he had been. Texting security is perfect-- they'll have agents on it in no time, he's sure. And in the meantime, Owen's planning on going the fuck home, because this is not worth it.
"Yeah, Rogue Rogue," He says quietly as Leo texts-- the adrenaline's apparently left him all at once, leaving him empty and exhausted, jumpstarted by small sparks of thought that don't last. Thoughts like: the woman had been more than close enough to stick him with something slow-acting, that would allow him to pass the message around and then eliminate him further into the night. Or: the Rogues could very well be watching them right at that moment; the power suppressor's worn off by now, and who knows what they may have in terms of invisible and undetectable spies?
"Uh," Owen distantly hears himself say, "Do you... Do you need me to stay at the party any longer?"
Only for you, though I might just have to apologize to you for making you shove your way through the crowd for nothing. She laughs gently, turning her eyes away for a moment in a faux bashful gesture. Now, now, you don’t have to layer on the compliments, I’m not that wounded. Emma is quicker to say too, so there’s that. She shakes her head, smiling wryly. I certainly didn’t want to go to prom with him after that, but I wouldn’t have turned him down before I had to report him to the police. She tilts her head to these side ever so slightly, raising an eyebrow. I suppose you won’t spoil the fun by telling me about them either. Pity. Your department? So you’re not just in PR?
He laughs. Emma is much quicker to say, you're right. That's a shame, though-- I hope you ended up having a good time at prom regardless? He shakes his head. Nope, I'm under strict orders not to ruin the surprise. I imagine you'll find out pretty soon, though-- I don't think even all of the Nexus folks here know what's going up. And no! I'm not even technically PR, I just-- they threw me on the media stuff because they needed someone that actually knew what they were talking about, as far as the technical stuff was concerned. My primary job is still in genetics.
@Leo
The night is going well so far. Like the pessimist he is, Leo thinks to himself that this streak can’t possibly go on much longer. No matter how big or small, something always ends up going wrong. Sure enough when he read the new text, he knew he was right.
He excuses himself from the group he was with and rushes towards the back of the stage like Owen said. “Hey,” he says in a hushed voice as he jogged up to Owen. “What’s the— Are you alright?” He asks out of formality more than anything because it’s obvious that he doesn’t look as put together as he usually is at all. “Are you hurt?”
"Y-yeah, no, I'm, uh-- I'm fine. Fine, not hurt, I just-- there was," Owen's talking as soon as Leo's in range, really, and abruptly realizes that it would be stupid of someone to take him seriously like this, when he's obviously freaking out, so he straightens up and scrubs at his face.
"There was a Rogue-- woman, not much shorter than me, I don't know if anyone's aware yet and I wanted to, uh, to make sure that she wasn't just... Wandering around freely, or-- I didn't get a good look at her she, uh, wouldn't let me turn around, but--" He's lost track of what he was saying, "I'm sorry, I'm not making sense, I just-- don't know what to do--"
"She, uh, she said the Rogues are back. For sure."
@Leo
Maybe a half an hour after his little incident, Owen gets it together enough to text Leo-- just something quick, his hands are shaking enough still that the buttons on his phone give him some trouble, but... Well, thank goodness for autocorrect.
'Hey, need to talk to you about potential security concern' 'Can you meet me behind the stage?'
The potential damage that the woman might do if she's still wandering around the party is-- that's definitely more important than Owen preserving a scrap of his pride, right? He loosens his bow tie and rubs at the back of his neck, like he can wipe away the feeling of her breath-- it isn't like Leo hasn't seen him drunk before and so on, anyway. And trying to communicate this over text would be... Not good.
@Owen
Carmen’s been waiting all night to tell a certain man something. And that might possibly be entertaining to her if the thing she was going to say was “I plan on eradicating you from the earth.” but no. She stood, bored, through his speech and hummed dubstep to keep herself preoccupied. She clapped for his boring fuck formalities. She wasted a little more time being pleasant to people and faking a smile and generally wanting to punch a lot of people and set a lot of people on fire. But, fire isn’t her thing. No, discretion is. Stealth is, even if she used to be so reckless that she’d make noise when trying to sneak up on someone. Famine has evolved into a different person since her friend’s death, and it’s nice to let the world know. Or, at least, Owen Daniels so that he can sleep with one eye open. Fun. She finds him a little bit after his speech and sneaks up behind him, making sure he’s alone. Her hand taps his shoulder but then turns into grip - not too hard to look suspicious and not too gentle that he can still turn around. On her heels, she’s at a perfect height to lean against his back and whisper in his ear; Carmen doesn’t really care that actually having physical contact with him means that he can still it’s a woman speaking to him - the whole entirety of the Rogues is, well, four women. Three. No, still four. Death’s image lives on. She lowers her voice and smiles, enjoying what she has to say, You think you defeated us. You think you had us running and licking our wounds? You think you’re the ones who should be celebrating right now? Well, enjoy your celebrations for tonight, Mr. Daniels, because there might not be too much more of them in the future. We have been here, hiding, as we always have, in plain sight. Quickly, she lets go of his shoulder and steps backward, blending away into the crowd before he can turn around and catch a glimpse of her. She would look back, but then he’d see her and then he’d probably alert security. And, why let him ruin such a nice party just to find her? They can’t catch her, anyway. Too many people for her to slip back outside to safety with.
The first thing that really fully registers for Owen, once his brain has clicked back into working order (crawling back out of whatever hole it had been startled into), is that he's being held in place by a firm hand on his shoulder. Beyond that, he doesn't register much other than the words-- they slip into the space between one thought and the next, catching a hole between moments-- and the whole thing is over before he can really catch up with what's happening. A moment later, it all comes crashing in-- the roaring in his ears makes itself known, and all he knows for a moment is that he has to try to find somewhere safe, he has to-- somewhere safe-- a wall-- somewhere-- he ends up near the stage, around what would be the 'backstage' area, his back pressed up against the wall and his breaths rushing out of him. He's familiar enough with panic attacks by now to recognize the shaking in his hands as not the result of too many energy drinks, for once-- he just needs-- he just needs to breathe, take deep breaths, what was the count? In for-- four? Was it four? He tries that-- in for four, out for two-- increases the length of the breaths as he goes along until the pain in his chest has eased a little, and he can at least begin to think. The Rogues-- so, the Rogues were definitely a thing, then, they were-- and they were at the party. Which was. Not that surprising, but. Fuck, he'd let her sneak up-- sneak up right behind him, she'd been right against his back, she'd-- it had been a she, hadn't it? The voice-- yes, the voice seemed female. So that was. Most likely-- she-- he was still alive, though, as far as he-- she'd been touching his jacket. In a flurry of movement, Owen has his jacket off and tosses it on the floor a few feet away, before gluing his back to the wall again, where no one can sneak up on him.
It takes another few moments before he can connect more than a couple of thoughts together at once-- her words keep slipping back in, scattering things, but-- his sister. His sister can make this better. Owen's digging his phone out of his pocket without thinking further before-- well. There are Rogues at the party. He can't. He can't drag her out here when danger is-- but-- no. Owen holds his phone close to his chest for another few minutes, taking deep breaths.
In the background, he hears activity on the stage-- it takes a bit to focus enough, but it becomes clear in the next moments that it's the Big Reveal. Which means-- for the next ten minutes or so, at least, things are safe. He should-- he should tell someone, just in case she's still here. Uh.
He'll... He'll deal with that in a minute, for now, just-- Owen sinks down the wall, hoping that he really has found a spot where no one will find him, and drops his head into his hands.
Well.
All things considered, having a Rogue post-human woman at his back could have ended worse.
"Oh," she let out a modest laugh, looking away. "Everyone looks horrible in these uniforms, no need to sugar coat it." Her smile is more genuine this time around, but not for long. "That must be very exciting to deliver the opening speech." She paused for a moment, unsure whether or not to continue. "I used to spend time down at the lab. Not for work, but I was close with some of the employees down there. It’s a nicer environment than I would have imagined—at least when I used to frequent down there. I can speak for now." She wondered if she should shake his hand, but thought against it since he wasn’t offering his. "I’m Riley.. Hicks." She kept her eyes on his face to pick up any cues of his knowledge of the name, since he had treated her so politely, it was clear he wasn’t aware of her "reputation"; he probably was new.
"Oh, no," Owen smiled and shook his head gently, "Most people do, I'll give you that, but you pull it off! That might just be because your smile is nice enough that no one's looking at the uniform, though." He nodded, "It is, I'm very excited-- a little nervous, but," And shrugs, "I'm supposed to get the energy going or whatever, so I hope I can set an alright tone for things. We do have a pretty nice environment in the labs, though, I like to think-- you're welcome to come down and say hi sometime, I'm sure. We get awfully lonely, sometimes." He reached out a hand a moment later, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Riley. I should probably get going, but it was really nice talking to you."
Oh goodness, well, you could if it’s really burning away at you, but I really don’t need anything. I’m sure if I wiggle my toes around for a bit they’ll be just fine. She holds her foot out in front of her for effect, then sets it squarely back on the floor before offering him a reassuring smile. Can I? Well, then you can just call me Emma. Better than ‘that woman whose foot I stepped on’ or ‘sorry about your toe’. She shakes her head, grinning with a mirth she didn’t feel. Are you? I had a guy ask me to prom by writing on my car with shaving cream once, not knowing that eats away the paint. Stepping on my toe seems paltry in comparison. I am, even with the foot stomping incident. Quite a fascinating mix of people that you have gathered here, and the food is marvelous.
Well, I wouldn't want to get you something you wouldn't want-- that would just be even more of a hassle, wouldn't it? He grins and glances down to her foot, before offering a small laugh. I probably would've gone for 'beautiful woman in the red dress', personally, but Emma's a lovely name so I think I'll stick to that instead. He winces in sympathy. Oh, man, that's terrible. Was it someone you wanted to go to prom with, or was it just awful all over? I'm glad you're enjoying the party, though-- yes! We're all very pleased with the turnout. I'm hoping everyone enjoys the projects we'll be revealing later on, too, some fascinating stuff. Nothing my department came up with, unfortunately, but good stuff all the same.
They had called it reconnaissance when he was given his orders, but in all honesty, three quarters of what he had been doing skulking around this goddamned party in his rented suit was pickpocketing, and that was the beginning and end of his enjoyment of the situation so far. Nothing all that interesting had shown up in his pocket surfing so far, though he had three wallets hidden inside his jacket and a solid gold lighter that he’d liked the looks of when he saw the man use it just outside the door earlier. So far no one had discovered that they were missing anything, though ominously musical noises were coming from the other side of the room and he was debating whether or not he felt like torturing himself with dubstep in order to filch a few more things before leaving. He frowned at the person approaching him in the dimming light, shaking his head automatically. "I don’t do the dancing nonsense, don’t go asking me to be your partner." He snapped, leaning back against the pillar. "Rather be kicked by a horse. You’re not after something else, are you? Because I’m not the bloody bartender either."
Owen was-- he had this certain smile that he used on... Well, most people, really. Especially when first meeting them-- internally, he called it his 'stage smile', it was the one he'd practiced a hundred times in front of the mirror, the one that he'd taught himself to feel so that it would reach his eyes, so that it was genuine even when it really shouldn't have been. It went along with a certain persona which was-- well, certainly more put together than Owen himself, but useful. The one that he kept on just about anytime he was interacting with someone-- it wasn't usually an issue. But there were some-- this night, with the crowds and the strangers and. Well. It felt like he was running on fumes.
There were those that had said that Owen could go into acting, or maybe being a politician-- that he seemed good with people, but it was nights like this one that reminded him that he would probably always belong in his lab, in an environment he could control.
It was a little bit less crowded around the edges, so he made his way that way slowly, making conversations and smiles along the way, until he-- oh. This area was definitely occupied. That-- that was okay, that was fine, he was fine. It said something, probably, that all Owen could do for a moment, two moments, was stare blankly at the other person, before he clicked his smile on once more and added a soft laugh for effect.
"Oh, uh, no-- I'm not really into dancing, either," The number of Michael Jackson moves he knew called him a liar, "I was just looking for a quiet spot. --Hey, don't I know you from somewhere? It was, uh... Oh! Bookstore guy, right? I don't think I remember your name, I'm sorry."
Really, you don’t have to worry too much, it’s not scuf- She stops abruptly when she sees just who stepped on her shoe and is now apologizing for doing so. Smiling too, the bastard. Who on earth allowed him to smile near her after that bullshit speech he gave on the Today show last week? It was some sort of cosmic revenge scheme, probably. That would be the only reason she would accept at this point, though she gathers her composure after a moment of undignified gaping and decides play polite right back. No, I don’t think so. My toes have survived worse. Mr. Daniels, isn’t it? She laughs gently, though the smile she flashes afterwards doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Well, you looked graceful enough until you stomped on my foot, so I would have accepted if you hadn’t shown me otherwise. Not the worst, surely?
Owen splays his hands in front of him, almost plaintively, Are you sure you don't need me to make it up to you somehow? I could run and track down one of the food tables-- a cupcake in recompense for a stepped-on toe, maybe? He doesn't comment on her pause, but does duck his head with a slightly bashful smile. Yeah, that's me. You can just call me Owen, though-- I mean, Mr. Daniels was my dad and all that, right? He laughs, and tucks his hands in his pockets to keep them from jittering. Ah, well, that's a shame-- I don't know, probably not, but I'm struggling to think of a worst method at the moment. Are you at least enjoying the party anyway, though? Assholes stepping on your feet aside.
Excuse me. She frowns darkly, wriggling her foot loose from underneath the other person’s shoe. I thought we were saving the toe smashing for later, once the music started. Unless that was a screwed up offer to dance with you, in which case you might want to add a few words.
--Oh! Jesus, Owen flinches away from the woman whose foot he accidentally backed onto like he's been stung, trying not to run into the people he'd been trying to get out of the way of in the process, I'm so sorry! He turns to face her, offering up a sheepish smile. I didn't even see you there, I'm sorry-- I didn't hurt you, did I? I'm afraid I'm a little scattered, an understatement for someone who feels like they're about to jitter out of their own skin, And I'm not much of a dancer, so, no-- that would've been about the worst invitation anyway, huh?
The moment she heard his voice and sees his face, Carmen looks for a tray. Damn. Where's Riley when she needs her? Could always take that tray off of her hands and whack him with it. God... Owen Daniels, she says, acting surprised - oops, Obnoxious Douchebag was about to slip out... Right? I recognize you from, well, TV. In her head, she recites a quick apology. - Hey, Penny, I'm so sorry, but there's a reason why my eyes are brown. It's because I'm full of shit and I'm about to kiss so much ass that I might barf in the next fifteen minutes. Forgive me if I trash talk you. It's for the greater good. - Hopefully, Penny can read minds as a ghost. If not, hopefully she'll be considerate enough not to haunt her tonight. Wouldn't be opposed to it, though. I suppose the main event is going to be a speech of yours, right? Oh, I am definitely excited for that, I really am. She screams internally. Fuck everything. She's sucking up to a man who she could crush with her heel. A man. When did Carmen Rivera bow down to a man? Oh, wait, never. She clears her throat and takes a sip of her champagne, trying to avoid wasting it on his face. Of course, there are... some things I find a little... flawed with your views, but everyone is a little different, right? Tonight, she promises herself, I will hit my head against the wall and never, ever kiss ass to anyone ever again, especially not Obnoxious Douchebag here.
Owen's eyebrows shoot up as soon as the woman says his name. You recognize me? I'm flattered! In reality he's fighting every instinct he has that says this is some kind of trap-- even if it is, there's not much he can do about it in the moment. And, he reminds himself, he's in the middle of a crowded place and the chance that all of them are somehow plotting against him, or would simply not notice if he was taken down in their midst, is fairly low. Kind of. Of course, the Rogues are known for being reckless, and he doesn't actually recognize any of the faces in his immediate vicinity-- no. Calm down. She just recognizes him from TV. I feel a little rude, though, not knowing your name... He trails off and shakes his head, chuckling. Oh, no, I'll just be kicking things off, here. Much more important things are going to be happening on that stage than anything I would have to say, anyway. Hopefully you'll enjoy them just as much, if not much more. He cocks his head to the side as she goes on, and raises his eyebrows a little. Oh? I'd love to hear what it is you disagree with, sometime. We might not have the time now, though, I think I have to go up in a couple of minutes. He glances at his watch to confirm, and then shoots her another smile, And I may be friends with the guy in charge of this thing, but that doesn't mean he won't kick my ass if I'm late.
