{ stephanie hsu. cis woman, she/her } hey, did you see the video i sent you of that [freelancer for b.y.o.h.]? their permutation is probably something like [shapeshifter] or whatever which is like a [c-rank] on the f.b.a.i. assessment but like in the video [she was hired to help this chick get her stuff back from her ex and the ex is like scared of dogs, so she turns into like freaking cerberus or whatever and he has to lock himself in the bathroom to get away from her while his girlfriend is just packing her stuff up]? people in the comments were calling her [the wild thing] and she’s like fighting them in the comments about it. or i guess, someone is. she’s saying her name is [anna liu]. i mean, i guess it sort of looks like her, if you squint. i'm not sure though, the person on the video is like a six-foot tall dog mostly and doesn’t look like a [35] year old who would list [ a shadow that lags a fraction of a second behind, hair that never quite settles, the whisper of overlapping footsteps, the soft crack of joints resetting, clothes that feel lived in by multiple people ] as their interests on alterego. what? don't look at me like that — i got curious! besides, if that even is them in the video, it’s probably a pr thing for realhero tv.
— ( provoked by andy. 35. she/her. cst. )
001. General.
name: Anna Liu
nickname/hero alias if applicable: Annie, Lulu, Anna-Morph, "The Thing From the Comments Section"
faceclaim: Stephanie Hsu
age/date of birth: 35 / November 25th
gender & pronouns: Cis-female & She/Her
orientation/marital status: Demisexual / Single
distinguishing features: Hahahahahahahaha - She's not entirely sure she has any and would desperately like some thanks
occupation: Animal Behavioral Specialist, custodian, BYOH freelancer
power: Shapeshifting
height: 5'0" or 152cm
place of birth: Queens
family: Her parents, Grace and Kevin Liu (mid-50s) work city jobs. They know about her shapeshifting but not the full extend of her hero work. All four of her grandparents are alive: Chen Wei-Sheng and Chen Mei-Hua (mid 80s) on her mother's side, and Liu Xiu-Lan and Lui Cheng-Bo (late 70s to mid-80s) on her father's side. Anna also has a wide extended family of aunts, uncles, and cousins living across New Everwick.
current residence: Brooklyn
002. Iconography.
character inspirations: Beast Boy of Teen Titans and Young Justice fame, Kipo of Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts fame, Ditto of Pokémon fame, Doric of Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves fame, Kirby of uh Kirby fame
character tropes: the mind is a plaything of the body, loss of identity, Eldritch Abomination
zodiac sign: Sagittarius
mbti: ENFP
positive traits: Adventurous, Bold, Creative, Daring, Empathetic, Free-Spirited, Giant when needed, Honest, Inquisitive, Just, Killer fashion sense, Little when needed, Motivated
negative traits: Noncommittal, Ominous aura, Passive-Aggressive, Quick-tempered, Restless, Sarcastic, Tactless, Unpredictable, Very Pretty Too Pretty In Fact, Wary, X, Yearner, (un)Zealous
likes: Difficult animals, street food, clutter, 2am, movement, mythical creatures, open spaces, high energy music
dislikes: Being filmed without consent, authority, small talk, capitalism, feeling boxed in, routines
fears: losing her identity, hurting someone accidentally, being filmed at her worst, being reduced to a brand, being abandoned, feeling trapped, being loved for a specific version of herself
habits: idly changing her features, touching different parts of her face to make sure it looks correct, sweater paws, eating standing up, leaving a trail of half-finished tasks behind her, standing near exits, ghosting a group chat and then returning like she hasn't been silent for 6+ months, walking or biking everywhere, giving names to and talking to literally every animal even when she knows they can't understand her
hobbies: drawing, fostering animals, collecting just the most random stuff she finds around the city, cooking without a recipe, listening to live music, watching 80s and 90s Hong Kong cinema, photography, DIY, parkour, trying desperately to keep any houseplant alive
pets: she and her roommates have been adopted by a cat named Miso
003. Extras.
bio: TW: bullying, infidelity
Anna grew up in New Flushing Queens, in a neighborhood where everyone knew everyone else's business and anonymity was impossible. Her parents, Grace and Kevin Liu, raised her in a small apartment above a bakery, surrounded by aunties who pinched her cheeks and grandparents who argued loudly in Mandarin over mahjong tiles.
She has been a shapeshifter for as long as she's been alive. As a baby, she mirrored the faces around her without understanding what she was doing. Her parents still tell the story of the day they found their six-month-old daughter smiling up at them no longer with just her mother's smile but also with her mother's exact adult teeth. They laugh about it sometimes, panic about it others. The aunties in the building thought it was hilarious. The parents in the neighborhood did not.
Growing up in Queens, Anna was the kind of kid who made friends easily. She was funny and energetic -- the kid who made her ears bigger or changed her hair color to match her friend's backpack. The first kid in her age group to manifest a permutation. Anna wasn't just different, she was special. She had the potential to be something they'd only seen on TV.
Kids whispered that she might be the next big thing.
Parents whispered that she might be the next big problem.
Once parents found out, they didn't see a playful child. They saw a potential headline. Invitations to play stopped. Playdates were cancelled. Birthday invitations were lost in the mail. Teachers watched her too closely. Kids who once laughed with her on the playground avoided her, repeating their parents' fears.
Little Liu is weird.
She's going to steal your face!
Don't stare at her eyes.
By middle school, she'd gone from being the fun kid to the weird kid. The bullying started small -- comments, jokes, avoidance -- and escalated. Something in her snapped. She didn't want to hurt her classmates but she wanted them to stop. So she did something she'd never done before: she reshaped her entire being into another person. She became their teacher. Not just her face; she took on her body, her posture, her voice. And then the real horror began.
Her mind shifted.
Suddenly she knew things that she shouldn't: she was going through a divorce because her husband discovered she was having an affair with a coworker, she was worried about her teenage son's new friends, she had a to reschedule that dentist appointment she'd been putting off.
These weren't guesses. They were memories. Feelings. Instincts.
And she couldn't shift back.
Part of her brain insisted that she needed to go home and pick up her son. Another part was screaming inside her own skull. She was pulled in different directions, pacing up and down the halls until she passed a display case with a photo of herself: Anna Liu, spelling bee champion. She focused on the girl in the photo, on the shape of her own face, on the memory of winning that ribbon, and slowly, painfully, she returned to herself.
She never forgot the terror of that day.
Throughout high school, she kept her abilities small and inconsequential even as her classmates began displaying permutations of their own. She underperformed on every assessment and in every training session, letting specialists believe she had limited control. If they thought she was weak, they wouldn't push her into dangerous territory.
It wasn't until adulthood that she began experimenting with animal forms while working on a biology degree. They were harder -- requiring real anatomical knowledge -- but safer. Animal instincts didn't overwrite her. Hybrid forms came naturally -- griffins, owlbears, three-headed dogs -- they were made up of what she said they were. They gave her the most amount of control.
Her twenties were a blur of gigs and apartments. She moved out of Queens and bounced around the city -- working retail, food service, temp jobs, deliveries. She dated a little, but intimacy was complicated when she wasn't even sure the face she wore was her own.
By her thirties, she's found stability in Brooklyn. She now lives in a cramped, overpriced apartment with three roommates she barely knows. They coexist more than they connect. The only real relationship in the apartment is with Miso, the building cat who has unofficially adopted them.
She works at the New Prospect Park Zoo as an animal behavior tech where her instincts make her invaluable. She works a rotating night-shift cleaning job that gives her access to all sorts of places she'd never otherwise be. She takes Bring Your Own Hero gigs whenever she can get the chance to make the person who made someone feel small feel smaller.
She walks everywhere. She sketches where she can. She helps her neighbors carry in their groceries.
She avoids crowds, avoids labels, and avoids any attempt at being pinned down.
She's not unhappy, but she's not settled either. She has the potential to live a thousand different lives and at 35, she still isn't sure which one is hers. She's learned to survive, to adapt, to protect -- but she hasn't learned how to belong.
At the end of the day, she goes home exhausted and half-shifted where her roommates don't care as long as she has her part of the rent and Miso greets her at the door as if she's the only person in the world who matters.
wanted connections:
Any other early bloomers in the house??? Anybody want to be roomies? Coworkers? Work rivals? Enemies to lovers I mean what?
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For a brief moment, Eeshika gives herself a moment to breath, even ease up her shoulders a little, walk with a bit more of stride in her step. All that anxiety and worry was for nothing. It was just storms that she was swirling up in her own mind. So far, so good. It was looked as if luck was actually on her side. That New Everwick was giving her some grace for today, even with the flurry of new. Everything was going to be okay, and Eeshika could easily go about her day with this small litter errand that she wanted to run.
Oh goodness, she had thought to soon.
The moment she heard the familiar click of the camera and flash illuminating the bright sky, she knew it was game over. She winced, holding her breath as if it was a magic trick to make her appear almost invisible to it. Her shoulders squared up once again, lowering her head to make her as small as possible. It was on days like this she wished her permutation had been something like invisibility, so she was able to walk the world freely without worry. But again, that was the price that you pay to be in the spotlight. Even more so when she had unwanted attention.
Though the flash only came one which clearly meant that it wasn't for her. She doesn't look back at all to make sure if it were a photographer to be getting a front shot of her face knowing the anxious look that she was carrying. Neutral. She had to try and make her face look at neutral as possible. Leave people guessing. That's what some of her media training had taught her. Unless, she was trying to provoke a certain emotion, normally something of teasing with her other band members or Kardinal crew, heck even other celebrities. But right now she was on her own.
The streets began to narrow. She was so hyperfixated in her own head, that she hadn't even notice the girl that had been walking the same direction as her. The one who had been silently letting her move a head a little bit. Eeshika is startled for a moment when she hears her voice as she got close. She looked about her age and didn't carry off the energy of paparazzi or any signs of camera. Though it could be argued that al you really needed was be an expert at using a phone camera to get the snaps needed. Her voice was soft and filled with concern.
To the point, that she was even breaking the silent New Everwick code, mind your own business and don't get in other's ways. This time it was the silent code that had been broken, part of Eeshika was grateful to have someone ground her. The other bought a terrible worried that there was now another person who would be in the ripple of her fame and photographed.
Eeshika looks over to her with worried eyes, shaking her head. Hoping that maybe seeing her face would give them a little bit of a warning that they should keep their distance. Unless it was a wholesome fan photo, cause even in the wreckage of her own world, she could still try her best to be kind to the rest of the word. As she opens her mouth to speak but shuts it as another false of the camera startles her. This time, she looks over to the direction of the camera. And yep, that was certainly not a tourist anymore.
"I'm being followed," she says in a whisper allowed enough for them to hear. "I'm sorry." The first few words that leave her mouth. "Maybe being around me isn't a good idea. It's going to happen whether I like it or now." Already accepting her fate. "That's what I get for being Siren of AxieL." She exhales, giving her a warning.
"Thank you though, really. Not many actually kind people around the city anymore."
Anna blinks, the words “I’m being followed” landing directly in the middle of her chest where most of her BYOH requests end up. Her own pulse speeds up, but she keeps her expression neutral. Honestly, being able to focus on someone else’s problem is a relief. Finally, somewhere she can put her restless energy that doesn’t involve her dealing with her own issues or whatever -- not that she has any. Obviously.
“Okay,” she says slowly, instead of what her brain is telling her to say, which is: are you being followed or stalked? Because stalking is a crime. Following is not. And if it’s stalking, well, if she suplexes a stalker, does that assault cancel out the stalking in a mutually‑assured‑destruction kind of way?
Unless it counts as self-defense?
Has she just discovered a sexy gray area where suplexing a stalker isn’t illegal?
Maybe.
She’ll look it up later.
She glances behind her toward the direction of the flash, then back at the woman beside her. Whoever’s trailing her is subtle -- the flash isn’t, but the person behind it is. Whoever this woman is -- Siren of Axial, which means absolutely nothing to Anna except that it sounds like a cool D&D subclass -- she looks genuinely shaken.
Someone scared, someone afraid of being followed, someone trying to shrink themselves out of danger -- Anna recognizes that posture instantly. Her instincts apparently caught it before her brain did. This is the kind of fear she’s walked beside a hundred times on BYOH jobs. Her body already knows what to do.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Anna says, shaking her head. “That’s not on you.”
She shifts her bag on her shoulder, elongating her spine and stretching her shoulders until she’s a little taller, a little wider. More solid. The ache in her muscles and bones are a secondary concern. “If you want space, I can back off. If you want someone to walk with you for a block or two, I can do that too.”
She modulates her volume, careful not to spook Siren-of-Axial-Whoever-She-Is further.
“I’m not trying to get in your business. I just didn’t want to ignore it if you weren’t okay.” She hesitates, then adds, almost sheepish, “And for what it’s worth, I don’t know what a Siren of Axial is. So, if you’re worried I'm about to freak out or ask for a, uh, selfie? That’s not me.”
A tiny shrug.
“I’m just somebody that’s going to be walking this way anyway. And you look like you could use someone normal in your vicinity for a minute.”
She nods toward the clearer street ahead in invitation.
∘˙○˚.•˗who: eeshika & OPEN [0/3]
∘˙○˚.•˗where: out on the citystreets, brooklyn, nkc
∘˙○˚.•ˊ˗when: 1st May 2022
∘˙○˚.•ˊ˗what: just going on a walk to post a letter.
∘˙○˚.•ˊ˗content warning: mentions low moods
It wasn't just how easily stranger's opinions could itself somewhere beneath her skin. Her skin was thicker than that. At least she liked to tell herself that. Yet something heavy still hangs heavy in her and she trying her best to shake it off. But this sunken feeling doesn't more.
Her gaze drifts towards the reflection of the darken screen of her phone. She offered her smile out of habit. And there is appeared easily enough. After all, by now, she was pretty much a pro from the interviews, photoshoots and the media training had seen to that. She smiles warmly. Smiles often. Be sweet. This was the version of herself she presents to the world and yes it is not a persona that is filled with falsehoods and lies. It was her natural state exaggerated. And just some days...some days it can be physically exhausting. She was the sweetheart after all.
Normally in the overwhelming moments like this, she'd head back to her safe space. Her old home. As much as a part of her wanted too. She knew that it was safer to keep her distance. At least for a while....for now. It was for the better she kept her distance from that old apartment. Didn't need photographers thinking she was a creature of habit, otherwise it could be more than that single photo. She would not allow that to be her fault. Not again.
Feeling overwhelmed came with the territory. Eeshika wouldn't allow herself to allow that feeling to be all consuming as it starts to bleed into her everyday. Bleed into her kindness, her performance and just everything between. This energy was draining as even her bubbles were coming out a little flat. This...this wasn't her.
30 minutes.
Eeshika tells herself.
30 minutes she'll allow herself to feel this sinking grey hole and then it would be gone!
A little bit of sunshine could help with that. A little wellness walk whilst running some errands like posting a little mail. She could do that right? How much damage could that really cause? She would be walking around by herself, smile for the cameras. Maybe a new selfie would become a float. It was just a little pause.
Pulling the oversized hood over her head and sliding designer shades over her face, Eeshika slipped out through the back ways of Kardinal Recording Studios. Sure the look wasn't exactly revolutionary. Really, it practically screamed celebrity trying not to be recognised but it did the job. At least she hoped that it would.
Keeping her head down and her pace as casual as she could as she made her way out. So far, so good. No whispers or double takes. Just people going about their day. The further she walked, the more her shoulders began to relax. The warm sunlight spilled across her skin as the gentle may breeze tugged at the edge of her hood. Yeah this was exactly the mindful walk she needed. She could feel the panic melting away.
Perhaps the walk was already working. Or perhaps the walk was speaking too soon...
Anna is out for a walk. Not toward anything in particular, just aimlessly working off restless energy. Movement has always been her go-to for burning off nervous energy. Now that things are resolved with the Cleaner -- or as resolved as they can be -- she uses it to shed the instincts she relied on so much in April. Too much stillness startles her. Too much quiet makes her wary. And she is really, really trying to leave that behind.
We move, she told herself. We move, and all that.
She’d started the morning by making the incredibly generous decision not to yell at Joaquin. Not about the broken arm (not necessarily his fault!). Not about ending up in the hospital (couldn’t be helped!). Not about showing up to the meeting the next day like nothing was wrong (who hasn’t gone to work when they should have called in sick?). And definitely not about the unbelievably earnest, unbelievably stupid thing he’d posted online about the person who mugged him (on brand for someone called Goodfella!).
She just blocked him.
It was surprisingly cathartic.
Her plan for May is to lean into being around people this month in non-urgent contexts only. No emergencies. No adrenaline. She will still take the odd BYOH gig because bills exist and distrust doesn’t pay them, but otherwise? There are regular person events coming up. Festivals. Restaurant Week. She can fill her calendar and just. Be a person for awhile.
She’s still chewing on that thought when a sudden camera flash pops in her peripheral vision.
Bright.
Unexpected.
Too close.
Her whole body jolts, and her senses snap outward before she can reel them back in. She turns, pulse racing -- only to see a tourist taking a picture of a building. Literally just a building. Not even one of the iconic ones. Just… brick.
Anna exhales, rubbing at the tension in her jaw. She hates how easily her instincts slid into prey-mode after a month of leaning too hard on them.
“Warn somebody, why don’t you,” she mutters under her breath as she steps around the tourist, adjusting her bag.
That’s when she notices the hooded woman beside her. Head down. Shoulder tight. The flash must have startled her too; she’s tense in that way that Anna recognizes all too well.
There’s something vaguely familiar about her, when Anna catches a glimpse of her face. She’s pretty. Cute, even! Maybe Anna has seen her around Brooklyn somewhere? On the subway? Anna’s usually pretty good with faces -- maybe they’ve both done the shameful five-minutes-after-opening bodega stop after an overnight shift. She files it under that and keeps moving.
The sidewalk narrows ahead -- scaffolding forcing everyone into single-and-double-file lines to squeeze through – and Anna shifts her path a little, giving the woman space to go ahead without making a thing of it.
But the woman’s tension lingers in her peripheral vision -- tight, brittle, the kind of defensive Anna has been wearing for weeks. And before she can talk herself out of it, she clears her throat.
“Hey, so I know this is against, like, every New Everwick code, but are you -- "
She pauses, searching for a word that doesn’t sound like it’s prying. Even though it absolutely is.
“ -- okay?”
Another flash goes off behind them -- further away, harmless -- and Anna flinches anyway.
“Obviously you don’t have to answer,” she adds quickly, words tumbling out in a rush. “But, like, are you good?”
It's crowded as hell, and sources say it'll only get more crowded as the years go by. Manhattanhenge is something that feels like it's fake, like a conspiracy theory or psy-op made for social media stories and keeping people distracted, because of how buzzwordy it sounds. But it's on the bucket list all the same, and if the timing is perfect, why miss out on the opportunity? On the curb of the street, there's an opening to squeeze in, but only if the other person's willing to share.
Anna hates Manhattan the way any respectable person does. There are too many suits, too many tourists, too many reflective surfaces. But it’s Manhattanhenge, and she’d been invited out by a friend group she doesn’t see often anymore, made up of some former coworkers who bonded years ago over photography. They still get together on “especially photogenic days,” to trade tips and argue about lenses in a way they can’t with anyone else.
Pressed into a crowd on the Tudor City Overpass, she waits for the sun to begin its descent between the canyon of buildings.
The group had been together five minutes ago. Then the crowd surged, someone shouted about there being “better lighting over there,” and the whole group scattered instantly, swept up in the crowd of other photographers and other tripod-wielding enthusiasts.
Anna didn’t bother trying to keep up. She isn't participating today. She already got the best shot: earlier in the week, in a form that could perch somewhere no fully human photographer could reach. They’d been jealous to the point of disgust when she dropped it in their group chat, Shutter, I Hardly Know Her.
Not that she’s here to brag.
She’s just letting everyone else fight for second place like any good person would.
They’ll find each other afterward, and then they’ll go to that place with the ridiculous meatball subs the size of her forearm to compare shots. Not a bad way to spend the evening.
The crowd shifts again, tighter this time. Someone brushes her shoulder from behind, muttering an apology as they pass by. Up here, the air smells like hot metal, oversprayed perfume, and too many bodies in too little space. Beneath them, traffic hums steadily, tourists and taxis moving through the streets below.
She exhales slowly, letting her senses retract enough to avoid being overwhelmed.
A voice beside her asks, “Hey -- mind if I stand next to you?”
Anna glances sideways. “Yeah, sure,” she says, shifting her weight and shuffling closer to the railing to make room. “It’s a free overpass. For now.”
She turns back to the horizon, where the sun is just starting to line itself up like it’s posing for the assembled crowd.
Because she’s never met a silence she didn't want to break, she says, “Can you believe this?” mostly to herself, but definitely loud enough to include the newcomer, if they were interested. She continues, idly, gesturing toward the glowing view, “All this for a sunset with good PR.”
₊˚｡ ❆who: sabryna & anna [ @imanniewan47 ]
₊˚｡ ❆where: the bronx
₊˚｡ ❆when: satuday may 28th 2022
Filming for Super♡Hearts ended almost two weeks ago. With the final episode only airing two days ago. And since then, well Sabryna had barely stepped foot outside her apartment. Had she actually left at all? No...no she had not. And Sabryna refused to unpack why. She had only been there to get the money for the N.E.S.T just as mother had asked her. Everything else was irrelevant right? Besides as heavy as the feelings were curling up inside of her kinda technically, legally she probably not name those feelings. After all NDAs still lingered over everything. Even now, after the finale aired, there were still some riles about what she could say or imply.
And being face to face with social media. She knew from experience that reading the comments wasn't going to help her anyway. They would only stir everything else up inside her. Either confirming or denying this overwhelming feeling. Still, there was no coming back from the choices that she had made, the way the world was going to see her would shift a little bit. But she was a big girl, she could handle it, at least that is what the inner monologue of mother was saying to her.
How easily she could fall to rewatching the aired episodes, analysing herself and her performance, reliving moments. The world had seen it now...well not the world only those who were avoid watchers but it was out there in the universe. Sabryna could so easily carefly go back to each moment she made it on screen, looking back at everything, reading more into little moment, cringing at her attempts of romance. The fear of being back in the public eye was creeping it.
What is done is done. She tries to tell herself. There is no editing reality now, just taking it one day at a time. The advice that she wish she could have given her younger self to follow. Being out the first day was always going to be the hardest or maybe her ego was being inflated. Maybe...just maybe nobody cared. Because it was true, not many people spoke about her skating past. It was only if they knew. Only if it was something that she cared about. Sabryna was a little fish in a big pond. So much happened in the city, surely her being on a silly little dating show would mean nothing.
With that thought in her mind, Sabryna forced herself out. Heading to the Bronx for th 7th Anaual Bronx Community SkateCon. Sure it was more skateboarding events, ramps and trick shots and extreme sports. But skateboarding was like the distant cousin to Figure Skating, so she could appreciate the complete opposite that it was.
The music thundered through the streets as food trucks lined the blocks with vendor stalls all over with merch alike. Each place that she looked something was happening. Someone was shouting. People were laughing. Sabryna was able to be lost in a crowd for a moment. Everything was loud, it was reckless and it was something she very much needed. To keep her out of her head.
SkateCon is not really Anna’s scene, which is stupid because technically any scene could be her scene. She carries the possibility of a hundred faces under her skin. If she wanted to, she could be someone who belonged here. Someone with scuffed Vans and a perpetually scraped knee and opinions about trucks and bearings.
That’s not the same as belonging, though, and she always feels kind of giddy at trying new things, being the odd one out. She can skateboard well enough to get from point A to point B without any major accidents, but this is a different ecosystem entirely.
She’s here on what is basically an unpaid BYOH request from the amazing restauranteur she’d met earlier in the month. Mrs. Jeong had been clear in her instructions:
SkateCon
End of the month
My son should be there
He hangs around the skate park a lot
He’s such a good boy
You two would get along so well
He is very handsome
And very single
And very hardworking
He’d be such a good husband to someone
You two would get along so well
Then, without pause:
“You young people need more friends!”
Which, yeah. Young people need more friends. Reasonable.
Obviously, Mrs. Jeong wanted her to go be her son’s wingman, so here she is. Weaving through a crowd of skaters, vendors, and people that generally look like they were born knowing how to make a kickflip or whatever.
Anna respects her elders. Selectively. And she’d just been fed the best jjajangmyeon she’d had in months. How could she possibly say no?
She figures she can spare a few hours here. If she finds this mystery son, she’ll help him meet people, introduce him to some sexy singles in his area, and provide a charmingly supportive older-sibling type presence.
Now, she hasn’t actually seen anyone dressed up like they’re ready to meet their potential in-laws at any given moment or radiating that specific “my mother is aggressively proud of me” energy she expects. She’s starting to suspect he actually bailed, which is fine. She still has time to kill and can scope out the event, get some food, and report back that she tried her best to help him “make friends.” Maybe she’ll get a discount out of it.
She’s buoyed by the flow of the crowd -- and her nose -- toward the food trucks.
There’s a semicircular cluster of people that are either in some approximation of a line or the beginning of a protest. Half of them are looking at the menus, half are looking at their phones. None of them are making any obvious forward progress. Classic New Everwick queue nonsense.
There is a young woman near the front, somehow both a part of and apart from the crowd. She’s pretty, maybe in her late twenties, early thirties, wearing a light jacket and a lost expression.
Anna’s not matchmaking exactly but – could be wingman helpful? Could be community building helpful? Could be young people need more friends! helpful? She looks like someone a nice, handsome, hardworking person might like: friendly, normal, not currently doing a backflip off of a half-pipe.
Anna walks toward her, mentally rehearsing how she’ll bring this up in conversation later.
Okay, so there was this girl at the food truck, she seemed nice, maybe you two could talk -- no I don’t actually know him, but his mom is a good cook and thinks he's neat…
Anna stops a respectful distance away, waving briefly to get her attention. “Hey, sorry,” she asks. “Do you know where the line is? Is this the line?”
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Sami glances at the figure beside him and lets out a small breath in relief. Finally, someone who seems to know what the hell is going on. He steps closer to the main road, glancing around among the stragglers beside the woman.
He can understand the questions, he had a very similar list in his head before she had started firing them off, what he doesn't understand (or enjoy) is the tone. But events like these aren't supposed to be calm.
The distrust, he concedes to himself, is warranted. It's not like he'd do any different.
"See anything? I barely saw them fall, it was so crowded." He says, trying to avoid falling into the same short tone as the woman, adjusting his hood before looking directly at her. "I saw the crowd. And I've learned that crowds are not very good at knowing what they've seen."
It's not entirely true; he felt something- or, really, he didn't, and that was the notable thing.
But he's not ready to explain all of this to her, some steward (not Valerian, he can tell that easily- he knows how those people act, how they look, how they look at men like him) who he doesn't recognize and has no reason to trust, even if she may know something he doesn't.
The crowd is dispersing and the thief has already disappeared- if she wants to talk, he'll talk. But he won't stick around if he doesn't need to.
"I only hear things by the notifications. You seem to know more than I do about these rumors." He replies, "So if you have some information you'd like to share, please, be my guest."
Anna clenches her teeth. "I know crowds aren't reliable," she says, a little too quickly. "I wasn't asking them. "
And maybe it's that she’s already on edge. She had an early shift at the zoo, which made for a long day with no real sleep. But his tone hits her wrong; it’s not rude, just... coaxing. Patient in the way people are when they’re trying to calm a skittish animal.
Her thoughts spike, fast and hot: I’m not an animal. I’m not cornered. I’m not --
But her body doesn’t care about logic. She feels it before she fully registers it: the instinctive, stupid urge to make herself bigger, taller, harder to dismiss. Her spine lengthens, her shoulders rise, her center of gravity shifts upward. A deep ache runs up the back of her legs, and she has the horrifying realization that she is, in fact, getting taller. She gains an inch. Maybe two.
What are you doing? She mentally shakes herself. You gonna turn into the wolfman to interrogate some guy on the street because you feel unsafe? Get a grip.
She forces herself back down, rocking on to the heel of her foot. It’s humiliating that this has happened enough that she has a go-to cover: If he noticed her height change, no, he didn’t. She was just stretching. People stretch. It’s normal.
She sighs, forcing her shoulders to settle. She considers apologizing, but even if she vaguely recognizes him, she’s never actually met this guy before now. She doesn’t know if he noticed, or if he had, if he even cared. An apology might make it weirder. Better to just… restart.
“I didn’t see that much either,” she admits, tone clipped but leveling out. “But I know what it looks like when someone gets targeted. And that -- ” she gestures at the intersection, as busy as any Brooklyn street corner, everyone has already moved on from the chaos of just a few minutes ago, that's what all the safety of BYOH got them -- “-- wasn’t an accident.”
He adjusts his hood, glancing at the dispersing crowd. From what she can see, he looks tired. Not smug. Not dismissive. Just a man who’s had a long day and doesn’t have the energy to smooth out his edges.
Her irritation turns further inward. She can practically hear all four of her grandparents sighing at her before launching into one of the many lectures she's received over the years about the many sacrifices they've made only to end up with so many ungrateful grandchildren.
“Look, I’m sorry,” she says, tone sliding into something closer to regret, “I promise I’m not trying to interrogate you. I’m not usually --" She pauses, sighs again. “I’m just -- frustrated -- and trying to figure out if this is the same person who almost hit me last week.”
A beat.
“So,” she continues, feeling a bit steadier now, “I’m hard to sneak up on. It’s not impossible, but it’s not exactly easy. Whoever’s doing this somehow knows who to target and they’re very stealthy. And now they’re getting very bold.”
She turns back to him fully, her tone finally even. “Did you see anything? Hear anything? Smell anything? Feel anything at all? Anything helps.”
His smile faded slightly at her response, renewed self-consciousness heating up his cheeks and his stomach dropping as he realized his mistake — but it brightening back up as she continued.
Anna, as Joaquin had learned, liked to tease. Or at least he thought she did — or rather he hoped so? It was hard to tell. The majority of their interactions had been on AlterEgo, so he was never quite sure of the tone she intended. But despite the numerous amount of times she had threatened to block him, she never did. So either she was incredibly magnanimous or it was a joke. But it could be both. Maybe? He had thought about asking once or twice but assumed it would be rude to do so this far into them being acquainted with each other.
Either way, Joaquin liked her. Despite a personality that could come off as aloof or unattached, he knew that she was incredibly kind — he had been witness to her empathetic nature and desire to help others. While certainly her tactics could be considered… avant-garde… he knew it came from a place of genuine care for those around her. She was undeniably a good person. And his good friend, maybe? He would ask but that would be rude too, right?
Laughing sheepishly at her question he scratched shyly at his cheek. “ Ah, well, I wouldn’t really call it a fan meet… more like a get-together ? Among friends ? I posted about it online — I don’t know if you saw ? Ah! I guess not since you weren’t here to see me… ” He trailed off, feeling embarrassed, the blush returning to his face.
Feeling awkward, Joaquin followed her gaze and noticed a particularly rotund squirrel darting into the foliage with something vaguely rectangular and partially wrapped in its mouth. He chuckled at the sight and briefly considered giving chase; it probably wasn't good if the squirrel at the packaging..
Momentarily distracted, he was caught off guard by her next question. Tilting his head, slightly perplexed, he answered with a question. “ Bother me ? You mean like a heckling ? ” He tilted his head in the other direction, thinking hard.
“ I don’t think so ? But honestly, stuff like that kind of goes over my head. ” Lifting a hand to grab his chin as he continues to ponder, a realization hit him — was this about that clearer guy? “ Oh! Could it be you’re worried about me ? ”
Filled with gratitude, Joaquin smiled at his friend brightly. “ Ah, thank you Miss Anna, I’ve very touched! But please — you don’t have to worry about me! I’m surrounded by friends all the time so I’m practically invincible here in the NKC! ” As if to prove his point he lifted his arms to flex his biceps — then, he immediately felt embarrassed again. He had spent too much time playing up the character for kids today.
Awkwardly dropping his arms to his side, smile drooping, he cleared his throat. “ Yeah, uh, what I mean to say is that even if someone tried to start something I'll be fine! ”
Anna makes no attempt to stop him stumbling through his explanation -- the “get‑together among friends,” the hopeful “I posted about it online,” the realization she wasn’t here for him. She is not built for this level of earnestness and has to bite her lip to keep from smiling back. This is how he gets people. He’s so earnest, it’s almost disarming. Almost. She’s still fresh off of being clowned in the group chat about following one awkward steward with a nice smile; she’ll be damned if there's another.
She blinks, taken aback, when he asks if she’s worried about him. Is she worried? Sir, you just spent ten minutes letting a six‑year‑old put stickers on your face. You still have a sticker on your face. But he looks so genuinely touched that she can’t bring herself to correct him. She will. But, like… she doesn’t have to right now.
Then he calls her “Miss Anna,” – gross -- thanks her, declares himself “practically invincible,” and flexes.
Flexes.
He --
It’s a sequence of events that makes Anna want to look around for a camera. She watches him flex, sees the instant embarrassment flicker across his face, and has to look away to keep from laughing or expiring on the spot in mutual humiliation. He did not just— oh my god, he did. He absolutely did. In public. In front of me. Incredible.
Out loud, she says, truly fighting for her life, “So do you do that at all of your get-together-among-friends, or is this, like, the deluxe package?”
She shifts her drink in her hand.
“For the record, I wasn’t worried. I was just asking.” A beat. “But good to know you’ve got a whole… support network. And, uh --” her brain stalls, “Biceps.”
She regrets that last word immediately. Were she able to physically reach out into the air, grab it, and shove it back into her mouth, she would. God, to have that ability. It slips out before she can stop it, and she compensates by taking a much too long, aggressive drink – only the gross watered-down part now, karma works quick -- still staring off to the side. She’s not sure what her face is doing – which is A Problem – but she gives them both a moment before continuing.
This is just deeply, profoundly Uncool of her. She prides herself on being unshakeable, and he’s out here knocking her off center with nothing but sincerity and bad timing. How dare.
She clears her throat. She needs to get her footing back before she says something even worse. “What I meant was that some people get weird at public events. You know. Mask moths. The problem management is saying doesn't exist." Which she is being exceedingly cool about after her run-in yesterday, she should be congratulated. Look at how well she can only panic about one thing at a time. "Thought maybe you dealt with that.”
She shrugs. “But if you’re fine, you’re fine. Clearly.”
Fame can grow to be bothersome at times, yet there are times when it is incredibly beneficial to one’s goals. Slapstick is not the sort of steward that is invited for events such as the Annual Queens World Festival, but her parents knew the organizers and she had been asked to help promote the festival. She had said yes immediately, and then again a few days later after she had ran the idea by Valerian. It deviated slightly from her usual persona, but the festival included a handful of animated films and that was a good enough excuse for her to attend, in the eyes of Valerian. After all, she could claim she is doing research for future patrols. Admittedly, she wishes she didn’t have to go through all that red tape in order to get to go to an event she is genuinely excited about; but she understands why the fuss is necessary. As much as she hates the role Valerian had shoved her into, she had been shown to be an asset for them over and over again by rehabilitating the public image of a handful of high profile stewards. Ruining such a reputation when she still was unable to get herself reassessed to move up the ranks would be foolish.
She understands it, really. But that doesn’t mean she likes it. Still, it is worth it for times like this, when she is discussing the number of ticket sales with the organizers and being told that they surpassed expectations. It’s good that she is helping so many young artists and creators get noticed, especially considering how the film includes movies from multiple nations, not only the US. Diversity of viewpoints is always a good thing. Is this thought that keeps a bounce on her step as she thanks the coordinators for the update and weaves into the crowd, slipping through bodies with a cheery smile and a wave as she considers the options for the movies that night.
As she looks around, her eyes catch someone tucked away from everyone else, just out of reach from the flow of people going through the lobby. It’s enough of an oddity to have her slow down and change tracks, moving towards them with the same rhythm as before even if her eyes are sharp. She doubts anyone would be here to cause trouble, but it is always better to be safe than sorry. She had advertised her attendance rather loudly, after all, and she has quite a good number of haters.
“Hello there,” she greets the stranger with a smile as she gestures around. “Do you need help finding the movie you came to see?”
Okay, she's coming over here. Why is she coming over here. I'm literally just standing here. I'm not even doing anything . I don't even have a drink. What is --
Anna freezes for a half a second, caught off guard by being approached. She's used to being approached in public -- she doesn't even mind it, normally -- she's just a bit thrown by who is doing the approaching. Members of the public are one thing, but stewards...
On the surface, the Slapstick Cartoonist - heh - seems exactly like she does online: charismatic, friendly, and possibly even genuine for someone who probably walks around with a Red Bull logo on their sleeve. The question is straightforward, though, and Anna respects straightforward. No circling. No weird probing. Just an offer of help.
Even still, Anna’d liked her long before the sponsorships, and apparently some part of her still did. Which was just inconvenient. She’s the same as she is online. I used to watch her do social media challenges in parking lots. Now she's asking if I need help finding a screening. Life is strange. Anna's brain is coming up with absolutely nothing helpful or useful.
"Oh. Uh. No? I mean, maybe," she manages, eyes darting around the lobby as if Dev will appear to save her. Speaking of -- "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't need any saving."
She pokes her ticket lightly against the palm of her opposite hand.
"I was, uh, waiting on a friend and they bailed. I was mostly here to hang out with them, so I haven't picked a movie or anything," she explains, not bothering to pretend there's any more to it. Not her most organized night, but she wasn't about to pretend otherwise. This was Dev's fault, not hers. “I don’t actually know what’s playing in this block. I just… showed up.”
Anna glances at the festival signage, before turning her gaze back toward the general chaos of the lobby. Then, raising her eyebrows, she adds, "So, be honest -- do I look suspicious or lost?"
Anna stands inside the Museum of the Moving Image, letting the cool air settle over her skin while she decides whether she’s actually staying. She’d flashed her old student ID at the box office without shame in order to score three bucks off, which was a small victory. She hadn’t even checked what films were playing on opening night. The plan had been to meet Dev, wander around, maybe pick something at random, and pretend to be film students at the Q&A afterward.
But ten minutes ago, Dev texted: family emergency, can’t make it, sorry sorry 🙇🏽🙇🏽
No details. No explanation. This was supposed to be her last calm evening before she swallowed Restaurant Week whole. Now it’s just her, a lobby full of strangers, and a discounted ticket to a movie she didn’t even check the title of.
She could still leave, go home, and put on pajamas.
God, she’d love to be in her pajamas right now.
But the festival energy is hard to walk away from: it’s a mix of indie filmmakers practically vibrating with nerves, film students trying to look older and more serious than they are (bless them for trying), and neighborhood regulars who come every year just to see what the world is making.
Anna shifts her weight, scanning the lobby.
Stay --
Leave --
She hasn’t decided but is halfway through convincing herself to cut her twelve-dollar loss and find a food truck when she sees her: theCartoonist – Slapstick, or whatever Valerian is calling her these days -- big hair, bright smile, brighter presence.
Anna’s been following her since before the name change -- back when she was an independent content creator showcasing her chaotic, cartoon‑logic stunts online. Anna had loved watching her then: the energy, the creativity, the weirdness.
After signing with Valerian, Anna had been disappointed. She watches the odd videos, still comments to boost the algorithm, and still thinks she’s fun. The corporate branding just kind of taints the experience.
Seeing her under the soft museum lighting, surrounded by cameras and people in suits, feels surreal.
Anna just watches from a distance, tucked outside the flow of the museum lobby. She hasn’t decided if she’s staying. But she hasn't left yet.
By Saturday, Anna has eaten her way through so much of the Bronx that her roommates have started calling her “the Human Trash Compactor” with a kind of affectionate awe. They’re not wrong. Shapeshifter healing always leaves her hungry in a way that feels bottomless.
So, it’s safe to say that she’s been indulging in it all week.
She’d managed to drag Priya, her only respectable friend, to an Indian spot that served a thali the size of a steering wheel. She went to a Creole place with Jun, where the chef flirted outrageously with anyone that made eye contact with him. Jun managed to flirt her way into a few recipes on Anna’s behalf – as well as a phone number. Anna doubts either of them is going to call him for anything short of a culinary emergency but – actually. She might still be in a group chat from when she bounced around as a line cook a few years ago. That might be less awkward.
She encountered all of New Everwick’s usual bunch of assorted weirdos: she shared a table with an elderly couple who insisted they trade bites of their appetizers “for comparison,” she dodged a man trying to sell her a “limited edition” Yankees hat that was definitely printed in someone’s basement, and she watched a toddler steal a breadstick from a stranger’s plate whose parents didn’t even question its appearance.
It’s been a good week.
The May air in Bedford park brings a welcome heat that drives away the chill of the earlier morning. It’s the perfect early-summer day: the sidewalks are dotted with people heading home from the Botanical Gardens; students, probably from Lehman College, drifting toward the Subway; and a few families carrying grocery bags from the Korean market a block over. It’s the kind of Saturday afternoon where the Bronx feels most real.
And now, with Restaurant Week almost over, she’s determined to squeeze in one more place before the curated menus disappear and everything goes back to full prices.
Her parents used to take her to little family-owned restaurants when she was a kid, places that carried a printed menu for white people and tourists, and a handwritten one that featured the food that tasted like someone’s grandmother was in the kitchen making it. They’d made a point of trying everything: Thai, Ethiopian, Dominican, Vietnamese.
“You’ll never learn about the world if you’ll only ever eat one thing,” her mother always said.
As a child, Anna had taken that to heart and now, every year, she makes sure to taste as much of the world as possible.
It’s late afternoon, the quiet lull between the lunch rush and the dinner crowd, when she opens the door of a small Korean restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a tax prep office. Perfect. She’s not in the mood to elbow her way through a packed dining room.
The bell above the door jingles softly as she steps inside.
Fragrant air greets her, carrying the scent of grilled meat, toasted sesame, and something spicy enough that it makes her mouth water. The dining room is mostly empty at this time with a couple quietly chatting as they finish their meal in the corner and a delivery driver absently scrolling on their phone as they wait by the counter.
Anna slips her phone into her pocket as she approaches an empty table away from the windows, nearer the counter. She will, of course, follow the curated menu but she is absolutely ordering everything.
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She's the mail carrier that always arrives at the mailroom around the same time that the last school bus arrives. She takes her time sorting envelopes as the kids race toward her, laughing, calling her name. She hands out sweets as she asks about their day, their classes. She feels tall.
She's one of the aunties. She's stirring a pot in an overcrowded kitchen, hips swaying along to a sad, slow song on the radio. The other aunties gossip around her, chopping vegetables, arguing over spices. She knows exactly where every pan belongs. She adds extra chilis when someone isn't looking. She feels warm.
She's the conductor on the train. She sits beside her dad on his late shift ride, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. He's tired. She's tired. They share a thermos of coffee she's learned to enjoy. She keeps him awake with stories about passengers, about all of the things she's seen around the city at night, and about the strange things people leave behind. He tells her about the upcoming episode of NOVA he wanted to record. She feels loved.
She's the neighbor who always waters the plants in the courtyard, encouraging each one to grow bigger, to take up more space.
She's the teenager upstairs that practices the violin but doesn't ever seem to get any better.
She's the cashier at the corner store, greeting every customer by name and counting back their change.
She's the old man who feeds the pigeons at the park and offers to teach anyone that wants to sit with him how to play chess.
She's the bus driver that nods at her mother every morning.
Each shift is seamless, natural.
Each life fits, feels possible.
In her dreams, she feels full -- full of stories, full of futures, full of selves she hasn't grown into yet.
⌜ "That's Life!" That's what all the people say. You're riding high in April — shot down in May...." ⌟
— post status: ⌜ PUBLIC open starter for @invictushq ⌟
— location: ⌜ in front of the carousel in prospect park, liberty glens⌟
— timeframe: ⌜ 5 PM, saturday, april 29, 2022 ⌟
— limit: ⌜ capped at 5 ⌟
— content warning: ⌜ none! except for the knowledge that he's getting cleaned after these interactions 😭⌟
Wrapped in a green BYOH branded hoodie, Joaquin Aurelio Liu crouches down to be at eye level with sizeable group of children in the grass near the Prospect Park Carousel. Most of the children stand in two neat lines in front of him while a smaller handful preteens seem to have taken up some sort of secretarial role — handing out bright blue tickets or stickers to those who already greeted “Goodfella”.
Joaquin’s jovial laughter mixes with the triumphant tintinnabulation of the calliope over the carousel’s speaker system as one particularly enthusiastic child launches themselves into his arms. He continues to chuckle as the child releases him and continues in some sort of routine known only to him and his young aficionados, who either hug, high-five, fist bump, or dance with Joaquin before running to the end of the prize line.
Eventually, the lines begin to thin out until only the group of teens and a smattering of disinterested parents are left. As if feeling eyes on him, Joaquin’s gaze shifts back towards the carousel, his eyes searching through the crowd for any familiar faces. There are many. His face breaks out into a helpless smile, eyebrows furrowing in bemused uncertainty as he struggles to decided who he should approach first.
Seeming to have made a decision, Joaquin raises a hand in greeting before bidding farewell to his entourage. He waves again as he walks forward, a genuine grin crinkling his eyes and accentuating the smile lines at the corners of his mouth.
“ I hope I’m not embarrassing myself right now — but, is it possible you’re here to see me ? ” He asks, a sudden bout of bashfulness coloring the apples of his cheeks in a dusting of pink.
Across the lawn, a small knot of families are beginning to disperse from around a folding table decorated with construction paper stars and a handmade banner that just reads "We ❤️ You Goobfella," the backward 'd' giving away the age of the artist.
He's at the center of it all -- giving out stickers and last minute high fives while parents bribe their children to come home -- radiating earnestness like a human space heater. Anna doesn't know if there's supposed to be a difference between Goodfella and Joaquin since most of their interactions take place online or at the team building luncheons for BYOH freelancers. He's nice, friendly -- perhaps a little too friendly at times. Naive, but good-natured. While not the worst person to run into, certainly the most inconvenient. Joaquin is just so friendly. If he catches sight of her, he'll feel compelled to interact. He always does.
Anna didn't come to the park for his fan meet. She came to sit on the stone wall, soak up the last rays of sun like a lizard on a warm rock, and enjoy her overpriced drink in peace.
And then their eyes meet.
And he waves.
Anna sighs, already resigned to her fate. It would be so easy to pretend she didn't see him, but that's coward behavior. She lifts her hand in a small, dutiful wave.
That's all it takes.
She watches as he disentangles himself from his remaining fans and makes his way over, waving again as he approaches as if she might have forgotten who he is in the last ten seconds.
He stops in front of her, grinning like he's been waiting all day for this moment. The same way he grins at every moment. She doesn't know how he does it.
She raises an eyebrow at his greeting, taking a long sip to buy her some time to consider how she wants to respond. Her drink is mostly watered down now, but it gives her something to do with her hands.
"You are embarrassing yourself right now," she replies, deadpan. A little bit because of the presumption. A little bit just to see what he'll do with it. She is, maybe, perhaps, a teeny, tiny, little baby bit short with him online, but she thinks he maybe understands that she doesn't mean it. "Still -- it happens to the best of us."
Okay, maybe she means it a little, but she would swear that -- infuriatingly -- the sun actually shines a little brighter with his smile. Like, what the hell, man.
"Good Goodfella fan meet?" she asks, casually, glancing around the park for something neutral to latch onto. A squirrel scrambles over the low, stone wall a few feet away, disappearing into the brush with an abandoned granola bar in its clutches. God, she loves seeing animals commit petty crimes. Her eyes flick back to him. "Oh! Hey, does anyone ever bother you at these things?" she continues before she can stop herself, half curiously -- mind thinking of other not-so-petty theft -- and half resigned to the interaction.
˗ˏˋ⚡︎ˎˊ — status: public open starter for @invictushq ft. byoh muses for the cleaner event
˗ˏˋ⚡︎ˎˊ — setting: 4pm ; april 28, 2022 ; a street corner in brooklyn, nkc // set directly after sami witnesses a cleaner attack
˗ˏˋ⚡︎ˎˊ — cws: mentions/very gen. description of a cleaner attack, otherwise :>
Sami's head is still buzzing. Well, all of him is.
Most people can feel their heart thudding in their chest when the pace jumps too quick. Sami, however, can feel the sharp, quick way the current transmitted by his heart flows faster than it should. He's just glad that the unsteadiness in his hands is anxiety, and not the firing of nerves that he never intended to activate.
Tilting his head back against the brick building behind him, he lets out a long, tired sigh and closes his eyes. As much as he's happy to be safe- he wishes safety wasn't something to be relieved about.
A current- familiar, if only vaguely- pulses at his fingertips without him having to reach for it. Maybe someone from the crowd? His senses are still on edge, the already loud and rushing crowd filling with panic- every heartbeat jumping up in tempo as some figure caused a b.y.o.h. freelancer to topple to the ground, every current speeding up as the crowd pushed and shoved, sparking until his fingers twitched and he could feel it thudding in his ears- had overwhelmed him. Even minutes later, the feeling hasn't quite subsided.
He opens his eyes.
The light returns first, then-
Sami schools his expression from some sort of strained exhaustion into something closer to a weary smile. "You saw that, yes? Not just me?"
He gestures back out to the street- the few stragglers of the crowd that remained, the freelancer reorienting themselves as they got to their feet- before pushing himself off of the wall.
"Because if you didn't, well... You are either very quick or very blind." After tapping a hand against the pocket of his jeans, just to check that everything was still there, he glances back up.
He realizes how it looks all at once- cap still down, mask still up as a precaution from the initial panic, speaking as if he was Samir and not this. Buzzkill.
His hands raise in a placating gesture as he further away from the street corner. "No bother. Still, ah-" He glances back down the street. "I suppose I was hoping the rumors would stay as rumors, no?"
By the time Anna pushes her way through the outer ring of people, the thief is already gone and swallowed up by the crowd. She ends up at the edge of the commotion, trying to catch sight of the source.
Anna was on her way home from work when she'd heard the few shouts, someone behind her yelling, "Hey! Watch it!" as the freelancer at the intersection hit the pavement.
Someone beside her speaks -- an older man in a dark jacket, masked up with a baseball cap pulled low -- the official uniform of 'I don't have a talent agent or a sewing machine.' He's vaguely familiar in the way that most BYOH freelancers are: a figure at the edge of a job accepted too slowly. Familiar, but forgettable.
"Yeah, I saw it, a whole crowd of people just saw it," she replies shortly, sizing him up. Something about the words hit her wrong. Very quick or very blind, huh? Her shoulders stiffen as she bristles at his words. If you didn't... For a split second, she's back on the train with the Cleaner, empty handed. "Thanks for the assessment, though."
The crowd loses interest fast, already going about their evening. The freelancer, after a frantic pat down and a resigned groan, is hauled away by a friend.
Rumors, he remarks. That's what the Levy siblings keep calling it. Rumors, despite the bruises. Rumors, despite the missing wallets.
"Management loves rumors," she murmurs, trying to scan what's left of the foot traffic while keeping the man in her peripheral vision. She could split her vision, but it honestly isn't worth the headache with nothing to be seen. "Funny how rumors keep knocking people over and stealing wallets."
She's not looking around for the Cleaner -- they're long gone -- she's looking for the pattern. The angle. The gap they slipped through. She turns to the man again, maintaining the professional courtesy of not asking for his name. "You were here before me. Did you see anything? Hear any other 'Rumors'?" She does exaggerated air quotes to make sure he understands just how much she doesn't care for the label.
A phone outstretched and held high overhead, Keegan Jeong poses with the nylon drawstring bag from Under Armour, doing his due diligence to get the branding on point by taking multiple shots. One is too fuzzy, another the logo gets blurred, and the third one has awful lighting on him but at least the bag looks somewhat enticing. Although sponsorships aren’t his expertise, Keegan, as a Marvel VS. Capcom Stan through and through, understands the necessity of advertising a featured Collab. (Also justice for Cloak & Dagger, that gameplay would’ve been amazing had the dev team pulled through.)
Thumbs rapidly pressing, keys reacting underneath with flashes of color and a feedback of haptic vibration, Keegan types out the following alt to send on his official AlterEgo account, @officialatlas1 (yes, someone has his handle before he could have it, and no, it is not a pressing matter for Valerian to pursue this matter for someone who gets relegated to RealHero TV B-roll.)
@officialatlas1 going live now to check out the sweet loot from the new Valerian x Under Armour drop!! I wonder what Durapeak®️ is gonna feel lik|
Keegan shakes his head and pauses mid-text. “ Feel like? When am I a fabric connoisseur? ” He mutters to himself and tries again.
He’s out of his element; he’s an ex-nurse practitioner, not a marketing guru! No matter how many years into the job (5 and counting), he isn’t sure how to go about promoting products. He attempts again, throwing out that saccharine alt.
@officialatlas1 going live now! come hangout with me and let’s see what I get from the Valerian x Under Armour grab bag! #fingerscrossed !! 🤞
That feels more true to himself, he thinks. He can handle a simple live “unboxing”, right? He goes through the Durapeak®️key points in his head as he sets up his little space away from the bustle of the lobby's main double doors, propping his phone tripod on a low table across a russet-red toned couch. He fiddles with the tripod, angling the screen to show the iconic Valerian ruby-glass elevators in the background. All good to go. This angle seems alright, so he won’t have the under nose fiasco from last time’s live.
Slipping on his half-face helmet to complete the look of Atlas, Keegan counts. 3, 2, 1! His screen flashes red.
“ Hey guys! It’s Atlas! How are you doing? Welcome, welcome! As you can see, I’m at Valerian Towers — oh hey, junedoe1234! Hi, saymynameplz! Hello— ” Keegan greets his usual live viewers of 11, and steadies himself. Here comes the shining moment. Lifting up the Under Armour goodie bag, he gushes, “ Check out what I got! Apparently every steward at Valerian’s got a nice gift from Under Armour, what do you think I’ll get? ”
The users chime with socks, pens, stickers, and one even says a business card (rude, man). At least junedoe1234 says a baseball cap.
“ Gosh, I would love a baseball cap! Well, we’ll see who’s right — huh? ” Keegan starts, only to blink owlishly at his chat suddenly typing way too fast for him to read.
OMG OMG OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG
RARE SIGHTING
I need to @ my friends to check an Atlas live for once lmao
“ What are you guys talking about? ” Keegan asks, peering into his screen, then checking at himself in case he has a rip in his costume, or worse, has a ranch dressing stain again on his person. He had to quell some nasty nicknames and rumors after sending an alt with the caption: had a big tossed salad for brunch thanks to @therealajaygupta.
Lol he doesnt know
TURN AROUND BRIGHT EYES
At the remark, Keegan spins his head so hard he gives himself whiplash, and he gets it now. Standing outside of the elevator is another steward at Valerian, much more famous than he. The chat is going off, demanding Keegan to get their attention. Suddenly becoming an outsider to his own show, a twinge blooms in his chest but it gets shoved aside.
It’d be nice to talk to a fellow steward about the Collab, right? Besides, bringing two different things together are what Collaborations are about! Yeah, this is a great chance to show the unity at Valerian!
“ Hey! ” He calls out to the steward. “ I’m doing a live and unboxing the Under Armour goodie bag! Do you want to say ‘hi’ to the viewers? ”
Anna is on minute 47 of her 30 minute lunch break, curled into the corner of the break room couch absolutely crushing PUBG Mobile and picking at her reheated leftovers when the notification pops up for her secret shame.
Maybe she followed him originally because he helped her when she was bleeding and furious and too overwhelmed to shift. Maybe she likes his work ethic. Maybe he's one of the few corpo stewards who actually look a civilian in the eye. Maybe he's just cute. Who's to say? Certainly not Anna.
She taps the notification.
The livestream opens to him sitting in what is obviously a corporate lobby, phone propped up at an angle that thankfully isn't going straight up his nose again, but is just the tiniest bit crooked. There are exactly eleven viewers, but he still beams at the camera like it's a crowd of thousands.
She winces as he introduces the swag bag, trying desperately to hype up his audience of exactly eleven people. He tries to hype them up. He tries so hard.
But there are eleven people.
And she's one of them.
Like an idiot.
She doesn't comment -- she would rather be set on fire than let him see her username pop up -- but she does send the link to her most recent group chat:
Anna: @officialatlas1 live again someone go watch so he’s not talking to the void i beg u
Replies trickle in immediately like the underemployed losers she knows and loves.
Ash: girl stop trying to make us watch watch him unbox expired coupons 💀
Jun: I LOVE HIM HE’S SO CUTE I’M CLICKING RIGHT NOW!!!
Malik: can i hate watch
Priya, who only communicates in whispered voice notes, sends a voice note. The transcription reads: is this the guy who always looks like he films in a broom closet
Dev: Thank you, Annie! Supporting small itty bitty unknown wannabe creators is more important than ever🦾😤
Anna swipes away the notifications as the conversation pivots to talk about meeting up after work, rolling her eyes. She can’t take the secondhand embarrassment and closes the livestream as he tries to convince the thirteen people watching to guess what's inside the bag.
She’s halfway through repacking her lunchbox when her phone buzzes again -- the group chat is lit up with genuine excitement.
Jun: ANNA WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL US HE HAS FRIENDS
Ash: yoooooooooooooo wait
Jun: THIS IS THE BEST LIVE YOU’VE EVER SENT US
Dev: Everyone say Thank You for Your Service 🫡🫡
She considers reopening the livestream but doesn't. Whatever is happening on that livestream is between his god and the algorithm.
She pockets her phone and decides she’s going back to work early.
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[THE MAGICIAN] - Do they self-sabatoge, or do they sabatoge others in their lives? If so, how?
Anna absolutely self-sabotages by refusing to engage with the celebrity culture of stewardship. By refusing interviews or anything that might move her up the ranks, she feels she's protecting her identity and privacy, but she also limits her opportunities, her connections, and her potential for influence.
She does not actively knowingly sabotage others lives, but she does interfere when she senses a situation may become negative (such as stepping in to scare off someone's perceived bad date).
Anna loves watching the city from high places at night: rooftops, fire escapes, the top of the Queensboro Bridge, etc. She likes the vantage point and feeling tall.
