COMMANDER PRICE.

Send me a ✆ to know your name/ringtone/picture in my character’s mobile.

NAME: Will RivkinRINGTONE: Cesare’s phone is almost always on vibrate — he never misses a call despite that fact. [ CLICK HERE. ]

PICTURE: A very old photo, probably of Will’s original head shot from the first auditions. 

Send me a ✆ to know your name/ringtone/picture in my character’s mobile.

NAME: TANGORINGTONE: Cesare’s phone is almost always on vibrate — he never misses a call despite that fact. [ CLICK HERE. ]

PICTURE: Tango, I’m sorry, but Cesare had no idea what to do for your contact picture. 

Send me a ✆ to know your name/ringtone/picture in my character’s mobile.

NAME: Elizabeth MitchellRINGTONE: Cesare’s phone is almost always on vibrate — he never misses a call despite that fact. [ CLICK HERE. ]

PICTURE: He just took photos of the team’s official Bureau ID photos for his contacts.

There’s a small smile on his face, a thank you for the effort—Cesare at least deserved that, having to deal with them and the Bureau at the same time. Damien was nervous and angry and tired, uncharacteristically tired after all of the events that had transpired the day before. From monsters, to the situation with Beth, and back to the press, Damien felt like he was wrung out and barely even a person showing up for this conference. 

But whatever it takes to keep the public safe, he was going to do. Even if it was sit in leather under blaring lights and be asked questions by reporters that desperately want something controversial coming from him. “Cesare,” he said, crossing his arms, “You really think people want what Mortician has to say? I’ll try and help with damage control, if you want. At least that’ll help, right?”

Damien suited the role of ‘Mortician’ so well because of this ability to switch. He managed a look at Cesare filled with acid and betrayal then the smallest upturn of his lips and he’s softened and fizzled down. Cesare relaxes too, even if he was looked at as an immovable object, he felt too emotional and raw underneath it all. Moreso around the old team.

Damien shifts into something more lighthearted with crossed arms and self-deprecating comments. Cesare also smiles. “That would be a massive help, Damien,” he pats him firmly on the bicep, “I don’t think everyone does, but you speak to some people, and they need you just as much as I need this to go well.”

He steps back, decides that this is the best note to finish on. Both can leave optimistic, Damien on a high without worrying too much about his request. Later, Cesare thinks, he’ll have to talk to Damien about not pleading for necessities from the Bureau. It puts him at a disadvantage.

He can hear Cesare’s disappointment. Damien hasn’t cared for years, but it shoots through his chest like a bullet at close range, and now he’s bleeding out.

What’s worse is what he says after. In case any personal information gets leaked. Cesare knew, of course, that didn’t really surprise him after all this; with the bugs and the few tabloids that came, he presumed that they’d known. But hearing it from him was another thing entirely, as if someone had cut him up in the same place his ex stabbed him through. It was not a pleasant feeling. “Fine,” he replied acidly, the pain of it all a clear map on his face. “Fine. I just miss—miss her. Never been away for more than hours, and I’m worried.”

Cesare sees it — that look of something like a betrayal. He may be reading too much into it, but Cesare knows too well the rigid need for privacy and the fear of that being violated. His lips part as though he’s about to say something, try and reassure the man but the acid in his words make Cesare immediately clam up.

He sighs after Damien finishes to continue his desperate plea. Cesare didn’t need much sleep anyhow, he decides, he can try to speed things along after the conference. he hadn’t used the bed in his office for years, now, but with the Exemplar’sback it’s no surprise he’ll slip back into those bad workaholic habits.

“I know I cannot fully appreciate your situation, Damien, but I promise I will do what I can to get the two of you in contact, soon,” he pauses then continues, a small dry attempt at levity, “Do well at the conference and I’ll be able to get to it this evening instead of doing damage control.”

will didn’t know what he was expecting to get out of this. every part of him insisted he’d walk onto the podium disappointed at the pointers he’d get from cesare. it was childish to mislead his hopes in this direction, but old habits died hard – he was still an idealist, clinging onto the idea that maybe, just maybe, the journalists eager to tear them to shreds would be forgiving. he always let those short-lived bouts of confidence were enough to convince cesare. and even though he was well-aware it’d likely never work, something in him convinced him time and time again to give it another shot. 

    the simple argument he’d felt so sure about just mere moments ago crumbled as it was repeated by cesare. of course, it was miserable, and he felt like an idiot for even thinking it’d be enough for the press. he knew the moment he came out and admitted defeat before the cameras, he’d be done for. “cesare–” 

   will didn’t continue, knowing better than to interrupt the other, especially now. but eventually, he became almost unable to meet cesare in the eyes. not out of shame, but it was just better that way. whenever they argued, will would always prefer to shut the real cesare out, to reduce him to a two-dimensional image of a haughty bureaucrat in an expensive suit; it made will feel less guilty about the anger he felt. he wouldn’t know what do with himself if he were to look at cesare in the eyes and stare right at the humanity in them. 

   “that makes it even more necessary for us to tell them,” will began, almost under his breath. “what happens when people lose their homes, their loved ones? what will they say if they find out we knew what they were up against and didn’t tell them?” was cesare prepared to carry that burden, because will definitely wasn’t. 

    “why not?” why not use curfews and evacuations and arsenal? anything would help. but will wasn’t looking for an answer to that question– “wait, don’t tell me…” he let out, words ever so colored with a shade of brass, “– because then we’d be no good to anyone;  you would’ve been right from the start: what’d be the point of a useless team of superheroes, right?”

    “we can try our hardest but if we’re faced with something that’s beyond us we’ll need all the help we can get, commander. we’re not invincible. you’ve seen it happen–” will cut himself off. he didn’t need to say more, he didn’t even need to bring up her name for his point to come across. they’d both lost a team mate that day.

    will sighed. at last, he could agree with something. he wouldn’t call it a small victory, though – the last thing he wanted was to give cesare that satisfaction. perhaps releasing it to the press wasn’t the best option. “we should still let them know,” the brunet shook his head gently, his town now clearly calmer. “no fear-mongering, but still somehow.”

Cesare lets him speak despite the urge to interrupt and correct him on some finer points. He especially has to bite back on a comment when Will is clearly dismissing the entire concept of ‘superheroes’. Cesare despises the idea that the Exemplars are somehow ‘lesser’ because they were purposefully put together. Too many stories relied on dumb luck and circumstance — but that’s a personal gripe of his, wanting people to put more faith into the self-made than the lucky ‘chosen’ ones. His lips only tighten at the hint of their one lost team member. He never believed they were invincible.

“I don’t disagree with you, Will,” Cesare says, “Better, more thorough communication with local law enforcement is something we can implement with our next mission.  Just don’t—-” He stops and collects himself. He’s so free with his criticisms, he forgets to tell the team when they’re doing well.

“You are a hero. You are the optimist,” Cesare says with a newfound determination, wanting this to get through to him, “ Of course, you’re ready to lay it all out... but not everyone can see a threat and be ready to fight it. If you share too much now, people will not wait till they lose a home or loved one to react poorly. Fear, especially fear in the masses, can be more dangerous than... than some interdimensional creatures.”

“If we lose the public’s trust, they will fear you and the unknown. You need to go out there and make them feel safe.”

Laura couldn’t say why, exactly, she’d headed straight for Cesare’s office when she got back.  It hadn’t even really been a conscious decision; she’d arrived back at HQ and her feet had taken her here, to wait just outside his door, still dripping wet.  It would have been more reasonable, she realized, to shower first, or at the very least, finish drying off and change.  It was the lingering damp and scent of chlorine, she figured, that made her eyes burn and her nose run.  She wasn’t entirely sure how it explained the way her breath kept hitching–maybe something leftover from when she’d accidentally inhaled the water–but surely it did.

The floor squeaked slightly beneath her bare feet as she shifted her weight uneasily, unsure what to do next.  Finally, cautiously, Laura raised the hand that wasn’t clutching her waterlogged shoes to knock on the door.  “C-commander?”  Despite the attempt to even her breathing and square her shoulders, her voice still wavered.  “I’m…back from the party.”

Cesare’s on a high. The frankly gaudy and overdone ‘communist’ villains were a hit and, when some wealthy and, so he’s told, ‘important’ men invited the Exemplars to a party he knew he had to celebrate. Of course, the invitation was extended further than the team’s main figureheads purely out of courtesy. He, of course, knew he was not expected to attend. In fact, going out to a party would be very out-of-character for ‘Commander Price’. 

For Cesare, though, it would’ve been fun.

He was more than content to squirrel himself away in his own office and celebrate in private. He pulled out his not-so-secret stash of scotch and spent the evening alone as he polished off a little more scotch than he should have. The TV was on, broadcasting the party, but he’d turned the volume so low and left it on in the background he had stopped paying attention. Perhaps that would’ve stopped him from nearly spilling his drink down his shirt a the timid knock and Laura — ‘Gecko’ — speaking up in an... off voice.

‘C-commander?’ and he’s on his feet, crossing the threshold and the door is open on the last syllable of ‘party’. His eyes widen and the scotch and unceremoniously dumped on the side atop a bookshelf. 

A puddle collects at her feet. Hair sticks to her face, expression more confused than sad but it’s a distressing sight nonetheless. “Laura?” he steps forward, a hand tentatively going to one shoulder, “You’re dripping—- Are you okay?” He steps back and quietly tells  Laura to come in.

Cesare quickly closes the door behind her before he’s disappearing into the small adjoining room. The bureau figured he’d pull a lot of all-nighters, so he has a small bathroom and cot in the back. He grabs one of his towels — from home, of course, it’s warm and fluffy unlike the cheap scratchy shit they gave him — and darts back to Laura’s side, handing her the towel.

SCREENSHOTS OF DESPAIR: 2/?

It wasn’t unexpected, but certainly disappointing. He could feel his shoulders sag from how he couldn’t ask her what’d been up at school or how she;d been holding up with the sudden move to Vermont. It made him antsy, or at the very least, worried. “What do you want to do so I can speed that up, De Santis?” Damien’s mind raced as he thought of anything he could do to make the logistical nightmare of getting a phone line to Cassie easier. “I—” Desperate men turn to desperate words. “I’ll do anything.”

He was going to regret saying  that. He’s definitely going to regret it, but he doesn’t care; that was a problem in the future.

“There’s nothing you can do, Damien,” Cesare says with a hint of disappointment. Such pleading words, such desperation. He hates seeing it.

“We could speed it up if you want, but, I don’t think you do,” he begins explaining himself, he knows Damien’s intensely private and had issues in the past with paparazzi and unable to find friends he could trust.

“I can send out a message requesting it and let whichever operative is free to pick it up or the longer but the better option would be I choose a specific operative to handle getting the secure line installed so we will know exactly who is aware of Cassie and your home address in case... in case any personal information gets leaked.”

will had always tried to go into the missions in an optimistic headspace, but keeping an eye out for the worse. the paranoia had worsened after evelynn’s death, and it refused to leave since. he didn’t want to indulge in that fragile, misguided sense of security anymore since it had become clear even fail-safe mechanisms were prone to failure.

  it was still a harsh blow to take when missions failed. he knew that his performance would suffer as a consequence of how out of practice he was - maybe remembering this was the first time he was back amidst the old time’s chaos could’ve worked as a source of consolation. in the end, as usual, it only made it worse. this was their first mission after years of rest, and they’d dealt with arguably larger threats, so what did that say about the team’s current state and their odds in the upcoming missions?

  “why not? it’s been me who’s standing in front of the cameras since the start. don’t you think i know what they’re like by now?”

  he was growing irritated, and he felt like an idiot for having even so much as toyed with the possibility that him and cesare could remain on good terms.

  “the truth - that it was the nypd who wiped the two monsters out–” they didn’t need to be blunt for the sake of challenging the bureau; will even dared agree that in the event they laid the truth out, it ought to be done with considerately– “we tell them that letting the monsters roam loose had become too high of a threat, and that then the team became more focused on safeguarding the civilians. because of that, we needed to call for reinforcements to eradicate the threat itself.”

  “—– and then we tell them this wasn’t an isolated incident. we need to advise them to prepare for further contingencies. if people are warned, they can plan accordingly; not only would that let us not worry about having to cover that much ground in the future, but it could help bring down the casualty risk.”

Cesare nods, takes in the words and considers briefly how the press could — and would — easily twist his words. He consciously glosses over some of the finer points of Will’s proposed statement. It’s unfortunate, but that’s how he’d be perceived. People never wanted to see the whole truth, details were often too complicated.

“So, Will, you want to say that you were unable to handle the threat and pushed that task onto the NYPD,” he repeats the general gist of his own statement back to him, sure that won’t be enough, he twists the words further and pries much like a reporter would, “What is the point in a team of superheroes who need to call in the police when things become ‘too high of a threat’? That’s one hell of a soundbite.”

Cesare does not wait for an answer before he continues.

“Plan accordingly for what, exactly? A threat we’re still analyzing, a threat that the brightest member of your team, our dear Druid, even found himself perplexed by?” Cesare’s volume remains even, voice steady, all the while he knows he’s slipping back into the same habits. He can’t help but respond so scathingly, it’s in his nature to nitpick and criticize. If his commands are questioned he has never believed in the ‘because I told you so’ tactic, he’d rather explain in minute detail why. Will always hated it. Cesare can’t stop himself.

SCREENSHOTS OF DESPAIR: 1/?