[center][h3][color=cyan]γ€Žπ•Šπ•’π•Ÿπ••π•–π•£γ€[/color][/h3][/center] [center][img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][/center] [center][img]http://i.imgur.com/3R5vYYi.png?2[/img][/center] [hr][center][color=silver]ℂ𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕣𝕒π•₯π•šπ• π•Ÿ ℙ𝕠𝕀π•₯ / / [@RedDusk][@January][/color][/center][hr][hr][center][color=silver]π•Šπ•–π•‘π•₯. 𝟞, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟘 / / π•Œπ•Šπ”Έβ„π•€π•ƒβ„• 𝔼𝕒𝕀π•₯ / / π”Ήπ•¦π•šπ•π••π•šπ•Ÿπ•˜ 𝔻: π”»π•šπ•Ÿπ•šπ•Ÿπ•˜ ℍ𝕒𝕝𝕝 / / ~πŸšπŸ›πŸ˜πŸ˜[/color][/center][hr] At around 2300 on a Sunday evening, the third floor of the dining hall was almost completely empty, save for a single occupant sitting on the leftmost bar stool in the back, quietly sipping a Last Word with mezcal while the refined bartender discussed something with her in hushed tones. Director Zhang had finished her work earlier than expected when Kleinfelder had finalized the transcripts for the arriving USARILN West students. Far less than she had hoped for, and while she knew the man had done it on purpose to spite her--had expected it, even--the sixty or so students he had sent were not only generally useless, but also completely spoiled by the lack of regime at USARILN West. She would not only have to deal with managing them in combat, but also managing their on-site behavior. Problems after problems, but for now those were for another day. Right now, she needed her moment of quiet consolidation before she threw herself back into the logistics of keeping USARILN East on the map. If the surprise attack by Bogeyman had been any indication, the school was now a target for the powerful subnatural. Why? She had a few guesses. None of them pleasant. Worst came to worst, there was always the kill switch. A nuclear warhead fired at the school to prevent any uprisings in the case of the Director's death, or in the case of the Director's consent. Emergency color: black. Hell on earth. She had stopped sipping her drink at the thought, eyes staring blindly at the bottles of liquor on the shelf. Her position as Director afforded her little rest and relaxation. Shunting the bulk of crucial work off to Greten, Kardos, Schur, and Francisco had alleviated some of the management issues, but had only left her with more background paperwork that went into the red tape around Benediction, and the chaos of announcing Menagerie as the culprit for the attack. As expected, the Department of Defense had neither confirmed nor denied the accusation that Menagerie was the attacker, despite Zhang's false insistence that she had seen him with her own eyes. How they would toe that fine line, she'd have to wait and see, but no matter what, she would move forward with her plans. She had simply needed this one small spark. If she wasn't out to kill the damn subnatural, she might have thanked Bogeyman for finally giving her the opportunity to sow the seeds of chaos. [hr] Sander hated seeing red in the mirror. He turned up the heat, letting the steam blur out everything. The hot water was brutal against his pale skin, but he didn’t mind. If anything, the heat was a poor substitution to the one he was losing. However, the oncoming crash was barely a fraction of what he felt days ago. It was just how his power worked; the stronger the high, the steeper the crash. He needed small doses the following days to cushion his fall, or the withdrawal would horrible. It wouldn’t kill him, but most of the times, he wished it would. Regardless, the crisis was averted, for now. Thanks to Christmas and his unusual generosity. Without the withdrawal clouding his mind, Sander finally had a chance to question his roommate’s behaviours. Times and times again, the blond boy extended a helping hand, even when he didn’t have to. Even when it was dangerous. Even when Sander didn’t want him to. For what? The more he thought about it, the more puzzled the whole situation became. So Sander stopped. He didn’t want to think anymore. He would ask, later, when the time was right. For now, he just wanted to rest. However, rest did not come. After a few minutes of relentless turning in his bed, Sander finally gave up. He crawled out of bed and promptly dressed in silent, putting on a simple black top and jeans, before throwing on the blue hoodie. It was the same one with the blood stain on the sleeve, which he hadn’t had time to scrub out yet. The faint scent of coffee nudged at his sense every time he turned his head, though, so he ended up leaving without it. It didn’t matter. A new coat would arrive later this week. He could throw this one out. The cold night air finally let go of him once he stepped into the dining hall. The rush of savoury scents rushed to meet him, though he had to double check whether it was from real food or…not. Thankfully, it was. He figured a late night snack could lure him to sleep, or if that failed, he could head to the bar. Passing out in a public space might not be such a good look, but he needed sleep. It was then he caught sight of a familiar figure sitting by the bar. No guards about, which was rather strange. But it was convenient, all the same. He had questions. Moments later, he was already standing right behind the woman. Walking up to the bar, he placed one hand on the stool next to her and patted lightly, getting her attention. β€œ[color=cyan]May I?[/color]” The Director sighed and turned to see yet another student accosting her during her small moments of rest. She took several seconds to flick through the mental catalogue of names and faces, glad that she had already committed the latest batch of newcomers to memory. Rosa, after all, had insisted on it once she had seen the difference of currents in the sky--or something of that nature. Rosa was generally terrible at describing the abstract and her long-winded attempt to explain her sight had ended in a childish sketch on the back of a report sheet that Zhang would have to reprint later. But it wouldn't do to let the mountain of work overwhelm her now. There would be plenty of time to sigh her soul away and rub her forehead later. [color=f7976a]"Mr. Lorraine,"[/color] she raised an eyebrow and turned back to her drink, the acknowledgment both greeting and permission. As she spoke, her right hand reached into the side holster strapped to the dress shirt beneath her blouse, withdrawing the semi-automatic with the stag horns on it. She placed it neatly next to her drink, draping her hand lightly over the grip, the message clear. She knew. Sander took his seat wordlessly, settling down first before eyeing the racks of bottles behind the bartender. His knowledge of alcohol was hardly extensive, but he knew enough. It would be a few years before he could be drinking legally. Though he wasn’t sure how that law applied to subnaturals. After all, he got away with murder. A few drinks would just be droplets in the ocean. β€œ[color=cyan]You could just taze me.[/color]”- He suggested, watching passively as the Director withdrew her weapon. Out of pure curiosity, he sniffed the air experimentally, switching his ability back on. Citrus, with a sharp undertone of mescal. Fitting. β€“β€œ[color=cyan]Wouldn’t ruin your clothes that way.[/color]” A moment of silence as he paused, turning back to look at the various bottles on the shelf β€“β€œ[color=cyan]Any suggestion? Something strong. I need to sleep.[/color]” [color=f7976a]"Precautions, Mr. Lorraine. You of all people should know the value of safeguards,"[/color] she answered before beckoning Steven towards them. [color=f7976a]"Spirytus for him, Steven. He can take it."[/color] The bartender didn't hesitate, pulling a clear bottle from one of the shelves. The bottle had a green label pasted on the glass, spelling out the words "Spirytus Rektyfikowany." The man poured half a shot glass's worth and placed it in front of Sander. Sander half-smiled as the shot glass was placed in front of him. Of course he knew what it was. He had seen the same bottle sitting on a shelf in his family kitchen years ago. Wrapping pale fingers around the glass, he let the coolness seeped into his skin as he mumbled a β€˜Thank you’ to the bartender. He knew better than to drink though. The silence once again stretched between them. Sander’s eyes were calculated as he swirled the clear liquid around in his glass. He figured there was no dancing around the subject with Zhang. He didn’t have much time, and she certainly had even less. β€œ[color=cyan]Well, did you see?[/color]”- Surely, she must know. There were eyes everywhere; he doubted the arboretum would be an exception. [color=f7976a]"I was curious if you would drink it,"[/color] she glanced at the glass in his hand, [color=f7976a]"and use Mr. Halvost again to repair the damage."[/color] β€œ[color=cyan]I would rather not, if you don’t mind.[/color]”- He frowned, eyes didn’t leave the glass β€“β€œ[color=cyan]But then I assume you know of our…[/color]” He fiddled with the glass, searching for a word. β€œ[color=cyan]Escapade.[/color]” [color=f7976a]"Commander Kardos sent word, yes."[/color] β€œ[color=cyan]You read the reports. You know of my withdrawal. Why let it come to that?[/color]”-He turned to her then, blue eyes narrowed. [color=f7976a]"Your previous research institutes were not looking for combatants--just weapons. That does not continue here,"[/color] she took another sip of her cocktail, breathing out slowly in the aftermath. [color=f7976a]"You would be that much more useful if you knew self-control."[/color] β€œ[color=cyan]I [i]am[/i] in control. As long as you don’t let it get so bad.[/color]”- Sander balked, confused by the Director’s strange reasoning β€“β€œ[color=cyan]I don’t see how holding off on the [i]supplements[/i] help with my self-control.[/color]” β€œ[color=cyan]If anything, that only serves to endanger other students.[/color]” [color=f7976a]"I recall assigning a near-immortal to your suite. And a healer to quicken the regeneration process,"[/color] she tapped a neatly trimmed nail against the gun's grip. [color=f7976a]"I don't need the frail, pathetic Sander Lorraine in control. I need the monster reined in. Every report noted failure after failure in asserting outside control. So the matter rests with you: either accept what you can be or die as you are. But I don't cater to the weak here. Not for long, at least."[/color] β€œ[color=cyan]You want the monster? Just give me a few pints of blood and it would come out soon enough.[/color]”- Sander’s grip around the glass tightened β€“β€œ[color=cyan]But it is not something I can control. I don't understand where you get that notion from. Didn’t the reports tell you as much?[/color]” β€œ[color=cyan]I almost killed Christmas today. Don’t give me the chance to try again.[/color]” [color=f7976a]"You overestimate the reports of researchers who were so focused on your upper limits and imposing their own sanctions that they completely failed to test [i]your[/i] effective control. You don't think you can control it? Or perhaps you [i]want[/i] to think you can't control it? 'Blame the monster, not me'? But, speaking of 'almost' killing others, can you really tell me you failed to change?"[/color] a tight-lipped smile twitched on her lips. [color=f7976a]"I gamble with high stakes, Mr. Lorraine. You and Mr. Halvost are one of many chips on the table."[/color] β€œ[color=cyan]That was luck.[/color]”- Sander said quickly, but the crack in his voice betrayed his doubt. He stopped. For the first time in years, he made progress. The prospect of control felt almost real, then. Of course he wanted control. But he didn’t dare to hope. β€“β€œ[color=cyan]I’m not sure I can do it again.[/color]” [color=f7976a]"Try or don't. Not even Foresight's sure of the future. I would have been surprised if you were."[/color] β€œ[color=cyan]Fine. I’ll humour you. I’ll try, as futile as it is.[/color]”- Sander sighed β€“β€œ[color=cyan]But don’t involve other people. I have enough blood on my hands already.[/color]” β€œ[color=cyan]Give me my own room.[/color]” [color=f7976a]"Ah, yes, because trying in isolation has worked so well for you before,"[/color] the Director finished her drink, placing the empty glass back onto the counter. [color=f7976a]"If you think that's trying, then submit the request at the registrar's office. I'll see to it when I return to my desk."[/color] She stood up as she spoke, fixing her blouse and skirt. Without any further remark, the Director holstered her gun and walked away. As the Director left, Sander turned back to his own thoughts, racking a careful hand through his hair. She gave him a choice. That scared and excited him at the same time. But then, he had choices before. Did any of them matter? He always ended up making the wrong one. β€œ[color=cyan]A mudslide, please. Heavy on the vodka.[/color]”- He slid the untouched shot glass toward the bartender. For now, he wanted rest. He would think on everything tomorrow. The bartender had his drink ready within the minute, whisking away the untouched shot glass with expert grace. He didn't seem fazed by the conversation. Or at all, really, which was probably natural when someone like the Director was a regular customer. To his credit, the man never bothered Sander, leaving the boy to mull over his thoughts in relative solitude.