Dum Spiro, Spero

[stcsis]

She needed a Hero, so that is what she became

Mercedes "Outis" Salazar. Bio. Tags. Face. Sarah "Slapstick" Smith. Bio. Tags. Face. Harper Harris. Bio. Tags. Face.

[stcsis]

who? Harper Harris & Zhao Yiming [@imanniewan47]  where? Kardinal’s Music Room 7  when? Morning June 02, 2022 

Harper finds Yiming in one of the less used music rooms, the one tucked away at a random hallway meant to be a backup more than anything else. It’s a room she favors since it lets her work for as long as she wants without many interruptions, so she isn’t very surprised to find Yiming inside. She has dragged him there more than once, whenever they wanted to work through a song they were stuck in or a lyric that didn’t fit quite right. It’s private, not frequently visited, yet has all the components necessary for composing. The ideal place for people who are meant to not be seen or heard by others. The perfect place for a ghostwriter that isn’t meant to exist. 

Knocking at the door to the room, she opens the door and slips inside, letting it close behind her with a soft thud. 

“Morning sunshine,” she greets with a nod and a brief smile, walking deeper into the room and settling a bottle of water in front of him before stepping back and collecting a chair for herself. Settling down, she sets her bag to the side and takes the opportunity to take a sip from her drink as she observes Yiming quietly for a moment. The entirety of Kardinal had been bursting with rumors regarding Eeshika’s coming out stream, so it is not likely that he doesn’t know about it, but she also doesn’t know how to bring it up delicately. The whole ordeal had left her deeply uncomfortable, and she is trying to collect herself, trying to decide what exactly she is going to do to rid herself from the excessive adrenaline coursing through her veins. “Are you up for a jam session? Yesterday was a fucked up day, and I need to distract myself before I go crazy obsessing about the whole thing.”

[waywardlegacies]

Keep on smiling, Eeshika reminds herself parodically as the cameras are still rolling, well the livestream was still going and the audience was coming in with more questions than answers she was willing to get. Part of her loathes the person who suddenly conveniently remembered that it was her birthday and suggested that her coming out video should instead be hosted on her annual livestream. A video would have been more contained, more connivant, so clearly that would not have been the option that they would be going with.

Why give Eeshika more time to process the burning questions that were being thrown her way? There would have been so much control to the outcome as the audience would not be waiting in the comments as her and her team could decide carefully what to address, how to address and work on a story that the company would have wanted. But on a livestream, that wasn't the case.

On live, anything and everything can happen, as much as she tried to prepare for it. Everything was coming in live, how the fans are feeling in the moment, the repeat comments of the burning questions that they were repeated over and over knowing fully well that she had seen it and maybe not chosen to acknowledge it. After a while, the comments became a rushing blur and overwhelm, as she tries to keep it light, serious and full of tears, just as she had been told too. Eeshika hadn't anticipated the support from Sunny half way through the stream or Anna to suddenly show up half way through and be the top comment and then suddenly go. And those were only just some of the highlights that had happened. She had no control over the narrative as it was starting to unwind and overwhelm. What else could happen during the livestream?

A lot. That was the answer for sure.

She held it together as long as she could, waving goodbye as the stream came to a natural end and her contracted time to stream. Waving out with a tight smile on her face, as she could finally end the stream. The moment the stream ends, her smile falls, her eyes still glassy as she collapses a heap on the floor.

Thirty-one and still fighting to be loved. Fighting to be adored on another level on a line she never thought she would be made to cross. Tears well even more in her eyes. What a way to be spending her birthday. But she knew, god she knew that this was only going to be the start of it with this falling on Pride. The accusations she was already getting. The expectation for her to be the face of this new shift in Kardinal, yes from her own doing but her stomach feels a little sick.

The sun was still out. But maybe...maybe she was ready for it just to be the end of her birthday. No one else would be making a visit to her place. Would they?

[stcsis]

A slow sigh escapes Harper as she exits the subway, a cheerfully looking basket in one hand and a milkshake on the other. Sucking the straw, she moves out of the way and glances up at Newpoint Vistas with narrowed eyes. Swallowing the shake, she narrows her eyes and considers her options. She could, theoretically, just drop off the gift basket in front of Eeshika’s door, and then go on with her day. Unfortunately, it would probably not be received well. In their industry, anonymous gifts could very well mean the person in question got a new and shiny stalker, and Princess Plum doesn’t need that right now. Which means she has to interact with her, probably while she is all weepy and everything. The thought alone makes her grimace. While she is pretty capable of sympathizing and empathizing with people, it feels a lot harder to do with someone that she has a grudge against. 

Even if she is more than aware that her grudge on Eeshika Kaylan is unjustified, thanks to long talks with her therapists. She is more than aware that she is placing all the blame of her permutation manifesting during Astronomical Boys & Girls on her, even when logically it doesn’t make any sense. Emotions don’t have to make sense though, and she doesn’t want to bother on working through her resentment as long as Bubblegum doesn’t push the boundaries of the role she has been crammed into by Magarian. Is it unfair? Yes, but Harper is dissatisfied at her lack of rebellion she sees from her, even knowing the weight on her shoulders. None of the members of AxiaL will reach their full potential if they keep allowing Magarian to push them into molds, and it’s frustrating to see that if she hadn’t had her harpy transformation manifest when it did, she could have possibly been in their shoes.

“Fuck it,” she mutters under her breath and begins walking again towards the door, going through the door to Newpoint Vistas, showing her ID at the door and going in with a languid pace. She might not have all the time of the world, but she doesn’t want to show any sort of rush when reaching Eeshika’s door. It’s already unbelievable enough that she is paying a visit to her unprompted, no need to confuse her further by making it seem like she was in a rush to get to her. 

She had been, of course, but it was more because the faster she gave Eeshika the gift basket, the faster she would get to go home and pretend that the day had not happened at all… At least for tonight. She will have to deal with it again tomorrow, but that is her problem for then. 

Reaching Eeshika’s door, she raps the door twice, and waits a few seconds before calling out. 

“Kalyan, it’s Harper Harris. I came to—,” she lets out a long audible sigh, the situation dawning on her again. “Check on you, I guess. I bring gifts too, since you probably need a treat after all of that.” 

[stagelghts]

for: athena (nova) and mercedes (outis) @stcsis where: liberty glens memorial museum why: colleagues turned friends meeting up in the early hours!

Truth be told, Athena's never actually had a friend before meeting Mercedes. She was typically the teacher's pet, who stayed behind to ask more question, who reminded the teacher to collect the homework, and would often eat with the teachers instead of wandering around the lunch hall. She now understands that said teachers would have likely rather have been left alone to decompress, but appreciates the empathy and time spent.

This hasn't changed much in adulthood.

The years spent at university were in classrooms, professor's offices and the library. She hadn't put much effort forward to socialize, and the only person who seemed interested in the same subject matter was Mercedes. Athena beamed as her old friend finally made her way to the exhibit, and she turned her notebook around to show her the notes taken so far.

"Oh my goodness – hi! Have you been trying to find me for a while? Think my phone has been on DND since, like, five this morning." Words spill out of her before she can stop them. Athena's generally not the sentimental type, but her friend got past her defenses years ago, so she feels comfortable. "I haven't been to this place since college. Think they put something new in the west wing?"

[stcsis]

For all that Mercedes has spent most of her life with a singular goal— and doing everything possible in order to meet said goal —, she had left some room for being social. At first it had been out of parent’s nagging insistence, as they had grown worried of how isolated she was. But the more time that passed, the more she realized that she did need to be social for more reasons than one.

Not only did she get particularly grumpy whenever she didn’t have any friends and didn’t spend any time with other people, but as she grew older she began to realize that she needed to have good social skills in order to be a steward and a lawyer. After all, having a silver tongue was necessary in both fields. Even if she hated how much of a fame game professional stewardship had become, there is no denying that the media pays a lot of attention to stewards, so not having good social skills would be crippling in situations that required her to engage with people.  

With both of those factors weighing over her, she did her best to spread her social reach during college, and she is glad for it since it left her with friendships that have stayed with her to this day. 

“Athena, hi!” She greets with a smile of her own, going as far as giving her a quick side hug as she begins going over her notes with interest. “Not for long, I promise. I texted you earlier to let you know I was going to be late, and I was. I just got here like fifteen minutes ago.”

It is sort of funny, how someone able to manipulate time has a tendency to be late to social events. She always jokes she runs in Latine time, but her sister tends to be timely so it is entirely a “her” thing. 

“And I heard they have, but I haven’t gotten around to confirm. I think it was an exhibit on the XXC?”

[imanniewan47]

It’s the wrong kind of stillness that clues him in. The sway of the train continues, but the man’s coat doesn’t move with it. His fingers don’t twitch. His breath doesn’t shift his shoulders.

A localized time stop. Precise enough to focus on a single target.

Antwan’s inhale settles into his chest, the readiness in his muscles smoothing out into something softer. He doesn’t sit up all the way, but he adjusts his posture to get a better observation angle. He’s not the biggest fan of time-based permutations -- especially iterations like this. The mugger has no idea he’s been frozen. There’s no time to flinch. No chance to react. He’s suspended mid‑intention, completely unaware he’s already lost.

Antwan’s mind furious works through two sets of possibilities. He wants to understand the scope and precision of the frozen pocket on display. Whoever deployed this stop is skilled -- and more importantly, subtle. He’s also mentally flipping through the possibilities, discarding each one as he identifies known stewards. He doesn’t know who to expect but recognition comes in pieces when he sees the masked woman moving to the mugger.

Outis.

He remembers hearing it on the news earlier in the month -- someone involved in the New Flushing Subway Blitz. He hadn’t followed the story closely due to focusing on finalizing the transition details between Valerian branches, but he’d skimmed the reports because he knew he’d be moving back to New Everwick and needed to keep up with steward chatter.

He watches her work. She’s frozen the man cleanly, isolating him from the rest of the train car. She moves through the pocket of time with practiced efficiency, pulling the man’s arms back, cuffing him, tying each finger individually with rope. Smart. She’s careful not to unfreeze him until the restraints are secure.

“Thanks,” he says, returning the nod before letting his fingers relax against the strap of his bag. The couple with the shared headphones is staring. The threat is neutralized. The situation is contained. He doesn’t have to intervene, and he doesn’t want to.

Time resumes. The mugger gives a startled jolt. Outis doesn’t flinch.

Antwan shifts his weight, settling back into the seat. He doesn’t close his eyes, but he lets his posture return to something that looks like rest. He’s not needed here. He’s just another passenger who almost got pickpocketed. He stays still, lowering his head again to let the brim of his hat shadow his eyes as he continues to monitor the scene.

He thinks about how BYOH must have gotten the assignment -- odd considering the fallout from the Blitz. Transit authorities get desperate and reach out to whoever can solve the problem.

There must be disconnect between public opinion and real-world consequences, he realizes.

BYOH stewards.

Another variable he’ll have to account for once he moves back.

He exhales, getting comfortable in the seat as he watches how she handles the suspect.

Maybe New Everwick isn’t entirely lost.

[stcsis]

A part of her notes the shift on the possible victim’s posture and files it away as a passing curiosity, but before she can dig further into it, she feels the handcuff’s link tense as the offender tries to separate his arms a little bit. Focus shifting, she rolls her eyes behind her googles, sending the possible victim a nod in acknowledgment for his thanks and exaggeratedly lifting and lowering her shoulders in the mimic of a tired sigh. She is not in the field of vision of the man she is meant to capture, so she is more putting on a show for the passengers to show she has it all at hand and his attempts to escape are nothing but a bother to her.  

Sliding her right foot backward, and her left foot a bit further to the left, Outis braces herself — hip leaning against one of the subway car’s poles as she does so for further balance — and huffs just as the pick pocketer tries to throw his weight to one side to free himself of her grip. The shift in posture keeps her steady, and the steadiness of the metal behind her standing, as her prey stumbles over nothing— well, nothing to his and the public's eye, but she knows better since she created a time bubble by his right feet meant to destabilize him when she noticed his attempt— . As he stumbles, Mercedes sighs once more, this time more audibly, followed by a click of annoyance as she sees him try to shift again.

Better leave sooner than later it seems. 

Glancing at the possible victim, she reaches in one of the pockets she sew into her utility belt and takes out a business card. All it has is her steward name and her burner phone’s number, but it is for people to contact her after the fact if they remember new details while she is investigating something. 

Leaning to the side, she offers the card on his field of vision. 

“I am in a bit of a hurry, but if you could text me your statement of the event, it would be helpful towards the transit authority building a case,” she says kindly, absently pulling the cuffs back and preventing the pick pocketer from throwing himself forward. Again. Rather than wait for a response, she tucks it between the straps of his bag and turns fully towards the permuter. After a second of debate, she shrugs and leans her torso forward, swiftly pulling him up into a fireman’s carry before taking a solid hold of his legs so as to not be kicked in the face. 

Once that is done, she makes a quick departure through the closing doors and heads towards the transit authority’s booth in the station. No time to lose, after all.

[fuli163]

               HE SHOULD EAT SOMETHING. Hikaru suddenly looks up, eyeing the kitchen. The mid-morning sun illuminates the small room through the curtains. Every now and then, they sway with a gentle gust of wind, as if a ghost is passing underneath. He should get ahead of the shakiness that’s threatening to take over; the faint signs of stress and anxiety are already beginning to take hold in the tips of his fingers. There’s the guilt, too, over not being able to visit Goodfella at the hospital. He’d been so sure that he wouldn’t let him come to harm a second time, only to… 

Hikaru stands abruptly, typing quickly. 

[ 9:16 AM ] i see… [ 9:16 AM ] i’m glad he’s doing better  [ 9:17 AM ] yes, please. i don’t think i’ll be able to visit him at the hospital. if you could pass along a letter, i’d be grateful

He ignores the second half of Outis’ messages for some time. Just a few minutes while he gets his bearings. Hikaru looks over his empty fridge (why did he open it? He knows there’s nothing to grab and eat), then checks the creaky cabinets until he pulls out a jar of peanut butter and a much smaller one of strawberry jam. 

He can trust Outis, right? 

He puts everything on the counter beside the sink: napkin, two white pieces of bread, butter knife, the half-empty jars. 

Of course he can trust her. She has a secret identity too. She wouldn’t be asking him about his rank status if she hadn’t been somewhat suspicious already. And she’s Outis, for goodness sake! There’s no way she’d inform the F.B.A.I about him. 

Right?

Hikaru, standing somewhat dumbly in front of his unprepared breakfast, quickly grabs his phone a second time. 

It’s not that he doesn’t trust her, it’s that he doesn’t trust this. The texting—the devices. Of course he trusts her. Of course he does. 

He has to. 

[ 9:31 AM ] sorry, can we talk in person? 

[stcsis]

Mercedes waits for an answer from fuli, but once five minutes come and go without anything, she sighs and sets her phone on the counter. She probably spooked him, which is a shame but understandable. Being unranked in their current day and age is fairly dangerous, especially because people tend to be unranked for a reason. Either they think their permutation might be too dangerous to have on record, or they are afraid of what the public will do if they find it out, or they are suspicious of what the government will do with them if their permutation goes on record. All very valid concerns, really. There is a reason why Mercedes is deeply uncomfortable with the current system of stewardship and ranking. Well, there are many reasons, but the thought of being on a list for people to peruse has never sat well with her. Time stopping can be a relatively dangerous ability if exploited, for example, and the government isn’t known for treating their kind nicely. 

With that in mind, she steps away from her phone and begins going through the motions of making herself some coffee. She doesn’t begrudge fuli for being spooked, but she will have to hunt him down sometime during the week to touch base once more. It is very pressing that he changes his appearance, if he wants to remain unranked. 

When she hears the telltale chime of a text, she looks back at her phone and blinks twice in mild surprise. Crossing the room, she picks it up and reads the message, a small smile on her lips as she realizes that he is willing to trust her. Well, in that case, might as well return the sentiment. 

[ 9:32:27 AM ] sure! Name the time and place, and I will meet you there [ 9:33:17 AM ] You might not recognize me at first, though, I won’t be wearing my usual get up

Meeting with him as Outis would bring all the wrong sort of attention, since she already claimed not to know him, after all.

[waywardlegacies]

Between them, a quiet distance has always existed, marked by an invisible line that neither of them dared to cross. Outside these four walls, they lingered on the opposite side of it as every step was a quiet deliberation. As their longing was carried instead in stolen glances and smiles that had faded too quickly. There were the rigid rules of the world, the world that his father had crafted for him, like a blueprint drawn long before he was old enough to choose his own path  Silver Meridian’s life was already built up by expectation, obligation and carefully measured steps, long before his own father even acknowledged his name. Still, this was the path that Cassius walked, knowing where to stand and how to stand, until…until she came long and made him wonder what it would feel like to move freely. 

Ironic, really, considering the freedom that his power does offer. 

Still, that wonderment came with acts of rebellion. Nothing too outlandish, of course, for he was a gentleman still bound by the oaths he made in his father’s image. That was in the outside world at least, but here, right in these stolen moments with Sarah, he could simply just be. Cassius wasn't ready just ready to break all the rules. He was not made for that. But with Sarah, all the limits, obligations and masks could be ridden, left in the outside world as she revealed a side of him that he had long forgotten.

A man who was allowed to faulted. His polished image could be unkempt for a few moments. His tense shoulders, could relax and in moments Cassius knew that he could come undone. Not all the way, but just enough to be somewhat honest in this new encroaching territory.  

And it was in the moments like this that he could have sworn that Sarah had stolen his permutation as she teleported him to a world that felt safe and unburnderend. A world, where only the two of them exist. And he drank her in like her had been waiting his entire life to breath.

As her forehead rests against his and his breath is hitched somewhere between a sign and a pray. For a moment, his eyes slip shut and he doesn't want to open them again in fear that this would all have been a dream and the world would be so cruel to steal it away from him. Cassius wants to stay in this moment as long as possibly was allowed, not wanting the moment to be taken away from him. And he could have sworn that their lips hovered closely, hardly touching. Oh how they were tempting fate, crossing a line that shouldn't be crossed.

But then the sound tears them asunder.

The warmth between them vanishes only to be replaced by instict.

How noble it was for her to step forward, to put herself between him and the danger without hesitation. But his instincts move faster. A flash of silver cuts through the room, as he moves before her, his arm extending protectively across her. His eyes sweep the space, sharp in search for any signs of an intruder.

The panic seeps in. Had someone been watching them? Had they followed him? He knew the enemies he had made along way. He knew the damagae that could be done. And the thought of what they could bring to Sarah's doorstep makes his chest tighten.

He could handle being a target.

But her? No. He couldn't handle her becoming one.

Concealing his own fear, as his face tightens as he searches her face. "Are you hurt?" he ask, his voice low and urgent as his gaze flickers around the room. "Did you see anyone?"

[stcsis]

It’s a race to protect one another, she notices, as a flash of silver crosses the room. A race to ensure the one they— The one they had grown to care for in the last couple months is safe from a threat they do not understand. It’s instinct raising forth, showing that whatever lingers between the two of them is heavy enough to have left a mark even in the subconscious. Sarah had known for a while that this wasn’t a passing crush. She had known that her desire to keep him close was growing fast and steadily, but she hadn’t realized how strong it had become. Not until she had moved, entirely willing to risk her life to make sure he kept his. 

It’s a thought that shocks her through the worry and adrenaline, that slows everything down. 

She cares about Silver Meridian, more than she can put into words. More than what she will allow herself to say out loud. She is not good enough for those words to be received gladly, she knows. Just a silly little sidekick of Valerian’s. The world within her apartment isn’t all there is, there is another world entirely beyond her four walls, and in that world? In that world what they have cannot be real, not yet. Not until Valerian believes in her, not until they believe she won’t bring Cassius down for existing. 

Reality settles, and her chest tightens as it does, eyes falling away from his figure as for a moment it is too painful to look at him knowing the reality of it all. Instead, she looks around, trying to identify the source of the noise, to make sure the danger is not a threat they cannot handle. 

In the end, that momentary flinch serves her well, though, as her eyes fall on her screen and stay there for a long second. Looks like Wile E. Coyote had tried to shoot the roadrunner— Oh. 

A loud snort leaves her lips and all the tension leaves her frame. Gesturing towards the TV, she smiles fondly, reaching forward to wrap her hand around the wrist stuck in front of her protectively and pulling it down slowly. 

“I am fine, don’t worry,” she says, amusement growing as she realizes how silly the situation is. “I think we were so—,” she coughs, cheeks heating as her eyes flicker away from Sil’s once more before returning as she tries to keep her composure. “Distracted, that we forgot the TV was on,” she says, pointing towards it with her chin. 

It says something of how deeply the two of them had been wrapped on each other that they hadn’t noticed the new show begin. Something important, but that she cannot point out just yet. Not right after the chilling realization that every day that passes the world begins to press more against the walls of their little refuse. Sooner rather than later, she thinks the visits will stop. Life will pick up, and of all the things Silver Meridian has in her schedule, she is likely the easiest to cut out right now. In order to avoid that, in order to make sure he stays by her side without regret, she needs to get better.

And fast. 

[stcsis]

“One can be both a fool and a steward if they try hard enough,” she says with a snicker, even as she sends Atlas a thankful look for the lack of prying. Once things are more established, she will make sure to stop by his place to let him know what she was hiding, but for now, she wants to keep it all a secret to make sure she isn’t jinxing herself by saying too much too soon. “I am quite the perfect example to show just that.”

If only she knew how to balance both sides of the coin so that she is just enough of a fool to ensure her permutation is used to its full extent, while also making sure people can take her more seriously than they do now. It’s quite the balancing act, she knows, and the sort that will remain increasingly difficult for as long as Valerian doesn’t let her discard the image they had painted for her. But before she can do that, she has to show them that letting her go beyond her limits will be profitable. 

With corporations like Valerian, money talks. And unfortunately, she does make quite the hefty buck as Slapstick. 

“Damn, your trolls have never done a job that requires a lot of physical activity and it shows, huh,” she comments pointedly once the trolls begin to make themselves heard, eyes moving away from Keegan so that she can send the phone’s camera a pointed look. “I guess not everyone can be a socknnoisseur.”

Her tone is solemn, but allows for enough levity for her own fans to regain control of the chat back, working to wrap up the sentiment into a nice little bow as she focuses on helping Atlas wrap the stream with a nice tidy bow for Valerian to approve. 

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean,” she says with a nod of mock seriousness. “My earrings are all over the top of my cabinet and I need more of those small little bags to make sure I don’t lose one of the two parts of each pair. Which honestly, is much easier said than done, considering how small they are.”

And how messy her apartment can get every once in a while, she thinks but doesn’t quite say it out loud. 

“Want one of mine? I got a couple of duplicates and I think it would be cute if we match,” she offers with a grin as she bumps her shoulder against his playfully. As Atlas asks a question, she eyes the chat and nods slightly to herself once she sees how it is slowly but surely winding down. A couple minutes of more banter should be enough before they can wrap up, and maybe go get a coffee or something.

“I would look great? Dude, I have been lucky enough to get a glimpse of you shirtless, I promise you will look better than great,” she insists even as she hums thoughtfully, considering the question carefully. “I think I would like a warm yellow, it would be pretty cute.”

[retrocausalities]

Keegan laughs as Sarah effortlessly brightens the space again, her energy turning the moment warm and easy. He compliments her earrings—half teasing, half genuinely curious about whether her permutation can nudge the world the way it seems to nudge the mood. It must, right?

He accepts one of her extra merch pieces with a grin, brushing off her praise about his physique. Nothing superpowered there — just him staying athletic enough to reach people who need him reliably.

Their conversation drifts into talks about colors, tiny preferences, and the soft, trivial details that somehow matter. In the end, it’s the simple exchange itself — the shared air away from the bustle of their talent agency and marketing quotas, the comfortable laughter of inside jokes and lived-in experiences of being a C-rank — that makes everything feel richer, reminding Keegan that the right company can turn even small talk into something quietly meaningful.

fin!

[stcsis]

As serious as the situation is, Sarah has to admit that prolonged exposure to Zaya and Trix means that she has long since gotten accustomed to outbreaks brought forward out of anger. And more than that, she knows that for all that Zaya is furious about the rumors, she is not the sort to take things too far. She takes rather too much pride in her skills, Sara thinks, to allow herself to falter in a moment of anger. Something to do with her permutation, and how dangerous it could be if she is not controlling it perfectly at every moment. It’s something she admires about the woman, in a way. The way she is able to express her anger without crossing the edge of danger, even when with her mutation it would be so very easy to take that step. 

It takes a great skill to do as much, and Sarah can admit as much easily. 

“We have worked together before,” Sarah says with a faint smile. Yes, she knows what she is doing when she is offering as much to Zaya. At the end of the day, she can take a lot more damage than more people, and she isn’t just going to stay and take it obviously. It will help her with her evasion training, and it will give the other the opportunity to let out some steam and sweat off some of the anger. They both know it’s better if she does that in private, which is why she had found the other at the training grounds rather than anywhere else. 

“I know how you operate Flare,” she reminds her, a huff of amusement as the A rank comes closer and looms over her. It’s almost amusing, the sight. Sarah doesn’t think she is trying to be blatantly intimidating, but her whole personality and body language just lends itself to that. “I know you never hold back your punches. I have seen it.”

Frankly speaking, she would be offended if the other were to pull her punches, considering how she is well known for never holding back when it matters.

“If I was scared of you, I wouldn’t have offered, would I?” She asks, a brow raised and arms crossed as she raises her head to meet Zaya’s gaze steadily. “I knew what I was getting into when I opened my mouth to yap, don’t worry.”

[waywardlegacies]

When the rumors would finally blow over, Zaya knew that she would have some peace of mind. Not constantly feeling like she was on fucking edge the whole time. The power of a single though consuming her. All because of fucking Ajay of all people. Fuck no. No way should anyone have that power over her. She was fucking Flare. And that was that.

"Can't remember." Flare was all too quick to dismiss her. There was something in her head working with the clown girl but not a core memory that she need any of her attention. So she pushes it to the bottom of the pile just like the rest of the C Ranks belonged. Do they even know how lucky there are to even be able to train with the likes of her. The utter fucking privilege it was?

She continuous to pace her like prey, wondering if she had to work more on her intimidation. Or fuck! People were already starting to see her as fucking soft because of the fucking rumors. That's why she was having the audacity to even approach her. The rage burning inside her prickling her skin even more. The temptation growing to accept the offer so quick just to let this rage fucking out before it combusts inside her. "Pfft, everyone knows that." Flare was not going to allow her to have an upper hand in any capacity.

Being sincere? Making a connection? Fuck off.

She just wanted something to fucking punch. More so than every right now.

Flare held the short woman's gaze, stern and unreadable. Stepping closer, invading her personal space, just enough to make the challenge clear. "You got guts then, I'll give you that clown girl." Not allowing her to answer, Flare shoves past her, shoulder-checking her with enough force to make a point. She doesn't bother to look behind as she is already walking her mind was made.

"Let's see who gets the last laugh." Flare snapping her fingers a few sparks igniting from her hand. "Best of three rounds." A wicked grin pulled on her mouth. "And I ain't fucking holding back."

[imanniewan47]

with Antwan Harris and Outis ( @stcsis )

The thing of it is that he could have submitted the paperwork online. They could have waited two days. They could have respected the timeline that they themselves set. But, no. Antwan recognizes the signs of a power play when he’s being subjected to one. Valerian wanted him there early, tired, and off-balance. They wanted to see how he behaved when he wasn’t prepared.

They wanted to say: We own your time now. What do you think of that?

And Antwan did what he always has: he smiled through it. He was polite, courteous, and professional. He even managed to get a few chuckles out of the assembled party. But he feels the stress of it now, settling on his ribs like a physical weight.

The familiar vibration of the E train hums around him. He lets his head tilt back, hat brim shadowing his eyes. Anyone glancing his way would assume he was half-asleep, maybe fully asleep -- legs stretched out, one ankle crossed over the other -- but he’s watching the city blur past through the window. This is the city he grew up in, the city he left, and the city he’s coming back to for reasons that have nothing to do with wanting to be here. New Everwick feels different. There are more stewards on brighter, flashier billboards. His father’s generation of heroes were being replaced by “heroes”. The crowd in his old neighborhood swarmed Sangrienta with their phones out and voices raised, clearly hungry for the spectacle. Not like the crowds he grew up with -- the neighbors who would ask Vigil and “his little friends” for autographs, gossip with Virgil after, and then gave the autographs out to every kid on the block.

The block is still there, but his family isn’t.

His mom is worried. She knows what he’s doing, of course she does. She also knows why: his father quieter than he used to be, Marcus’s wife struggling to help him complete physical therapy exercises, and Jordan with a hollowness in his gaze that didn’t used to be there.

Someone has to make sure no steward finds their deeds stolen; finds themselves on a mission they aren’t prepared for. No family should have to watch their child come home permanently injured, left feeling disillusioned and discarded.

Someone has to restore the name that isn’t theirs anymore.

And who better than Antwan? He’s always been the best of the boys at bailing them out of trouble.

A group of young adults get off at the next stop, leaving the car quieter as they stumble out, leaning against each other and giggling. A masked woman -- likely an amateur steward – steps on. A man in a faded jacket shuffles down the aisle restlessly while a couple sits near the front, sharing headphones with their heads bent together.

But the man in the faded jacket hasn’t noticed any of this because he’s been watching Antwan since he sat down. Behind the brim of his hat, Antwan watches back.

He can feel the tension rising in the way the man adjusts his stance, the way his hand dips into his jacket pocket to disguise the tell-tale shimmer of distortion around his knuckles, his eyes darting between Antwan’s watch, his shoes, the crossbody slung across his torso. The metal pole beside him vibrates when the fingers of his other hand brush it.

Antwan’s mind is running the math.

Distance: six feet and closing

Weight distribution: unstable

Weapon: something kinetic, possibly thermal, definitely charging

Collateral risk: Low

Force required: minimal

He’s already calculating the man’s center of gravity. The sway of the train is surprisingly helpful in determining how to redirect his momentum without breaking anything.

Honestly, he could handle this without standing, which is fortunate because he doesn’t want to be bothered. Not after spending the morning smiling in the faces of smarmy executives. It’ll be a sleepless night returning to Minneapolis in the early hours of the morning, tidying up loose ends, and then flying back out the following day. He’ll have to sleep on the plane.

He thinks about Minneapolis: about the quiet, the routine, the hospital hallways, and the life he’d built that wasn’t perfect but was peaceful.

He thinks about what he has given up.

He thinks about what he is choosing instead.

The man steps closer. Antwan’s fingers curl slightly against the bag.

Alright. Enough, he thinks. This will have to be worth it.

He inhales, preparing to sit up and do what he’s trained to do when the man freezes.

[stcsis]

Some BYOH requests are easier than others, the difficulty ranging from feeding cats to fetching skateboards to more. Rarely, requests like the one Mercedes is one crop up. It is even rarer after the events with the Cleaner, and that she doesn’t blame the twins for. For some reason, the transit authority had reached out to BYOH rather than to Valerian or another more established agency for the job, even after the scandal brought forth by their mishandling of the Cleaner’s capture. Yet they had, asking for someone subtle to monitor a particular train route that had seen an uptick of pickpocketing over the last few months. The cameras hadn’t caught anything, and neither had the transit officers that had been stationed throughout the cars, so they had put in a request to BYOH for a sufficiently high ranked steward to keep a watch and to capture the pick pocketer. 

At first, Mercedes had hesitated in accepting the request, remembering how the Cleaner encountered had turned out, but— But she knew there were going to be times when she wouldn’t be enough, when she had first started out as a steward. She had known there would be times when she would struggle and times when she would fail. Mercedes had promised herself that no matter what she would still stand up and do the right thing, even if it was hard. 

At the end, she had accepted the request, along with a handful of the other higher ranked BYOH stewards. They had decided for a rotation in shifts and cars, texting each other notes of anyone they found suspicious and their looks and passing those along to the authorities as well. This time, they had to do things right, to avoid any more scrutiny over them and over permuted in general. 

Three days into the surveillance, she catches a glimpse of someone they had deemed suspicious slipping into the train car over. For a moment, she pauses, considering whether she should follow or not, but her gut is urging her forward, so her decision is made. She can’t get into the car on the same station as him, though, since he is likely aware the route is being monitored and following him inside would likely make him suspicious. Instead, she keeps close to the train car’s window, keeping an eye on the people leaving and entering the next car over. 

Two stops down, she steps out of her own car and moves to the one that should still have the suspicious individual. It does. Even more interestingly, it seems she made it just in time to confirm that he was a) the pick pocketer the authorities were looking for, and b) permuted. The shimmer around his knuckles is subtle, but experience had taught her to look for the small details when it came to looking for a permutation, and once one knew where to look, it was hard not to find what they were looking for.

It means she has enough to go on so that acting out and stopping him will have legal grounds, and considering this is an official task given to her by BYOH, the same issue as the Cleaner isn’t bound to crop up. 

Shuffling closer to the man in the faded jacket, she mimes stretching out, fingers curling upwards in his direction as he takes one step closer to whom she assumes it’s his next victim. 

Her time bubble deploys, just small enough to encase the man and touch no one else. It’s only a momentary measure, since once the train begins moving once more it will be harder to keep a grip on her permutation, but she has enough time to lower her arms and cross the distance between her and her target, hands flying down to her waist to pull out a long rope and a set of handcuffs from her pockets. It’s mentally taxing to move someone within a time bubble without unfreezing them, but she pulls both of his arms back carefully, taking her time to handcuff him and then to tie the rope around each individual finger and his wrist. Usually permutations that were released through the hands had a certain trigger or action that needed to be met, and she is putting her money on this permutation requiring all their fingers to touch each other, if the way he had been holding his hands said anything. 

Once done, she takes a hold of the cuffs with one hand, and looks up, meeting the eyes of the possible victim and nodding once. 

“It’s alright, I am here on the request of transit authorities,” she offers calmly, dropping the time bubble and glancing back at the pick pocketer at his startled exclamation. “And you. I am taking you to the nearest precinct. There are a lot of people pissed off about getting their things taken.”

[stcsis]

who? Mercedes Salazar & Row/Lysander [ @multimuz]   where? Super Hearts Manor, Arden, NKC   when? May 03, 2022   

It is incredibly bizarre to realize that she knows more participants of the show than she doesn’t. When she had signed in, Mercedes hadn’t expected to recognize anyone, yet now she knows she is wrong. Viola, Benedick, Ferdinand… Those three weren’t even that much of a surprise. Who truly took her out of left field is Lysander. Outis had met Lysander briefly during one of the BYOH requests, and from what she remembered the personality of the Lysander then seemed incompatible with the personality of the Lysander now. That, and well there was the change in appearance. It wasn’t a huge deal, but it was enough to leave her a little wrong footed throughout. Enough to want to poke and prod until she found the answer behind those differences.

She had to be subtle, though, considering that they were constantly monitored by the cameras and she didn’t want to let their connection to BYOH slip. 

“Lysander, hi!” She calls out when she sees Lysander after breakfast. “It’s good to see you, how was your date yesterday?”

[mincedoaths]

As the car pulls up to the antique shop, Suman is surprised to see Mercedes get up to greet him by the car. He smiles, one eye brow quirked up in an unspoken question behind the car door’s window pane. Laughter trickles out of his mouth as he sees her slow down when he reaches for the handle and pushes the door open.

A cluster of wind chimes hanging near the shops front door clink together as he steps out, and he snorts, looking away from Mercedes to glance at the groupings of shells, glass, and metal dancing in the wind. His eyes crinkle cheerfully, before returning to Mercedes.

Standing up fully, he takes a moment to adjust his clothes before reaching out his arm to offer Mercedes a handshake.

He licks his lips and then opens his mouth to speak. “ Likewise. Makes us comrades in more ways than one. ” He answers her question with a knowing look, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“ And, yes, they did let me know, ” Grinning widely as he says this, Suman pulls out a crisp white envelope from the inside breast pocket of his jacket and presents it to Mercedes.

“ I take it they already gave you your funds, but you can have mine as well. ” He gently, but firmly hands her the envelope, his expression shifting to grim seriousness.

“ I’m on a strict no-buy challenge for the rest of the month so I need you to keep me on the straight and narrow. Even if I find a book in there I really want. No matter how much I beg—even if I get on my hands and knees in front of you—You have to look me in the eye and say ‘Benedick, no.’ ” He declares somberly, his gaze dipping down to the envelop and then back up to Mercedes.

He stares at her for a beat, the morose expression still on his face, until a corner of his mouth starts to twitch upward, then the other.

Not too long after, an aborted puff of laughter escapes his lips suddenly. He lifts a hand to cover his mouth but the smile was obvious in his voice. “ I’m being serious! I’m not above making a fool of myself if I find something I really want—but I’ll get told off by my friends if I come back home from a dating show with nothing else to show for myself but a stack of books ”

[stcsis]

Mercedes had known that the participants of Super♡Hearts were going to be attractive. Portia had emphasized that much at least. But there is a difference between being told and experiencing it first hand. In a way, she had been lucky that she had gotten to go first at introductions, since she hadn’t had any time to catastrophize and make a fool of herself in front of so many attractive people. Because, really, there is something to be said about Mercedes and her weakness for pretty people, as well as her tolerance to them. She has only a handful of failed dates and a bit more under her belt, but not enough to make her an expert on the topic by any means. At most, what she has going for her is her ability to pretend to be composed under pressure, but that ability is weakening alarmingly fast in the face of pretty brown eyes and friendly laughter. 

Fuck, Vaimiti is going to take a look at her face on the screen and lose all respect of her isn’t she? Because, unfortunately, Mercedes knows she probably looks more than a little starstruck for a long moment before she composes herself. 

“Well, in that case I hope we can be a team from now on,” she replies, clearing her throat and sending Benedick a smile as she reaches forward and shakes his hand. For a moment, she relaxes, lulled into tranquility by the spark of mischief on his eyes, but that calm soon vanishes and she is left gaping at him as she glances down at the envelope and up at him. 

“That doesn’t seem fair—,” she begins to say, but stops when he gives her his reason. Lips pressed together, she tries to stop the snort that echoes his laughter, but she doesn’t manage for long, rolling her eyes at him at the joke and freezing a little at the mental image of him begging for a random antiquity story trinket on his hands and knees. Tongue suddenly tied, she averts her gaze down to the envelope and tightens her grip on it a bit, considering. 

“I know what you mean, but—,” glancing up, she sends him a small, yet cheeky smirk. “If the money is now mine, it means I can buy you a gift to commemorate our first date, can’t I? It’s not breaking the no buy if you aren’t buying it, after all. And it would show your friends your presence is enough of a gift that I decided I just had to give you a gift in return. ”

[waywardlegacies]

༉‧₊˚. 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐃𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐈𝐧

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ starring: sarah "slapstick" smith & cassius "silver meridian " muchengeti

Deciding to save him from the rest of that train of thought and to give him some sort of payback for startling her so, Sarah’s grin turns sly, noticing that he is looking away. He is down on one knee too — and she pointedly ignores how that makes her heart flutter — , so he is not braced for anything. Reaching up, she places her hand on his, lacing their fingers together for a good grip, and squeezing it softly in reassurance. With her other hand, she reaches up and grabs his forearm, and with one big oof, she pulls him down with a cackle.  { extract from thread @stcsis & @waywardlegacies }

[herosillusion]

A letter arrives in Sarah Smith's @stcsis mailbox. The envelope is a regular white envelope, but the handwriting for the address is in a child's writing. A familiar handwriting. It's 9 year old Naya's. Once opened, Sarah would find small pink and yellow stationary. It looks like stationary made for a child so that they can write short letters and draw a picture on the side in a square. And it looks like Naya did just that, except she crammed as much writing as she possibly could into the lines... (Mentions of Flare @waywardlegacies, Phoenix, @mincedoaths, and Atlas @retrocausalities)

Dear Slapstick,

My mom got me these cool letters to write on for my birthday. I wanted to write letters to Atlas and Flare too, but mom says that I couldn't because they don't know who I am but you do. I wish I could. I am writing because my mom got a conccushion at the hospital and she is sleeping right now. They gave her medicashion. Nana says she is gonna be fine and she will send my letter. We are going home when mom wakes up because the nurses and doctor say she is OK! Thank you for helping her with Atlas. Your the best hero ever. Please tell Atlas I think he's also the best. They would have been more scared if you didn't come also. I am glad Pheaniks was able to get some bad guys on the mission but I hope he got the ones that hurt my mom. He always looks so cool too. I wish I could see but I am not allowed to watch a lot of Realhero TV but maybe I will see videos from friends at school again.

I heard my granny and nana talking about how they won't show the videos correct. I'm really sad about that. My mom does not tell me but I see her get sad sometimes about the TV too. I hope you don't get sad also so I drew you a picture with my letter as a precent. My art teacher Miss Nancy taught us how to draw comic characters last month so I hope it is OK. I'm sad you couldn't come to 4 of july because mom was busy. I hope you come for thanks giving, or maybe we will go to your mom's house! Thank you for being a hero. Everyone looks sad and serious but I hope I am both fun and kind like you when Im old. I love you :)

<3,

Naya

[stcsis]

#Mayor’s Security at a New Statue Unveiling 

who? Sarah “Slapstick” Smith & Cherise Moa when? June 3, 2026 what? Crisis Level 1

The mission is meant to be a simple one, one even a C-Rank such as her is able to handle: escort Mayor Moa through the unveiling of a new statue in Midtown. There is no intel of any possible threats, no signs of danger… But it’s always good for Valerian to have people in the scene to show the world that they are committed to public safety. That is why Sarah is sent to do the job. She is popular enough that people will recognize her even as part of the Mayor’s security detail, but still unknown enough that she will not overshadow Mayor Moa’s moment to shine. 

Not only that, but the Mayor had given Slapstick permission to stream the event through the drone that always followed her around in patrol for her audience. The official reason is to give Sarah the extra boost to her abilities that comes from being watched, but truly, it is also a wonderful way for the Mayor to come into the radar of her viewers. At the end of the day, it’s a collab of sorts, as weird as it sounds to be doing a collab with an elected public official. 

All in all, as Sarah is putting on her steward uniform and attaching the comically large hammer that is her weapon of choice to her back, she is told not to expect much trouble by the Valerian handlers. The sentiment is soon echoed by the police officers assigned to the event, and even the Mayor’s aide which she greets with a nod and a friendly smile as soon as she can. 

“Slapstick! Good, you are early,” Tabitha Davis greets her, relief evident on her face as she gestures to Sarah to come closer. “We really don’t expect much trouble, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry about this sort of thing.”

Sarah nods. 

“Yeah, I get it Ms. Davis,” she says, eyes wandering away to the covered statue and the platform standing next to it. “I am guessing the Mayor will be on the platform? Where should I stand?”

The directions that follow are fairly long, and it all comes down to Sarah standing next to the stage and acting attentive. She is close enough to be in pictures and draw the eye because of the dark crimson of her costume, but far away that she doesn’t necessarily get the full weight of the media’s attention. A pretty good deal for Slapstick, all things considered. After all, she will be in the news cycle even if momentarily, and she knows her fans will get her circulating enough to gain some attention. Not much, but enough to be worth something. 

Nodding along the instructions, she soon finds herself taking her place and readying herself for what is likely to be a long job. 

No offense to the Mayor, but these sort of PR moments tend to sort of drag on and on. 

And in a way it does. 

Sarah spends most of the event—  through the long speech, the media questions, and the drumroll of it all — standing around, eyes wandering through the crowd trying to find anything out of place. And for most of the event, there isn’t. 

It’s her trusted viewers that alert her that there is some movement behind the stage, the drone having captured the motion of three men creeping closer from one of the alleys nearby. Not a huge number, but concerning considering that there wasn’t supposed to be anyone creeping about. 

Sarah covers a quick glance back with a subtle yawn and confirms the vague outlines of three shadows on the alleyway’s wall, before she lowers her hand and begins sway on her heels slightly, as if she had begun to get bored and was trying to keep herself awake. The movement hides her lips moving, which is the intention since she is already rushing through an update for the officers in the scene and her handler. 

“Three possible hostels coming through the alley at the Mayor’s one o’clock,” she says clearly but quietly, as she begins to shift closer to the stage and the Mayor with each subtle sway. At the same time, she is “charging” her jumps like cartoon characters tend to do, waiting for her next instructions. 

“The Mayor is about to finish her remarks and unveil the statue,” Tabitha mentions over the comms. “We just need a few more minutes.”

Humming under her breath, Sarah considers the stage and its distance from the alley. Unfortunately, the space is too open, so as soon as they step outside of the alley’s cover, the interlopers will be seen and the crowd will get nervous. 

“Are there any officers near the other side of the alley’s entrance?” She asks under her breath. “I can cover the mouth and push them back towards the other side, but I need a couple of officers there to make sure they don’t slip away.”

It takes a bit more of strategizing, but soon the plans fall into place and Sarah begins moving away from her spot and backwards. Her back still faces the alley, and she has brought her drone back down with her, all in hopes of convincing the bad guys that she is just getting a shot of the Mayor from another angle. 

The ruse works, and she is five steps away from the mouth of the alley when she gets the signal that confirms the other side is guarded and ready to apprehend the hostiles.

With the confirmation at hand, Sarah detaches her hammer from her back and swivels around, just in the perfect angle to hit one of the men and send him bouncing backwards into the alley under the effects of cartoon physics. After that, she doesn’t get the other two time to react, taking a rope from her utility bell and lassoing one of them into restraints. 

The last man decides that it is all too much trouble and turns around to run, but the mouth of the alley he is heading towards is blocked. With his two companions down for the count, it doesn’t take much to convince him to stand down. 

The officers are handcuffing the last of them, when Sarah hears the sound of applause. Taking a couple of steps back, she glances at the event and smiles. 

Looks like the Mayor had a successful unveiling, after all.

[waywardlegacies]

If he were able to speak, he would say something along the lines of Oh you have no idea love how terribly and truly I have fallen. As for the view well I can't deny it is perfection, love. and with his voice low and controlled. Well, that was what he would say, if she hadn't knocked all the air out of his lungs, leaving him utterly breathless. Resulting him a bashful school boy, who looks down for a glance once knowing that her eyes were observing him, making the heat rise at the back of his neck. At least his flush was slowly hidden away. But it would catch up with him eventually, revealing all that he was trying his very best to conceal.

"Mmmhmm y-yes..." he answers, his tone a little higher than he normal register, betraying him so.

His gaze flickers up, as her delicate fingers lace between his like a perfect hit. Almost if on instinct, his fingers lace perfectly into hers, squeezing her hand down affectionally. Far from the firm handshakes, he was nurtured from a young age to deliver. Her hand was soft and smooth between his slightly calloused hands, yet he squeezes back, almost as if wanting to hold them forever. And in this moment he was.

And yet...hold her hand was never enough. It was selfish in a way, the addiction that she awoke him, always longing, nay!, needing more. Holding her hand was simply enough. Sarah hands were warmth that Cassius wanted to ignite his whole soul in. When her touch cups her face, he can't but help to nuzzle into her touch. A comfort that he had not received in the longest time. Sarah's touch lingered, a tiny little bolts of lightening surging through him, as he swears, that she is licking her lip, her perfect subtle lips. His eyes look over the a moment, from her lips to her beautiful gaze. The butterflies inside him more rapid than before.

It isn't just affection that lives here between them...the little space that was between. It was something far deeper. Something that can aid in quieting the nose in him that he didn't even notice was on like a static radio playing. Sarah...felt just like home. And he knew he wanted to be back every damn night.

He clears his throat little, trying to earn himself dignity -clearly failing that - as he deepens his voice. "You honestly have no idea what it is you do to me, love." And there it was, his charm. But this time it was not something that was just rehearsed, as the words he would tell her would always be something true. Even if it would take him a while to get there.

The words were a silent confession in a way, to words he didn't know the meaning too. Words that were heavy with a meaning he wasn't ready to admit, in fear that the little moments, such as this, could be easily taken away from him. No not him...from them....from us. He thinks for a moment. How close, Sarah was. How they were. In hopes it wouldn't ever separate.

[stcsis]

Sarah had been possessed by an uncharacteristic boldness throughout the entire encounter, perhaps out of the sheer absurdity of it all. After all, it still seemed impossible to her that Silver Meridian was regularly dropping by her place to spend time with her. And for this particular time, he hadn’t even warned her beforehand that he was going to do as much. All of which did mean that there was a small film of incredulity and fantasy over her brain, that didn’t let her quite feel too shy about her boldness nor her openness with her affection. She is being a lot less subtle than usual, truly, yet she cannot help it. There is something about him that shakes her to her core, puts her upon steady ground and simultaneously makes her want to believe in herself while fearing doing so and finding herself wanting. 

There is something almost unreal about him, about the situation. It’s beyond her wildest dreams, and it keeps getting better than she had ever anticipated. 

After all, she had never expected for him to say yes to her question. 

“Oh. Oh,” she says, voice faint as her throat suddenly feels too dry and she is swallowed by a sudden wave of shyness. She wants to say more, but her voice is caught on the back of her throat, a small whine leaving her lips as she feels and sees him nuzzle her hand. Just like that, all the thoughts are gone from her head, and her mouth falls open as she tries to speak but can’t quite gather her thoughts enough to do that. Suddenly, all she can see is his eyes, looking at her so openly, so warmly. Echaling slowly, she leans forward, not quite going for a kiss — she thinks steam might start coming out of her ears if she does that — , but to rest her forehead against his, eyes falling closed as she breathes him in for a moment. 

She wants this moment to remain like this, no changes. Just Sil and her, hidden away from the world. Slowly, she opens her eyes to go and say as much, when— 

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. 

The sound of shooting. Sarah reacts before she can even think about it, before she even realizes it’s the TV she had left running in the background. She might just be a C rank steward, but she is a steward, and instinct has saved her more than once. 

She sends her body towards the noise, trying to put herself between the sound and the man on the ground. Both hands leave his person and she crouches before him, alert and ready to react at the noise. She doesn’t know what is happening, but she knows she can’t let him be hurt. 

[waywardlegacies]

content warning: violence mention (flare hitting stuff but to be safe)

The news really had got out like hot fire. Distance had been something that most stewards knew best to be around her. Even her own team decided that they would be working from home instead of facing her wrath. Though it had been rather difficult to get in contact with Zaya, since she broke her phone in her hands, awaiting a replacement one. Serene, her agent, called it a social media break for her mental health.

Flare fucking scoffed. It was her mental health that was in fucking intact. It was the rest of the world that needed fucking checking. How the hell could once fucking video make anyone to think that she was fucking dating anyone here. All the idiots who were blindly believing and every time the name Flare would come up, it would be about her fucking relationship status.

Bullshit! Bullshit! Bullshit!

And this was the same cycle her head had been reeling in. No way to break the pattern. Just more bullshit about waiting it out. Headline will change or something like that. If anyone on her team dared to suggest to cancel the rumor by some lame ass, be seen with another, there was gonna be fireworks up there ass. But the truth laid in the waiting until the moronic idiots hooked onto another idea and allowing Flare to burn bright at what she was truly greatest at. Kicking ass.

Her resting bitch face twitches for a moment, impressed at how ballsy that the clown was comfortable enough to swear in front of her. Not many people dared to try and match her temperament, maybe apart from Sangrienta since they were both one in the same, but for others, it was typical a retreat in fear. Still, Flare paces around the small clown, like prey, with long dauting steps that echoed in the locker room. Her arms folded on her chest, eyes not once looking away from her. "Fucking stupid is an understatement, complete and utter bullshit is the answer." Flare growls kicking her own locker hard.

By now her locker was accustomed to endless dents and beatings from her frustrations, yet when she pulls her leg away, this had by far been the deepest dent she managed to imprint in her locker. The rage still raw and real beneath her. Now if Ajay was fucking here, it would certainly be him being the one getting it. But their punk ass knew better than to be around her. Unless they had a death wish- not that Zaya would ever take it that far, but the anger was very much there.

Still pacing around Sarah, looking down at her with a few feet that she had over her. Clicking her tongue over her teeth. "Admittedly, I do," Flare does not deny it and again, not many people were ballsy enough to even ask to be beaten around by her. Many just wanted to be trained by her and it was not something that she offered freely. "Oh I fucking do, I really fucking do," halting in front of her,"Do you know what you are getting yourself in for?" She keeps her voice low and harsh. "Cause I don't ever go easy. Especially for c ranks." They were classified as c ranks for a reason, Flare wasn't one to ignore that they were the lowest of the lower while she, well she was on freaking top.

She was showing a kindness, offering an out. As the she knows how badly she just wants to destroy something. Clowny's powers might be the perfect power match up for her to mess around with. "So what will it fucking be? Not scared are you?"

[stcsis]

As serious as the situation is, Sarah has to admit that prolonged exposure to Zaya and Trix means that she has long since gotten accustomed to outbreaks brought forward out of anger. And more than that, she knows that for all that Zaya is furious about the rumors, she is not the sort to take things too far. She takes rather too much pride in her skills, Sara thinks, to allow herself to falter in a moment of anger. Something to do with her permutation, and how dangerous it could be if she is not controlling it perfectly at every moment. It’s something she admires about the woman, in a way. The way she is able to express her anger without crossing the edge of danger, even when with her mutation it would be so very easy to take that step. 

It takes a great skill to do as much, and Sarah can admit as much easily. 

“We have worked together before,” Sarah says with a faint smile. Yes, she knows what she is doing when she is offering as much to Zaya. At the end of the day, she can take a lot more damage than more people, and she isn’t just going to stay and take it obviously. It will help her with her evasion training, and it will give the other the opportunity to let out some steam and sweat off some of the anger. They both know it’s better if she does that in private, which is why she had found the other at the training grounds rather than anywhere else. 

“I know how you operate Flare,” she reminds her, a huff of amusement as the A rank comes closer and looms over her. It’s almost amusing, the sight. Sarah doesn’t think she is trying to be blatantly intimidating, but her whole personality and body language just lends itself to that. “I know you never hold back your punches. I have seen it.”

Frankly speaking, she would be offended if the other were to pull her punches, considering how she is well known for never holding back when it matters.

“If I was scared of you, I wouldn’t have offered, would I?” She asks, a brow raised and arms crossed as she raises her head to meet Zaya’s gaze steadily. “I knew what I was getting into when I opened my mouth to yap, don’t worry.”