It was only their third night in Washington DC, in the luxurious Hyatt Regency, a place filled to the brim with all sorts of entertainment, and yet, inexplicably...Brent, Marcus, and Ernie were all in different degrees of boredom. Was it the fact that overclocking arcade machines got old after the fifteenth or so time? Was it the fact that they couldn't REALLY release all the pent-up stress from Wisford, due to there being no convenient Ground Zero to unload on? Was it because there was some strange tension between two of the members of the boy band?
Regardless, in the much too quiet penthouse, Brent flopped uncharacteristically onto a delightfully soft couch, finely-chiselled jaw resting on the leathery backrest. There should be something to do here, shouldn't there? There were a shit ton of arcade machines, but he was too burnt out to care for it. The swimming pool had the equipment for water polo, but they had uneven numbers. The computer lounge had League installed, but Ernie didn't know how to play and Brent only played to win. There was the gym, but trying for another round of exercise after going hard in the morning was just asking to get destroyed. There was a buffet, but they ate there every day. There was TV, but all the channels just featured anti-subnatural bullshit.
Thus, ultimately, here the sad trio were, with nothing to do on a Saturday Night.
"Ugh, imagine if they had bungee-jumping off the roof here," Brent said, deflated,
"Or, like, an indoor soccer field.""I mean, I could probably rig some sort of bungee-jumping system with my power," Ernie mumbled, scrolling vacantly through the feed on his phone and frowning at news of an interview with a certain red-headed X-mark,
"But I can't guarantee that any of us'd live through it. Soccer's out too. Man, what's the point of calling them 'ballrooms' if we're not allowed to bring balls in there? That so wasn't worth a lifetime ban!""
I can jump off one of the balconies and rewind for you, but I don't exactly think that's what you were looking for." Marcus said, something a little more than boredom dulling his usual good mood. He was currently upside down in a couch, hair touching the floor while he impatiently kicked his legs against the back of the sofa, sending slight vibrations through it everytime he did.
"
What do you think all the stuffy business men do when they get bored?" he asked, staring up at the ceiling. Almost as an afterthought, he added: "
Or do you think CEO BusinessBots don't have boredom programmed?"
"Don't have any emotion programmed," Brent replied, flipping over as if he was sunbathing in boredom,
"But if Wolf of Wall Street was any indication...booze, strippers, and alcohol.""Booze and alcohol..." Ernie repeated dreamily,
"Well, we do have the minibar here. Not sure if getting wasted with just the three of us'll be much fun though."A pause as he recalled something important.
"Just gotta make sure we don't make a mess here.""
Please, how much of a mess could we possibly make?" Marcus said, a small grin spreading across his face.
He rolled off the couch and onto the floor, righting himself to better talk to his aquaintences. Or at least, the people he
thought of as his aquaintences. Although they'd hung out Thursday morning, Marcus had been purposefully avoiding Brent for a while. Things just seemed...tense, and he really didn't want that conversation to progress any more than it already had.
"
If we were gonna drink, I'd say we should go out and do it. I feel like the dudes with guns would probably ruin the mood a little bit." Marcus said, jerking his thumb to one of the seemingly omnipresent guards that were around.
"Yeah," Brent agreed enthusiastically,
"A minibar simply doesn't have the same vibe as a nightclub, you know? Not enough people and not enough music...though I guess the company wouldn't be THAT great, unless there's a super underground pro-subnatural one?"He tilted his head to the side, mentally reaching for such an incomprehensible idea within the capital of 'fuck subnaturals', before ultimately shrugging.
"Sounds like a good enough excuse to go bar-hopping anyways, eh?'"Really? You wanna venture out into the world of asshole Regulars?" Ernie asked in mild disbelief. He decided not to voice out loud that USARILN students wouldn't be able to get into a subnatural nightclub anyway. Did D.C. even have a Senators branch?
"Fuck, we could be surrounded in two seconds flat. Concealer wouldn't even work for my mark if I'm hanging out with Broteus and Time Scar here."Though the prospect of bar-hopping with friends did sound pretty fun. Scaring Regulars would be interesting too.
"
I mean, I've got a hoodie I snagged from one of the clothing stores. Or we could just throw paper bags on our heads and call it a day." Marcus said, snickering. "
Might be more beneficial than just hiding marks for you two!"
"Surrounded in two seconds flat?" Brent whistled, impressed at how efficient Washington mobs sounded.
"Sounds like a hell of a party then. Can't be worse than Factory though, right?"Well, actually...
"Might be worse. Let's get everyone else in then! With the tacticool genius of 2Chainz and the indomintable edge of Dragontales, even if we're surrounded, we'd probably get out aight." Brent turned towards Marcus, a joking smirk already there.
"And let's be real here. Three scars are way more obvious than our marks. Better watch your alcohol, dude, or you're wake up with a whole bunch of kiddos trying to frame you for drug trafficking."Or just wake up bruised and bloodied on a freight ship going to the wastelands of China.
Ernie snorted.
"What kinda kiddos have you been hanging around?" he joked but got up anyway. If they were heading out then he needed to be prepared,
"I don't actually know the other guys too well so you should fetch them if we're really having a boys night out. I'm gonna get my disguise shit, just in case.""They're crazed kiddos," Brent replied,
"But I won't get my hopes up about them anyways."He looked at Marcus, searching for a reaction at the mention of Chris, but there was nothing there. Either Time Scar had an impeccable poker face or he simply didn't give that much of a shit about what sort of hissy fit the scaly brat got into. A hint of a grimace emerged as Brent recalled the note once more, as if that bastard couldn't even be bothered to WAIT by the door for Siena to come back, but he smoothed over the creases of his face soon enough.
"But yeah, let's see who we can grab along on the way and meet back in...fifteen minutes, at the main entrance? The bigger the group, the better, eh?"A nod from the Aberration.
"Sounds like a plan."Fifteen minutes later, the three reassembled at the doorway with a noticeable lack of invitees. Whether that was disappointing or not depended on who you asked. Personally, Ernie was fine with it. He wore a generous smear of concealer underneath his scarf, both bought at La Plata. Angelique had stopped by him to ask what the occasion was and it was with a somewhat heavy heart that he informed her that it was a boys-only event. Thankfully, the rockstar bid them goodbye with a friendly wave and they were off.
Well, Chris was a cunt and Grant was making love with a pillow, while Christmas and Lawrence could not be found at all. Sander was probably with Christmas, while Gregory had vanished like the dew, leaving the number of barhoppers more or less untouched. A pity, in a way, but hey, they could do a lot worse than the three coolest dudes in USARILN. WIth the night still long and no good reason to wait, Brent said,
"Aight, let's check shit out!"There wasn't much adventuring to really be had though. After getting approval (along with a disapproving glare) from one of the guards, the trio of subnaturals were off. Taking lead, for he had already prepared a list of nightclubs to hit up, Brent brought them through a scenic, fifteen minute walk that ended up at a repurposed bank. Electronic music pulsated through the tinted windows, while a queue of partygoers were already present. A muscular, 6'5 bouncer stood in the door, checking for IDs and weapons and drugs, occasionally lingering when a particularly good-looking woman came through, while a sign advertised the special of the night: the Double Pussy deal, where buying a Wet one got you a Red one as well.
"Welcome," Brent said, switching to a sauve, mature voice that suited his self-image as the lord of the nightclub,
"to the Ultraaaaaabar."The queue dispersed considerably at the sight of Brent's white streak, leaving only a five minute wait before they reached the bouncer. He was irritated enough that a handful of youths were trying to get into a nightclub. The white streak and obvious scarf only served to make things worse.
"What do you think you're--" he began to snarl but was interrupted by a fifty dollar note slapped into his hand by the buzzcut boy.
Ernie simply waited for access to be granted, gazing innocently at the guard.
"You subs really think--" Another fifty. The boys were let in without another hitch.
"Alriiight!" the Aberration cheered as they found a booth near the back,
"That was easy. You guys better compensate me good. Let's try that special together!""Damn, dude," Brent replied as the trio coasted by,
"Guess people gotta make money, eh?"He didn't exactly like the bouncer for being so malleable in the face of money, but on the other hand, the man's lack of integrity got them in, and soon, they were on the first floor of the refurbished bank. Chandeliers acted as discoballs, crystalline reflections creating pretty patterns in the veined marble, while a young, rugged looking bartender did a variety of fancy tricks as he produced one drink after another, a sexy smile on all the while.
There was a pinkish purple wash over everything, while the young adults of Washington DC partied on the catwalks, bouncing around like a bunch of Whack-a-Moles. The music was particularly aggressive, a bevy of heavy beats, but Brent took it into stride. From the warzones of Wisford to the battlegrounds of Ultrabar, eh?
"Sure thing," he replied, flashing out his USARILN card like a magician,
"Still gotta earn my stripes, so drinks on me today!"Though, really, it wasn't like it was his money to begin with.
"
Works for me!" Marcus said, raising an imaginary glass to toast Brent. "
Means I don't have to spend a dime!"
Though originally Chris declined Brent's offer to join him and some others at a bar, his lonesome status gnawed away at his thoughts. Not wanting to keep bad terms settled in with his fellow subnaturals, Chris walked on his own onto the minibar they were heading. He paid the bouncer with his own cash, having arrived a few minutes after the group did. He was wearing blue jeans and a white shirt, one of the more simple outfits he bothered to keep around. He joined the others with his hands in his pockets.
"Still got room for one more?""Yo, Chris," Brent replied, masking surprise with a smile,
"There's always room in boy's night out!"Ernie waved happily, despite having heard some weird gossip surrounding the guy and his temper from Brent.
"Hey, Tuxman. You drinking tonight?""
Oh hey, Geico!" Marcus said, swiveling around to the new voice, slightly shocked when he realized who it was. His eyes scanned for any sign of building anger, still wearing the same shitty grin he had been back in a hospital corridor in La Plata.
"
Only if you promise not to get fussy and bitch-slap me more than twice!" he added, crossing his arms in front of him.
He waved back to Ernie and Brent before responding to Marcus.
"Don't plan to." He removed his hands from his pockets.
"I'd rather put all this drama behind us starting with this night.""Wait, so he really did..." Ernie's head whipped between the three, searching for any sign that Chris needed to be kicked out. To his relief (and slight disappointment), he found none,
"Ah well, nothing like a night out and a handful of shots to bring people together. Right, Brent?"The last sentiment was ended with a stare like that of an starving dog hearing its owner return home, the message clear. The boy wanted his booze already.
Huh, this sort of behavior...
Yeah, this was totally in line with Chris's personality, wasn't it? The lack of a backbone and all. Still, as long as the dragon arbiter didn't spout off any more lines about how his one true love is merely an afterthought in the face of the lives of others, Brent decided that they could bury the hatchet for at least the night.
"Geez, Ernie, so thirsty for pussy, huh?" Brent smiled. With four, they could get it twice, huh? Good enough. Suavely sliding up towards the bartender (who couldn't even look him in the eye), the arbiter said,
"Two specials. Four drinks. Got it? Awesome."Though there was a slight tremor in the bartender's hands, and though his sexy smile had become something a little less attractive, the routine of mixing and pouring the same shit over and over again made the process bearable, even a bit interesting, and soon, Brent got back to the group. No one had set the place on fire yet, so that was a good sign.
"Yo ho, guys, got two wet and two red, whatcha want?"A pause.
"Or are you just gonna down them all solo, Ernie?""Oh, is that a challenge?" the Aberration replied, faintly surprised,
"I thought it was for all of us."He could take it. He just didn't want to be rude, that was all. Then again, of all the descriptors he'd heard of his drunk self, 'rude' had never been one of them. He waited for Brent's permission anyway.
"Dude, you're actually that thirsty?" The arbiter placed the drinks on a nearby table, one by one.
"Go ahead then! It's not like it's my money anyways!""Okay, if you say so!" Ernie smiled brightlyand pounded down all four before the others could protest. Best not to tell them that he couldn't remember the last time he went drinking without going full blackout.
Ernie could distinguish the poor quality of the shot and frowned. The bartender didn't pay much attention to the ratios, didn't he? Probably too busy snivelling at the sight of a white mark.
The annoyance dissipated like sugar in hot water as the alcohol took its effect. At first, it was just a widening of the eyes. Then the boy stopped slouching. Then he started grinning like a kid breaking into a chocolate factory. He looked around at his friends in awe, enjoying the hectic sway of the nightclub.
"Thaaanks, buddy!" the affectionate term sharp in contrast to the gratitude,
"You're a true friendo."A surprisingly crisp salute accompanied the statement.
"
Oh boy." Marcus said, slightly in awe from the
immediate effect the drinks had. He certainly wasn't upset that Ernie was the one biting the metaphorical bullet here. He didn't drink, certainly didn't plan to do four shots in a row; in all honesty, he was mostly here just to make sure Ernie and Brent didn't wander off and get shot like dogs in the middle of the street.
"
What have you done?" Marcus said, turning to Brent with wide-eyed 'horror'.
"A service to society, I believe," Brent replied, masking his own surprise at Ernie's all-too sudden transformation.
"And no problemo, bro! Want some more?"The rope did protect against alcohol poisoning, right?
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," Ernie shook his head with a solemn expression,
"Need water first, lotsa water, otherwise I will die. Hammer head."He peered around at his companions, head swivelling wildly with the motion.
"You aren't drinking?" he asked no one in particular but worry was clear on his face. Was he going to be alone in this strange, swirling universe?
Sander chose that precise moment to walk in, vestiges of a frown still clung to his brows after the brisk conversation with the bouncer. The man didn’t want to let him in, but apparently arguments with a violent X at the door was chasing away customers and Sander didn’t want to leave, so the bouncer eventually let him in.
As soon as he walked through the front door though, familiar scents hit him, making him jerk his head in their direction. He spotted the group almost immediately; Chris’ stark white hair did stand out, even in a sea of moving people and dim light.
'Hammer head'. Right. Whatever that meant. Still, water probably was a good idea. Considering how Ernie was so eager to get wasted tonight, having something to act as a break inbetween pounding down shots was definitely a good idea. Still, Marcus didn't look all too eager, and Chris might relapse into an edgy angry shit with too many drinks, which left...
Oh, no! There definitely was someone else!
Standing tall (and separate) from the singular organism that were crowds of regulars was Sander, the invincible juggernaut!
"I'm not drinking much myself," Brent admitted with an apologetic smile,
"But...yo, Sander! Come over and drink with Ernie! You look like a hell of a heavyweight!"Sander blinked at the invitation. He did remember the boy from the track, but he didn't think he knew his name. But it would be rude to ignore them, now that they had noticed him, so Sander moved toward the group, nodding a curt greeting to each one.
"
Hey."
Ernie sobered for a brief moment, the sudden name making choke on what was his fifth glass of water. Or sixth. Fuck math. But the liquor took its effect back easily, turning that overwhelming fear into nothing more than drunken irritation.
"Too heavy! Took like eight thousand Frostbites last time I served! Look at him, wasting all my cuuuuracao!" a rigid finger pointed at Sander. Ernie finished his seventh glass with the other hand. Look at that multitask. Bet that bitch Sander couldn't do that.
"
Sorry?" -Sander raised an eyebrow at Ernie's odd demeanor -"
Are you...drunk?"
"Ernie doesn't get drunk, he just has fun," Ernie snapped the referenced line in an unnatural New York accent and turned to Brent, handing him a crumpled fifty from another pants pocket,
"Buy as many specials as you can. Don't worry about the money, it's legal. Get me orange juice and chips. More sugar and hydrate that way!""Damn," Brent whistled, impressed at the stories of Sander's legendary alcohol tolerance,
"And yah, turns out Ernie's the happy sort of drunk. Or hyper. No idea, but it's hella fun to watch."Taking the fifty dollar bill, the arbiter sauntered over once more towards the bartender. There was no way in hell the man hadn't noticed Ernie's aggressive drinking habits, and, as if to minimize close contact with subnatural scum, the man had already prepared two trays: one of drinks, one of chips. Didn't even ask for any sort of payment. Nice dude, really.
"Yo, I'm back. I'd tell you to pace yourself, Ernie, but it looks like you're already too far gone. Sander, want a drink or two?""
Sure." -The blood mage agreed easily. It was why he came, after all. Even though the company wasn't ideal, he supposed he could deal with that -"
Do you have any recommendation?"
"I wreck-a-men ya eat a dick," Ernie snarled between ravenous mouthfuls of chips and orange juice. He saw the unused note on the tray and waved it back in Brent's face, lamenting the capitalist system of money and goods,
"Business needs money! Get more shots, bitch can take it."The 'bitch' was Sander, of course.
"
Excuse me?" -Sander raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled by Ernie's words.
Brent's eyebrows lifted slightly at just how aggressive Ernie was towards Sander, as well as how little Sander gave a shit about all that. Almost amusing? Eh...at least it looked like they were having fun?
"Sure sure," the arbiter said, heading back towards the bartender for another round of drinks. One eye was on the man as he continued to pump out the same shit over and over again, a charming individual turned into an emotional wreck due to the presence of not one, but two x-marks now beginning to slam down shot glasses.
"Don't worry, man," Brent said to him as another tray was obtained,
"Time Scar there will make sure nothing gets out of hand."Not that Time Scar could do shit, but hey, it's the thought that counts.
Coming back to the table, he plopped down the tray once more, ready to grab another as soon as Ernie started mowing through it all.
No attention was paid to Brent. Ernie's eyes didn't leave Sander's face as the new tray was set down. He grabbed a few more shots for himself before letting out a low
"Drink.""
I think you are drunk." -Sander warned once more, yet he still picked up a drink for himself and downed it in one gulp. The taste was...surprisingly pleasant, if anything.
"Course I'm drunk, why would I wanna be sober with yoouu around?" Ernie scoffed and downed some more liquor. Ten was the magic number. Or maybe it was thirteen? Fifteen? He took some more, just in case. Didn't want to ruin tradition, or magic...or whatever the fuckin' reason for numbers was. Future Ernie was going to regret this so hard. But then again, Future Ernie wasn't the one having to deal with fucking
Sander here. Despite the devil-may-care attitude, the boy shovelled some more chips and juice into his mouth, just to help the morning's buddy out.
"
...Is there a problem?"
Ernie blinked.
"You threatened to fucking kill me! And then you almost did it at Wissssferb! How is there not a problem?!""
I didn't do it." -Sander frowned, sipping from a second drink slowly. He almost lost control at Wisford. That much was true. But with Ernie at the receiving end, he didn't really much mind, cruel as it was.
"Uhhhhhhh, yeah! You totally did! He musta saw it!" Ernie shouted, gesturing vaguely and angrily at Marcus,
"It's a big, fat problem! You shoulda just done it so I stop being angry. Angry drunk is so baddd!"A morbid fragment of his sober thoughts barging through. But it wasn't anger that was the problem. It was fear.
"
I did see that, yes." Marcus said very matter-of-factually, leaning out from behind Ernie. "
Gotta be honest, little far there, Sander." he leaned back out of sight as he finished, not really wanting to be in the line of fire if anything started.
"
I didn't kill you, Ernie. You are still here." -Sander clarified, gesturing toward the fellow Aberration -"
Do you need a rest?"
Another snarl.
"Fuck off. Stop talking scary or just kill me. No in-betweensies," Ernie sat even straighter at Sander's suggestion. He wasn't no weak bitch,
"Look. I'm on a chair. That's rest."He did stop with the shots now, at least. The non-alcoholic sides were another matter.
"
I'm not going to..." -Sander cut himself off then though. He didn't want to make any promises -"
I think you should go back to the hotel? Get proper rest?"
"Don't be a nice boy. Lying is fer bitches and yer'lready a bitch. Double bitch is bad fer ya. Math," Ernie muttered,
"I ain't leave-going. You just wanna steal my cool friends away. Nice try, smarty-fart. But I smart too," the boy tapped his temple with a pointer finger. Ewww, why so sticky. He tried to wash his hand off with the remaining pitcher of water but spilt it all over the table instead.
"
I don't?" -Sander smiled a bit then, clearly amused by Ernie's drunken language.
"Aaargh," Ernie hissed before stumbling up onto his feet,
"Need to pee now. And clean."He pointed towards the remaining shots on the table.
"Those better be gone when I come back. Don't waste my ffffffuckin' money!"With that, the boy left for the bathroom.
Sander looked at Ernie's retreating back, then turned to the full tray of drinks before him -"
Huh...Do you two need help?" -He turned to Marcus and the other Arbiters -"
I don't really get drunk, so...don't worry."
"
Go for it, have mine if you want it." Marcus said, sliding one of the shots down towards Sander. "
Between him, Party-Boy Brent, and Designated Dipshit over there," he continued, pointing to the bathroom, Brent, and Chris respectively, "
Somebody here has to stay sober enough to make sure we don't get gunned down in the street."
"Amazing, Marcus," Brent replied, taking a taste of one of the pussies,
""I didn't know you loved us enough to take a bullet for us! But yeah, more planning on getting drunk on the atmosphere than alcohol. So go ahead, Sander, before E- oh, he's back."Ernie returned, embracing a half empty bulk pack of paper towels as he walked. It seemed that no one had the nerve to stop the boy accompanying Proteus and Time Scar from taking it on the way out. The clean freak handed a few rolls out to some Regulars who were too polite or drunk to refuse but otherwise began to wipe at the liquid almost as soon as he sat back down. He was too intently focused to make another dig at Sander.
"Yo, Ernie, got your alcoholic high up at max now?" Brent grinned, helping him out with the task.
"Ready to start mingling on the dancefloor? Put your tapdancing skills to the real test?"Sander quietly nodded and accepted the shots. It occured to him that it was rather strange to compare drinks and 'pussies', but he figured he didn't really care as he began to down the shots one by one.
"Ffffffffuck, yeah!" Ernie roared into the paper towel in his fist in response to Brent's question,
"But, no! Regulars are bitches! And I do not dance with bitches!"Oh, that was rather rude, wasn't it? The buzzcut boy whispered loudly, as if he feared Brent's wrath for such a bold statement.
"They lovely people. Drunk. They like my paper towels. But they all bitches. Don't deserve my s...skillz.""Just gonna let them jump around like a bunch of whack-a-moles then, Ernie? Blind to the legend that drinks amongst them?" Brent shook his head, feigning disappointment.
"What a cruel tapdancer you are, Ernest Mars. Would you deny even us, your closest comrades, the sight of your divine footshuffling techniques, set to the beat of the electric drum?""Naw, naw, naw," Ernie shook his head. Was that a Texan accent he was doing now? Like that butthole Liam and his brother? Eww, gotta talk normal,
"You guys are great! Except Sander. The finest for you gentlemen! Check this!"The Aberration jumped to his feet and began performing something that was a cross between a flawless Charleston dance and the Drunken Fist technique. Though the boy seemed to be humming his own accompaniment, the notes and rhythm were too incoherent to be a discernible song. Nevertheless he continued dancing, surprisingly co-ordinated for the level of inebriation he was under. It was a miracle that nothing had been launched off the table by that mess of frenzied but rhythmic kicks.
"Siiiiii...ena said jay duh rhythm-uh. She right, right? Fancy French is always right!""Damn, careful Ernie, you're gonna light this place on fire with those moves!" Brent laughed, before pounding down a drink himself. So Ernie was cool with Siena as well? As expected of a bud of his! It was always nice to have friends who were also friends with each other, after all! Watching the x-marked ruffian dance to his own tune, the arbiter decided that there was no way he couldn't join in on this fun.
Dramatically removing his jacket, Brent enjoyed the burn of another shot down his throat before doing a few preliminary stretches and jumping in on the fun.
"Of course it's always right! French is the language of love and justice!"Launching into his own horrid choreography with much less skill and much more stupidity compared to Drunken Dance Master Ernie, Brent opted to cut and paste various dance moves from popular music videos instead, going from Michael Jackson's moonwalking into Wonder Girls' finger wagging and hip gyrating into that chinese cartoon girl's dance from the DDR machine back in the Hyatt Regency to Elvis's rapidfire pelvis thrusts to whatever else he could think of. He even tossed in an impromptu backflip, landing on one knee, before a shit-eating grin surfaced. With a super smooth dab in that pointed at Marcus's direction, Brent called out,
"Yo, Marc, show me your moves!"Marcus laughed, giving Brent and Ernie a few claps, and even one low whistle. He shook his head at Brent, grinning slightly.
"
Alright, first of all, don't dab at me, you moron. What is this, 2016?" he said, standing up and brushing his shirt down, giving a few preliminary stretches of his own, before moving out to meet Brent on the dance floor.
"
Secondly, you can't just throw random moves like that together; you gotta have style, man!"
Marcus emphasized the word 'style' with a brush of the shoulder, smoothly sliding a little towards Brent, giving him a cocky grin. The term he'd always heard used whenever he did his dance of style was usually 'slide-and-glide', sometimes 'shuffling'; the two were equally interchangable, and meant little to nothing when people tried to talk to him about things like that. No matter what it was called, Marcus's body flowed smoothly, seemingly floating across the floor as his feet slid him around, punctuating with a tight spin.
"
That good enough for ya, Brent?" he said, grinning widely.
"Smooth as honey, my man," Brent replied, offering a fist bump to the scarred mage.
"Gotta teach me those moves some time."Turning his gaze towards Chris and Sander, he snapped his fingers and winked at the pair.
"Well? The gauntlet's been thrown!"Sander merely lifted his head a bit in acknowledgement of his fellow subnaturals, before turning back to his drinks.
The white haired arbiter was helping himself to a drink while Ernie, Brent and Marcus had started dancing. So far the arbiter had been drinking light, enough so that he wasn't so much as drunk yet. At least, not drunk enough to join in on something so embarrassing. He had given Brent a bit of a glare for even suggesting that he'd join in.
Since everyone had seemed to be taken by the night, Chris decided to take what was then his third shot. With each second going by he thank'd the good lord, if he existed, that no one else was here to see this embarrassment take fold.
With a dazzled
"oooooh!" and a fascinated sparkle in his half-lidded eyes, Ernie gave the dancers a hearty round of applause.
"Team SAP got skilllllz!" he whooped, feeding himself another chip. However, the sight of an ungrooving Sander brought him back to his earlier irritation.
" 'tsup with you?" Ernie scoff-slurred,
"Too good to dance, boya?""
I would prefer not to, if you don't mind."
"C'mon dude! It's a nightclub, not just a bar! Even a little jig will be fine, Sander!""You heard the man. Does it look like I don't mind? Cos I do," Ernie stared.
"
That sounds like a personal problem." -Sander replied with a shrug, then turned back to the drinks. More than half of the glasses had been emptied out.
"Oh yeeahh?" Ernie's hand grabbed onto Sander's shoulder, wrenching it so the blood mage faced him,
"Why the fuck you here then? Coulda drank by yourself instead being a fuckin' nancy here."Sander frowned, but obliged the movement and turned around to look at Ernie. The boy clearly had had too much to drink.
"
I would like to drink here. Do you have a problem with that?"
"You already know what the fucking problem is, I already fucking told you," Ernie's voice lowered in a threatening manner,
"I don't want to see you on a night out. Fuck off.""
Wo-ohkay!" Marcus said, stepping between Ernie and the kid who kept losing his shit and
mauling people. "
Erns, buddy. It's a boy's night out! You don't see me yelling at Chris over there; forgive and forget and garbage! At least for tonight!" he said, pulling another drink off a nearby try and handing it to the boy.
"Chris dint try 'n' kill you," Ernie mumbled as he drank. Not a pretty sight,
"How do I forget that? It still hurts."The boy looked to Marcus with drunken puppy dog eyes. He seriously looked on the verge of tears.
"How do I forget stuff? He just makes it more angrier. How do I be like you, all nice and brave and forgiving and shit? I remember too much."Marcus stopped in his tracks. He hadn't exactly expected such a coherent and biting thought to come from Ernie in this state, much less a thought he didn't have an answer to. His eyes searched the ground for an explanation, coming up empty. He wasn't nice, or brave, and he still remembered way too much. His only answer...
"
...fake it 'till you make it." he said with a weak smile, pulling a half-spilled shot off and downing it himself. It took less than a second for him to become a sputtering mess, taken by surprise and starting into a coughing fit.
It went deeper than he thought. Or had he just turned a blind eye to the fear that undercut the hostility? Had something more happened in Wisford that Brent had been unaware of? As far as he recalled, Sander did perfectly well, tearing apart all the enemy subnaturals he could reach, but then...
A question for another time. If Sander and Ernie had such a negative relationship, then it was his fault for calling Sander over. And if it was his fault, it was his own duty to fix it. Absentmindedly, Brent patted Marcus on the back as the scarred arbiter went through the same experience he had on the first day, before turning his gaze to Sander.
"This is gonna be pretty weird, considering how I was the one that called you over," he began,
"But mind, uh, finding somewhere else to drink? Put Ernie in a rougher spot than I thought, so yeah...I'd appreciate it."It should have been a...happier occasion than this. A part of him thought that it would have been a good opportunity for classmates to get along better. But even
this was still too soon, huh?
Sander only blinked at Ernie's cutting words, an expression of mild surprise and something akin to pity began to form. He rose to his full height then, looming over the other Aberration.
He knew he should have kept his mouth shut and leave then. It was clearly the better option. Yet, the Stigma stirred in him, like an itch that was begging to be scratched, and he knew it was the same for Ernie.
"
I see how it is, Ernie. Is it the Stigma again?" -He said, the barest hint of a smile on his lips -"
...Forgive for saying this, but why are you so bad at keeping it in check? Find someone else to hurt this time. Christmas is off limits. "
Ernie reeled at the mention of the blond, glancing around in panic. No, no, NO. Marcus already knew. Chris, he didn't care about. But Brent?
Something worse than fear appeared in his eyes as he looked to the built Arbiter. But he looked away just as quickly. Fear became morphed by the liquor in his system and the Aberration felt his fists clench. Strange, pride had never been a priority for the coward. He never had the means to protect it. But fuck, they didn't call this shit Liquid Courage for nothing. Even a ghost of the real thing was better than nothing here.
"At least my Stigma doesn't make me a murderous fuckwit," he spat, slamming his glass down,
"I already know your boyfriend is off-limits. Shouldn't you be jerking him off somewhere instead of wasting your time trying to piss me off?""
If I am a...murderous fuckwit, then what does your Stigma make you?"
Ernie tilted his head, like he was actually thinking about it. Dumb, very dumb. Ernie was dumb in general. Drunkness made it worse. Anger made it worser. Lotsa, lotsa dumb. Simple math. So what the Stigma made him was...
"A really angry dumbass," he grinned maniacally, grabbing the half-full pitcher of orange juice and moving to bash Sander's fucking brains out in one swift motion.
Sander saw the motion. Saw the hand sail through the air. But alcohol had dulled his senses, and he didn't react in time. Shattered glass rang in his ears, just as a sharp pain bloomed on the side of his head. He closed his eyes on instinct. Something cold washed down his shoulder, and Sander reached out, grabbing the countertop to keep himself from falling.
Oh shit.Marcus didn't move as Ernie swung the pitcher, still recovering from his bout with whatever drink he'd downed and unable to move to stop anything. The glass seemed to move in slow motion as it shattered across Sander's head, spilling the orange liquid across him, and continued in slow motion as Sander braced himself on the bar, reeling from the blow.
Immediately, Marcus moved to put himself in between the two (an idea that could in no way backfire on him), shoving Ernie slightly out of the way to fit himself in.
"
Alright you two - that's probably enough for the night!" he said, his jokester tone starting to become noticibly more worried.
Ernie fell back on the seat as red started to drip from the side of Sander's head. Oh yeah, that was more than enough. His psychopathic grin fell back into a dopey, drunk yawn as he leaned back and fed himself another chip. Best to do what Marcus said. Marcus knows best. Satisfaction overshadowed the gross stickiness that now coated his forearm. And the pain from the shattered glass that had stuck into his hand. Dumbly, he sniffed the red grossness and summoned his rope. That would make picking out the shards easier, right?
Nearby, panicked clubbers scattered at the sight of a fight breaking out among the subnaturals, gasps and screams cutting through the undulating beat of the dance music.
Chris watched from the sidelines as Ernie and Sander started talking to each other. Before he knew it, Ernie had hit Sander with glass. As if the drama between the two was bad enough, the screams from regulars exiting the club only made the situation worse.
"Jesus Christ guys." Chris muttered to himself with his typical sigh. He reached over to help Sander stand straight.
"Anyone good with first aid?""The best first aid," Ernie raised his hand and cackled like it was the funniest thing in the world. He was bleeding too.
It happened fast. Way too fast. He had thought that he grew accustomed to explosive escalation when the Wisford scenario grew worse by the minute once rogue subnaturals were introduced, but this was a whole other level. Two drunk aberrations that hated each others guts turned a battle of words into one of sheer violence, and as Ernie smashed a glass against Sander's head, what Brent caught wasn't the fact that Sander was bleeding, but the fact that Ernie was.
He recalled the lanky subnatural's power once more: the ability to empower himself in proportion with the amount of blood he takes in.
He recalled the Flag and Seek fight once more: Sander going as far as to
bite Callan.
Ernie may have started this shitstorm, but Sander didn't make any attempts to just walk away from it either. The x-marked blood mage hadn't even
responded to Brent's own words. So, in lieu of mere words...
"Chris, Marcus, keep them separate," Brent snapped, amethyst eyes tracking down that poor bartender that was similarly making a run for it.
"I'll get a kit."Making a beeline towards the definitely-no-longer-smiling man, the arbiter said, no smile present at all,
"You have medical supplies in the staff room, right? For treating cuts and such?"A pause. Was he going to answer or not?
Who the fuck cared?"Get them here now." Another pause, a bit nervous this time. He really didn't know how much of a loose cannon either of them were, huh?
"Please?"The man only screamed for help and sprinted for his life, having seen enough of the "accidental" damage a subnatural could do on the news. All monsters, and he would rather die escaping than stupidly walking back to the scene of the impending disaster.
Sander thought he smelled blood. Could taste it, too. Which meant he was bleeding. Which was good. Because that meant the slick heat on his face was his blood, and not someone else. He could take it.
He deserved it. Shut up.
However, the fear of seeing Christmas again in this state sparked in him, so he brought a hand to his face and tried to wipe at the blood. But that motion only stained his palm and ignited new pain. Then someone to his left was reaching out for him.
"
Don't touch me." -He hissed, batting the hand away, voice low and dangerous. A warning. Because it hurt, and he wasn't sure what he was going to do.
Slowly, he straightened himself up, directing blue eyes at Ernie. For some reason, his eyes refused to focus, and a body was blocking his view. But he didn't need sight to know that the other Aberration was also bleeding. He licked his lips. Mudslide.
"
Your bark is worse than your bite."
Ernie chuckled derisively, looking up from his glass removal.
"What, you want more of both?""
Can't hurt me." -The spreading heat on his face was saying otherwise, but Sander stood tall, a wild look in his eyes.
Funny. It was almost as if he were looking at a mirror.
Ernie assessed the situation in his liquor-addled mind. His brain was finally starting to register the pain in his hand. Ouch. Needed to finish picking those shards out first. Didn't want them digging further in if he needed to slap Sander silly. That's why he summoned his rope, wasn't it? To stop the ouching digs.
Sander's taunt--no,
challenge--hit him like a fucking train. The boy continued smiling despite the latent fury clouding his every thought. Marcus was going to get in the way if he tried it again. Could get hurt. Bad idea. Ernie didn't want hurt friends. Only Sander was to be hurt.
But Sander was trying to be really tall here. Ernie was tall too. He'd show him. A mouthful of glass fragments would make anyone short. Or maybe he'd shove them into his eyes. Eyes were always easy. Like Allison. Like David. Glass was messy though. It made it annoying to sit down and hurt his hand. Hard to sweep. Hurt the vacuum. Ouch. But wait. He had two hands! Silly Ernie.
The buzzcut Aberration clumsily vaulted onto the table, aiming to nail Sander in the face with his unharmed fist. A quick but horrendously sloppy punch. At least there was no glass this time.
The panicked stampede of people from the nightclub had already attracted local law enforcement and, loosely interpreting orders to "kill if any of them act wildly beyond control," the overeager policemen had loaded guns and deactivated safeties ready the moment their first five stepped into the club as more trickled in. USARILN East's personal military force was already on the way, and orders had already arrived to the first responders to hold fire unless directly attacked, but even East's reputation couldn't stay the triggers when the armed men saw the chaos. Several of them had seen their own friends torn apart in similar situations, punished for trying to talk down monsters peacefully, and they believed--especially in the hateful city--that with magic it was shoot first and clean up the mess later.
Just as their fingers squeezed the triggers, a hooded figure in the corner, easily nondescript and forgettable in the club's usual atmosphere, stood up from his obscured booth seat, finally revealing himself. But there was no stop of the bullets at some dramatically close distance to the students.
Shots blasted through the sounds of sirens and screams outside, and the unsheathed pellets of lead hung in the air, suspended just outside the muzzles of the standard-issue pistols.
The figure had seen the mess coming. Had been ready to intervene.
Before the policemen could react, the casually dressed man lifted the guns from their hands with an unknown force, pulling them up by their clothes as well to eliminate the factor of traction against the floor. Two of the officers refused to let go of their weapons, so the man removed their magazines for them and fired the already-chambered shot into the ground.
"Apologies, officers," Kadabra spoke as he flicked off his hood.
"But I'll be handling this."Sander's surprise over the Precursor's appearance didn't make its way to sound. Instead, he kept his mouth shut, still slightly staggered from Ernie's punch but not very injured by it. It had more knockback than actual damaging potential, and he had been ready to retaliate had the familiar sounds of gunfire not startled him into frozen wariness. With someone as important as Kadabra here, it was better to keep his mouth shut, and even the drink coursing its way through his system couldn't argue that.
Gunfire had sent the former gang member reeling away from the sources as soon as the firearms went off. He scuttered backwards, falling awkwardly back into the damp seats of the booth. His rope would defend against bullets. But he had no idea how well it'd hold against a Precursor. Ernie eyed the asian man warily as he tried to correct his position on the seat. An attempt to retain the little dignity he still had.
Kadabra. The legend. The killer. Numerous unlucky Senator branches had had unfortunate run-ins with the world-famous mages, enough for Ernie to have to suppress a scowl as the mage revealed himself. Those Aberrations had probably been swept away without a care. So why was he in a
nightclub of all places, getting in the way of a dozen or so police officers to defend a bunch of dumbass teenager subs? Ernie didn't like the look of this. His rope remained active, held in tight fists resting on the now-drenched table. The buzzcut boy remained silent.
Kadabra turned just enough to keep the group in his field of vision, but seemed to frown at Ernie in particular.
"Drop the power. At least don't make it that obvious. Don't make me kill children."Ernie's fists only clenched harder. The fear in his voice was unmistakable.
"You're not gonna hurt us?"The frown turned into a sideways flick of the eyes and mounting exasperation.
"No."A stiff nod in response. Ernie dissipated the rope and kept his eyes trained on the toppled shot glasses in front of him, like a child waiting to be reprimanded. Because that was what was happening here, right?
Marcus's mind raced at the sound of gunshots, nearly causing him to panic and rewind, or even use the new thing he'd managed to get back in Wisford. However, whether it was because his mind was simply not fast enough, or it had been dulled by the drink that had barely made it into his system, he didn't do either of those things. Instead, he focused on the officers outside, completely missing Ernie's punch in favor of a sudden helping hand.
He whirled, noticing a familiar face; only familiar because he had seen it on TV - and a few times on the bandaids that he never used.
However, the sudden intervention of Kadabra was not a good thing, and Marcus was only just beginning to realize what levels of trouble they'd just gotten themselves into. Raising his hands slightly to show he had nothing, he leaned over to the group and whispered.
"
I swear to god, if Zhang executes us for this, I'm gonna be super pissed."
"On the contrary," Kadabra replied, the barest traces of his Vietnamese accent surfacing in the amused pronunciation of the last word,
"she ordered this intervention."Sander just leaned against the counter, watching the Precursor carefully. More or less watching, as the cuts on his head had proven to be far more serious that he had originally thought, and they wouldn't stop bleeding. He already pressed a hand against the cuts, but the added pressure only seemed to worsen them. Sticky residues from the orange juice were not helping either. If anything though, the pain had cleared his thoughts. The Stigma faded to a soft mumble now, and the effect of the alcohol seemed to have lessened.
No more rage in his heart. Just an ashen regret and bone deep exhaustion.
God, his head hurt.
“
So…What now?”
"Now," Kadabra looked to the floating police forces as he spoke, lowering them slowly to the ground,
"I escort you back to your hotel. Then I leave. Zhang is lucky I was the first to return and there was no pressing issue on hand, but...then again, she has always had good luck. Such things trump even the best of skill at times."When the bartender had ran, Brent thought that it couldn't be helped. When Marcus and Chris both failed to stop the two drunk subnaturals from going at each other again, Brent thought that it was the expected outcome. When the police kicked open the door though?
He realized that it was definitely a bad idea, and was already up and over the bar counter, ready to...what? Run away? That thought gave him enough time to realize that the crescendo of shots fired didn't herald a wave of screams, and he poked his head out from there once more, seeing the person that saved them. Kadabra, the telekinetic Precursor.
Sander was still bleeding. Ernie finally looked like he was out of his drunken stupor. Chris had done
nothing. Marcus had his back turned.
A short night, huh? His eyes gazed towards the cartridges that littered the ground by the entrance, and Brent raised his hands up as well, walking over to join his classmates.
"Real lucky..." he murmured.
"So are we walking back, or are you planning on just floating us there?"Just as things were getting heated between the two, the police arrived. At that point Chris thought he was going to die by armed forces dealing at this messy situation. There was only more surprise as a Precursor intervened. The next theory Chris had was that they were going to be escorted to be punished or executed personally for their antics. A theory that wasn't entirely disproven by Kadabra's statements, but did make him worry less about it at the very least. Still he hung his head in shame, standing a bit away from Sander and the others as he waited to be escorted with the rest of them.
“We’re walking.” -The Precursor answered almost dispassionately, before turning around and heading toward the exit. The unsaid message was clear enough: follow.
Around them, the armed policemen were still restless, but at least, back on their feet again. Most still directed gazes darkened with fear and hatred at the subnaturals. Without their weapons though, there was little they could do but watched the group left.
Despite the lingering pain, Sander righted himself and followed wordlessly. Ernie and his problems could go to hell for all he cared; he was just too tired. He just wanted rest.
"
So uhh....thanks for not letting us get shot!" Marcus said to Kadabra's back, eager to both try and worm his way out of any sort of scolding from the Precursor, as well as actually seem appreciative of his actions, since nobody else was appearing to do so.
An affirmative ‘hmm’ and a nod from the Precursor indicated that he had acknowledge the gratitude, but that was all.
Ernie remained sullen, refusing to say another word to the group or the Precursor.
Droves of reporters were waiting outside, cameras and microphones at the ready. Gunshots and reports of multiple USARILN East subnaturals had kept the sensible ones a fair distance from the club itself, though a select few were desperate or crazy enough to wait right outside the door. But any questions those few had ready were quickly silenced by the presence of a Precursor in the flesh. The mages were able to begin their journey back with little interruption, as most of the journalists were kept at bay by their own nerve. However, a young man brandishing audio recorders shoved their way through the crowd. Another man, presumably his partner, took quickfire snaps of the group.
"Hey, hey! You kids, Proteus and Time Scar and all you other ones! What are your names? Powers? What the heck even happened in there?"Following Kadabra's example, Ernie ignored the pests and merely tightened his scarf a little more. The other boys did the same, remaining silent, though Sander was keeping his face mostly obscured by his hand. Fortunately, the blood had done most of the work for him.
The intrusive reporters were gently lifted by their clothes and sent back into the throng. Whether it was due to intimidation, politeness or even Kadabra's own action, the crowd of journalists kept their distance as they tailed the group. Any other overeager reporters were pulled back, making the walk back a mostly undisturbed journey.
"
So, quick question:" Marcus said, turning around to watch some of the reporters as they slunk along like predators. It was interesting to see some of them cowed, but he was feeling a little bit intimidated by the metaphorical bloodlust in their eyes. Just waiting for one of them to fall behind so they could pounce.
He made sure to stay
very close.
"
...what were you doing in there? Did you sneak in at some point, or were you already at that club, and we just ruined your night?"
"I was at the club," the Precursor replied, conceding the obvious,
"but events followed expectations. Wouldn't call it 'ruined.' ""But how'd you know the exact club we were in?" Curiosity killed Ernie's silence and he glanced shyly at the man,
"Did you follow us from the hotel? Heard the fuss over police radio and came over?""Zhang has a way with questions. And Stella has all the answers if you know what and how to ask."The buzzcut boy looked at him confusedly. Stella was...Foresight, if he remembered correctly. Zhang was consulting Precursors on this special class of subnaturals. Was that how she managed to gather all the ones who had visions? Ernie looked down again and frowned, lost in his own thoughts.
"
Wait? We're important enough to not only have Kadabra watching over us, but also important enough to bother Foresight? Why?" The tone of Marcus's voice could nearly be described as 'pleading'; there was no reason for someone to got through the trouble of contracting
two Precursors, just for the sake of a couple dumb kids.
"I believe it was coincidence that Zhang stumbled on this incident in the process of questioning Stella. Suffice to say, without intervention, you all would have died," Kadabra answered, tone betraying nothing.
Ernie stiffened at that last revelation. Kadabra had said it himself. It was dumb luck that Zhang was able to call a Precursor to their location. Four of his classmates would have been shot to death because of him and his temper.
He wasn't just useless anymore. He was a liability.
The subnaturals were dropped off in the lobby of the hotel, the reporters crowding the entrance stepping aside once the de facto leader of the Precursors came into view. A man of few words, Kadabra let the boys off with little more than a nod and some words of advice.
"Try not to die because you can't hold your alcohol. There are better ways to go.""
Wait!" Marcus called out, before the Precursor could slip into the cold darkness.
"
Not even a kiss goodnight?"
Kadabra turned, a glint of rarely seen humor in his eyes.
The front of Ernie's face collided with Marcus's as a sharp telekinetic tug on the former's clothes fulfilled the time mage's request. The cameras outside seemed to flash with even more vigor than before.
With that, Kadabra left. A slight shake of his shoulders hinting at old childhood mischief.
On the elevator back up, Ernie remained silent, still nursing a busted lip and unsure of how to articulate his thoughts. The drunken stupor had long since worn off, enough for all the regrets of the night to replace what ditzy bliss had blinded him earlier. He began tentatively.
"Guys...I'm not gonna remember most of tonight."After everything, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
"
Oh don't worry, I'm going to make absolutely damn sure you remember." Marcus said, the slightest hint of irritation in his voice as he massaged his damaged nose.
"Marcus," Brent began, before deciding against it.
"No, yeah, Ernie, what the hell was that?"Exhaustion darkened his expression. Ernie hoped that Brent wouldn't notice the fear still shaking his frame.
"Give morning me a good punch in the face, yeah? Tell me everything," he looked to Marcus before addressing Brent. He couldn't even look at those amethyst eyes,
"I...can't explain. I'm sorry."He bit his lip, trying to find more to say.
"Just...don't make me talk to him again. I know it's not worth much but," he bowed his head to his two friends,
"I'm sorry. I fucked up bad. It should've just been me getting shot at. I never meant to put you guys in danger."Marcus sighed a bit, before shrugging. "
Ernie, we get put in danger all the time now. Hell, if our days of relaxation didn't end with us almost getting wrecked by something, I'd be shocked."
He gave a slight smile before chuckling. "
We would have been fine though; I could have rewound, you've got your wierd rope tricks, Brent would have...I dunno, overclocked the ventilation and sucked himself out of the club? Point is, it's gonna take more than a few trigger-happy mall cops to take down Team SAP."
"
I'm still totally gonna slap you in the back of the head though."
"Morning?" Brent wasn't wholly satisfied with this, but he recognized that the fault laid in him for bringing Sander over to begin with.
"You sure you'll be able to wake up on time with that building hangover of yours?"Ernie managed a small snicker at the mental image of Brent getting sucked into a vent like a cartoon character. Though he wasn't convinced that everything would have turned out fine. He appreciated the attempt to make him feel better though, though his relieved smile soon morphed into a horrified gasp as he remembered his recent morning routine.
"Ah fuck, I'm gonna have to set like fifty alarms!" Ernie scratched his head, trying to figure out the logistics of waking at five in such a state,
"I loaded up on juice and shit between shots so I should be able to. Otherwise I'll just dunk myself into a cold bath or something. I'll figure it out, man, I'm sorry!""Dude," Brent laughed, patting the x-marked on the back.
"Don't worry about it. After the shit that went down today, I don't think I'd want to wake up that early. And god knows how wasted our resident rockstar is at this point.""For real?" Ernie chuckled nervously, falling slightly forward from the hand on his back. Guess his motor skills hadn't returned with his regrets,
"Thanks man. I'll make up for it, I promise.""Ernie, gourmet corndogs, figure out a godly, original recipe, and all shall be forgiven."The boys spilled out of the elevators as they reached the 20th floor. Ernie was more than ready to put the night behind him. He waved goodbye to Chris and ignored Sander, but threw an arm around Marcus' shoulder.
"He never answered that question.""
You're going to hafta be a little more specific." Marcus said, looking to Ernie as he leaned across his shoulder. There had been a lot of people and a lot of questions tonight, a few too many of each for him to know what Ernie was talking about at the exact moment.
"Why we're important," the Aberration murmured, suddenly wondering if this was a good idea. So far he'd decided to keep this between himself and Angelique, lest he get shot for knowing too much or whatever. Fred and Rosa were off-limits, he couldn't trust their answers. There was no tangible reason to keep this from his classmates but maybe he simply just didn't
like most of them enough to let them know. There was payment due for the shit he pulled tonight. He didn't know if it would even begin to make up for it, but it was better to get it done before he forgot or lost his nerve in the morning.
Ernie pulled his two friends in close, whispering so that the cuff wouldn't pick it up. A useless tactic if USARILN had listened in on his and Angelique's conversation but he did it anyway.
"Visions. Power changes. No one else gets them like this class."With that, he departed to his room with a salute, leaving the remaining two to their silence.
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