mizuse is collecting hors d’oeruves on a small plate with the paragon hero at her side. with all of this standing around, nerves churning her stomach, and the necessity to consume some calories — she can’t resist. the choices are OVERWHELMING, fingers wiggling in enticement as she reaches for a bruschetta. she brings it to her brims, biting into it with a CRUNCH ! as baz turns to blurt out a vexed question directed towards her. brows raise, gaze shifting from him to the twins across the extravagant ballroom showcasing their injected abilities as she chews. ❛ i mean, they’re usin’ their powers right in front of us. the serum works, ❜ mizuse answers once she swallows and pivots her attention back to baz, using him and his skepticism to freely bounce hypotheses off of. show a not so easily accessible side of the young hero. it wouldn’t be the first time she’d talk his ear off or encourage him to continue a rant. ❛ i wonder if it’s temporary. if they have a weak constitution and weren’t MADE to handle whatever injected power they got, use over time will have a huge side effects on ‘em, ❜ a hum of thought and then a shrug of exposed shoulders. ❛ we’ll just have to see. ❜ sentence ends with another bite to finish off the toasted italian bread.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐒 @ 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐍'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐀 — 𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗡
lightning - fast reflexes catch the water bottle tossed her way as suzume speaks her usual wise and sisterly words ( she can read mizuse like a book no matter how much she has mastered to conceal true feelings ). it makes mizuse sigh — in both annoyance and exhaustion. ❛ i know, i know, ❜ the younger responds as she hoists herself to sit on a crate. ever since the buchanan incident, nsa has been focusing on more training on their heroes, especially the ones they do not put on a pedestal. non - stop training is a constant reminder that mizuse wasn’t fast enough … thinking, reacting, saving. even if mizuse was responsible for rescuing guests from the shattered chandelier and corralling novus citizens out of the museum to escape the frenzied twins, she wasn’t on time to save everyone. at least with suzume, the pressure of being looked down on isn’t as prominent. being in her presence is comforting. like home.
❛ there’s not much i can do right now, anyway. ❜ mizuse adds before taking a sip of water with a shrug of her shoulders. pout clear on visage, she slowly kicks her legs back and forth, optics focused on the ground.
with : @kyllini location : an old warehouse, somewhere in novus date : a few days after the gala
an empty warehouse becomes anything suzu wants it to be, and the environment warps over and over, illusory projectiles fired at mizuse to dodge ( among other unorthodox methods ). it’s a practice exercise tailored just for her, something they haven’t done in a while, between the nsa scooping her up and everything in between. feels like the old days. nostalgia’s not the only reason, though—after that disastrous night, suzu understands wanting to be better, faster, and she figures this will suit the younger better than sitting around doing nothing.
“don’t beat yourself up too much over it,” she says once they stop for a break, tossing a water bottle to mizuse. “you’ll get too in your head that way. focus on what you can do instead, y’know?”
it is all a facade — it’s what five years of training within the nsa and observing her father veil emotions ever since she had met him. mizuse engrossed in conversation with an avid journalist wanting to pick apart a rookie after a shocking revelation; however, the speedster is ALWAYS one step ahead. blasé smile, an occasional sip of her sparking beverage, maintaining eye - contact with the reporter … not revealing a thing. mizuse didn’t know how much longer she could stand here and deal with the interview, hues flickering for anything—anyone—more interesting she could point them out to. after all, she is a newbie to all of this … and the fleet - foot’s patience is starting to wear thin. wings attach to her ankles subtly flutter, concealed by the material of her dress. next thing mizuse notices is her savior, suzu, approach the two of them and the journalist makes a hasty retreat. ❛ me ? nervous ? psh — ❜ mizuse grins with a dismissive wave and a shake of her head. ❛ dad didn’t want to attend. you and i both know he doesn’t like these sort of things, ❜ she answers, knowing the vigilante can see right through her act. grin slightly falters as mizuse steps closer to her, fiddling with silver jewelry wrapped around digits. suzu, adopting the role of big sister, is the source of information, motivation ... reassurance. ❛ … i’m guessing you didn’t hear anything about this. ❜
with : @kyllini location : buchanan’s gala, main room date : january 7, 2040
it’s easy to spot the familiar figure caught in a conversation she doesn’t want to be in. with how fast mizuse is, an escape should be as simple as running away—but the politics of playing nice make that a bit more complicated. suzu knows mizuse can take care of herself, but who would she be if she didn’t help out at least a little?
she cuts in between mizuse and the journalist with a winning smile, leaning in to whisper something that sends them off bolting. the disturbance gone, she turns to mizuse, an ease in her demeanor that comes with being in the presence of the younger woman. “don’t tell me hitsuto actually left you alone to fend off the sharks by yourself,” she teases. “nervous?” not that mizuse looks it—picture perfect and the spitting image of what a hero should be, slipstream is ready to face the crowd. “don’t be. no nsa script could’ve prepared you for this mess.”
the TINGLE of electricity … the static in the air of perhaps a forthcoming lightning strike or really … it’s an adjacent comrade experiencing an anxious chill down her frame. it is a sensation mizuse has felt before since rosie’s debut three months after her own on team sentinel. the speedster immediately flickers her gaze from people - watching—sycophants fawning over buchanan and the serum freak - show twins who just left the stage—to rosie beside her, a slight furrow to her brows. the query is the one mizuse least expected, yet it probably good to talk about ANYTHING else besides what was just revealed. her stomach churns ; emotions concealed more expertly than the adjacent cohort. of course their first formal affair officially being on sentinel has to be an event like this. ❛ an aperol spritz, ❜ mizuse answers, lifting the glass in her hand slightly. ❛ i really just wanted an orange slice, but the bartender wouldn’t let me just have one, so i had him surprise me, ❜ she reveals a beat after, the usual nonchalant smile on glossed brims. even if she could speed behind the counter herself to snatch one, using her abilities in a place like this isn’t a good idea. ❛ do you want to try it ? ❜
𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 › buchanan’s gala. with anyone.
consequence was something rosie thought about a lot these days. or, maybe effect was the better word. the effect of becoming a super was attending events like these. the effect of electricity manipulation was the synapses in your brain dying over time, essentially sentencing you to die in your early sixties. the effect of this? giving abilities to people who’s bodies were never meant to handle them? she shivered, a frown drawn on her face as she patted down strands of hair. oh yeah, the effect of anxiety? electric. she rolled her eyes at nothing in particular and took a sip of her champagne. her therapist taught her what to do to avoid a pr nightmare. distract, distract, distract.
“ what are you drinking? ” she pipes up, eyes on her neighbor. she offered a sweet smile, patting once more at her hair.
optics flicker across the scarred skin of her instructor, observing the way his calloused digits point and gesture towards the arsenal of weapons mizuse definitely has no reason to be in possession of. it’s not like she is a terrible shot. the entire round pierced through the target’s bullseye; however, why would she need to rely on a weapon she can out run ? ❛ tsk — yeah, it would be a bad idea to bring a gun to a fight against ME, sir, ❜ gaze shifts back up towards his visage at the mention of the gala — guilt slamming down her heart into the pits of her stomach. i wasn’t fast enough. the devil-may-care smile falters in the slightest, sensing the mood of the lesson shifting. mizuse sets down the secured weapon she had previously fired back on the table to put her hands on her hips. she notices the glint of specialty knives and daggers, similar to the ones that her father had used during his clandestine career as “ kage. ” let’s not forget the katana that is his prized possession ( mizuse has secretly played around with … hey, her mother did put her in kendo classes ! ). ❛ i know my way around these, ❜ mizuse picks up one of the combat knives, grip secure around the handle, with the edge oriented away from her. as of right now, mizuse does not carry weapons with her while on duty as a sentinel. when she was moonlighting as a vigilante way back when … that’s a different story. ❛ if we’re talking about using ANYTHING in arms’ reach, sir … i suggest there should be, like, more unusual items here. this laying around would be a miracle. ❜
OPEN ! summary training together a week after the buchanan's gala
moments ago, he had instructed them to empty a round into a single metal plate one-thousand meters away. exactly one emptied round later, as the last bullet falls loose from the barrel of their gun, he returns with a bundle in his arms. wayne lays out a cloth spread of weapons on the table. four different guns, three different knives. "put the safety on," he reminds, without looking up, as deft fingers load copper-plated steel bullets into a black fnx-45 tac. glinting off the fluorescents are scratches on the barrel, like someone used this gun to hit something. or someone. in the harsh light, nothing is forgiven—every inch of him shows hard and carved and calloused. casually cut and scarred. along the jutting bone of his left wrist, snaking around his hand then disappearing into his palm, is a line of scar tissue about an inch thick.
and his knuckles are still puffed up and scabbed over from the attack a week before. "alright," he starts. "never bring a gun to a supers' fight and, best case scenario, your target's dead before they know you ever existed," he lists off lessons from their past few sessions as he attaches an omega 45k to the barrel-end of a gun. "but," he pauses. "you were at the gala. or you've heard of it by now..." he holds a sigh in his chest. all of this almost feels silly—something so hopeless about trying to shoot at shadows, preparing to fight an enemy no one can see. but he wants to help, but he's no good at asking so how have you been, and he's even worse at saying the right thing, so this is the best he can do. "you need to know how to fight in any situation, with anything within arm's reach." he nods at the spread of weapons in front of them, cueing them to take their pick. "let me see your grip."
somber hues shift upward to the call for mizuse’s attention, flickering with light from the warmth emanating from her tone. a break. mizuse snorts, but a smile of interest blossoms across her features to paint over the petulant pout that was there before. she never gets a break. it is all of her own doing, anyway. there are ones who DESERVE a break from the constant stress of villany and turmoil than her. ❛ i don’t know … ❜ reluctance in her tone; however, her growling stomach says different. mizuse tries to muffle the sound by crossing toned arms in front of her stomach, but suzume knows the younger is always hungry. especially after training. ❛ i guess i could take a little break, ❜ another shrug of her shoulders, brushing off the sheer excitement of spending time with suzume outside of heroic ( or vigilante ) duties. ❛ as long as i’m back by my stupid curfew ! ❜
suzu hates to admit it, but it’s true. with the way kronos has ushered the twins and the serum back into secrecy, all there’s left to do is to prepare. for her, this means organizing within crux: plans of action and collecting information. for mizuse, this means increased training. both play a waiting game, unable to discern exactly when the next threat will occur—or what it will be. who knows? maybe dante will come back, and they’ll have a whole different set of problems on their hands.
“okay, so, change of plans.” suzu claps her hands. “c’mon, look at me,” she beckons, calling for mizuse’s attention with a smile and warm tone. “we take a break. and i mean it—we all need breaks. you’ll burn out if you don’t take them. we can get lunch at the place near mine, take the rest of the day off. go shopping or something. what do you think?”
mizuse stops right in her tracks at the sound of kiran’s voice echoing down the hall. she pivots to face him with a grin, it continuing to grow across her visage at the sight of a bag of peach - flavored gummies revealed from within his pocket. ❛ oh ! thank you ! ❜ with an elated gasp, mizuse takes the bag from his grasp to admire its packaging. ❛ resorting to bribery to get me to stop for a chat ? ❜ the speedster jests as she flickers her gaze back up to kiran and opens the plastic to snatch a piece of candy and pops one into her mouth. mizuse then laughs as she adds, ❛ i always have time for you, kiran. ❜ she extends her hand holding the bag to offer him a piece.
at nsa headquarters with @kyllini
"mizuse, finally!"
he's a little breathless, having darted down the hall before the speedster could disappear. it still takes a few moments for his breathing to even, but as it does, he extracts one of her favorite snacks from the inside of his suit pocket.
"snagged this for you. got any time to catch up with your favorite trainer?"
𝗥𝗢𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗧 𝗕𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗡'𝗦 𝗡𝗘𝗪 𝗬𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗚𝗔𝗟𝗔 — mizuse sachikaze attended robert buchanan’s new year’s gala on january 7th dressed in a vintage alexandre vauthier couture gown. this was the young hero’s first attendance at a formal event as a member of team sentinel.
hands on hips and glossed brims twisted in a subtle pout, mizuse is finally intercepted by the one person she has been procrastinating on an important visit ( it’s a bit of guilt breaking the latest thing he built ). and of course zayid would go out of his way to find her at a formal event. sepia hues flicker to the device revealed in his palm, interest veiled on her visage by a guilty “ oops ” at his emphasis. mizuse knows exactly the expression painted across his countenance insinuates, and it even ignites a twinkle of her own curiosity. ❛ zayid, i’m in a very expensive dress and heels, ❜ mizuse is definitely not well dressed for a test - run ( nor is she allowed to use her abilities in any way ), but she reaches for the earbud for inspection. she has been so good so far tonight, but good behavior was bound to be put to an end soon. swift hues flicker around for any sort of security guard that may be in earshot of her conversation—or even cameras—as she quietly adds, ❛ … you really want to test this out NOW ? ❜
for: @kyllini. date: january 7, 2040. location: buchanan’s gala.
“had you come to HQ the first time i asked you to, we wouldn’t have to do this today.”
zayid’s tone is laced with impatience, the unusualness of which is further highlighted by the strictness of his voice as he gives mizuse a look that is supposed to tell her he won’t accept no for an answer tonight. when he’s satisfied with her response (or lack thereof) he uncurls his fist to display a suspiciously tiny device—an earbud, to be precise—his earlier demeanor soon replaced by a proud grin as he locks eyes with the young superhero. “i repaired and fine-tuned it after it broke the last time,” he says, stopping only briefly to emphasize the word broke before returning to his previous smile, “it should be able to withstand the cold at high speed now.”
which is to say: we need to go out and test it right now immediately.
and so the little room was lost in sweet disaster. the walls, the ceiling, melted, c̶h̶a̶n̶g̶e̶d̶: instead of plaster an open sky ; and in a noon-day grecian sun, along the 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 yellow sands i saw you RUN. against your feet white buds of foam broke into ᵇˡᵒᵒᵐ. ( o stormy sea that 𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬𝑫 within the little room ! ) your speeding bod gleaned like bronze, most 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍, released from change & time, deathless, improbable. you were a stranger and i could not follow you, so FAST you ran 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 me, so quickly you ᴡɪᴛʜᴅʀᴇᴡ . . .
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