AGAINST THE SUN —-

the frown that follows, however, is downright heart-wrenching. it's the worst thing alex could do! sunny simply can't take it. and he will do anything in his power to stop it. he gives alex a soft, genuine smile. "thank you. you're very good at what you do too." anything he does is good. even if it's yelling at sunny for being reckless. there have been countless of times where he got him out of trouble, after all. he laughs along, watching the smallest of changes in the hue of his face. "yeah, no, flank is absolutely too on the nose. our opponents must not know about our secret battle techniques! how about... I'm going to therapy! or... I'm getting a divorce! or, no, you listen! or, I'm having an affair!"

the wink prompts a brief malfunction through alex's synapses. a few blinks as he evades his eyes, looking at their carpet, head tilted. a puzzle he doesn't know how to solve. the superhero has never been the quickest at picking up cues, and assumes this is just... sunny being sunny. that doesn't explain the noise he heard earlier, but he is distracted enough not to continue pulling at that thread. he almost misses the genuine smile on sunny's face — but when he catches it, it lightens some of the previous pressure from before, the worry that came from a hint of self-depreciation. the compliment in return does soften his own smile, and the flush it results in is not one that he tries to hide this time around. "thank you." a compliment from a trusted friend beats the hundreds of negative ones on the internet. the new options make him laugh out loud, head thrown back, shaking his head. "i think hearing any of that is too distracting- wouldn't they figure out something is up?" or maybe, much less likely: "they could get too distracted by the gossip and ask you what's going on. then i could strike them from the back while you explain."

"tag!" he announces, like they're not currently locked in combat. who would have thought rampant destruction would draw attention? there seems to be a few new kids on the block. "you're it!"

"hey! come on — we can talk about this -" the weight of a car throws him back a few strides, before he sets it down carefully and continues to fly after the other. ezra is surprisingly fast, much to alex' dismay. "someone is going to get hurt if you keep this up-" at least he can fly, which makes the projectiles headed this way easier to dodge. making sure they don't hurt people is another thing entirely. "if you want to play tag, let's bring this to the outskirts!"

"I'm new to the city." Frankly, new to other forms of civilization that wasn't simply a monastery—there were so many sounds and sights and people to be interested by that January hasn't had the time to slow down at all. As the man turns, she sits down on the desk, as if she had already been there before he'd walked in. Simple transposition, though the surroundings were less than ideal. "Call it a curious mind! I've been to your entertainment district and a couple of plazas, and I simply walked where my heels would take me." She smiles, the perfect sheen of red on her lips. "How fortuitous that it would lead me to you then, mister investigator. How do you investigate? Is your city so full of technology that you can blink and know, or something else?"

noa gives the stranger a long, doubtful look. as if searching her soul to figure out if she means what she says. so far, he cannot deduce a reason why she would lie, even if he finds it absolutely ridiculous. "so you are looking for a museum. huh." what poor luck — on both of their ends. he sits on his own chair, on the other side of his desk, and takes another drag of his cigarette. "this is quite a steep drop from the entertainment district, i must say. nothing particularly entertaining here." the hand with the cigarette between his fingers, gestures towards the contents of the room. moldy walls, stacks of books, coffee mugs that are days old. "you sure you don't want to spend your time visiting this lovely city elsewhere?" sarcasm drips from his words. lovely is not a way to describe sol city. a snort leaves him at the proposed mode of investigation, a shake of his head, smoke curling in the air. "nothing so magical. i just ask people questions. that's all."

Victor orders something strong and smooth, something like the man that talks to him now, or at least, what he assumes so. There's something dark behind his eyes, something that's weary that he'd enjoy diving into. All the damaged people in this city always have nice stories—ones that he'd grown used to living in, rather than having to deal with his greyscaled life himself. A sharp smile, almost like that sharky bodyguard's he used to have appears on his lips as he compliments his appearance, however insultingly he means it. "Yeah, they pay me enough. I like the fans though, they're sweet," he says, "Until they get obsessed—thank fuck I know how to fly or who knows what the hell they'd plan." It's only a half-joke, but have creepy letters mailed to you enough, you learn how to make a fast exit.

the drink is pushed towards him, and the sight makes him hum. not half bad. at least not a cocktail or any of those fancy shit that has no alcohol in it. a long swig of it only proves that fact, and with the noise of children slowly going down, the headache begins to ebb away a little. enough to make him less irritable, at least for now. "i don't know if there is any money that would make me tolerate all that screaming. but... each to his own." a brief raise of his glass, before another big swig. "when you say you know how to fly..." a deliberate pause, followed by a squint. "metaphorically? if you can actually fly away from them, that would make it more bearable."

a brief shrug, no offense on his features. a mix of dismay and exhaustion. the type of work that sometimes ends up on his desk doesn't make him feel ashamed. there is a portion in which he finds them stupid, but if it's easy and gets him money- he doesn't question it all too much. even charges extra. if you need a detective to tell you your husband is cheating, well, you gotta pay up. another snort, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "do i look like a tight-wearing dumbass from where you're standing?" a slow hand motion, his coat blowing in the wind. "who i am doesn't matter kid — and neither does who you are. just what you have seen. is that better?" there is a bit of condescension in his tone, not managing to stop it from seeping into the words. still, all reactions are a clue, and noa continues to watch the younger carefully. "wanna ask you what you have seen. there have been bodies showing up around this area. heard anything?"

something decent in this city, particularly as far as establishments go, would be news to him. all the same, he follows noa's lead without complaint. a creature of the wastes himself, hunter is no stranger to things that are unseemly. "i can get drunk," he assures him, although he doesn't specify beyond that. size and weight makes a difference... but so does his blood type. he's got thin blood. that means he feels inebriated quicker, but not longer. but he's also quite large and has been drinking a long time—tolerance makes a difference, too. "i like rum. but i'm not picky."

dark eyes look hunter up and down, assessing if he believes him, before he shrugs. "fair enough. i would guess a bottle doesn't do you in like the rest of us, huh?" going from his stature, even without any other elements, it seems unlikely. they arrive at the bar soon enough, and noa feels like home already. he picks a booth further in the back, away from prying eyes, and lights a cigarette. motions the waiter to come their way. "we'll get you rum. do you want it straight or are you a cocktail man?"

a deep sigh builds in his chest, but he doesn't release it—not yet. "i know that. trust me, i do. but if you had a chance to stop even a little of that, wouldn't you take it?" compassion is a resource rarer than gold and diamonds these days. with so much suffering to go around, people are quickly fatigued by the idea. "doesn't that matter? we can't do anything about the rest of it, but what we can do..." he trails off. finally, that sigh descends from his lips. "shouldn't we?"

it is a loaded question. it hangs in the air between them, and noa deliberately does not give adrian an answer. a palatable one would be that 'it depends', a realistic one would be that noa is sure there have been chances he didn't take that. those that led to some kind of catastrophe in people's lives. swallowing down a sigh, they take a long sip from their double vodka. maybe it should have been a triple. "everyone walks their own path." and that is as much as he will entertain that line of thought. "alright. let's get to it — tell me about what's going on. and why you need me for."

"Naturally, unnaturally—what matters is that you've got people in your corner, angel!" Victor feels odd, giving them advice. It's not as if he's that much older than them, but it makes him feel uneasy about this whole thing, as if everything that he's built rests on quicksand instead of bedrock. If he isn't kidding himself, it's what he feels is the case anyways, denial be damned. At least they're on their side for the time being, and Victor was helping them along. Treat others how you'd want them to treat you and all; it's the name of the game. "Touché," he concedes, laughing a little. Ah, the cutthroat politics of fame—even he can never get a handle on it. "But back to biz; if you're doing a feature, I'd like a verse, then we can maybe do the chorus at the studio. I'll send along some samples you can start on, but everything's done at the label's place. Hope that's good for you, eh? I can't wait to see what you've got cooking in that brain of yours!"

the support is unexpected yet completely welcome. with the respect they feel for the man in front of them, comes a distance. and knowing that people might peg them as rivals, there is an instinct that tells them to be wary. as someone who has been betrayed and hurt so many times, jude can be lost when it comes to simply being handed kindness on a platter. it must show on their face, the apparent surprise, lips briefly open as they try to find the right words, the flicker of the light that surrounds them, before it turns into something warm. like the sun. unlike the artifical led lights. "thank you." this time without the usual charisma, and with a smaller, more genuine smile. then, they get back to business, and it's easier to fall back into rhytm. they listen eagerly, nodding, taking mental notes. "that sounds great — i can't wait to receive them." this too, is the truth. they think of all the times they made music in their flat, the notebooks filled with lyrics. "i- uh— have some stuff that i have been working on. i'll listen to your samples and figure out if they will fit well?"

"how lucky... I happen to be free tomorrow, so we can go together. I love furniture shopping! I get to play pretend for a bit. we definitely need to make sure that our new table is argument proof or not. and the right height for... eating. obviously." one last bite, and marton finishes his dinner, practically rolling off the couch one a wing nudges him in the side. he turns towards the kitchen, then pauses, looking back at jude. "oh really? like what? kisses? hearts? they don't count, y'know." with a hum and a smile, he turns again, walking off (not too far) to the kitchen to wash his plate.

that is lucky, and jude cannot help but brighten up at it. physically. though hopefully, it is not too distinguishable from how they usually are at home. "then it is a plan — i would like to maybe pick some plates as well. who knows who bought the ones we got. they came with the place, and that's probably a health hazard on their own." the comment about the table specs flies by, jude trying not to think about the burn marks on their table. at the tease, they huff, and throw their head against the back of the couch, watching marton move in the kitchen. "i stole- jewelry... and money before." once. from their adoptive parents. who deserved every bit of it. but, technically, it does count. he wonders how the other will react, if he will believe them.

"those aren't mutually exclusive. it can be the bare minimum and be reassuring. take what you can get, would you?" that's what the rest of them have to do! but his comment is good-natured, not intentionally spiteful. kindness may not often be on his menu, but that doesn't mean that he's completely incapable of being friendly. adjacent to it, at any rate. "sweet and nice isn't usually what people are after around here. but because i'm a good guy, i'll hook you up." it's actually not that complicated to find a few ingredients to make it work. just because he says something doesn't mean it's true, after all—if there's one thing max is good for, it's making things up as he goes. something that tastes nothing of alcohol is slid over, with a suggestion. "how about the special? not sure you want that ending up as your usual, huh?"

a laugh falls from his lips, hands raised in mock surrender. "alright, alright. that's true and you are the boss." even if not his boss- maddox runs this place in jude's books. he cheers up at the reply, giving one of his more charming smiles, one that is accompanied by a brief flicker of light and wide doe eyes. "thank you very much — i usually like my alcohol so sweet i cannot taste the alcohol. it should do its job without the bitterness." which is somewhat of an unpopular opinion, especially amongst frequent drinkers. "you know what — that's true. i don't want to try that again. ever. maybe you should patent it." a raised eyebrow, a vague motion with his hand. "there must be a clientele for that sort of thing. although a masochistic one. why not profit off of it?" it's only half a joke. jude is sure it's someone's jam — just not that it is something worth marketing.

"it's alright... most of the time I don't." he shrugs, as he admits it. it's not like he hasn't heard it before. it's not like he'll think too much on it. sunny slinks into his seat, pulling a knee up as he can't possibly sit still for any longer than about a minute, nor can he sit in a normal position. "yeah, sure, someone will be in earshot." he says in a mocking tone, whining almost, as if giving rules to a child. "but they're usually quite slow... not you, though. you could keep up!" eyebrows raise and drop, nudging alex. "you wanna flank? flank me. I mean, watch my flank. I mean, what should be the codeword?"

his eyes are looking at the ceiling when he hears something close to a hiss. it's quick enough that it's hard to figure out if he has heard it, eyes snapping back towards sunny, squinting. finding no further indication of pain, he doesn't comment, yet makes a mental note. the worry from earlier is still there. could it be the case that sunny has injured himself somehow? when he was out of eyesight? surely he would have told alex then... right? surely? lips turn into a frown, even if sunny doesn't seem to be offended by his own words, alex doesn't like to hear them. hear him doubt himself. put down his own skills. like those trolls on the internet tend to write about them, how awful it is to read it all. "no, that's not true. you are very good at what you do." even if alex pesters him about being more careful all the time, he trusts sunny, both his actions and decisions. he just wishes he put more care into said decisions that endanger him in some way, shape, or form. the mocking tone makes him roll his eyes, frown turning into a grin, shaking his head. "well — everyone has different skillsets. but i was going to say you should be in earshot of someone who can reach you — it wouldn't work otherwise." maybe alex is pushing his luck a bit too far, though when safety is concerned- he tries not to doubt himself. the nudge makes him laugh, an eyebrow raising at the slip of words, the heat at the back of his neck still there, perhaps moving up a little. "uh... flank? that could be the word... or is it too on the nose?"

Shiro accepted the card with both hands, as one would accept something fragile, despite the creases and softened edges. He studied it longer than necessary, not for the name, but for the care it has endured by being kept close, ❝ A thing that survives the pocket, ❞ he says quietly, ❝ ...has already proven its worth. ❞ There was a faint nod, a promise unspoken, before the card disappeared into the inner fold of his coat. When the conversation turned, his posture does not change, though the air did. In a way, at least. He listened without interruption, eyes steady, weighing not only the words but the urgency beneath them. At the question, the smallest breath escaped him, almost a chuckle, though no humor reached it. ❝ Youth always believes the storm exists elsewhere, ❞ he replied, voice calm, unyielding. ❝ That it may be observed from a distance, or stepped into only when convenient. ❞ He leaned forward then, just enough to matter. ❝ But storms do not ask who they belong to. They take everyone in reach. ❞ Shiro studied the boy a moment longer, and this time there is no judgment, only recognition. ❝ You speak of unity, ❞ he continued, a bit softer now. ❝ That is good. But unity is not formed by standing beside the storm and offering shelter. It is formed by being willing to get wet. ❞ ❝ Neither loyal nor rebellious is an acceptable answer, ❞ he waved a hand in the air, dismissing the options he himself provided, as if that was a test in itself. ❝ What matters is this: when the storm breaks, will you stand where you said you would? ❞ Shiro’s gaze sharpened, respectful, still testing. ❝ If you can do that, then perhaps you are already part of it, whether you wish to be or not. ❞

jude doesn't expect the comment regarding the business card. assumed it would go unnoticed, or untold. after all, a part of him found it embarrassing, for they didn't need to use it before, and that fact was clear as day. as an upcoming artist, not a lot of people had asked for it, relied more on the fact that jude would keep showing up if they wanted a career in this line of work. although shiro speaks a compliment, it does work well to humble him, not returning it with a reply but a mere nod, eyes on the pavement underneath their feet. there is something at the tip of his tongue, an opinion that needs more tact than usual. they listen to the older and take the words in carefully, thinking carefully before they speak. "and age might mistake the beginnings of a storm for a wind, couldn't it?" while youth had its downfalls, sometimes ample more than age, jude knows the value it can also bring. a fresh set of eyes, the eagerness that might be lost after decades of practice, of familiarity. perhaps, haneul shin speaking of unity is ironic, but they are lucky that the other is not privy to that side of them. jude, on the other end, knows the power it can bring, being part of something bigger that they believe in — and is ready to get wet, drag their feet through the mud, get their white wings dirty to do what is done. "i am willing. though i suppose i can only prove that in actions, not in words." from what they have an inkling of this man, they assume words will not be enough. a small nod, acknowledgement of the test for what it was- yet still not knowing the answer. it is both sating and not, teeth itching for something more tangible, realizing that it will not be possible. "so, you are saying it will find me, if it needs me."

life tends to put him in places he'd rather not be, but tonight, he's somewhere he most certainly intended. perusing the glam and the glitz of the performance, novem takes notes on the way that jude commands the room, all charms cocooned in their shine, calibrated in a way to captivate without being too much. that, in itself, is a skill, and while novem would like to believe that he is in his own league when it comes to maintaining his charisma, jude has their penchant in the game, too. cloaked in structured lies, or so novem would like to believe. not everyone has the audacity to stomach this knowing that dishonesty plays a part in conversations, preferring the stale ennui of sincerity, but novem has the gut feelings that jude slides into the seat with the mutual understanding that they both hide something under their crooked nails. like intentions, like manipulation. he pretends to be surprised, mildly so, expression all trained, all calculated. "you make it sound like i spend my days in and out just working," he says, his smile coy. "some days, not wrong. most days, no, i have the liberty to work from anywhere, meetings or not. however, some of that statement might not be entirely wrong. about being here to see you, i mean. your performance, it's never shabby, as per usual." a pliant smirk, then he raises his glass. "may i treat you to some drinks, then? i'd assume you won't just dash home after work. i have trust in your ability to not be so... boring."

an elbow on the table between them, chin resting on the heel of their palm. there are the beginnings of a teasing grin on their face, hid behind closed lips, a pink shimmer of a gloss, partially worn down by the singing earlier. their wings are partially curled behind their back, but remain taking most of the room, glitters hidden in the feathers sparkling every so often underneath the dim bar lights. "mhm- well — it does seem to be the case from my side of the glass." with how successful the laevatainn empire is, it would require a lot of work, wouldn't it? then again, jude has seen plenty of examples of men in power thriving off the back of others. they don't believe it to be the case with novem. "work from anywhere? lucky you. must have a nice boss." another joke, well aware that novem is the boss. then - the admission comes, and it is a bit of surprise. the genuine compliment threatens the rhythm of their teasing back and forth, a blush of red makes its way up their neck. "well- you are very kind to say that. glad you enjoyed it." they evade their eyes for the first time tonight, leaning back, before brown eyes meet his again. "sure. i'd like that." a small nod, legs crossing over one another underneath the table. "you know i wouldn't — the night is still so young. there is much more to do."

"Yeah, titanium sounds good, let's give it a shot, huh? Get my guys to do the order form." He drags himself up a bit, gives his back and shoulders a gentle, testing flex: this way, that way, bows his head low and brings it back up. Still a little sore, but a significant improvement. "That's beautiful... you're a miracle worker, baby." Seth settles back down, much more comfortably, so Rei can close the panel. "Ah yes, the fuckin' Theseus thing... is a ship her parts, or her people? Might be you're the perfect person to ask: when I talk, do I sound like me, or do I get drowned out by the whirring of all my little robot bits?"

there is both a bit of irony and humor in getting seth to stop talking so easily. it wasn't their intention, but something about powerful men and pulling their strings that one could enjoy thinking about. unfortunately, rei does not have much interest in other affairs other than his work- which is why they discard the thought as quick as it comes. his body language is telling enough that it doesn't seem to be hurting anymore, which signals a job well done. if something were wrong, there would be pinched breaths and groans, which are plenty telling on their own without words. "sure. i'll reach out to the usual guys." a quick nod, excited at the prospect of working with new material. once they close the panel, they walk over to one of their workdesks, scribbling it down on a post-it note, just in case. chances are, they won't forget, but with these sorts of things, they have learned you can't be too cautious. they laugh at the compliment. a tip of their head towards seth, a grin on their lips. "glad to be of service. i'd say take good care of them — but i kinda know you won't, and i suppose it is good business for me as well." they wipe their hands off with a cleaner towel this time, leaning against the desk, letting seth settle after the procedure. "mhm. good question." they mull over it, and end up with a shrug. "i would say you mostly sound like you — but the robot parts are also you. in my mind, they are usually in harmony. unless i am in your spine, and they screech at me that they are worn down again."