𝗥𝗢𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗧   𝗕𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗡'𝗦   𝗡𝗘𝗪   𝗬𝗘𝗔𝗥 

it   is   all   a   facade   —   it’s   what   five   years   of   training   within   the   nsa   and   observing   her   father   veil   emotions   ever   since   she   had   met   him.   mizuse   engrossed   in   conversation   with   an   avid   journalist   wanting   to   pick   apart   a   rookie   after   a   shocking   revelation;   however,   the   speedster   is   ALWAYS   one   step   ahead.   blasé   smile,   an   occasional   sip   of   her   sparking   beverage,   maintaining   eye   -   contact   with   the   reporter   …   not   revealing   a   thing.   mizuse   didn’t   know   how   much   longer   she   could   stand   here   and   deal   with   the   interview,   hues   flickering   for   anything—anyone—more   interesting   she   could   point   them   out   to.   after   all,   she   is   a   newbie   to   all   of   this   …   and   the   fleet   -   foot’s   patience   is   starting   to   wear   thin.   wings   attach   to   her   ankles   subtly   flutter,   concealed   by   the   material   of   her   dress.   next   thing   mizuse   notices   is   her   savior,   suzu,   approach   the   two   of   them   and   the   journalist   makes   a   hasty   retreat.   ❛   me   ?   nervous   ?   psh   —   ❜   mizuse   grins   with   a   dismissive   wave   and   a   shake   of   her   head.   ❛   dad   didn’t   want   to   attend.   you   and   i   both   know   he   doesn’t   like   these   sort   of   things,   ❜   she   answers,   knowing   the   vigilante   can   see   right   through   her   act.   grin   slightly   falters   as   mizuse   steps   closer   to   her,   fiddling   with   silver   jewelry   wrapped   around   digits.   suzu,   adopting   the   role   of   big   sister,   is   the   source   of   information,   motivation   ...   reassurance.   ❛   …   i’m   guessing   you   didn’t   hear   anything   about   this.   ❜

with : @kyllini location : buchanan’s gala, main room date : january 7, 2040

it’s easy to spot the familiar figure caught in a conversation she doesn’t want to be in. with how fast mizuse is, an escape should be as simple as running away—but the politics of playing nice make that a bit more complicated. suzu knows mizuse can take care of herself, but who would she be if she didn’t help out at least a little? 

she cuts in between mizuse and the journalist with a winning smile, leaning in to whisper something that sends them off bolting. the disturbance gone, she turns to mizuse, an ease in her demeanor that comes with being in the presence of the younger woman. “don’t tell me hitsuto actually left you alone to fend off the sharks by yourself,” she teases. “nervous?” not that mizuse looks it—picture perfect and the spitting image of what a hero should be, slipstream is ready to face the crowd. “don’t be. no nsa script could’ve prepared you for this mess.”

optics   gaze   upon   a   VIVID   kandinsky   painting,   analyzing   the   vibrant   colors   as   thoughts   of   tonights’   revelations   swirl   inside   of   her   mind.   mizuse   wanted   to   take   a   break   from   the   commotion   inside   the   main   ballroom   and   see   the   newest   installations   herself.   taking   a   break   standing   around   in   heels   is   a   plus,   too.   in   peripheral   vision,   mizuse   notices   the   approach   of   a   figure   —   a   kronos   employee.   posture   straightens,   but   she   doesn’t   move   besides   moving   the   pair   of   heels   to   the   other   side   of   her   to   free   up   space   on   the   furniture.   ❛   i’ve   seen   performances   better   than   anything   they   could   even   DREAM   of   doing,   ❜   a   subtle   smile   and   a   glance   towards   saskia,   tucking   feathery   onyx   tresses   behind   her   ear.   ❛   s’not   fair   they’re   the   only   ones   who   get   to   showcase   their   talents   …   i   think   we   all   should   deserve   a   shot   to   wow   the   crowd,   ❜   the   speedster   slightly   leans   towards   saskia,   the   curl   of   her   lips   playful.   ❛   i   am   a   pretty   good   singer,   y’know.  i   could   definitely   push   the   twins   out   of   first   place.    . . .    you   got   a   secret   talent   ?   ❜   

when: 7 january 2040 where: buchanan's annual gala who: open!

saskia loves a good party - especially one where the food and drinks are on her boss’s dime - as much as the next person, but even she needs to step away for a moment. blame it on buchanan’s announcement and the sudden need of every single kronos employee to come seek her out and congratulate her as if she’d created the whole damn serum herself. she’s but a small part of the machine and she doesn’t like taking credit for other people’s work.

she doesn’t really want any credit for this either.

the sight of the ‘miracle twins’ leaves her nauseated and with the whole museum being available, saskia takes advantage - meandering from exhibit to exhibit until there’s fewer and fewer people and no chatter about super serums or wonder twins. “i think they’re going to put on another performance here in a few minutes,” she says. she sits on a bench in front of a large painting but facing away from it in a swirl of braids and green fabric. “you sure you wanna miss out on that?”

hands   on   hips   and   glossed   brims   twisted   in   a   subtle   pout,   mizuse   is   finally   intercepted   by   the   one   person   she   has   been   procrastinating   on   an   important   visit   (   it’s   a   bit   of   guilt   breaking   the   latest   thing   he   built   ).   and   of   course   zayid   would   go   out   of   his   way   to   find   her   at   a   formal   event.   sepia   hues   flicker   to   the   device   revealed   in   his   palm,   interest   veiled   on   her   visage   by   a   guilty   “   oops   ”   at   his   emphasis.   mizuse   knows   exactly   the   expression   painted   across   his   countenance   insinuates,   and   it   even   ignites   a   twinkle   of   her   own   curiosity.   ❛   zayid,   i’m   in   a   very   expensive   dress   and   heels,   ❜   mizuse   is   definitely   not   well   dressed   for   a   test   -   run   (   nor   is   she   allowed   to   use   her   abilities   in   any   way   ),   but   she   reaches   for   the   earbud   for   inspection.   she   has   been   so   good   so   far   tonight,   but   good   behavior   was   bound   to   be   put   to   an   end   soon.   swift   hues   flicker   around   for   any   sort   of   security   guard   that   may   be   in   earshot   of   her   conversation—or   even   cameras—as   she   quietly   adds,   ❛   …   you   really   want   to   test   this   out   NOW   ?   ❜

for: @kyllini. date: january 7, 2040. location: buchanan’s gala.

“had you come to HQ the first time i asked you to, we wouldn’t have to do this today.”

zayid’s tone is laced with impatience, the unusualness of which is further highlighted by the strictness of his voice as he gives mizuse a look that is supposed to tell her he won’t accept no for an answer tonight. when he’s satisfied with her response (or lack thereof) he uncurls his fist to display a suspiciously tiny device—an earbud, to be precise—his earlier demeanor soon replaced by a proud grin as he locks eyes with the young superhero. “i repaired and fine-tuned it after it broke the last time,” he says, stopping only briefly to emphasize the word broke before returning to his previous smile, “it should be able to withstand the cold at high speed now.”

which is to say: we need to go out and test it right now immediately.

somber   hues   shift   upward   to   the   call   for   mizuse’s   attention,   flickering   with   light   from   the   warmth   emanating   from   her   tone.   a   break.   mizuse   snorts,   but   a   smile   of   interest   blossoms   across   her   features   to   paint   over   the   petulant   pout   that   was   there   before.   she   never   gets   a   break.   it   is   all   of   her   own   doing,   anyway.   there   are   ones   who   DESERVE   a   break   from   the   constant   stress   of   villany   and   turmoil   than   her.   ❛   i   don’t   know   …   ❜   reluctance   in   her   tone;   however,   her   growling   stomach   says   different.   mizuse   tries   to   muffle   the   sound   by   crossing   toned   arms   in   front   of   her   stomach,   but   suzume   knows   the   younger   is   always   hungry.   especially   after   training.   ❛   i   guess   i   could   take   a   little   break,   ❜   another   shrug   of   her   shoulders,   brushing   off   the   sheer   excitement   of   spending   time   with   suzume   outside   of   heroic   (   or   vigilante   )   duties.   ❛   as   long   as   i’m   back   by   my   stupid   curfew   !   ❜

suzu hates to admit it, but it’s true. with the way kronos has ushered the twins and the serum back into secrecy, all there’s left to do is to prepare. for her, this means organizing within crux: plans of action and collecting information. for mizuse, this means increased training. both play a waiting game, unable to discern exactly when the next threat will occur—or what it will be. who knows? maybe dante will come back, and they’ll have a whole different set of problems on their hands.

“okay, so, change of plans.” suzu claps her hands. “c’mon, look at me,” she beckons, calling for mizuse’s attention with a smile and warm tone. “we take a break. and i mean it—we all need breaks. you’ll burn out if you don’t take them. we can get lunch at the place near mine, take the rest of the day off. go shopping or something. what do you think?”

amarcnthined​:

“—right.” suzu arches an eyebrow at mizuse’s denial and suppresses an amused smile. “well, you’re doing a good job of fooling everyone else, i’ll give you that.” she sips her drink, gaze traveling across the crowd, humming in agreement as mizuse explains her father’s absence. “you can tell him all about it later. he’ll probably love to hear it.” in her peripheral vision, she notices mizuse stepping closer, fingers fidgeting with silver jewelry, and suzu turns to fully face the young hero. “i didn’t, no.” better to be blunt than raise false hope. “sorry, i wish i had. it’s just as much of a surprise to you as it is to me.” still, she doesn’t elaborate on her own frustration, irritated by the fact she could’ve known but didn’t. no rumors, no whispers of a super serum finally more than a false promise—how tight of a hold does kronos have on this? but it’s nothing mizuse should worry about; suzu’s problems are her own, and she’d rather not drag mizuse into the intricacies of it.

“but barring that, how does it feel to be at your first official event?” she asks, mocking the tone of the journalist with a grin. beneath the teasing lies pride for what mizuse’s become, even if she thought the speedster would be better off in crux. “do you think it was worth it?” her tone turns serious, more contemplative. “all the training?”

there   is   no   necessity   for   an   apology.   it   seems   like   everybody   here   was   blindsided   by   the   announcement   by   the   kronos   ceo.   the   grin   on   her   countenance   blossoms   from   consolation   (   of   course   mizuse   notices   the   vexation   swirling   within   the   bluntness   of   the   answer   that   she   did   not   want   to   give   the   younger   )   to   the   charismatic   self   -   assurance   and   relaxed   simper.   ❛   this   is   easy   -   peasy,   ❜   mizuse   answers   with   a   scoff.   the   amount   of   media   training   she   had   to   suffer   through   years   holed   up   in   the   nsa   training   facility   has   prepared   her   for   …   most   of   this.   what   mizuse   has   is   an   EDGE   —   able   to   think   quickly   on   her   feet   and   have   the   inability   to   be   visibly   fazed   by   most   surprises   and   stressful   situations.   however,   this   speedster   is   still   human   and   cannot   be   blasé   towards   everything,   especially   towards   the   discreet,   tense   mannerisms   and   underlying   meaning   in   teasing   words.   optics   flit   around   the   ballroom,   surrounded   by   the   nsa’s   super   -   powered   greats   and   novus’   influential.   holding   her   father’s   hand   at   similar   events,   wow’d   by   the   same   people   instead   of   being   the   one   to   work   with   them   only   seems   like   it   was   yesterday.   ❛   of   course   the   training   was   worth   it,   ❜   mizuse’s   gaze   shifts   back   towards   the   vigilante   with   a   gratified   smile   and   sigh   of   content   (   relief   the   grueling   training   has   ended   ).   ❛   i   learned   how   to   be   the   FASTEST.   i   reached   speeds   that   would’ve   taken   me   years   to   accomplish   if   i   didn’t   have   that   training,   y’know   ?   maybe   with   a   bit   more   experience   being   an   official   hero,   i   can   become   too   fast   at   saving   novus   so   heroes   can   be   a   little   bored   for   once,   ❜   she   quips   with   a   soft   chuckle,   only   suzu   being   able   to   witness   the   reveal   an   altruistic   side   of   the   younger.   mizuse   strives   to   be   one   of   THE   BEST   —   to   ensure   a   safer   society   and   also   lift   some   of   the   overwhelming   responsibility   off   her   veteran   mentors.   ❛   and   you   taught   things   that   they   couldn’t   have.   you’re   one   of   the   reasons   why   i’m   able   to   be   here   tonight.   ❜   

optics   flicker   across   the   scarred   skin   of   her   instructor,   observing   the   way   his   calloused   digits   point   and   gesture   towards   the   arsenal   of   weapons   mizuse   definitely   has   no   reason   to   be   in   possession   of.   it’s   not   like   she   is   a   terrible   shot.   the   entire   round   pierced   through   the   target’s   bullseye;   however,   why   would   she   need   to   rely   on   a   weapon   she   can   out   run   ?   ❛   tsk   —   yeah,   it   would   be   a   bad   idea   to   bring   a   gun   to   a   fight   against   ME,   sir,   ❜    gaze   shifts   back   up   towards   his   visage   at   the   mention   of   the   gala   —   guilt   slamming   down   her   heart   into   the   pits   of   her   stomach.   i   wasn’t   fast   enough.   the   devil-may-care   smile   falters   in   the   slightest,   sensing   the   mood   of   the   lesson   shifting.   mizuse   sets   down   the   secured   weapon   she   had   previously   fired   back   on   the   table   to   put   her   hands   on   her   hips.   she   notices   the   glint   of   specialty   knives   and   daggers,   similar   to   the   ones   that   her   father   had   used   during   his   clandestine   career   as   “   kage.  ”   let’s   not   forget   the   katana   that   is   his   prized   possession   (   mizuse   has   secretly   played   around   with   …   hey,   her   mother   did   put   her   in   kendo   classes   !   ).   ❛   i   know   my   way   around   these,   ❜   mizuse   picks   up   one   of   the   combat   knives,   grip   secure   around   the   handle,   with   the   edge   oriented   away   from   her.   as   of   right   now,   mizuse   does   not   carry   weapons   with   her   while   on   duty   as   a   sentinel.   when   she   was   moonlighting   as   a   vigilante   way   back   when   …   that’s   a   different   story.   ❛   if   we’re   talking   about   using   ANYTHING   in   arms’   reach,   sir   …   i   suggest   there   should   be,   like,   more   unusual   items   here.   this   laying   around   would   be   a   miracle.   ❜

OPEN ! summary training together a week after the buchanan's gala

moments ago, he had instructed them to empty a round into a single metal plate one-thousand meters away. exactly one emptied round later, as the last bullet falls loose from the barrel of their gun, he returns with a bundle in his arms. wayne lays out a cloth spread of weapons on the table. four different guns, three different knives. "put the safety on," he reminds, without looking up, as deft fingers load copper-plated steel bullets into a black fnx-45 tac. glinting off the fluorescents are scratches on the barrel, like someone used this gun to hit something. or someone. in the harsh light, nothing is forgiven—every inch of him shows hard and carved and calloused. casually cut and scarred. along the jutting bone of his left wrist, snaking around his hand then disappearing into his palm, is a line of scar tissue about an inch thick.

and his knuckles are still puffed up and scabbed over from the attack a week before. "alright," he starts. "never bring a gun to a supers' fight and, best case scenario, your target's dead before they know you ever existed," he lists off lessons from their past few sessions as he attaches an omega 45k to the barrel-end of a gun. "but," he pauses. "you were at the gala. or you've heard of it by now..." he holds a sigh in his chest. all of this almost feels silly—something so hopeless about trying to shoot at shadows, preparing to fight an enemy no one can see. but he wants to help, but he's no good at asking so how have you been, and he's even worse at saying the right thing, so this is the best he can do. "you need to know how to fight in any situation, with anything within arm's reach." he nods at the spread of weapons in front of them, cueing them to take their pick. "let me see your grip."

the   TINGLE   of   electricity   …   the   static   in   the   air   of   perhaps   a   forthcoming   lightning   strike   or   really   …   it’s   an   adjacent   comrade   experiencing   an   anxious   chill   down   her   frame.   it   is   a   sensation   mizuse   has   felt   before   since   rosie’s   debut   three   months   after   her   own   on   team   sentinel.   the   speedster   immediately   flickers   her   gaze   from   people   -   watching—sycophants   fawning   over   buchanan   and   the   serum   freak   -   show   twins   who   just   left   the   stage—to   rosie   beside   her,   a   slight   furrow   to   her   brows.   the   query   is   the   one   mizuse   least   expected,   yet   it   probably   good   to   talk   about   ANYTHING   else   besides   what   was   just   revealed.   her   stomach   churns   ;   emotions   concealed   more   expertly   than   the   adjacent   cohort.   of   course   their   first   formal   affair   officially   being   on   sentinel   has   to   be   an   event   like   this.   ❛   an   aperol   spritz,   ❜   mizuse   answers,   lifting   the   glass   in   her   hand   slightly.   ❛   i   really   just   wanted   an   orange   slice,   but   the   bartender   wouldn’t   let   me   just   have   one,   so   i   had   him   surprise   me,   ❜   she   reveals   a   beat   after,   the   usual   nonchalant   smile   on   glossed   brims.   even   if   she   could   speed   behind   the   counter   herself   to   snatch   one,   using   her   abilities   in   a   place   like   this   isn’t   a   good   idea.   ❛   do   you   want   to   try   it   ?   ❜

𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆      ›         buchanan’s gala. with anyone.

  consequence   was   something   rosie   thought   about     a   lot   these   days.    or,    maybe    effect    was    the    better    word.    the    effect    of    becoming    a    super    was    attending    events    like    these.    the    effect    of    electricity    manipulation    was    the    synapses    in    your    brain    dying    over    time,    essentially    sentencing    you    to    die    in    your    early    sixties.    the    effect    of    this?    giving    abilities    to    people    who’s    bodies    were    never    meant    to    handle    them?    she    shivered,    a    frown    drawn    on    her    face    as    she    patted    down    strands    of    hair.    oh    yeah,    the    effect    of    anxiety?    electric.    she    rolled    her    eyes    at    nothing    in    particular    and    took    a    sip    of    her    champagne.    her    therapist    taught    her    what    to    do    to    avoid    a    pr    nightmare.    distract,    distract,    distract.

“    what    are    you    drinking?   ”    she    pipes    up,    eyes    on    her    neighbor.    she    offered    a    sweet    smile,    patting    once    more    at    her    hair.