ʜᴀʟ ❖ ᴄʏᴏn

On any other occasion and context, the blond would have loved to share an empty room with Kanon. But, today, the blond found himself unamused with the opportunity. And, at her words, his body stiffened slightly, tensing in objection to her tone.

"Oh, worried about me?" He flashed her a smile, but his fingers stayed clenched beneath the table. "My neck is feeling a little tight"—he paused for effect, but the way his eyes were focused on Kanon said he didn't need the time to think—"and can probably use a good massage."

The thing about Wen—the thing that people should know about Wen—is he isn't someone who wears his heart on his sleeves, he doesn't let his emotions run unfiltered on his face. Even when people say he's honest—happy and free—it's all a defensive response. He's smiling because it's easier to smile than to explain. He's friendly because it's easier to joke around than it is to own up to reality. And he's laissez-faire about serious issues because it's easier to walk away from failures than to admit he can't do better.

After all, the less people know, the better he could protect himself.

So, at the moment, even though Wen didn't want the other girl in the room (or at least not when they were the only two in the room), he would rather die than let her know his real feelings.

That and he really did want a date or something similar out of this.

He seemed more on the edge than the usual laid back Wen that Kanon had interacted with before. She raised an eyebrow; perhaps the way that she'd approached him was a little too direct or something. Kanon had been told that once, that she was hard to talk with. Apparently, she had a tendency to interact with others in a way that put them off. This was not Kanon's fault, it was just that she spent so much time by herself that her social skills were quite...to say the least, they were rather rusty.

The female noticed that she was being talked to once more, and opened her mouth to answer, "Is it a bad thing to have concern for someone that I am working with?" she replied, "Though I wouldn't use that particular word 'worried' to describe what I am thinking of you right now."

After all, worried is a word used to describe the concern of a person with an emotional attachment to the other, and as of the moment, Kanon was merely treating him like a colleague from work or something of the sort.

"Hm? A massage?" she asked, "I don't think a massage will make the pain go away."

Another meeting. Another mission. In Alarick’s opinion it was far too soon to plunge themselves into danger once again to mentor a new recruit… and yet… he knew exactly why it was happening. What went wrong with their mission was that ‘Riley’ and his manipulation of gravity seemed skewed. Powerful synergists existed outside of Halcyon- sure- but they were usually in their pockets just deeper than those in Sidereus. This posed many questions: were there more? How did they get this powerful? Were they organized? And yet the one that tickled Agent Reindhart’s brain the most was: who was the blonde that stopped Riley?

Yet a lot had happened between then and now- most of it having been his hospital time and the time he had spent nearly comatose from exhaustion. They had never returned his glasses- not that he was really surprised, and he had had to purchase some new ones (of course without the little toys that had made the others so invaluable). Alarick’s hair had gotten a bit longer and he was just taking to rubbing a bit of pomade in it and pushing it away from his face- if he had not been so scarred it would have brought out his strong chin and noble eyes. He had also lost his cane as it had inevitably been buried underneath some rubble, and so Alarick was forced to walk without it until he could purchase another one. It was surprising how well he could balance himself without that piece of wood and metal- the hitch in his knee barely visible.
Maybe that was all he had needed was another mission to start to revive him back to his previous state. Still it wouldn’t bring James back. It wouldn’t revive those two years that he had spent behind a desk. He would never be the B-3 he had had destined himself to be.

No matter how much Alarick swallowed the pain and self-loathing it was still there- festering in his heart.

When he entered the meeting room he found his digits jerk and then bury themselves in his palms. There was Wen, and Agent Masami- but that was it. He had caught the fleeting end of their conversation- something about ‘a massage’. Alarick jerked a hard right and found a seat away from the two, and plopped down in the chair before rescuing his cellphone from the depths of his jacket pocket. There wasn’t much to do on here beyond play a game or two- but he anything that kept him from thinking about Wen.
That hot kiss
Those pleading eyes.
No. Now was not the time for that.
For the first time in a while he wished Agent Trusz Muir would arrive.

"I hate this uniform." Locke mumbled as he was readjusting the buttons on the jacket. The alarm had went off and when he turned it off, he had walked back over to his bed and fell back asleep for another twenty minutes. This left him with only 5 minutes to get dressed, and out the door. Unfortunantly, it wasn't until he had gotten to the building that he realized that his uniform was on the way it was.

He turned and walked into the room, going through it without looking up. The short distance between the door and the nearest chair was quickly journeyed, and Locke ended up bumping into it. While the red head was fine, the chair had fallen over, leaving Locke the winner of the short fight. He brought his attention from his jacket long enough to pick up the chair and then walk over to Alarick, stopping at the chair next to the scarred man.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked.

"I don't think a massage will make the pain go away."

"Oh? I don't think a massage will make anything go away either," he winked, playful.

It was then that the door opened and they were joined by Alarick Reindhart. For a moment, the blond let his attention linger on the brunette, paused by a memory he couldn't summon. He didn't know why he had woken up in the hospital, back aching from having slept wrong, and without his pants. He could, however, figure out where the splitting headache had come from.

"Hey, did I visit you last week? Was I wearing any pants?"

But those questions never made it past his lips, never breathed a sound. Instead, Wen watched as the man took a distant seat and, without a word to anyone, occupied himself with his phone. Arching a brow at the odd routine, Wen saved his thoughts for later. He could always ask the other man privately and, with a second's consideration, it might be better to ask in private.

Letting his attention return to Kanon and ignoring Locke's arrival, Wen, in the same playful, light-hearted demeanor asked: Not worried? Then how about being interested in having dinner with me? Seven? Olivia's?

Alarick glanced up from some game that involved him matching a set of three to four similar colors. It was mindless, but honestly that was the best sort of game. His eyes glanced over Locke and was surprised that the man would take a seat next to him when there were numerous just loitering about. He pondered if the red-head ever would have considered going out with him or if they had just failed at having enough time to make a proper proposition.

“Of course I don’t,” Alarick offered the best smile he could muster. “I’m far from the Chair Police. So how are you Agent Narrin? Your mission fare any better than ours? I figure you heard all about it.” Of course the stories skewed from person to person, but the core subject matter was all the same. “More so you don’t look worse for wear. Better than myself- I suppose.” He stated as he lifted his still bandaged arm- it was healed but still a bit tender in places. “You’re definitely not any less handsome.”

He pulled the chair back and sat down, crossing one leg over the other.

"Ah, thank you. I have to admit that you don't look all too bad yourself." he smiled. "I'm doing fine, and yourself, Agent Reindhart?" Being the polite man he was, he couldn't simply not greet someone he had known, even if he was more interested in what had come before it.

"My mission went well, I suppose. I don't, however, have any clue about how your mission went. I've spent the last week cooped up in my room to meet the deadline for my second rough draft of my book." He winced slightly at the memory of his editor catching wind of the fact that he had a week off to recover. The small woman seemed to have stopped at nothing, not even a door, to get him to finish writing.

"But, I'm rather intrigued. Care to share what the rumor mill is spreading around?" He tilted his head off to the side, piqued eyebrows hidden under a wave of red bangs.

Kanon's eyes shifted towards the newer arrivals in the room. The man named Alarick, and her redhead coworker, Locke.

She gave both a small greeting with a slight dip of her head, and turned her attention back towards Wen, who was saying something about dinner.

"Not worried? Then how about being interested in having dinner with me? Seven? Olivia's? "

Once again, the female raised an eyebrow, "Do you mean a business meeting?"

As usual, work was on Kanon's mind. She really couldn't see any other way this dinner was presented to be, and so, she made up her mind.

"Well, I suppose I could...I don't have anything to do tonight anyways."

Besides training. But she could squeeze that in.

Flatterer, Alarick mused and yet he didn’t turn away the attention. “I’m fine for now- been a little worse for wear a week or so ago.” He leaned back at that comment, and then hesitated as Locke began speaking about his book. That caused his well form brow to rise slowly. Really now- the handsome red-head was a writer? That brought a multitude of questions to his lips, but they were silenced by Locke’s question.

“Ah- well- a gravity wielding Sabulum user that managed to take out Agent Maalik a bit too easily. Though to be honest if he hadn’t of called all the attention to himself- Agent Quilliam, Agent Gear, and I would have probably suffered a lot more than we had.” With that he paused, “I’m sure it’ll be something along the lines of that- some stories are a bit more exaggerated than others.”
A hand came to his locks and he ran through them slowly.
“Though as surprising as this news is- I’m a bit interested in this book you are writing. Quite full of surprises you are Locke.”

"Do you mean a business meeting?"

Huh?

"Well, I suppose I could... I don't have anything to do tonight anyways."

The blond waved away the first comment and, instead, zeroed in on the "yes." Leaning back into his seat, the blond smiled, his expression having lost all of its earlier harshness. "Great, I'll come pick you up tonight."

Fixing his hair a little, the blond reached for his phone, the device a slim black design. "Let's exchange numbers, so I can contact you tonight."

Date and number? Perfect.

"Oh? Gravity?" Ew, Sabulum synergist. Despite his dislike of Sabulum synergists, he made a soft sound that made him seem impressed by the idea working with gravity. Then the conversation took a careening u-turn back towards the book he was writing. He shrugged lightly with a light grin on his face. He did indeed love talking about his book; it was almost the same way a father would talk about how his child made honor roll.

"Every man has their habits. Mine just so happens to include the writing of modern fantasy." He seemed to grow cocky at this, a proud lop-sided smirk played on his lips as he spoke. He started sitting up straighter and almost on the edge of his seat, eager to answer any questions thrown at him.

Kanon nodded, "I look forward to it," she replied.

She noticed Locke and Alarick talking about the recent events out of the corner of her eye, but didn't pay heed to it, her attention focused on Wen at the moment.

He'd asked for her phone number. Kanon's hand slipped into her pocket and pulled out a thin white device, "I suppose I could give my number to you," she replied, "Enter yours in mine, and I'll do the same for your phone."

With that, she handed the device over to Wen.

Taking her phone, Wen, with a speed that spoke practice and familiarity, entered his number and name.

It's Wen-honey calling! Dokidoki!!

Grinning at his juvenile antics, Wen saved the contact and, before handing the phone back to Kanon, pressed "call." Within seconds, the black device lit up, its screen fading to reveal a picture of the blond, an older woman with platinum blond hair and sharp, green eyes—the same as Wen's. She was barely smiling, her lips raising only slightly at the corners while Wen showed teeth and dimples. Refreshing and refined, two distinctly different people.

Hanging up on the call, Wen returned Kanon's phone to her. "I'm looking forward to tonight. So... what kind of things do you like to do during your free time? Movies? Shopping?"

‘Everyman has his habits,’ there was nary a more true sentiment told than that. Alarick nodded his head at the thought, and allowed himself to become introspective for a moment. He attempted to think of what his ‘habit’ was, and found countless things that he did in that time between work and missions. His life was filled with whatever he wished it to be now- and yet no matter how busy it was he failed to have a singular habit that stood out amongst the rest to define him so quirkily.

“Modern fantasy?” He probed. “Is being a synergist not fantasy enough? Well I suppose we do lack the air of true fantasy- no prophecies, old women in houses in the middle of the woods, or unicorns. Hm- does modern fantasy even have that? I think I might be getting things a bit confused. So- ah- why don’t you tell me what your book about Locke.”

Kanon noted the image that lit up on his phone was of a woman who looked somewhat like Wen. His mother?

What kind of things did she like to do? Kanon thought for a moment, debating on whether or not she was going to go in full depth with her training schedule, or if she would scare him off.

"I don't really 'like' anything," she replied, "I just train."

"I don't really 'like' anything. I just train."

For a split-second, Wen had neither words nor expressions. His stare turned blank and silence hung from his breath. For a fraction of a second, the blond was struck with a sliver of familiarity.

But the reaction was only a slice of a second and then it was gone. His eyebrow arched with question and his voice found strength to speak. "Training, huh? Why the drive?

"Because I can imagine a dozen different things that suit you better."

For instance, being in his bed would top the list. Yeah, second only to a date with chocolate, strawberries, and just enough champagne to make the mess seem worthwhile.

It had been a week since the previous mission. Since she was not the type that would gloom about past incidents, Skylar did not have a hard time recovering – or in her case, resting. Instead of idling the break away, the redhead had gone jogging and done some other sorts of exercise every day. Her injuries were minimal anyway. Occasionally, she would ask about the health condition of her assigned supervisor. However when the others saw her poker face, they assumed she was not really keen about the matter and simply threw some vague and short descriptions to her.

On the day of the meeting, she made her way to a conference room with her earphones on. As expected, she would not be the first one to arrive. Skylar immediately spotted Alarick, who was in her team for the previous mission. “Hi,” the girl greeted with a straight face. Eying the present persons, she could vaguely recognise the faces. The blond looked as… Smiley as before and Kanon still had her cool face on. Another redhead in the room was chatting with the scarred agent, seeming rather relaxed. The odd-one-out then quietly took a seat near the windows, yet making sure she was at least a seat away from the blond flirt, who was obviously trying to hit on the blunt teal-haired.

Argh… The conference had better start and end soon… She scrolled the screen of her music player and yawned.

"Training, huh? Why the drive? Because I can imagine a dozen different things that suit you better."

As soon as those words were spoken, Kanon stiffened, her mind shifting to he man that was sitting in his room, hooked up to all different models of virtual reality receptors, never leaving, not even for food. The man who had everything, and now could only sustain himself with the promise of a fake future. The man who was her father.

However, this lasted only a few seconds, and she snapped herself back into reality.

Kanon's face reverted back to its normal stone cold expression, "It's...no reason in particular," she replied, choosing her words carefully, "I just want to remain dedicated to my work is all."

Locke laughed, shaking his head. "No, by all means, being a synergist is reality. Honestly, a little bit too harsh a reality." He sighed, taking a moment to allow a bit of serious come back into the moment.

"Actually, there is a unicorn or two in there. Anyway, book's about a detective, Nikolai Johnson, who is able to see those mythical creatures that walk about regular cities without being noticed. These creatures are much like the imaginary friends of children and the boogey-men that hide under beds and cause nightmares. Such creatures know when they are sensed and flock to those who can see them, causing some humans to seem schizophrenic." Locke took in a deep breath. "In Nikolai's case, due to the fact that he is an extreme introvert and really avoids people, he is able to hear out the stories told, and is able to use them to help him solve cases."

He brushed his bangs away from his eyes before placing his hand on his knee. This was when he would usually be thoroughly judged. This made the red head slightly nervous at what the other would think, since the topic he wrote on was a rather odd one.

Alarick tilted his head a bit to the side as he listened to Locke. It was a quirky plot, but feasibly interesting. It might be noted that he may have found this amusing because he wanted to crawl into Locke’s pants and not see daylight for a week. “I like it,” Alarick stated quite firmly. “It seems whimsical and intriguing. Everything that seems to be published nowadays is too deep and somber for my tastes- or filled with romantic vampires. I hate that that fad rolls by every hundred years or so.” He found himself rambling and veered the conversation back towards him and the red head. “But no- I would like to know more about this- how this Nikolai character develops. Think I could read it sometime or is that a bit too hush-hush?” He prodded further- “maybe this evening if you are free?”

"Oh?" He leaned forward, resting his chin in the hand that was once on his knee. He sincerely thought for a while, trying to remember if he was doing something tonight. Start working on editing the second chapter, like planned... Eh. I can do that later.

"It appears not." He pulled his face from his hand and went back to sitting as he was only moments ago. "I think I have a bottle of bourbon somewhere on the top shelf, since it appears that I still owe you a drink. So, maybe you could come over to my place? Unless you'd rather meet somewhere else of course." He shrugged, trying to act as calmly as he could.

Holy freaking shit, did I just do what I think I did? Locke rarely invited people to his apartment. Very rarely. After uttering those words and if Alarick accepted, he knew that as soon as he got out of this place and home that he would have to do a massive amount of cleaning and shoving things into closets. The idea of actually having to clean made Locke rather sick to his stomach. Sure, the man was a well organized one, but he didn't spend too much time actually interacting with his apartment over the week, and his kitchen and room and living room was honestly in no shape to have people over. It was a terrible habit of his, and he knew that one day, if his career as an agent didn't kill him, that that habit would be the very death of him.

Gear woke up early. Extremely early. He didn't at his clock, but the sun wasn't even up yet. The meeting wasn't for a few hours and no shops were open so he decided to walk for a bit. He couldn't go to the hospital to see Maalik. No one was allowed. He would be surprised if they even let Helena in and they were coming up on their ten year. It was insane. No one could get in unless they were helping with whatever surgeries they were performing. As far as he knew Maalik was doing better each day, but he was still critical. And was only from a few moments of gravity manipulation put on to him. If Riley had survived another ten seconds, Gear probably would've had to bury his best friend. At it would've been his fault. Again.

___________________________________________


Gear arrived at the meeting early. He walked in, said a quick hello to the rest of the group then retreated to the shadows of the corner of the room and fiddled with the shadows at his feet aimlessly- unknowingly replaying the battle in miniature. He developed the capability while he was still in the Academy. He usually didn't intend to do it though. It most happened when he wasn't paying attention- so rarely.

He felt awkward, with his left arm cradled and stiff, in a mesh cast stuck to his bruised side, it left him feeling off balance, and frankly: useless. It was only a bullet wound after all, why had they found the need to incapacitate him further? So, he found himself the morning of the meeting, working his way through the vast hallways of the Agency's headquarters with a grimace of annoyance etched into his features.

They had given his recovery a week and a half and no matter how much he had griped and insisted that he would be fine within a week, they had urged 'their star Agent needed to be at his best'.

Their star... What a joke. Acaelus thought, as he pushed his way past a pair of stationed guards outside the hallway to the Conference rooms. He needlessly flashed his ID and let out a heavy sigh when their eyes stayed stuck in the same direction, saluted him blindly as if he was the Chancellor herself, and stood up just a little bit taller as they opened the door ahead of him to see him through.

Acaelus walked into the already full room and rolled his shoulders back, his left shoulder aching ever-so-slightly with the motion, which he ignored in favour of saying a small 'good morning' to each of the rooms occupants before he made his way to Kanon's side. The teal-haired girl was speaking with Wen, as Acaelus approached and he breathed in a deep breath, saying a greeting to Wen as well.

Acaelus may have dragged him to safety, taken a bullet for him, and saved him from being torn from limb to limb from Hyde's wind, but that didn't—in any way—mean he liked him. Tolerated him. Acaelus tolerated Wen. And would not stand letting another one of his agents die during a mission. Ever again.

Turning his attention from Wen, he clapped his free hand on Kanon's shoulder and crooked his lips into a small smile, “I didn't have a chance to say,” he started, “I was very impressed with you and how you held yourself during your first field mission.”

"Well, don't burn yourself out," Wen admonished as he reached over and, very gently, flicked the teal-haired girl on the forehead. "Someone as pretty as yourself shouldn't have eyes that old."

He smiled at her, his expression soft at the edges and kind in the lines. "You're only young once, you know?"

But his smile faltered when Acaelus walked in. Underneath the table, Wen's fingers clenched into a fist again, tightening so much that his knuckles had turned white. Part of him wanted to frown—cross his arms and refuse the man any attention. Another part of him wanted to look away, shamed at how he had been during the mission. But refusing to be the "child," Wen returned the greeting—smile, how are you, and thanks for the help.

He may not have been the best agent the agency has ever seen, but he sure as hell wasn't going to lose his cool with this man.

"So, captain, what's new today? That cast doesn't look too good on you, by the way." Wen rested his chin on interlocked fingers as he spoke, his eyes following Acaelus's movement with a certain kind of coldness.

Try as hard as Wen did, some feelings were harder to repress than others.

At hearing Acaelus's compliment, Kanon's heart was filled with relief. She'd thought that she'd acted clumsily and without composure, but the simple phrase made her feel just a little better. "Thank you sir," she said, "I will continue to give a two hundred percent effort to future missions!"

Her mind then wandered to what Wen had said before he flicked her forehead, Don't burn myself out, huh...? she thought to herself, mulling over the words. However, the more she thought about it, the more the thought of her father etched itself into her mind, and Kanon bit her lip. How foolish.

She returned to the conversation at hand, where Wen had approached Acaelus with a question- and a rather snarky comment. How strange it was to know a man who could smile with the brilliance of the sun, but who had eyes that stared with an icy cold gaze at the same time.

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---

NINE DAYS AFTER THE MISSIONS
@ SA HQ ; CAPTAIN'S CORRIDOR

"Are you shitting me?"

He threw the folder back; his attitude openly defiant. "I don't have time for that shit."

"You'll make time then," the redhead hissed; her demeanor equally contrary. "Or do you want to be suspended—indefinitely?"

Where any other normal man would have backed down and grudgingly accepted the assignment, the redhead was recalcitrant to the end, obstinate to the last breath. "Get someone else to do this shit," he bit back, his tone blatantly rude. "Or are you seriously telling me that you don't have anyone else?

"Because that's fucking bullshit."

"I'm saying that I want you to do this."

She could feel a headache growing in the front of her brain, but she resisted the urge to reach over and strangle the redhead. She knew, even before she saw his face, that he was going to be difficult. He was always difficult. If he wasn't bypassing protocols, he was destroying unit cohesion. He was always getting written up by so-and-so for this-and-that. He was the worst kind of agent: naturally talented and arrogant enough to be aware of it.

"When did you become such an ass?"

"I grew up."

---

0838 / 8:38AM
@ SA HQ ; LOBBY

He walked into the building dressed in a simple, fitted black shirt and matching basketball shorts that reached the balls of his knees. Sweat crawled along the lines of his face and down the sides of his neck.

In a room where everyone else was official in their appearances—freshly pressed uniforms, clean-cut looks—the redhead, with his wild bed-hair and too-casual attire, stood out like a sore thumb. He didn't belong in the overly polished setting.

He belonged on a street-court.

"Sir, this is a restricted area."

The redhead, paused by the outstretched arm, turned his attention to the guard; his lips curling in asymmetrical amusement. "Oh, good. I'll be going home then. Thanks—"

"Aeres!"

At his name, the redhead cringed. "Let him through."

"What good timing."

"I figured you would dip on the meeting," Erin hissed, her expression decidedly displeased. Even her steps were heavy—angry. "Don't forget that I'm the one who decides whether or not your suspension is permanent.

"Now go."

---

PRESENT (0850)
@ SA HQ ; CONFERENCE ROOM A

Erin had watched him enter the room and, with no way to escape, Aeres reluctantly greeted the other agents with a half-hearted, utterly disinterested, "Yo."

Even without say anything, it was obvious: he didn't want to be here.

"So, how does this work? Am I supposed to..." He trailed off as his eyes caught sight of two familiar faces—former classmates, current colleagues. "Acaelus, I heard you were mentoring, but... seriously? What a waste of time." He laughed, but there was nothing inviting or friendly about the gesture.

Alarick smiled somewhat mischievously- ah maybe there was no ‘somewhat’ to it the smile was quite mischievous. “How about eight- sound good?” He offered the time almost in beat with Locke offering him to come over. There was no hesitation on his part, and no sense that he might treat this ‘date’ with a whimsical disregard. “It will give us enough time to get ‘this’ out of our system so we can have a decent chat.” He stated and waved his finger around the room in obvious showmanship that this entire room was- well- quite the romance killer.

Of course about that time the floodgates were released as agents poured in, and the meeting seemed quite possibly on its’ way to start. Alarick blatantly ignored Gear, only offered Acaelus’s rear some acknowledgement, and inevitably settle down on Skylar. “Agent Quilliam, I trust you are well?” He stated with a warm smile.

And then there was a new face. Alarick hesitated as a name was having a hard time formulating in his head. The man was in the class before him- along with Acaelus and Wen- but he couldn’t remember the synergist wholly. “It seems like Agent Maalik has been replaced,” he stated thoughtlessly to both redheads. “Figures- the man needed some rest.” With that he cleared his voice and pulled himself from his chair. “I do believe everyone is here and the meeting can commence- yes?” Usually just the one to sit in the back and let the tides of leadership roll over him- Alarick felt impatient. He wanted to be out of here. Not because he had a date with Locke later, but more so because well- maybe their next mission would shine some light at what happened so terribly wrong with the lasone. He felt like Sidereus was attempting to sweep something under the rug, and he would like to know what.

Alarick had always had the utmost faith in this organization, but he was beginning to question if that faith was well placed.

Oh, goodness. Alarick's smile pretty much rendered Locke rather useless. He was glad that the other man had gotten up and moved away, only because of the pinkish tint of his entire face and the odd little smile that had taken over his expression. He leaned all the way back in his seat, one hand running through his hair and the other placed over his lips and his cheek, trying to hide the blatant show of emotion on his face.

Locke took a moment to himself, attempting to collect his thoughts and make them coherent. He then cleared his throat and allowed himself to notice what was going on around him. Everyone had seemed to be in the room, with the exception of Maalik and the addition of a new guy- another red head. A mean one at that.

Hm. Seems kinda jerkish.

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---

PRESENT (0855)
@ SA HQ ; CONFERENCE ROOM A

"I do believe everyone is here and the meeting can commence—yes?"

"Is this your first debriefing or something?" Aeres cut in; his tone notably ruder than warranted. "So, unless you have the access code for the desk or some shit, sit down. We're not going anywhere until—ah, who was it? Kyle? Kale? Whatever. Until our handler gets here."

Where Maalik had been warm and welcoming with his presence, the redhead was absolutely unapproachable. Everything from his physical stature to his personality reeked of "bad"—of someone who had a bite to back up his bark.

"Ah"—he exhaled, the gesture a show of annoyance and reluctance—"It's so irritating when rookies try to take charge and don't even know what they're doing."

Acaelus acknowledged Kanon's reply with another smile, but it disappeared just a quickly as it was set into the curve of his lips when Wen spoke up. His words having a tilt of coldness that made Acaelus long to roll his eyes at the comment. Acaelus wondered if Wen would be so quick to speak if he knew exactly how Acaelus had received the unwanted accessory.

Acaelus opened his mouth to say something, when his name was spoken, and he quickly snapped his lips shut before he turned to face the new-comer. He would recognize that voice anywhere, he figured.

Acaelus slipped from Kanon's side and folded his arms across his chest as he approached the red-haired man, “Cyril, why in the hell are you here?” Acaelus questioned, his lips defying his facade and twitching into a small crooked smile.

He shook his head at Cyril's remark and breathed in deeply. “Ignore his rudeness, Agents. He can't help it,” Acaelus explained, affection leaking into his voice as he looked over his shoulder at the room and turned back to raise an eyebrow at Cyril, “I'm assuming she's forced you to be here.”