;; girl is a gun

“I didn’t say anything,” he says, though his tone makes it clear he doesn’t buy it for a second—and doesn’t particularly care, either, beyond the fact that Irina would probably violate at least three minor protocols by using the weapons console off-duty, which would mean a stack of incident reports landing squarely on his lap. Worst case: more paperwork and another passive-aggressive memo from Maverick. Best case: Hyesung gets to show Lina some deep-breathing exercises.

“Let me guess—you’re hiding from group dinner?” He continues, pointing an accusatory finger at her. He doesn’t wait for confirmation. “I knew someone was missing from the camera roll. You did hear the announcement, right? At least show up for a picture?”

“Is this for the music business or world-saving business?” Irina eyed Stellan warily, weighing her options. If all it took was one photo to get out of socializing with the crew… Not a bad deal. Still, it wasn't like this was some press tour for the Supernova Girls where interviewers expected them to play stupid trivia games and act like they were best, best friends. This mission was serious. 

“Whose  idea even was this?” She rolled her eyes, arms crossing defensively. 

It was as much of a test as it was them meeting in the middle. She was a force, and he, an immovable object.

He met her challenging stare with placidity, his neon eyes holding hers without a flicker of intimidation or aggression. She was a coiled spring, wound tight with an energy that vibrated in the air around her. He recognized it. It was the same restless energy that hummed under his own skin, the kind that found stillness intolerable and sought release in motion. The corner of his mouth ticked upward in a little smirk, pleased that she was exactly as advertised.

Taking a half-step back, Neon created a sliver of space and nodded towards the row of bags swinging gently in the draft of the gym's ventilation. It was a dare wrapped up in an invitation. "My idea of a hard time starts with seeing if you can actually hit something that doesn't just hang there and take it." His eyes never left hers, the violet sparking with the same interest he had while staring down solar flares. He cracked his knuckles, the sound of his organic hand popping sharply, followed by the softer, metallic click of his cybernetic one.

"Your call, but you should know that I expect my gunners to be able to hit a moving target."

“I won’t hold back,” Irina warned him, giving him the opportunity to back down. She had been itching for a fight. Between the stupid dinner and the nerves of the upcoming journey, it had taken a lot out of her to remain calm and not damage any property or persons of importance to the mission.

 Her hands began to shake slightly, the promise of violence electrifying her. As her instincts took over, her eyes scanned his form for clues of where his weak points might be. Evidently, Neon was a blend of man and machine, and visibly so, but Irina wondered how deep his circuits went; how much of him was still organic? She knew that if she was reckless, her knuckles might meet steel and suffer the consequences. A grin spread across her face at the thought. 

She lunged, her movement almost too quickly to process, her fist aiming for a hit on his diaphragm.

the dinner from the night before settled like a pit in the bottom of mira's stomach. she hoped it would pass, but the longer time went on, it was clear that the feeling she couldn't shake was fear. it clawed at her insides and kept her from attempting sleep any longer. she padded through the ship as gently as she could in the early hours of the morning before most arose from their slumber. a cup of tea would soothe her nerves. with a mug in hand, she approached a window in the dining area and was met with that familiar expanse of darkness, but in the faraway distance, she could see the planet argos. according to when she last checked, they were still some hours out from arriving, so she would hopefully have enough time to snuff out the burdensome flame that flickered brightly still. she didn't know how long she was stood there watching, only silently recognizing that her cup of tea had since turned cold after some time. in her mind, this was like a supernova girls performance. the first time they had performed together, she was wrought with stage fright. but then she looked to either side of her and saw the very girls she started this journey with. she wasn't alone. they rehearsed extensively for this exact thing, and everyone on the crew was prepared for even the slightest mishap, so there was no reason for her to worry as she was. this was all exactly the same -- except not at all because they were on a mission to stop the world as they knew it from ending. crap. from her peripheral, she could see someone stepping beside her to take in the view themselves. "what do you think we're going to find?" she asked, her voice soft, almost like she didn't want to ask the question at all for fear of the answer.

Normally, she wasn’t one to seek out company, but it was rare for her to get one-on-one time with anyone. The ship’s small crew seemed to be constantly in contact with one another during the waking hours, and Irina wasn’t exactly comfortable in group settings. At least, not in a social context. She watched Mira from afar briefly, noting how she stared out into the vast darkness. Irina had an inking she was thinking of the upcoming mission, and began to approach with a footfall loud enough to announce her presence. 

“Trouble,” Irina started as she sat down on a chair beside Mira, pulling her knees up to her chin as she perched on the dining chair. “Death, destruction, chaos, the usual,” her tone was nonchalant, but her hands began to shake slightly. Excitement, rather than fear. Irina didn’t thrive in social situations, but she was as much a star on the battlefield as she was on stage. 

She noted Mira’s tone a fraction later, and grimaced slightly. She probably wasn’t helping with the anxiety. Normally, she wouldn’t care, but after Mira’s accident… she was more careful not to be another source of discomfort. “We’re capable, though. We’re ready.” She added, her tone awkward. Comfort wasn’t her strong suit, either.

She briefly blinked in surprise when she noticed that the room wasn’t empty. ‘Shit.’ she swore internally, not expecting anyone to have been here this time of night. She’d wanted to beat the crap out of a punching bag in solitude, but it looked like she was in for some company. She briefly assessed the person before her for any sign of threat, relaxing only slightly when she recognized the man’s face. She vaguely remembered him from some unimportant meeting she had mentally checked out for. 

Her eyes didn’t leave Neon’s as he approached her, her posture as unfriendly as her expression; normally, this would be enough for people to feel self-conscious under her glare, to break first and look away. That didn’t seem to be the case with the man before her, as he held eye contact as easily as he held out his hand. She briefly considered not taking it. She would’ve brushed him off, had his confidence not intrigued her. Odd, for someone who wasn’t a soldier.

A brief pause, then Irina grabbed his hand steadily, responding with a handshake that was a bit too firm for comfort; a show of dominance. A test.

“Depends. What’s your idea of a hard time?”

back straight, eyes sharp. fang stood at the end of the buffet line as though guarding the desserts with the silverware in arm's reach as her stalwart companion. a sly smile crossed her features as she scrutinized the newcomers plate.

"you can tell a lot about a person by their table manners. are you prepared to enter the proverbial gauntlet?"

She scoffed; she didn’t have the patience for games, and she definitely didn’t enjoy someone standing in the way of her and dessert. She wanted cake and ice cream, and she wanted them now.

“I don’t know, are you prepared to get the hell out of my way?” 

esme’s arms were full. like, dangerously full. two of her clones hovered at her sides, each balancing their own strange load of nonsense. an old traffic cone, a bundle of neon scarves, and what looked suspiciously like a hologram projector missing half its casing. esme herself was juggling an equally bizarre haul. three salt shakers, a half-inflated balloon shaped like a squid, and (don’t ask why) a frying pan.

she tiptoed down the corridor, biting her lip to keep from laughing. the clones mirrored her, though one was already grinning too wide, giving away the game.

dinner was supposed to start soon. the very first dinner before their very first real mission, which meant obviously it had to start with a bang. a little prank, something to lighten the mood, to make sure no one sat down feeling too heavy about what was coming.

esme was just about to duck into the mess hall when…

“…oh. uh.” she froze mid-step, arms wobbling under the ridiculous pile. the frying pan clattered against the balloon with a sad wheeze of escaping air. the clones stopped too, exchanging a quick glance like, busted.

but esme recovered fast. she flashed her brightest grin, eyes sparkling as if she hadn’t just been caught red-handed sneaking contraband chaos into dinner.

“hi there!” she chirped as if the moment were perfectly ordinary. “don’t mind me. just, uh…team-building exercises. totally normal. definitely not suspicious.”

Make music? Check.

Save the universe? Check.

Play house with the crew? Fuck no. Absolutely not.

As Irina rounded the corner, she immediately noticed Esme and her clones, arms full of... junk? She didn't want to know. It was just like Esme to pull some sort of annoying practical joke before a big mission. Absolutely typical. Irina could've stopped if she wanted to; She didn't want to. Instead, she intentionally stormed past Esme, making sure that her shoulder bumped the other girl's with enough force to send her off-balance.

Irina didn't turn as she heard the strange array of objects clatter to the ground, but she did pause.

"Oops."

The female rage of it all