Sarah King | Ken Shimazu
The Lucky Noodle - Little Asia; with Kenzo Yamamoto & Ensemble
Abilities Used: Chi Projection@McNephelim,
@NalloreSarah and Shimazu stood with awkward gazes glazed upon their faces. Two pairs of eyes trailed Kenzo as he exited the kitchen and left the restaurant. In sync with the closing door, teacher and student exchanged expressions with each other: Shimazu’s perplexed; Sarah’s embarrassed, and mildly vexed. She locked eyes with her Sensei, who was caught up on how best to address the behavior of his ward’s new friend. He returned the look with a raised eyebrow and a smile that threatened laughter.
“He’s a bit--”
“Yeah. I know. It’s not so weird once you know him a bit better.”
“He certainly has the bravado of a hero.” Shimazu shrugged. “Anyways, wha--”
The door opened. In unison, Sarah and Shimazu’s heads moved to see Kenzo returning. The poise and confidence with which he had walked out had conceded. Amused, the ramen chef returned the young man’s smile when he agreed to stay for a meal. “Normally we’d have to make do with what’s leftover at the end of the night. However, seeing as we had to close up shop early, I can make something to order.” He was about to turn to take an unused pan from a nearby shelf when the bell over the front door jingled, followed by the clamor of multiple sets of feet. “What is it now?” He wondered aloud. “I put up the closed sign.”
"Yo we'd like something to eat.”Shimazu peered between shelves and racks through the window into the dining area. Sarah curiously caught a look over his shoulders. Both could see the group of nearly a dozen armed roughians making themselves at home .
“They’re definitely not here for the food,” Sarah whispered.
“Mhmmmm.” Shimazu’s head bobbed up and down in agreement. “And the atmosphere still has dust settling from this morning.”
The pair exchanged aligning countenances, and filed out from the kitchen. Sarah, following behind Shimazu gestured for Kenzo to follow as well; they’d need the safety of numbers.
“I apologize,” Shimazu addressed the group gathered in the dining room. “But our kitchen is closed for the evening.” He rolled up his sleeves, and looked around the room, giving each of the ten youths their due attention. “But if it’s… err… entertainment you’re looking for, we can certainly try to accommodate your appetite.”
“I don’t think they’re here for you.” Sarah had taken up ground next to Shimazu, and inched closer to the gang. “Check the shirts.” She pointed to the nearest of the group, upon whom she could make out the all-too-familiar “70” styled onto their torsos. “70th Street.” She asserted herself in front of Shimazu. “Valentina wants me done in that bad I guess.”
“I’m… not so sure about that.”
“Huh? Their shirts, Sensei!” Sarah pointed again, more vigorously for emphasis. “That’s the 7-0 print.”
“I know what the shirts say, but they don’t really look like Valentina’s sort… there’s something too upstart about them.”
“Either way,” Sarah retraced the path Shimazu’s eyes had taken around the room, glaring heatedly at each member of the gang. Sarah slid purposefully into a horse stance; her form flexed with the flow of energy collecting into her core. “We’ve been through enough shit for one day. These punks aren’t gonna wreck up the place too.”
“You wrecking up the place isn’t going to make things much be-- Ah!”
“HAAAAH!!”
Shimazu retreated two steps, nearly being swept up in the end result of Sarah’s stunt.
The gathered force of energy rippled forth from Sarah as she roared out a worthy kiai. The wave crashed outward into the dining room, pushing against the would-be assailants, like a small, localized gale. Chairs and tables shifted against the force, though were left undamaged. “And there’s more of that, if you don’t get lost NOW!” She stood herself tall, and fiercely, letting the presence of her energy fill the space around her; in a way she might seem larger than she was.
“A little more concern for others and your surroundings next time.” Shimazu gathered himself and stood behind his pupil, showing a complicated mixture of pride and concern. “I would advise you all to go home, if you can.” He spoke to the young gang members, yet his eyes continually shifted back to Sarah.
Katherine Tran & Horace Wolfe
Some Non-Descript Van on the Streets of the Financial DistrictAbilities Used: N/A@Nallore“Wolfe! We have an issue!” KT called forward from the back of the van. “Sirens going off at the station,” she clarified.
“I hear it. Let me see if I can figure out something.” He pulled a tablet from nearby. The device was wirelessly synced with the console that KT was operating, providing a scaled-down visual of what aspects of the Delgato security systems she had access to. If he could act quickly enough, the in-house security detail might consider the sudden noise a glitch in the system, or something like a mouse setting off an over-sensitive sensor; it would hardly be the first time a system so sophisticated had a false alarm. He set to work with relaxed haste and sifted his way through various interfaces.
But he would come up short. Either Tony’s system was more advanced than their scouting had determined, or their efforts were being actively stymied by his team. Either way, it seemed that Artemis’ mission would be compromised.
Still working on a solution, he moved the mic on his headset closer. “There’s no shame in pulling back,” he said. “We should cut our losses and abort, before it’s too late.”
Deputy Director Gregory Vaughn
Department of Superhuman Affair Headquarters - Deputy Director’s OfficeAbilities Used: N/A@NalloreSigh.
A long, releasing breath escaped the Deputy Director’s chest as his finger pressed down onto the last punctuating key. Adjusting his glasses, and wheeling backwards slightly in his chair, he double and triple checked his work. Displayed in the glow of his computer screen, the detailed Incident Report from the attack on Veridian Tech stared back at him. He had been as thorough with the day’s preliminary investigation as he had ever been: eyewitness accounts were logged, the rundown of both his unit’s response and the protocols initiated by Veridian’s security team, and the involvement of Artemis in de-escalating the situation had all been accounted for.
He had, of course, found a way to omit Katherine Tran’s claim of the attacker’s Delgato ties; an accusation like that would be nothing more than a wild guess as far as an official inquiry, even if he was personally convinced of the young woman’s authenticity. For a moment, he did second guess himself on that decision, knowing that it could be seen as a withholding of information. No, he told himself. The policies were clear enough with regard to telepathy as evidence; if it wouldn’t hold up in court, then it could certainly be left aside in favor of a more direct probe. Beyond that, and more importantly, it was for Ms. Tran’s own good. If Anthony Delgato caught wind that she, or anyone for that matter, had psychically pried that kind of smear on his name, they’d be eighty-sixed before sunrise.
Content with the work he had done, he saved the report to the appropriately secured folder, and then, as per procedure, printed out a hard copy to be filed in the vault, pending the Director’s approval. He fetched it, still warm, off of the tray, and signed off on his part, verifying the accuracy of the report. Then, he quietly made his way to a closed door on the side of his office.
His and Annabelle Monroe’s offices were joined together, separated by an old office door with a blacked out window. Both rooms had their own exits into the hallway though. He and the Director could easily see each other in person, but also come and go in privacy. It wasn’t uncommon for either of them to slip out unnoticed until late the evening; nor was it unheard of for both of them to be beavering away unbeknownst to each other late into the night, only to bump into each other in the hall as they exited and locked up.
At the door dividing their offices, Vaughn froze. If he wanted to be done with the day, he could simply slip the folder with the hardcopy of the Incident Report through the mail slot below the window. His hand, folder grasped between its fingers and thumb, hovered over the slot, but then withdrew. He lifted his other hand, and rapped upon the door three times.
