Tags: action, crime, dark fantasy, urban
Character Approval: Yes
Player Level: Advanced
New Players: Closed
Creator: joonsexual
Created: 01-17-2013, 02:38 AM
There are some beginnings that are better left unexplored, unwritten.
(TWO WEEKS AGO—THE CHANCELLOR'S OFFICE)
The atmosphere of the room, despite its warm and inviting colors, was cool and frosty—the same as its current owner. Even the fire, trapped in-between wrought iron-fencing, flickered and shrank at the brunette's words, dancing fearfully before her presence.
"You will both be removed from active duty—pay suspended—until the obligation has been fulfilled. Am I clear?" But if the brunette was looking for an answer, she didn't stay long enough to hear it. She didn't even stay long enough to listen to any possible (but unlikely) objections. "I trust that the two of you won't waste any more of my time with this nonsense."
And, with that, the Chancellor of Sidereus left the two men sitting in their seats, her mind already busy with a different appointment, already thinking about the gala she didn't want to attend and the benefit dinner she was sure would end disastrously.
"Agent Tusz Muir and Agent Maalik, the files for this year's graduating class is in the study. If you two will please come with me..."
(TWO WEEKS AGO—CONFERENCE ROOM F)
Like the Chancellor's Office, the adjoining study was decorated in hues of red, warm oak, and royal mahogany. The entire room was beautiful and reminiscent of its first owner: Gareth Roy Adler.
It was funny how two people from the same family could be so different.
"These are the files for this year's graduating class," Samuel Landon explained as the two men seated themselves. "You may pick any graduate you prefer, but the agency recommends these two..."
As the two agents browsed through the files, Sam stood by the door and waited.
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The note placed upon a desk elicited a sigh from the recipient. Before the redhead had any chance of asking any questions, the note's deliverer was gone. He leaned forward and looked down around the area, but found himself nearly alone with a few other agents doing their work.
He leaned back into his chair and picked up the small paper and started to read it with piqued interest.
Blah, blah, blah, meeting, now, Conference Room C. Huh. And they couldn't just tell me? What a waste of a lovely sheet of paper. He ran his fingers along the side of the edge, nearly ending up with a paper cut. When he was done admiring the paper, he shoved his things into his bag, stood and then slung it over his shoulder to head to the Conference Room.
After getting all the way across the building, he found the Conference Room. The door, an ornately decorated thing, was quickly opened and stepped though. A man stopped him for ID, and he pulled the lanyard out of his pocket to show.
Yup. It's Locke. Locke Narrin of the Accendo degree. B-3 status. Nothing too fancy. The lanyard was handed back and he was offered a greeting. Locke nodded back in response and moved over to the table, where he sat down at the first chair he found. He was one of the only people in the room at the moment, probably due to the fact that he was one for being early.
“Ah math- we meet again my old nemesis.” Alarick mumbled into the mountain of papers that had attempted to usurp his desk in the name of Sidereus. “And I see you’ve brought our old pal statistics with you as well.” He paused. “Seriously what intel report needs this sort of thing?”
That is all that Alarick Reindhart, former B-1 Pulvis Agent, had been doing for the past two years- analyzing intel and data. He had been surprisingly talented at it, but given his natural predilection to overzealous working habits it was no surprise. He had managed to figure out many a scandal and uncover several plots, but never once did he have a physical hand in any of them.
So it may have been somewhat of a surprise when a note landed on his desk that read: URGENT in the color that could only be described as: hurry the **** up red.
“What in God’s,” he then paused to perform signum crucis across his body. “Holy name is this about? A mentor? Have they lost their minds?” Actually the only answer to that question he could fathom was ‘yes’. Still there was an obvious immediacy to this letter and its’ contents (and to be honest if it had anything to do with the Chancellor and her will- then he better have been there five minutes ago).
Alarick stood with a bit of pensive hesitation- letting his leg settle on the ground before he put his weight back on it. He then slid his jacket on, fastened it in the militaristic fashion, and nabbed his cane from the side of his desk. He gave one last fleeting glance to the hurricane of unfinished paperwork before hobbling out. It would inevitably be finished- by himself if this turned out to be a false summons or by one of the many Sidereus members that he had noticed eyeing his spot by the window for the past two years.
“Conference Room C,” Alarick stated as he had his reading glasses on. Not being able to see well out of one eye did hamper the ability to read long statements on occasion. One didn’t want to end up in ‘Conference Room B’ or ‘Combat Sitations C’. “Seems correct,” it was then he pocketed his missive and began to walk forward. The guard eyed him with a contemplative stare. “Yes you are correct- I have stolen this Sidereus outfit and cleverly disguised myself as a burnt cripple just to slip into a C-Level conference totally and completely unnoticed. How is it working so far?” He asked with a genuine smile and pulled forth his badge. The guard seemed a bit perturbed by his lip, but inevitably waved him on through.
What he had expected was some sort of elicit gathering in which all eyes would fall to him as he entered and he would be shunned back to his paper-cave. Instead all he saw was a red headed kid who looked as if he knew he should be here. Alarick didn’t know his name- and honestly he didn’t really care either. Red hair was not a trait he found attractive, and neither was the obvious age difference between the two. Alarick was in his early thirties, and honestly would look really good for his age had half his body not been covered in scar tissue. He still had ethereal blue eyes that always seemed to shine no matter his mood, and a full head of dark brown hair that was lazily styled in away from his face in a sort of choppy faux-hawk. “Well good to see that this wasn’t just a prank for me.” Alarick stated as he wheeled himself to the seat next to the red-head and plopped down. He rested his cane against the side of the table and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Alarick Reindhart- and you are?” He stated as he extended the wrong hand for a handshake, but his other was resting stiffly at his side- gloved up and unmoving. “Besides handsome,” even though he didn’t much have a love for that fiery red hair it didn’t hurt to smooze a bit. He may have still been married, but that was only on paper.
This morning was like any other morning for the blond, who woke up tangled in his sheets and the legs of his favorite brunette. Smiling in slow appreciation, he ran a gentle hand through her hair, his fingers catching at the ends of her dark curls.
"Good morning," he whispered as she inched closer into him, the faint smile on her lips betraying her sleeping pretense. "It's getting kind of late, isn't it?"
"Hm..." she hummed, her lips brushing lightly against the jutting of his collarbone. "Five more minutes, babe?"
"Five more minutes to sleep?"
"Or five more minutes for anything else."
"Oh, we'll probably need more than five minutes."
Two hours later, Wen-Jian Song was stepping out of the showers with his hair clinging messily to the side of his face and a fresh towel wrapped loosely around his hips. And if it had not been for the utter lack of a chest (or the toughness of his muscles), Wen could have passed for a very pretty girl—porcelain-skin, doe-eyed, and lips that screamed: kiss me!
And as he checked the steamed mirrors—admiring the smoothness of his jaw, the flawlessness of his person through the layer of condensation—Wen noticed the traces of his morning activities: faint nail marks etched into his back, dragging diagonally. Passionate.
Just how he liked them.
His phone rang with urgency, its screen a bright blue color of answer-me! and this-is-really-important! But, as usual, Wen walked and moved at a pace all his own.
Conference Room C.
It wasn't that far from where Wen lived, but it still took the man a good forty minutes to walk over and then another twenty minutes to talk up the rather attractive receptionist—curvy, blonde, and baby blue eyes he could drown in.
"Well, Jenna, don't forget me when the next pretty face walks in, okay?"
She giggled while waving him away and he laughed—low, full, and strong with easy confidence.
If there was a way to define the blond (beyond vain, arrogant, and Sidereus's Number One Skirt-Chaser), it would be: bold. It was as if he had no concept or understanding of fear, of rejection, and of all the things that made men stop and hesitate and worry.
Unsurprisingly, he wasn't the first one at the scene, but Wen didn't let it bother him. He walked in just as the dark-skinned, dark-haired man said, "Besides handsome..."
His lips pulled into a half, one-sided grin and, before the redhead had a chance to say anything, Wen jumped in, stealing the chance to speak. "Were you summoning me, gorge—" The blond trailed in his words as his eyes took in the sight of the brunette—scars, scars, and more scars.
Having been on the field for nearly two decades, Wen knew a thing or two about occupational hazards. Nobody left the job without getting a nick here or there. But there was still something about actually seeing the results that always got to the man—made him itch with a need to look away out of politeness or something else.
He let his word hang half-finished in the air. He didn't know if he should continue or if he should hastily switch topics—talk about the weather, the upcoming festival, or the remake of "Twilight," a hit franchise back in the dinosaur ages about vampires or something. "Ah, gorgeous." In the end, he decided to finish what he started. He flashed a smile and, as if nothing had happened, Wen slid into the empty seat before the two. "Because, you know, I respond to all praises of beauty."
When the shuffle of a new pair of feet came in, along with a voice, Locke didn't bother to look up. He was absorbed in reading a paper that he had drawn from his bag, after realizing that it was a rather important piece of paper from his last mission. With it, he probably wouldn't have asked as many questions as he had, but it was over with now.
It wasn't until he was addressed with, "Well good to see that this wasn’t just a prank for me." that he shoved the paper back into the depths of his bag and looked up. He was greeted by a face, marred by scars, a name, a question and a compliment- all the things that he enjoyed in a nice greeting. He was about to answer with a witty "I'm flattered, but I go by Locke Narrin." but another man burst in, his voice and presence filling the air.
Locke found himself grinning at the entrance before chuckling and shaking his head. "Is it your call? 'Handsome' or 'Beautiful', or synonym to such words what we will call you? No formal name?" he paused to allow himself to laugh once more. "Because, some of us have formal names. An example would be my own: Locke Narrin."
He turned back to Alarick, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before brushing some hair from his nose. "And to make sure I have this right, your's is Alarick, right? I'm bad at remembering names."
It was becoming painfully apparent that all that drabble about being a ‘mentor’ to a new Sidereus member might have been a lie. The redhead was far older than some fresh-off-the-bus recruit. They usually greeted every situation with bright eyes and busy tails and a whole head filled with nonsense. That was the point of mentoring someone- to shake all those false dreams of grandeur from their skull. Yet the man before him seemed calm and collected. Alarick had to admit he loved the mixed shade of his eyes, and while his hair wasn’t doing much to enthrall him those two orbs would be delightful looking up at him in pangs ecstasy as he fu—
Ah yes conversation- Alarick was having one of those.
Yet before proper introductions were made a familiar voice rattled through the conference room, and derailed his pleasant little romp into some flirtation. Alarick knew who it was before he came into his line of sight. He shortly realized thereafter that Wen hadn’t seen him in a couple of years. It was odd- but Alarick almost felt the urge to hide his face at the other’s brutal inspection. ‘Gorgeous,’ Alarick mouthed in an attempt to help Wen along with those words. “Don’t worry Wen- you aren’t the only one to participate in a mental stroke while trying to compliment me. It happens often.” He waved the man’s comment away as if it no longer bothered him. And to be honest: it didn’t anymore.
It was then he offered a husky laugh at the newly introduced Locke’s statement. “No just keep calling him ‘Beautiful’, because I think he would respond to that better than his own name. Isn’t that right ‘God’s Gift to Humanity’?” Alarick stated in a chummy manner. While they weren’t from the same class they had had many a run in with each other both being Pulvis users of the same age range; and for a long while Alarick had harbored somewhat of a crush on Wen. Unfortunately the androgynous blonde was painfully heterosexual and went out of his way to prove that at every turn. Sometime after Alarick had met James, and Wen disappeared from his life entirely.
“Yes Alarick Reindhart.” That cerulean blue eye came back to Locke’s multi-hued ones, “it is a pleasure to meet you. Unfortunately I must be a bit abrupt now- even though I’m quite intrigued by you Mister Narrin- but didn’t the missive we receive say something about us being a mentor? I mean it is quite obvious that none of us are new recruits- except maybe Wen here- he does seem to get younger every time I see him.” It was then he leaned into Locke and spoke in a husky whisper, “this is the part where you start suspecting he had work done.” Those eyebrows waggled- he did still have both of them.
“Wasn’t that both of your understanding as well? Or was I misled?”
"It's hard to compliment someone when you know it isn't going to go anywhere," Wen shot back good-naturedly, his eyes curving with unvoiced laughter. His expressions were easy to read because, as people are apt to say, the blond hid nothing. "If only you didn't have that thing between your legs and more kissable lips, I might try a little harder."
And he might have continued with his monologue of "What Alarick Needs To Do To Get Complimented By Wen," if the redhead hadn't spoken up—all fire, all burns. Redheads with a bit of bite were always a thing on Wen's list. Too bad this redhead wasn't quite what he was looking for.
With a broader smile, the blond leaned forward in his seat. "Well, Locke, I'm—"
“No just keep calling him ‘Beautiful’, because I think he would respond to that better than his own name. Isn’t that right ‘God’s Gift to Humanity’?”
It may have been more than a minute since Wen had last seen, much less spoken with, Alarick, but their energy was the same: light laughter, non-commital friendship. The best kind of relationship, in Wen's opinion.
"Exactly," the blond nodded in eager agreement, his chin jutted out in an exaggerated sense of self-importance. But before Wen could launch into his well-practiced, well-delievered speech of how utterly amazing he was and how everyone in the room should be honored to even breathe the same air as him, Alarick's familiar buzzkill hit full-throttle.
Alarick was always more on-point than Wen was, but, then again, nearly everyone was more on-point than Wen.
"Oh, don't mind me," the blond waved dismissively to the duo, shrugging as he mocked a brief nail-check. "I'm just here for the hot teacher experience. Someone with legs a mile long, short skirt, and that figure." He moved his fingers in the shape of an extreme hourglass—heavy top, disproportionately small middle, and voluptuous bottom. "Oh, and what was that about me being perfect? Because I know I'm perfect."
Oh, they know each other. Locke thought with curiosity as Alarick went on to talk to the new man- Wen? Easy name, I like it. It was around the time after his thoughts were processed were they interrupted by the bright blue eyes staring directly at him. It took him a moment to realize that the conversation was directed back at him.
"It said something about a mentor?" Locke's own eyes went wide before shooting down to his lap. He dug out the note from his pocket and then actually read over it. His cheeks went a bright red and he chuckled lowly. He had heard Alarick's comment and had seen the eyebrow wiggle for a quick glance.
"You know, I didn't see that at first. I, to be quite honest, didn't see it at all." he ran a hand through his hair, now even more curious than before. He looked up with a quirked eyebrow, and then the comment from the blond made him glance back.
"Well, where have you seen those kind of mentors around here?" he asked, still laughing. He felt rather comfortable with these two, but he had the feeling that there were more. No one had handed him a little booklet with any information, so there had to be more people. That's how he had seen everything happen, though.
"You're looking at the male version of one," Wen supplied easily, smoothing down the front of his uniform in what he thought was a clean, professional manner. He had always been rather fond of the SA uniforms. "I mean, am I not the most attractive man you have ever seen? Tell me you'd take me to bed, even though I'm a guy."
And, as if it was all planned—everything from the moment he walked in to the conversation being shared—Wen leaned back against his seat and posed. He posed like he wasn't in a conference room, but on the set of a high-rolling fashion magazine complete with lights and camera. And, to be honest, he wouldn't have been out of place on such a set.
“I think if you were the male version of,” Alarick made the same sort of hourglass motion with his hands. “You would have a nicer backside, but that is just my opinion.” The somewhat jovial palaver was putting him at ease, and those stiff movements of a few minutes earlier washed away after those shared laughs. He leaned back in his chair and cupped his chin in his gloved hand as he watched Wen attempt to put himself on some sort of display. “I would ‘do you’ because you are a guy Wen.” He remarked shamelessly. “Or have we forgotten?”
It was then he turned his head to Locke. “So what about you? I mean ‘King of Aesthetic’ is as straight as a painfully stiff board even if he wants to goad you into a compliment- don’t be lured in by it.” Alarick spoke plainly as if Wen wasn’t even there being extraordinarily attractive in that conference chair. He had a particularly itchy feeling that the other man was doing it on purpose to for Alarick to slip up and not at all be his humorous self. So instead he plowed on in interest of getting Locke’s number. He was unsure if the redhead was at all one that swung in that direction, but could anyone say no to a drinking partner? “What about yourself? Just so we are all on the same page here. I would hate to invite you out to drinks if you weren’t at all inclined to humor me by playing ‘my date’.”
Locke bit his tongue and smirked, holding back a comment that he knew would just come back and bite him in the ass if he dared let it go out into the air and into that of Wen's ears. He leaned back in his own chair, crossing one leg over the other at the question that was at hand.
"I like to use the term 'as straight as a circle'. Not only does it throw people for a loop,"-a practiced joke-"But I end up where I end up, and if it is drinks with you, that is not a bad way to go." He shrugged and looked back at Wen, who was posing.
He turned back to Alarick with a curious expression. "Does he do that often? Sit there in plain beauty as a trap?" He thought on his own question, and before the other could reply, he added onto it. "If I hadn't known any better, or if it weren't for your warning, I'd be locked in that trap. So I suppose I should thank you."
"I am not a trap," Wen gasped, mocking indignity, but the slight curling of his lips belied his true feelings. "I am, however, a god amongst mortals."
But the two men didn't even look like they were listening. Instead, Alarick had cleverly redirected Locke's attention and, possibly, gotten a little something-something for his efforts. Why couldn't the redhead have been a girl? If he was a girl, Wen would have already gotten a number, a date, and all the adoring attention he wanted.
Damn, he wished Locke was a girl.
"Tch, why do I even bother in a room of gays? I just can't win." Collapsing his pose, Wen sank into the back of his chair and propped his legs onto the empty seat beside him. Damn, he really hoped that the next person to walk in through the door was a chick—preferably a hot chick.
Agent Kyle Alan Gear was headed back to his appartment after an extended recon mission in Peru. But instead of making eye contact with the black crescent moon door knocker, he was faced with a summons. Really? They can't give me an hour to unpack? He tossed his bags into the door and loosened his SA uniform a bit.
The walk to Confrence Room C wasn't far, but Gear found it annoying to have to head back to a building that he had just left to drop off his intel. but that was the life of an agent. Go here, go home, come back-it's urgent. It was what it was. No controlling it.
Once he got to the building Gear walked up to the door, he came in contact with the doorman and flashed his I.D. and walked into the room and stopped dead. Shit not him. he is not someone I wanna work with. It wasn't because of the man himself, but more because he was the reason the man had been mutilated in the way that he appeared because of Gear's lack of knowledge of a certain combatant. He had assumed the man wasn't synergist, but in fact he was, and Accendo synergist at that. Alarick was caught off guard and burned. gear eventually got to him and saved his life by blacking out the building and killing all opposition, but not before most of the damage had been done.
"Hey there Alarick..." Gear said, only glancing at the othe two men in the room and giving a curt nod. "Kyle Alan Gear is my name by the way, " he said to the other two agents in the room.
“The man is right- you are a trap Wen,” Alarick stated firmly. “And I’m not going to feed your ego- but,” it was then he procured his phone from his pocket and snapped a picture right before Wen’s form went limp. “I’ll save this for later.” A soft laugh followed afterwards as it was made to seem as if he would delete the picture post haste. Alas he wouldn’t though. Maybe he would get used to it as the other’s ID for whenever he called- but Wen never called- it was just an excuse to keep it. “Apologies we are only attracted to the male form. I think you might find that as a compliment. You are the only one that doesn’t want to have sex with us- not the other way around.”
So there was a mild compliment there, but he quickly buried it by glancing back at Locke. “I like it- I’ll have to use it sometime.” He remarked to the ‘straight as a circle’ comment. “And you can thank me for saving you all the inevitable humiliation that the 'Prince of Beauties' would nag you with by buying me a bourbon.” Alarick then procured a pen from his pocket- he did just come from work- and made a motion for Locke to give him his hand so he could scribble his number on there.
The door slid open- and there was a change in Alarick’s demeanor. That bubbly atmosphere was ruined as that pale blue eye managed to catch who walked in next. He still awaited Locke’s hand, but his eyes fixed downwards before sliding back to those honey and orange orbs. Gear was someone he figured he had distanced himself from a lot time ago. There was no pent up rage left in him from the ‘accident’, and neither was a need for revenge. No, what resided in his chest was blame.
Gear had been wrong, and it had cost him near about everything. “Gear- ,” Alarick stated in a false saccharine demeanor. “Are we ever going to see some new faces or was this a ploy to get us all here? Or are we mentoring ourselves. Dibs on Mister Narrin here- I have a few things I could school him on.” And Alarick was back to acting as if nothing had ever happened.
accessdeniedThe sound echoing from the room of one particular Masami Kanon was one of pure chaos; something that was very rare to hear these days, especially with the source being that of Kanon’s room. The girl usually awoke without a sound, getting ready for a day in Halcyon with the utmost precision, and managed to get out of the building earlier than planned. The sound of drawers being pulled open, water running, frantic footsteps, and the occasional, “ARGH!” signaled that today was a special case.
accessdeniedDamn... Kanon’s thoughts went on a wild rampage through her head; she’d stayed up rather late last night worrying about who she’d be assigned to today. Of course Kanon would be fine with someone who would show her the ropes...but what if her mentor was someone who was lazy? Or even worse, someone who just plain didn’t give a shit about teaching her? She had kept herself up all night with these worries, and ended up not sleeping until about two in the morning. Unfortunately, this lead to the female oversleeping until a bit later than she would have considered ‘early’, and so Kanon was attempting to dress herself, eat, and head out the door in around ten minutes- which, because of her perfectionist habits, was not possible.
accessdeniedA good thirty minutes later, a rather frantic sounding Kanon rushed out of her apartment, and off to Conference Room C, her boots clacking along the ground.
---- • ----
She stood just in front of the door to the room, composing herself. From what Kanon could tell, there were already several people within the room. Just how many people are they going to invite here for a two cell group? she wondered to herself, No matter, calm yourself and enter with authority.
Taking a deep breath, Kanon turned the doorknob, her expression taking on that of an emotionless person’s. “Apologies for my lateness,” she spoke, her voice a bit shaky at first, but soon became more stable and calm, “My name is Masami Kanon. I hope that you train me well.” With this, Kanon gave a polite bow, and then straightened. There were four men in the room, a redhead, a blonde, and a brown haired man, who’s face was mottled with scars. which Kanon assumed were reminders of a tough fight that had happened some time ago.
"A bourbon? Alright." Locke said as he removed his black glove from his hand just as a blue haired agent walked in. He could feel the air about them before he turned back to Alarick, who seemed to be rather agitated. As to what did such a thing to his new friend, the redhead had no clue.
A change in subject and a look away from the man who walked in diverted Locke's attention into giving Alarick his hand. Again, an eyebrow jumped up at the comment and a laugh was drawn from his lips. As he was going to say something in response, something else grabbed at his attention.
He had looked back at the sound of the door opening once more, another person A G rank? wearing a different uniform he hadn't seen in so long. He grinned lightly at the memories.
"Hello Ms.Kanon. I'm Locke Narrin." He had turned and introduced himself politely and formally for the first time today maybe in a week- a feat for Locke. He turned and waved to the girl, who seemed to be so stiff and professional. He recalled his own stiffness when he was in that rank, but then quickly recalled how quickly he had slipped out of it.
The next person into the room wasn't the "hot chick" Wen was hoping for, but the person after "Kyle Alan Gear" did happen to fit the definition of "female."
Ignoring all the talk happening around him (or about him), Wen straightened up and walked straight to the new graduate. He walked right by the other agent, who's name he was already beginning to forget, and, instead, took Kanon's hand in his.
His whole personality—the boldness of before, the unveiled commentary—seemed to do a full change before the girl.
"Well, Graduate Masami, I'm Wen-Jian Song and, yes, before you ask, I am that Song." Wen could remember a time when people buzzed about him for things beyond his face and the things he did at night. As a blood descendant of Xue-Lian, one of the seven founders, he was something of a commodity—everyone wanted to meet a descendant. Of course, that was a long time ago and that was a time when people thought he had more than a facial-resemblance. "You can just call me 'Wen' and I hope we can get along for the year!"
And while Wen wasn't positive that he was going to be mentoring Kanon (the memo hadn't said anything about anything specific), he was still going to get to know the girl. After all, there's no harm in just chatting.
"So, tell me, Kanon, what are some of your hobbies or interests? I like to get to know my students."
Yeah, Wen was hoping that this girl would be left in his charge.
The morning dawned over his face like a warm curtain, Acaelus wasn't sure if it was the temperature or the light that woke him first. The fleeting tint of the windows couldn't keep out the brightness that was now so blindingly sudden. The apartment that he had chosen had been blessed with everything that he had wished for: a beautiful old-fashioned pure dark glass soaker tub, one that could hold his long frame and allow him to even dunk his head underneath the waters edge; a balcony that over-looked the entire city ward of the De Luca's government's district, small lights blinking in and out of focus and lulling him to sleep like the twinkle of stars in the nighttime. And the biggest need for him, a study that could hold all the histories of the world, books to destroy his sleeping pattern, and a long couch that was far to comfortable to be fair.
But aside from all of these pleasures, the place had been cursed with wide spread windows spanning from wall to wall, tinted when the sun escaped the sky but also so quick to wake the dead in the daylight.
Acaelus leaned forwards and out of the slumped position he had been in against the arm of the couch, he pulled his reading glasses from the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand with a groan. The meeting for that morning wasn't due for another two hours yet. But Acaelus still had to shower and dress to be appropriately presented. Which is what he did, after allowing himself a minute to shake the sleep from his limbs.
The Chancellor had ordered for him to appear there as a Mentor alongside Agent Maalick; each of them assigned to a graduate from the academy. In truth, as much as he was willing to do anything for the good of Halcyon, the request felt more like a demotion than the honour it was meant to be. His eagerness to please the Council was lost in the torment of having to deal with fresh-out-of-the-oven pupils.
||
The building of headquarters stood tall, like a beacon shooting into the blue of the perfect sky. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying. The architecture was sleek, vast and embellished with the designs of decades past. Acaelus always felt so small within the shadow it cast across the courtyard, especially holding the knowledge of who had had a hand in creating such an impressive structure.
He made his way swiftly through the clear sparsely inhabited halls and adjusted the pin stuck in the folds of his midnight scarf before flashing his ID to the guard that stood at attention next to the entrance of Conference Hall C, and entering the room.
Acaelus tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear (he was in desperate need of a trim) as he stepped through the door, inclining his head to the fluttering numbers that hovered just below the edge of the stark white ceiling before gazing around the room with narrowed eyes and sternly set shoulders. With his hands firmly held behind his back he greeted each of the patrons with a curt nod. “Good morning. As I'm sure you have all been informed, I'm Acaelus Trusz Muir.”
There was really only one individual in the space that looked like he was even slightly informed. An unfamiliar agent with dazzling red hair and multi-coloured irises. At least the paper he held in his grasp made Acaelus assume. The rest—aside from the plainly obvious graduate, who was currently being harassed by Agent Song—looked more than a little caught off guard by the urgency of the gathering.
“Myself and Agent Maalik—whenever he decides to grace us with his presence—will be Mentors. Aided by—” Acaelus glanced at the four men that he recognized as agents by the state of their attire and swallowed. “I apologize, it looks like we're absent a graduate." Acaelus leveled his calm gaze on the green haired girl before continuing with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I think it best to wait for the others' arrival before beginning the meeting. Please. Continue.”
Before Wen even had a chance to ask Kanon about her degree, much less her number, Agent Acaelus Trusz Muir entered the scene.
Correction, Legacy Acaelus Trusz Muir entered the scene.
Wen would never say it aloud—he certainly didn't show it—but he had always envied the other man. They were of the same year, of a similar ancestry, and of the same burden—to prove that they, as namesakes of a golden, stronger generation, were honoring the memory of the deceased. They were from the same beginnings, but they couldn't have grown up more differently.
Where Wen strayed from his great-grand aunt's strength, Acaelus greeted the academy with powers reminiscent of the rumors surrounding Machiavelli. He rose to meet every expectations and then, as if simply being "good enough" wasn't enough, he excelled.
And here he was now, telling everyone that he was the mentor along with another agent—that wasn't anyone in the room. He was going to be teaching Kanon or the other graduate or both. He was in charge and he showed it with his words, his actions, and his very person.
Just as he had opened the floor, he closed it. It was as if he thought they were, somehow, unworthy of being told what was happening. And maybe he was right. Maybe they weren't worth his time. After all, Wen wasn't a skilled, beloved synergists. He was just one out of hundreds.
Gritting his teeth together, but resisting the urge to say or do anything he would later regret, Wen let his attention fall from Kanon and, instead, turned to face the imposing figure of Acaelus.
He was, quite possibly, everything Wen wasn't. He was a quiet, solid strength—a kind of confidence that didn't require words. He was tall, powerful, and piercing. In contrast, Wen was built like a stunted willow—lithe, but easily cracked under a strong heel. He wasn't commanding and what presence he did possess was limited to his wilting features—to his dying, fading face.
What a depressing thought. How uncharacteristic...
"Woah, woah—nobody said that we'd be meeting a celebrity today," Wen laughed at his own joke, but even with all his skills in acting, he couldn't shield the faint hollowness in his voice or the sudden coldness flashing in his eyes. "Please, be still my heart." He clutched at the fabric on his chest and feinted a swoon. "Anyway, I don't think any of us actually knows what is going on. I'm pretty sure we thought we were mentoring someone...? Are we in the... uh, wrong room?"
But Wen didn't, for even a minute, think they were in the wrong room. He knew, like he knew his name, that he wasn't in the wrong room. After all, Acaelus had walked in, taken in the sight of five other agents, and treated it like it was procedural. Like this was exactly what he expected to see. 'Man, I probably can't take a rain check on this...'
Gear was happy to see the new girl , and the entrance of Acaelus Trusz Muir because it allowed him to get away from the awkward stares of Alarick. He never formally apologized for making the mistake of that night two years ago. Besides that, he was glad to hear that Maalik was part of this little entourage. They were in school together and became great friends, sparring partners and eventually drinking buddies.
Gear looked to the new girl, Kanon, after Acaelus had finished his speech. "my name is Kyle Alan Gear. I do mostly reconaissance and intellegence gathering. You are very well known, Agent Trusz Muir, and I'm honored to meet you." he said in reply to Wen's comments, with a curt nod. "I am also interested in helping Agent Trusz Muir and Agent Maalik train you and your fellow graduate."
Around an hour ago, Skylar Quilliam was still struggling to find her uniform. She put it in a random place right after her graduation, not paying much attention to it. The uniform thus ended up somewhere buried by her stuffs. The idea of still having to wear a uniform did not please her much; however she would not make any issue about it like a school brat. Not bothering to clean the big fuss she had made in her room, Skylar swiftly got changed and slid her feet into the ankle boots. Banging the door behind her, the fresh graduate made her way to the agency.
Just. In. Time. The redhead turned the doorknob without any hesitation.
There were already six persons in the conference room. Most of them were male, with only one female… Wait, she is a rookie too? Skylar spotted the teal pigtails in front of her. It was not difficult to recognise that girl. She had seen – if not ‘met’ – her before in the academy but never really talked to her. All she knew was, the teal-haired – What’s her name again? – had been at the tip top of the class rather constantly.
Meeting the gazes of the other agents, “Good morning. I’m Skylar Quilliam, a new trainee here,” the red-haired casually gave her name out. Self-introduction had never been her thing so she had better keep it simple and short. With a blank, unreadable face, her mahogany eyes scanned the rest of the crowd in the room, wondering who would be her mentor in the coming year.
accessdeniedThe first to greet Kanon was one named Locke. He seemed fairly pleasant, greeting her using the words,'Miss Kanon' as a greeting. Looking the male over, Kanon found that he appeared around her own age, and the only thing that really stood out about him was the color of his hair.
accessdeniedBefore Kanon could respond properly, the rather eager looking blonde came up to her, clasping her hand in his own. His demeanor seemed professional enough, though Kanon wasn't one for physical contact. It was impressive that Wen was a descendant of the highly skilled Song, but was his skill on par with his ancestor? Kanon arched an eyebrow, wondering about this. It was then that she'd heard his question, "Well, in my spare time-" She was interuppted by the arrival of another person- this time, someone that Kanon recognized. Acaelus Truz Muir, a man known well throughout Sidereus because of his great skill. Immediately the female straightened up, wanting to make a good first impression.
accessdeniedThe next male that greeted her was one with jet black hair. He struck Kanon as a silent and serious person, sort of like herself. She gave him a nod in acknowledgement, "It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance."
accessdeniedJust then, the door opened once more, and another redhead walked in. Kanon felt as though she'd seen this girl before; perhaps they had passed each other in the hallways before? Hearing the girl, Skylar, speak, Kanon gathered that she was also a rookie. "Hello," she greeted.
Alarick cradled Locke’s hand in his own, and scribbled his number down on the other’s flesh. He also wrote his name underneath it so the redhead wouldn’t have a lapse in judgment and forget who he was calling and why he was. There was nothing unabashed about making it quite obvious this was for drinks and night of heated passion on someone’s couch- preferably Alarick’s considering he didn’t live in the dorms. The man was far from commitment as much as he seemed to be somewhat settled in the regards that his husband wasn’t coming back to him. There was a stark difference between love and lust, and mayhap he should have learned some time ago the difference.
With that he returned Locke’s hand to him, and pocketed his pen. It seemed as if the redhead’s attention had fired elsewhere- as the room became suddenly less spacious.
Alarick resumed a somewhat demure posture. While he was openly gay- he very rarely ever just flaunted it out for the world to see. There was something to be said for professionalism, and he was assured that neither Locke nor Wen would call him on it (in truth Wen would have no ground whatsoever).
Finally a new recruit entered, but the ratio still seemed stifling. Yet before Alarick could make introductions Wen snapped her up faster than a drowning person inhales air. It wasn’t as if this was a competition, but it seemed like the blonde was heavily in need of female attraction lest he wilt away like the delicate flower he was.
And then there was Acaelus.
While Alarick wasn’t personally acquainted with the man he was very much so knowledgeable of him. He was a ‘superstar’ of Sidereus. Not only was he from lineage- he actually lived up to it. And it didn’t particularly hurt anything that he had a masculine swagger that made all the women- including Alarick- drool at the thought of bedding him once. While the dark haired male was almost always the dominant figure in his relationships he would gladly switch roles for the other.
It was then Acaleus passed him, and he got a nice look at his rear in those pants.
Gladly.
Yet Alarick’s perverted thoughts were derailed as the meeting seemed to start even though they were apparently short one recruit- and Agent Maalik. That was another name that rang bells but produced no face. So not only was the Pulvis Agent to be shown the man that had ruined his life, but he was also to be given every single member that had had the time and the missions given to them to go up in rank. It was no surprise that Alarick was still B-1, and had he not been injured in battle would have easily of been a B-3. Who knows maybe he would have made history and skirted into the ‘A’ rank. While he didn’t think that was feasible- he honestly would never know.
Finally their other recruit showed herself, and Alarick sighed somewhat audibly. While Kanon- that was her name right- seemed to be shined and buffed for this engagement Skylar was not. He had an odd feeling that he would be roped in with this girl no matter how much he protested. “Pleasure to meet you both Miss Masami and Miss Quilliam. I am Alarick Reindhart. I would stand, but let’s not provoke fate.” He stated in a warm tone before turning his attention back to the center of the room. His curiosity was piqued- he wanted to know why they were here.
“I assure you, Agent Song,” Acaelus shot the man a slim glare and chose to ignore the stab of sarcasm. To a point, “I am no celebrity. I am just another Agent. As you are just another Agent, dedicated to upholding the strength and integrity of Halcyon and it's citizens alike.
“I won't be having a cock fight with you or any of the others in this room.” Acaelus confirmed in a sharp tone and walked to one of the clear tables in the center of the room, removing his attention from the man Acaelus slipped into a seat, but kept the intent in his voice clear as he folded his gloved hands in his lap. “We're all here for one reason. And one reason alone. To instruct these graduates, to help them gain the greatest knowledge and experience they can be offered on their road to becoming full-fledged Agents. Unless I was informed incorrectly, you are meant to be a great Agent.” Acaelus glanced up from the tables sleek surface and gave the blonde-haired man a greatly unimpressed look. “Now if you please. I would appreciate it if you were to zip up your trousers, sit down and act like the professional you are. Or shall I put in a request for an exchange?”
“The honour is mine. Agent Gear.” Not bothering to acknowledge a response from Wen, Acaelus addressed the man with navy-blue hair with a nod and a reassuring tilt of his lips. Glad that at least one of the fully qualified Agents present had the grace to show some professionalism in the presence of fresh blood.
That was when his bright gaze took to the rest of the group that had bothered to arrive on time (Acaelus was going to have a few words with Maalick about tardiness). The two girls, Miss Masami and Miss Quilliam, both doe-eyed and innocent in their youth—within Acaelus' eyes at least—; anxious to please and willing to do almost anything necessary to impress.
Acaelus had done his homework on each of them individually and they appeared to be frighteningly different. One seemed to be filled with a vicious rage which was only further fuelled by her degree. The other seemed much calmer and stable in her demeanour.
Acaelus wondered which one would ultimately excel in their first year.
The other Agents held his attention for the slim number of seconds it took each one to speak individually and he quickly realized his mistake by speaking about the opening of the meeting. They were now expecting him to continue the session. He glanced to the clock once again breathed in quickly before exhaling sharply. There was no time to wait for Maalick, Acaelus decided. The other Agent knew the terms of the meeting, and Acaelus was confident that the man was capable of catching up without much instruction.
“Agent Song was correct to assume that you four would be mentoring. Alongside myself and Agent Maalick, as I have already explained.” Without an announcement, Acaelus took up a commanding tone, one built into perfection over the past decade—since his very first leading position on a mission—and demanded attention. “We will be split into nontraditional four-man cells. Each graduate will be placed under the guidance of three mentors instead of the customary one person guidance.” Acaelus brought his gaze to the only females in the room and gave them a crooked grin. “Congratulations ladies. I would like to welcome you to the first year of your induction into the Sidereus Agency.”
Skylar nodded slightly at Kanon’s short greeting. It felt awkward, since she could recognise her face yet had no idea what her name was. She was less than concerned about it though. After all, the two schoolmates were a far cry from each other; there was no way pretending to be old buddies or whatever. Getting along with someone obsessed with studying – she personally assumed the teal-haired was – was neither easy nor appealing to her.
The redhead then turned to the man who spoke up. “Nice to meet you,” she responded almost automatically as a sign of respect – the man was senior to her without a doubt. Alarick Reinhart was quite different from the other present agents. His face was half-scarred, his right eye damaged. Judging from what he said, he was also crippled. Skylar slightly arched an eyebrow.
How can someone that can’t even stand well be a frontline agent? Before the reckless one could raise her question – which she had better not ask, Acaelus’s stern comment on Agent Song’s behaviour stopped her. Her attention then switched to the most respected man among the folk, who held the air of an authoritative figure as he spoke.
Then something boggled her mind. “Three mentors?” the redhead scowled subconsciously as she sought to reconfirm what she heard. Having to deal with one supervisor – if he happened to be a tough one – could already be a taxing task, not to mention three. The new frame of the one-year evaluation sent her a slight headache. Skylar knew she had no choice nevertheless, given that she was determined to achieve her aim. The only way to be qualified as a Sidereus Agent was to pass the evaluation regardless of how difficult it might be.
"Everyone's already sucking up. Please, why don't you guys just take the D in your mouth already?"
But Wen, rather smartly, kept that particular opinion to himself. And instead of taking the bait, Wen just leaned back into his seat and smiled—rigid professionalism. He may not have liked the other man, but he wasn't dumb enough to start a fight. After all, Wen, perhaps better than anyone else, knew the vastness standing between them.
The inescapable depth of difference.
But, following the lead of the redhead—Skylar, was it?—Wen chimed in, knitting his neatly shaped brows into mild, but reserved confusion. "Yeah, why three mentors per graduate? It's not that difficult a task... or is Sidereus suddenly over-employed?" He chuckled, but the color of his eyes were dull with disinterest and disdain.
When he thought that he was "special," Wen was one-hundred percent for the idea. He had been an active agent for a decade and he had a modest, but decent resume to his name. Sure, he wasn't anyone particularly amazing, but he sure wasn't anyone particularly un-amazing. But, of course, life always seemed to find a way to ruin his moments by shoving a giant, over-qualified thing into his business.
"Plus, why would they assign a precious S-Rank agent to... babysitting," he shot an apologetic smile at the two girls and shrugged. "It's really what the mentorship program is—an over-glorified babysitting deal." That was a lie. Wen would have loved to be a mentor, but he wanted to be a mentor without standing in someone else's shadow.
"I was so worried," Maalik whispered shakily, his fingers intertwining tightly with his wife's. Even though his mind was absolved of his panic, his heart was harder to convince. And seeing Helena dressed in the white of a hospital gown, hooked up to a metal machine didn't help to ease his worries. "I thought something happened. I thought, I thought—" He choked and tears gathered at the corner of his eyes, fighting to break past his guard.
He couldn't keep his composure. He could never keep his composure when it came to her.
"It's okay, love. I'm fine now. It was just a little fatigue." She laughed and her laughter was the sound of angels to his ears, the song of every child's smile, and the chime of brightening happiness. "You worry too much, silly bones."
"And you don't worry enough," he sighed, his tone washed with concern. Letting go of her hands, he tapped her scoldingly on the forehead, like a father to a beloved daughter or a child to his favorite pet. "You need to take better care of yourself. I don't want to come back from an assignment and see..."
"Oh, shut up! Nothing is going to happen to me! I'm strong"—she mocked flexed her arms, which were thin and twig-like—"Just a little tired." She smiled and, seeing that, he couldn't help, but grin in return. She was—is—the light of his world, the axis on which he spun. "And don't you patronize me! What about you? Every time you come back, you come back with a new mark or bruise or something!" Her lips pulled into a small pout.
"I'm just worried about you," he whispered as he laid his head on to her lap, his fingers already back where they belong—interlocked with hers.
"I know."
"I love you."
"I love you too." And, for a long, uninterrupted minute, the two of them sat in each other's presence, enjoying the simplicity of the silence until Helena, catching the time, asked, "Mak, don't you have a meeting today? A mentorship?"
"Oh—Oh crap."
He had only twenty minutes to get to the agency and the train ride alone would take thirty—if he was lucky. He wasn't going to make it there unless he suddenly discovered the secrets behind teleportation.
And he sure as hell wasn't going to uncover the secrets of teleportation in twenty minutes.
So, he boarded the train and prayed that, just for today, it would go a little faster and he wouldn't be miserably late to the meeting.
Eighteen minutes.
He was eighteen minutes late and, from the look of things, he was definitely the last one to arrive. Way to make an impression.
Running a hand through his hair, which was a flyaway mess of too-much running and not enough time, Maalik slowed to a stop. He needed a second to compose himself. He needed a second to catch his breath, smooth down his uniform (which was wrinkled and ruffled and in a desperate need of an iron). He needed another ten minutes, really.
But, as things were, he was late and adjustments to his hair, to his clothes, or to anything else was a luxury he just couldn't afford.
Taking a deep breath, the Egyptian, with his shoulders squared and his expression decidedly apologetic, strode into the room. "I'm really sorry for having made everyone wait and for so long too"—He smiled, embarrassed—"The nature of emergencies are, well, rather inconvenient."
Without bothering to grab a seat, Maalik surveyed the faces before him and it didn't take a genius to figure out that Agent Trusz Muir had touched on the topic of the occasion. "Well, I'm sure you guys have already heard—we're going to be mentoring, er, lead mentoring?" He shot the taller agent a questioning glance. Even though he had received the same exact information as Acaelus, Maalik was far less prepared. In fact, he seemed to have questions of his own concerning the developments. "Um, well, we're the official mentors," he amended, scratching the back of his head as he thought back to what Samuel had said. "We'll be the ones writing the evaluations, but, lucky for you two"—he smiled brightly at the redhead and the teal-haired graduates—"you guys will be getting extra help! We'll also, uh, tackle harder missions because of the added numbers."
Right, they were supposedly diving straight into missions instead of spending a month prepping for a low-ranking mission.
"Well, we're supposed to wait here until we are debriefed—um, that's when they come in and tell us about our missions," he explained. His words were more directed at the girls than they were at anyone else. "Let's see, um, you guys all seem to have met already—that's good. It's good to know the people you'll be working with. Helps dynamics, trust, and important things..."
It was becoming, perhaps, painfully clear that Maalik, a genius in combat and a generally bright student, was a rambler and a disorganized speaker. "Okay, okay, so, I don't know if Agent Trusz Muir has said anything, but... I'll be mentoring Miss Skylar Quilliam... uh, with Agent Reindhart and Agent Gear." He nodded to the last member of the group, but his moment of friendliness was brief. "So, that means the rest is with Agent Trusz Muir! You know, it's really a great honor to work with him! He knows a lot so..."
He paused, scratched the back of his head again and, as if lightening had struck him, brightened up entirely. "Ah, I almost forgot! I'm 'Maktub Maalik,' but everyone just calls me 'Maalik.'"
Epitome of disorganized.
Gear was surprised to hear that they would be having a four man cell as opposed to two, but he was used to having odd situations invovling the 1-year evals, his own being cut short and all. he was confused on why they would decide to do this with such a ragtag group of people also, if he had read his reports correctly, both the graduates had done exceptionally well in school and Masami had even graduated at the top of the class. Then there was himself,- an agent who basically only did recon assignments unless otherwise ordered to,- Alarick- who had trouble walking becuase of a mistake Gear made two years ago and had until now be restrained to desk duty,- Wen- who, as a matter of fact, was a surprise to many people by how mediocre he was as compared to his lineage,- and Locke Narrin, an agent that Gear really didn't know much about except that he was B-3 and an Accendo synergist. Then there was Maalik and Trusz Muir, who were both very high raking and esteemed. It did surprise Gear that Trusz Muir was a mentor, because he was S-1, and therefore it is generally assumed that they he would not be a mentor, because as Wen had said, mentoring is an "overglorified babysitting deal", isn't completely untrue. While it deserves the respect it is given, most people are already trained before their one year so a mentor basically only observes their abilities over the course of a year.
Then there was the two graduates, Skylar and Masami, who Gear assumed were Accendo and Imber synergist, respectfully, due to their hair colors. it was never a sure fire thing, but many people's hair color and degree were connected, as it was for quite a few peopl in the room.
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When Maalik entered Gear Lightened up a bit, but not so much asto be unprofessional. When he heard about the arrangment, that he would be working with Alarick- much to his dispair- Maalik and young Skylar, he nodded, welcoming the challenge of working with a younger mind, because as a matter of numbers, no one in this room was terribly older than anyone else. It wold be interesting nevertheless.
Locke had turned in his seat after his hand was returned to him to watch the interaction of the people who had come in. Another recruit, a redhead much like himself, an S1 agent who had a rather frightening presence and a man who had burst in rather late. The last one had the presence of a caffeinated squirrel, babbling and going on about silly things with a sense of intelligence. It was a silly sight, but Locke held in his smile.
"So, that means the rest is with Agent Trusz Muir! You know, it's really a great honor to work with him! He knows a lot so..."
Huh. This'll prove to be an interesting group. Locke thought, slightly amused. He was stuck with Mr.I'm an S1, But I Am Normal Agent Too, Gods Gift to Humanity and lil' Miss Newbie. It was about here when he spoke up to his group.
"I look forward to working with all of you." he said, bowing his head lightly. Another polite answer today? Damn! I'm doing good.
accessdeniedKanon had barely begun to adjust to the amount of people around her, when the fact that she would be trained in a four man cell became clear to her. Her mind was instantly flooded by a train of thoughts. Three people would be working with her? It could be a good or a bad thing...On one hand, if all the mentors were hardworking and fairly able to handle themselves, Kanon would be totally fine with the situation. On the other hand, if they were chaotic and foolish agents, then Kanon would have a problem with it.
accessdeniedIt was then that a caramel skinned male strode into the room, surrounded by a rather laid back aura. Kanon nodded acknowledgement to him, and listened quietly to what he had to say. Though it was voiced in a disorganized fashion, the point still got across. Kanon would be paired with three others in order to jump into the hang of things with more ease. Since the redhead rookie was to be paired with agents Gear, Reindhart, and the just arrived Maalik, Kanon was to be assigned with Locke, Wen, and Acaelus. An audible sigh echoed from her lips; Kanon could stand being paired with Locke and Acaulus, but considering the rather braggadocios personality that Wen had previously exhibited, Kanon couldn't say she was particularly pleased.
accessdeniedAh, well. I'll live, she thought to herself, It won't be too bad... She then directed her attention to Maalik, "Pleased to meet your acquaintance."
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