retrocausalities

[retrocausalities]

AMPARO: no quiero escuchar sus excusas; el daño ya está hecho 😒 AMPARO: gael.... mi amigo, there was a fire that happened apparently at the venue, there were ample chances to slip away AMPARO: oh, if we did it my way, you wouldn't have worn a backless slit dress? ¿por qué hiciste eso? ¿viste a alguien que te gusta o qué? AMPARO: oh you talked to him. bueno. as if magnus'd reveal his secret evil plans to you because you got a fat ass AMPARO: kai, don't hype gael. plus there's no way you have break now, don't break your moms' hearts like this, niño 🤨 AMPARO: speaking about you... your pink suit number was NOT what we said about "low-key" AMPARO: then you apparently GOT INTO A FIGHT WITH PUPPETEER? The plan was NOT TO ENGAGE. AMPARO: our eyes on them, no eyes on us. AMPARO: honestly, the only backup i received was from un güey, who also happened to be ditching the andersen security. i have no idea who he is, pero i'm certain there's more about the labs that have to do with some kind of eo power that could be dangerous to society. AMPARO: could the people who've gone missing the past month or so be connected to the labs? pq i don't believe the things magnus said about cc. no tiene sentido.

GAEL: and i already told you not everyone could be doing the secret agent stuff!! 🙄 GAEL: it would have been way too risk AND noticeable if all three of us were sneaking around GAEL: if we did it your way, we would have gotten caught and kicked out GAEL: or worse GAEL: besides, the point of the mission was to get information by any means necessary and only one of us here actually talked with the mangus guy 💅🏼

[retrocausalities]

zann's not sure what the dude next to him is sweating about, or why he's loitering around for that matter, so he keeps an eye on the man. the guy looks like a real, get-up-at-6 type, and not the PM kind.

" what? " zann asks, not getting that his little pithy comment from about five minutes ago has incited this awkward dialogue. the joint in his fingers wheezes out the last dregs of its dying fumes.

he scratches at his locs, struck by the random and rather morbid topic. he's not interested in the happenings of the cerberus corporation that much, but he's in the loop via informational osmo-whatsis through his nephew. he decides to partake in the convo, knowing he's well-fired by this point, anyway.

" in a way, yeah. why? you knew her? " he asks the suited man, though he's unsure how his theory would work; the dude he's talking to looks super normal and far from the world of those glitzy heroes, just like zann himself. maybe zann could say that the man appears a little shakey, like he's gotten off a roller coaster ride he never signed up for, but overall, a regular joe schmoe. " i mean, they'd find her, right? or have people on it, since they've got like... powers to do that, so don't worry 'bout it, dude. "

[ tw : references to stalking/stalking like behavior, mentions of kidnapping ]

With the gentle tings of steel tongue drums ringing in his ears, Bakari walked in a daze; his mind hyper-focused on the soothing voice of a woman guiding him through a breathing exercise. Inhaling in deeply through his nose, he tried to ignore the anxiety weighing heavily in the pit of his stomach. He just just had to make it home. Letting the breath out of his mouth in a soft whoosh, he continued forward on autopilot, unaware that he was headed in the opposite direction of his apartment. His internal compass dragged him towards the gravitate pull EO casually inclined against the building just ahead of him. Coming to a stop in front of the other man, the wheels in Bakari's head sluggishly turned before recognition hit him like a ton of bricks. It was Zann. A gasp escaped Bakari's lips. This was the closest he had ever gotten to the Zann after the first time they had literally run into each other. He had fucked up. His brain stuttered and then whirled into overtime, trying to find a solution to his current dilemma. The resonance of the steel drums chiming in his ears snapped him back into focus. Actually, everything was fine. This wasn't as bad as he thought. They didn't actually know each other so Zann probably didn't recognize him. Bakari wasn’t even sure if Zann had noticed him in the first place. He just had to turn around and get far enough away that Zann couldn't see him, but not too far away and—Zann said something to him.

“Did you hear about that Cerb Corp girl that went missing?” Bakari said the first thing that popped into his head and then clasped a hand over his mouth. It was just unfortunate that he never worked great under pressure.

[retrocausalities]

HE'S GOT A BEER nursing in his palms, and it's probably not the medicine for a headache, but hey, he's a dude with less-than-ideal solutions to his problems. this bar isn't his usual haunt, but he can't commit to any place for too long. gotta keep options open, y'know? whatever they may be.

as he sips his miller, zann's ears perk up to someone next to him, catching the bits of a conversation that he thought was directed to someone else, but he's the only one close enough to the woman at the bar to hear. (or maybe she was talking to herself? sometimes, the booze brings the blues...) but upon concentrating, it's no sob story about an ex or missing a childhood home.

" huh, s'right? " he moseys into the discussion. hoping the woman's not mad that he's speaking his piece -- if this conversation is not intended for his ears and all -- he continues, " you got some theories, or what? my lil' nephew's all about good ol' cerb, so he's been trying to tell me human testing is good if it's voluntary and shit. can't catch me signing up... 'less they're coughing up the dough. "

hey, a renter in new york city's gotta do whatever he can to pay the bills.

open to: all location: some small bar setting: news of the cerberus corp scandal is playing on the small tv above the bar.

" -- all i'm saying is you can't trust corporations. i bet this is only the tip of the cerberus iceberg." she shrugs and continues sipping from her bourbon. nobody had asked her opinion and frankly, she was mostly rambling to herself like a crazy person.

[retrocausalities]

(yearns for a past that does not exist) (yearns for a past that does not exist) (yearns for a past that does not exist) (yearns for a past that does not exist) (yearns for a past that does not exist)

[retrocausalities]

[retrocausalities]

[retrocausalities]

Every thought is a shrapnel pounding against the soft, yielding flesh in Keegan's skull. Yesterday is no blur, though Keegan had tried vainly after the eventful whirlwind. He returned home to a cold, lonely apartment and drank an entire six-pack of black cherry vodka soda. He hadn't gotten that drunk since his med school days, and he remembers why he kicked the habit. Though the pain suppression helps, the effects of his powers are beginning to fade, and it's not even lunch break.

Grogginess is second to his nausea, and Keegan pleadingly urges on a clock hanging on the wall to quicken its second hand. Then, the intercom next to it crackles to life...

"Oh my God, Warren...." Keegan groans as the other nurses around him start to snicker.

"You gonna visit your boyfriend Vader at his office, Keegan, milord?" One of the nurses teases, and Keegan musters the energy to stick his tongue out in defiance.

"Hardehar, laugh it up, guys," Keegan sighs, heading down the hallway to the other hospital wing, and finds the office belonging to one Warren Suwan without much trouble. How could he? Keegan's sure he visits the young doctor's office almost every day. He knocks to be polite if Warren has a client (though, once again, Dr. Suwan doesn't) and steps in. Swiftly Keegan leans against the door, closing it with his butt.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Anakin. I was hoping my drunk dial was a small mistake we could sweep under the rug, but judging by the new nickname you added to your arsenal, you've got your share of blackmail material, huh?" Keegan shakes his head. It does not alleviate the pain. Oof. Makes it worse. He gives Warren a little pout before dropping his pride and asking, "I didn't say anything weird to you, did I? I really don't remember, man. Sorry."

Closed for @retrocausalities-Clinic Hours Interlude

Warren was feeling melancholic. He didn't go to the ball (Warren thinks its a waste of time and mental energy). But he did get a very drunk call from his good friend Keegan.

And while Warren couldn't pick him up, he might as well talk to him. But not through text. Warren picked up the receptionist phone that connected to the office.

"Lord Keegan of Edinburgh please come to Darth Vader's office. I repeat can the Lord Keegan come to the handsome Darth Vader's office- he will be waiting with dominoes."

[retrocausalities]

📨 GROUP TEXT || AMPI, GAEL, KAI

[12.02.2023] @mincedoaths @somehazydaze AMPARO: 😠 so what happened to our plan last night? because if i remember correctly, ¡estaba hacía todo lo que podía para salvar la misión!!! AMPARO: i had to rip my jumpsuit to climb through an air vent!! AMPARO: where was backup? recon?? AMPARO: kai, you're at work, i see the typing. put your phone away. grovel later.

[retrocausalities]

Everyone warns of life corrosive, the ungentle gnash of the dreams parents banked on for their children. It’s an immigrant struggle, a lower-middle class struggle, the fitful sleep grasping it exiting to dead waking hours, the mind is gone and longing for sepia nostalgia — a future like Saturday morning breakfast cartoons, one where kindness rules over evil in the end. Effort matters. Go forth and do it; anything can happen.

Nearly his forties, Keegan sees the truth of his life, the barbed wire fencing around his dream. The world stings; casual violence is its documented nature, but as humans have designed nobility in blood, Keegan believes perseverance is coded within the spirit. He looks for it everywhere, this heroism he cannot muster within himself. A way to the world that he knows can exist. If Grace wasn’t feasible, how can Keegan speak of it? Why refuse joy because of terror?

In this shard of his and Sabryna’s bliss, the cracks are just their grins letting their light out.

Sugary utterances from Sabryna melt in the warmth between them, and Keegan scrunches his nose in affection when Sabryna accidentally gets ahead of herself, but in technicality, she’s not wrong. Prince Edward is the Duke of Edinburgh.

“Yeah, he is! And the Earl of Wessex is James Alexander Philip Theo Mountbatten-Windsor! Fun fact, he’s not even an adult!” He name-drops the mouthful and then jokes, “I’m just a guy; you’re the Belle, my fair lady.”

Like how a child runs into their parents’ bedroom on Christmas Day, his friend’s endearing laugh wakes up Keegan’s own. Merriment is their music to the amateurish treading they do in the apartment flat — but the word “amateur” is derived from amare. To love. And what he and Sabryna do daily, they always do with their hearts forward.

In their dance, Keegan spins her, watching her exuberance shine. Everything about Sabryna is a perfect spiral, a hypnotic ring of springy honey-brown curls and green fairy glens in her eyes. She speaks, and the puff of her breath brushes against Keegan’s lips.

They illuminate love, talking around, walking around it in their shared steps.

“I’m sure it’ll be magical.” His response is a downy touch of air as he dips her, just like how they’ve seen on TV and practiced countless times for fun. “Right? It’ll be a perfect time for romance. I hope we both find the right time to say it.”

Satisfied with their tiny duet, Keegan lets go and checks the time. They’ll be late for work if they keep fancying that what-ifs. Hooking his thumb to the washroom with the shower, he tells Sabryna, “We should have breakfast soon. Do you wanna wash up and change while I go and wake up Amar?”

As the day unfolds, Keegan grins and stretches his arms over his head. There’s much to plan. Hope flutters in his chest, a dove. The world is a crushing place, not meant for these fragile flights, but every predecessor to an avian is a predator evolved for peace.

Throughout the week, he messages Sabryna and his good friend Dolly about the costume updates, and finally, the night comes.

Dressed in an orange Regency-inspired outfit, Keegan gawks in his gilded, winged-lion mask. On his arm is Sabryna’s hand, as the two decide to come together to witness the magical masquerade ball. But… the crowd, fitted in stylish 21st-century cuts, stare at the two with wide-mouthed, mocking chortles.

“Sab…” Keegan croaks, throat dry, “I don’t think this is just like the TV show.”

[retrocausalities]

Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry written c. October 1936, featured in The Diary of Anaïs Nin Vol. 2

[retrocausalities]

"Oh! Sorry, I was really lost in my head; it's not you, don't worry." Keegan sighs, trying not to dwell on what transpired in the restroom about half an hour ago. He has gotten the man medical help, but still, he hates that he can't do enough. And when he returned to the ballroom, Sabryna was nowhere to be found.

He has to apologize to her for leaving her in their dance like that. Another scope of the room later, and Keegan slumps his shoulders. How hard is it to find a girl dressed like a Disney princess?

"Yeah, there's something, and it's not the shrimp cocktails," he admits to his wedding planner friend. She must have tons of experience seeing the highs and lows of a relationship with her clients. It's silly to fool Sammy. He musters a weak but genuine smile, not wanting to bring her down with him. "Glad you're having a good time, really."

Seeing the offered pinky, Keegan graciously takes it, wrapping it with his own. He's thankful he has a friend with a business in the romance department because he could be better at it and needs professional intervention.

"I thought... Well. Here's the thing: I misspoke earlier... but maybe I didn't?" Keegan frets his lips and furrows his brows, frustrated with himself for letting this doubt burrow into his worries.

"Maybe I got ghosted? I thought this person wasn't going to show up, but I saw them... Or I think I saw them with someone else, but now that I'm here again, I can't spot them. So maybe I was hallucinating before? Or making stuff up because of foolish hope? And because I did, I think I screwed up my friendship with Sabryna... Sorry, I'm rambling on and on, aren't I?"

Sammy had a small smile on her facehearing the eek. "Come on seeing me is not that frighteneing." Sammy chided his friend.

"I saw that look in your eye. There's something going on or you ate that shrimp cocktail." Sammy chided. "You think the professionals know how to keep shrimp cool." Sammy nodded. "I am having a great time. Better than actual work." Sammy teased.

The wedding planner watched Keegan's eyes trail the couples and shook his head. "It's not silly. As someone who does this for a living I feel the same way." She tried to reassure. There was a look of concern. "Were they sick or had something come up?" She paused. "Or did they ghost you." Sammy shook her head tapping Keegan on the shoulder with a fake wand. "Stupid is not in vocabulary only incorrigable. Say it." She reassured. "I am not in this business just for decor."

She held out her pinkie. "I won't tell anyone."

[retrocausalities]

[cw: assault, description of medical procedures regarding injury.]

The fiasco with Imara has left Keegan red-handed, and the state of their friendship tested. Although Agent Granite is one of the few level ones who doesn't view level threes as disposables, there's no reason to change that goodwill. Idly, Keegan's mind reels in any thought that could ease tensions as he enters the closest restroom to wash off the red wine staining his skin.

However, when Keegan enters, the soft melodic instrumental playing inside the restroom can't be heard over running carmine water. A man by the sink is washing blood off his hands. Before Keegan can identify the injured stranger, he hears another sound. Broken blubbering. The moment when man reverts back to a child, to a primal thing, to a being trembling in pain.

Ignoring the disaffected man at the sink, Keegan mobilizes to the source, the corner of a handicapped bathroom, and confirms his suspicions in the shape of a victim of a violent assault. His mind overcomes the shock of the situation, and his medical training kicks in.

"Sir? Are you okay? Can you hear and understand me?" Keegan asks the victim, checking for signs of a concussion while reaching for his medkit. Snapping his medical gloves on, Keegan administers proper procedures, cleaning off the blood as best as possible. He wraps his hand with toilet paper to blot out the liquid to find the lesions. He takes a breath and bites at the inside of his cheek. The man's already in a lot of pain, and Keegan decides it's got to be this way.

While applying antiseptic, Keegan activates his power. The person's pain courses in, and Keegan grits his teeth, fighting through it to start patching up where he can with neat squares of gauze and bandage. His ability should give the man some relief for the next few hours. Hopefully, Keegan can get him some help and a ride to the hospital by that time.

Feeling woozy as the pain begins to materialize inside, Keegan hauls himself up and returns to the sink. Keegan's got a sense of what happened here now. Facing the masked man with the bloody knuckles, Keegan cuts the chase as he puts his gloves into a red biohazard bag. "Are you the one who did this?"

open to everyone !

where: one of the gala's bathrooms :D

it's entirely too quiet, if he ignored the running of the facet and the quiet whimpering of the man who was still keeled over in the corner of a handicapped bathroom when he'd last seen him. at the very least, his mind is too quiet, anger and the slip of his emotions taken out on the first guy to piss him off. it's a blessing he's wearing black, not that hanbin owned clothing in many other colors to begin with, dark fabric concealing any splatters of red and leaving hints of it of his work on his neck, what was visible and messy washed away with water. his knuckles are painfully red, a mixture of his own blood and whatever had come out of the other's face by the time hanbin was finished staining the entirety of his hand.

suddenly, he can't exactly remember which restroom he'd pushed his victim into, far more concerned with it being empty and not occupied by some self-righteous level one. perhaps the attendees should be happy his approach to his anger today had been physical, and not in the form of blowing the fusebox out. this party, grand opening, or whatever you could call it, wasn't anything new to hanbin. except for it being occupied by far too many people he'd rather never see. scratch that, it was exactly like every corporate event he'd ever been to.

red still spills down the drain of the sink, scrubbing at his knuckles and unsure if it was making it better or worse. the faint sound of the door opening isn't lost on him, despite never attempting to lift his head. he's himself after all, uncaring and unabashed in what he's done, the lingering presence only enough for him to make him say anything at all. "that one's occupied," he states blankly, slightly less injured hand pointing behind him, in case the man crying inside of it wasn't enough.

[retrocausalities]

IOU.

closed starter ft. @iridescences ( granite ).

setting: the ritz-carlton hotel, nyc.

timeframe: december 1st, 2023 / ~ after his dance with sabryna.

summary: in keegan's rush to get away, he ends up costing imara.

content warnings: none.

Inside his chest is a forest fire, ripping hot, feasting on the kindling that was once a tender aspiration, now asphyxiated, leaving the ashes of "I was stupid" and "of course, it couldn't have been me" in its wake. The patheticness is not lost on him, every teenage heartbreak echoing through memories back from time and leaping forward to this place, this person. An adult is just a child they couldn't shed, the same kid but older. Your experiences mark who you are, and Keegan's riddled with scratched-out words.

As Keegan maneuvers the crowd poorly, stepping painlessly on toes, his mind reminds him Sabryna is going to think of him as a dolt, and she's in every right to. The thoughts whip up the fire frenzy, the heat coursing up into his head so rapidly that Keegan has to physically shield his eyes to alleviate the phantom burn. And in that moment, he blindly crashes into someone. The slosh of liquid douses the ringing in his ears, and Keegan unfolds his fingers from his eyes, spotting red. A deep crimson spreads out on white fabric, and Keegan recognizes in horror as red wine wounds an expensive dress.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," Keegan gasps, grabbing his medkit bag clipped to his belt and unzipping it, though no preparedness for emergencies can prepare for this. He finally has it together to look at the owner of the dress he's personally victimized. Oh, dear. Imara.

[retrocausalities]

Everyone warns of life corrosive, the ungentle gnash of the dreams parents banked on for their children. It’s an immigrant struggle, a lower-middle class struggle, the fitful sleep grasping it exiting to dead waking hours, the mind is gone and longing for sepia nostalgia — a future like Saturday morning breakfast cartoons, one where kindness rules over evil in the end. Effort matters. Go forth and do it; anything can happen.

Nearly his forties, Keegan sees the truth of his life, the barbed wire fencing around his dream. The world stings; casual violence is its documented nature, but as humans have designed nobility in blood, Keegan believes perseverance is coded within the spirit. He looks for it everywhere, this heroism he cannot muster within himself. A way to the world that he knows can exist. If Grace wasn’t feasible, how can Keegan speak of it? Why refuse joy because of terror?

In this shard of his and Sabryna’s bliss, the cracks are just their grins letting their light out.

Sugary utterances from Sabryna melt in the warmth between them, and Keegan scrunches his nose in affection when Sabryna accidentally gets ahead of herself, but in technicality, she’s not wrong. Prince Edward is the Duke of Edinburgh.

“Yeah, he is! And the Earl of Wessex is James Alexander Philip Theo Mountbatten-Windsor! Fun fact, he’s not even an adult!” He name-drops the mouthful and then jokes, “I’m just a guy; you’re the Belle, my fair lady.”

Like how a child runs into their parents’ bedroom on Christmas Day, his friend’s endearing laugh wakes up Keegan’s own. Merriment is their music to the amateurish treading they do in the apartment flat — but the word “amateur” is derived from amare. To love. And what he and Sabryna do daily, they always do with their hearts forward.

In their dance, Keegan spins her, watching her exuberance shine. Everything about Sabryna is a perfect spiral, a hypnotic ring of springy honey-brown curls and green fairy glens in her eyes. She speaks, and the puff of her breath brushes against Keegan’s lips.

They illuminate love, talking around, walking around it in their shared steps.

“I’m sure it’ll be magical.” His response is a downy touch of air as he dips her, just like how they’ve seen on TV and practiced countless times for fun. “Right? It’ll be a perfect time for romance. I hope we both find the right time to say it.”

Satisfied with their tiny duet, Keegan lets go and checks the time. They’ll be late for work if they keep fancying that what-ifs. Hooking his thumb to the washroom with the shower, he tells Sabryna, “We should have breakfast soon. Do you wanna wash up and change while I go and wake up Amar?”

As the day unfolds, Keegan grins and stretches his arms over his head. There’s much to plan. Hope flutters in his chest, a dove. The world is a crushing place, not meant for these fragile flights, but every predecessor to an avian is a predator evolved for peace.

Throughout the week, he messages Sabryna and his good friend Dolly about the costume updates, and finally, the night comes.

Dressed in an orange Regency-inspired outfit, Keegan gawks in his gilded, winged-lion mask. On his arm is Sabryna’s hand, as the two decide to come together to witness the magical masquerade ball. But… the crowd, fitted in stylish 21st-century cuts, stare at the two with wide-mouthed, mocking chortles.

“Sab…” Keegan croaks, throat dry, “I don’t think this is just like the TV show.”

"Oh my stars, you could be right?" she agrees with her best friend who always seemed to be correct about most things. Sabryna was already prepared for this,"Don't worry Kee, I've got my royal family flashcards all on ready on the app. We can study on the go!" She answers quickly and proudly,"Prince Edward also dubbed Duke of Edinburgh...pfft that one was way to easy!"

When he gave her the finger-guns, she knew her bestie also had a planned prepared. He was always ready, always prepared no matter what life threw at him. As he spoke, her excitement could not be more contained as she shakes her arms cheering silently even more. "Anime cons?" she asks before pulling herself back on track,"Wait, nevermind. You're guy has stuff from Broadway....oh my god we are going to be the Bells of the ball." That is a pun if you might, only time would tell with the outfits of they would find."You're so incredible Kee."

A small laugh escapes her lips as the two of them are bowing to each other. Accepting his extended hand, being spinning gracefully to the silent song that their hearts sung as a duet. Both separate heartbeats that came to beat as one.

His hold on her was safe and warm. Almost like it felt like home, the place she was always meant to be. Little blue butterflies fluttered away in the pits of her stomach. A light blush spreads over her cheeks, but she'll lie to herself that it was the whirlwind from the graceful sin. Not once does her gaze pull away from those soft beautiful brown eyes. She chewed on her lip nodding as she hung on every word that left his soft lips.

A soft little daydream unfolds in her mind. It's a scenario she paints herself time to time. Yet this time, Keegan is the narrator and he gets each note utterly perfect. "Yeah it is... romantic," she utters almost breathless,"And they say the three little words...as the moment is just right." Sabryna holds him a little tighter, searching his eyes for something. Or maybe...now wasn't that moment.

[retrocausalities]

THE GREAT ESCAPE

↪ WHO: zaya & amparo @retrocausalities ↪ WHERE: washroom the ritz-carlton hotel, nyc. ↪ SUMMARY: shenanigans in the women's washroom ↪ CONTENT WARNING : None

Amparo dashes down the carpeted stairs, her hand skimming over the metal banister as she turns the sharp corner and braves a leap down a flight. Above, two suited guards glare at her, their impenetrable sunglasses capturing a fraction of her image. She doesn't stop to think longer; it's time to run. Although she's opted for more practical footwear compared to Dead Ringer, she knows she'll be soon outpaced by the men in black and their longer strides. Chancing a look, Amparo checks behind her shoulder and -- mierda, they're close! -- and her hands spring into action, activating one of the spells she's stored as a rune on her ring finger. TIE! The laces on the security guards' loafers fling themselves at each other, binding the two shoes together. Both men trip and tumble down the flight while Ampi winces.

But hey, she can't feel too bad, not with what she's seen upstairs with Magnus Andersen and the unknown woman's conversation. Seeing this is her chance, Amparo gets to the main floor and starts heading out when she sees another set of security, hands on their earpieces. They must be looking for her. And. They do. She catches the eye of a security guard. Shit, shit, shit. The crowd's too thick to pass through. New route. Now. Ampi escapes to the side and enters the women's restroom. There's already someone in here, not the best scenario, but it'll have to do! Although this might make her look foolish, Ampi has no other choice. She rushes into the stall and slams the door.

Powering through, her face burning with embarrassment, Ampi digs into her pantsuit's pockets and fishes out a small mirror compact. She tightly closes her eyes, re-imagining the washroom's interior, specifically the large mirrior. Image set and magic swirling through her hands and thrumming at her fingertips, she fingerspells out M-I-R-R-O-R-E-Y-E and opens her compact. On the reflective surface, Ampi sees the interior of the restroom again, from the large mirror's perspective.

Zaya knew that she could only use the women's washroom escape card a few times tonight. Otherwise, others would get suspicions knowing fully well that she would be avoiding being social at the gala. Or worse, other's wanting excusing themselves with her in the bathroom to take part into some fucking annoying girl talk. Nope. Not more unwanted social interaction for the night . No fucking thank you! She knew she had to choose the right moment for her few blissful moments of peace.

And thank fucking thing she did. The washroom she was alone. She could have some fucking peace. No pretending. No holding face. Just a moment to relax her shoulders and unwind. Stripping her face of the dumb ass mask , she exhales looking at her exhausted face in the mirror. Not, long to go Zayashe tells herself. She turns on the water faucet. Ahh what sweet, sweet peace...or so she thought when someone rushed into the bathroom. "The Fuck?"

Only for a moment do her eyes lock with the other before she is slamming the door to the stall. Zaya stands their confused. Did Zaya want to know what was going on? Maybe not. But maybe it could bid her some time for being away from the crowd. Didn't take a genius to know that something was clearly going on. So much for the peace but a different dynamic for the night. Maybe she didn't mind it all that much. Maybe this was just the distraction she needed.

She turns off the water faucet, about to adjust her mask, when two guards in black suites barge into the women's washroom. "Ex-fucking-scuse you!" Zaya growls from the sudden invasion. "You fucking announce yourself before entering, that is fucking basic. Fucking hell, amateur hour here!" Knowing basic protocols like this always came in favour. They looked at her, not too threaten by her as they seemed to have another matter at hand."Is anyone else here?" She motions around rolling her eyes,"Clearly not. Only me." The two agents looked at each other and nodded, exiting the women's room.

From the restroom mirror, Ampi sees all. Startled by the entrance of the guards, she silently shimmies up on the lid of the toilet seat, not wanting her feet to give away her location. There's not enough time to cast CC, her spell that allows her to read closed captioning of what the guards and the woman in red are saying, but surprisingly for Amparo, the woman yells at them and gets them to leave. ¡Qué milagro! Luck's on her side tonight. Now to leave...

She stands on the toilet lid and clicks her tongue at seeing the windows are barred. There is a small vent, enough for her to fit as she's pretty tiny, but how to get there? A spell would work, but the other woman in red is still in the washroom, and not only that, her spells have been a bit off during the night. Even her CC from earlier hadn't worked properly. Was it some other EO's power at work? For the sake of making sure she didn't harm anyone, it'd be best to avoid her stronger spells. Her magic was her responsibility, after all.

Climbing back down, Ampi resorts to improvising an out. Security might be waiting outside the door. Windows aren't available. She quickly texts Gael, telling him of the situation. But she won't ask for help. No way. Maybe if she'll get the woman in red to leave, she can do her spell without worrying about it going haywire and hurting someone else. Nodding to herself, she takes a breath and opens the stall door. Again, this is going to be so embarrassing, but whatever. It's not like she and the woman in red will cross paths after this.

"Hello," the narration on her phone says, "I am sorry but I cannot go with you being here. If you are done, would you mind leaving?"

Zaya kept a long distaine glare at the gaurds until they were gone. She was about to knock on the stall door telling them that it was all clear to come out. She watches as the stall door opens as the shorter women walks out. Just as she was about to ask what this was all about or a thank you, Zaya listens to the narration on the phone. Slightly becoming fluster, cause yeah, she gets it, public washrooms just weren't the same. "I..oohh...um yeah...totally cool!" Zaya stutters unmindfully motioning the ASL sign for I'm leaving to the shorter women.

Amparo gasps, surprised to see another speaker of ASL. A fellow speaker! "You speak ASL as well?! Oh, that's amazing! I hope you aren't offended, I thought you were finishing up at the sink, so I thought I should try asking." In her excitement, she doesn't read the hesitation in the other woman's face until a beat later. "Oh, sorry! I bombarded you with my signs, didn't I?" Carefully, Amparo signs a "thank you" to the other woman, about to let her leave when her tendency to be a nag rears up its head. "Are they outside?" She clearly enunciates her phrases.

Zaya watches as the women’s hand moves almost a mile per minute as she was signing. A slight warmth washed as she watched the women sign. Sadly Zaya was not that well versed, and looked at her puzzled trying so see if she could break down any of it but nothing was computing. She gives her a soft smile because no harm done. Slowly she signs a yourself, before heading to leave. Pushing the restroom door open, catching a few bodies lingering around,she nods back to her.

Shit. Ampi's right on the money. If this was a game of online poker, she'd be proud of herself for how she's read the crowd. In this situation, it's not great. When the woman in red leaves, Ampi's sure to be surrounded. No chance to do any magic. She gives the woman another glance. Although the mask conceals her face, Amparo notices the other woman's toned arms. Whoever she is, she's definitely fit. Seeing as the other has been cooperative so far, and dare Ampi say it rather nice considering the weird as hell situation, the spellcaster decides it's time to gamble. "Ok. Thank you. Can I ask for your help?" Amparo signs. "I promise, it's nothing to do with the toilet." She adds, just in case the woman thinks it's something strange. Well, it is, but it's not that. "Can you give me a lift? Please?" Amparo points up to the ceiling, right at the small air vent. She puts her hands together afterward in a beg, trying her best to give the girl a pitiful look.

It takes Zaya a few moments to process the signs, still being new to it. Her eyes widen as she asked her for help…with the toilet? Oh wait, no, no the short girl quickly added that is had nothing to do with the toilet. Zaya waves away the red on her face. She looks up and realising she meant to the air vent. Rather impressed that she had an escape route, one that Zaya didn’t cover in her own hypothetical escape plans herself. The girl before her was desperate, begging and pleading her. Normally, Zaya would tell someone to fuck off, followed with the universal middle finger sign most knew. But there was something about her that Zaya felt like she need not ask questions. Zaya nods and carefully signs,”Sure I’ll give you a lift.” As she went closer to the vent, kneeling and lacing her hands, in assisting her with her great escape. Damn, she always jealous that she didn’t think about this escape plan herself.

Amparo brightens, giving the woman in red a huge smile and bigger thank you with her hands. She tells herself to find out who this woman is if she can and send her a fruit basket. As she gets ready to climb up, she thinks that it'd be best to make sure her clothes don't get caught while she moves around. No evidence. Carefully she grabs her pants and tugs, ripping them both. Gathering the fabric, Amparo quickly re-ties the strips until the baggy pants are more form-fitting.

Mindful of the other woman's time, Amparo flashes a "ok", pressing her thumb and forefinger at her before stepping up on the offered hands. She doesn't tell the woman in red, but she also activates one of her stored spells as well. FLOAT. The extra leverage launches her up and Amparo grabs onto the grate, and with her spell, she has enough hang time to shimmy it off and climb in.

Looking back down at the woman who helped her out, Amparo gives her a small salute. "Thank you! And… see you!" She signs and closes the vent grate.

What was this look on the women’s face? Appreciation and thankfulness? And a smile? Zaya was not use to seeing such emotion from her helping. Maybe the martinis were getting to her. She brushes it off. Even if it was kinda nice. As the girl starts to rip her clothes, Zaya put her head down to give the stranger a moment of privacy and respect. And again smart thinking altering an outfit when crawling a vents. She really did have intelligence that Zaya could admire. The ex-solider gives a slight smile back, as she get the okay, watching as the pretty much almost float up with grace and ease to the vent. Saluting back Zaya signs “See ya.” Watching as the vent closed. Damn what a woman. May her escape route be a fucking success.

[retrocausalities]

KAYVON IS A FAST KID. damn, did his sister decide to feed him tons of sugar before she handed him off to zann? he and kayv set some "ground rules" before entering the gala, but true to adolescent fashion, these rules have become "guidelines" and ones where the lines aren't even that straight. they're fuckin' loop-de-loops.

but he and kayvon aren't posh company, and it shows, what with zann's only nice (creased) suit and discounted $1 "unlicensed theatre phantom" mask he got from a dollarama, and kayon's agent whirlpool halloween mask, it doesn't take zann long to spot his nephew. he waves him over and kayvon nods, heading back while zann walks forward. however, it's more difficult traveling through suits and dresses than expected.

maybe it's a dress train zann gets caught on, or those fancy shoes with the really extended toe, but something gets in the way of zann's steps, and he lurches forward. however, before his chin hits the carpet, it stops mid-fall thanks to a firm grip. some dude from the starting line of the nba has him.

" uh, thanks... my dude, " zann replies, wondering if he heard the other guy right just as kayvon enters. zann rights himself up and pats down his suit. " nah, don't think so. not that it matters, i'll febreeze it and we're good. "

he gives the savior a thumbs up and gathers his nephew, who is giggling too much. time to go before this moment gets too awkward that even zann's indifferent nature might succumb to the embarrassment. as they're starting to walk away, his nephew bursts into a full blown laugh.

" what's up, darling? " kayvon snickers. the little shit. he heard it all. zann gives his nephew a weak look of admonishment; instead of glaring daggers, he's got butter knives.

" tell your mom about this, and i ain't taking you to the art gallery anymore, " zann mutters.

— WITHER. WHEN: the grand opening of anderson laboratories. WHERE: we're mingling, darling. we're networking. WHO: open to all.

Hadrian keeps a dark, weathered eye on the crowd. The tick, tick, tick of the muscles within the neck stretching to flash a smile to the unconscious glide of their fingertips across the delicate ribbon that held their masks in place. A nervous crowd, if ever he saw one. The music weaves itself through that tension and ah — a fine waltz. Dmitri Shostakovich, if he weren't mistaken ( and he rarely is. ) written that lovely key of C minor. Perhaps he was among ... company. The gowns, the glitter, the fake rosy laughter — the beauty of it all.

& even more interesting, the hidden identities of hundreds of EOs. Imagine that power — imagine what they could do with a hand to guide them? He had it on good information that many of them were agents from Cerberus. He knew most of them by face — but the added mask added a little fun to guessing game. He wonders how many secrets he can find out, how many little dropped words, how much he can take. How many more would be able to guess Wither from the curling horns of the devil in the pit of his own mask? Movement out of the corner of his eye distracts him from his thoughts.

"Oh — careful, darling." Hadrian is quick to reach out and grab a hold an elbow before everyone suddenly topples over. Dresses and drinks and shuffling feet rarely went well together. He steps within that open space to give them something to hold onto. "That could have been very bad. Are you alright? They didn't spill anything on you, did they?"

[retrocausalities]

[cw: brief description of choking]

THESE FANCY CHEESE PUFFS with the french name zann can't pronounce taste freaking good. his nephew's gone exploring again, and though zann's sister will give zann hell for not keeping his sights on his nephew 24-7, he doesn't think she's right. let the little man scope around. trying to rein him in more would just lead to more rebellion. a lesson zann knows in spades.

he stuffs another handful in his mouth, hungry from the long commute over when the dude next to him starts a conversation. zann's about to respond but cheese puffs, man. the damn cheese puffs. zann tries to cough, but can't. he thumps at his chest. breathe!

Open for anyone.

TJ took a deep breath and focused. He was not about to think too hard about what was just said. Or what has happened to him to get him to this point. Or the possiblity his brother could may as well knew this .TJ might be a cerberus agent but he was also a firefighter. For TJ that comes first and foremost. TJ slipped on a the red windbreaker and gathered as much water as he could. He passed the water bottle to the person and sit near them. Just distract the person long enough to get them calm and hydrated.The rest can come later

"You ever heard of the Montreal Screwjob?" He asked opening his own bottle to take a sip of water.