I saw it on TV.

Open Starter She was at the club for one thing, to test her tolerance for alcohol and to forget any and all recent events. The Inhuman metabolism was high, Liss knew that much but she had never really had a need to test the limits to which she could push the balance of tipsy and intoxicated beyond repair, tonight however she was balancing closely on the edge of the very dangerous cliff. As she danced, the redhead found herself losing her inhibitions, not noticing the way her hair fell a foot longer as she let her emotions truly loose for the first time in so long. The curls bounced as she spun, drink in hand, in the middle of the sea of bodies. She had no idea what the song was, nor did she even care at this point, Liss was, for the first time since she had been exposed to the terrigen, free and without a care in the world. If she had been less intoxicated perhaps the young girl wouldn’t have been dancing alone in a club she barely knew, but instead she pressed up against the nearest body, what could only be described as a giggle leaving her lips as she sipped the cocktail through its straw and danced against the warmth of another person.

He’s been there for only fifteen minutes, but it’s still just as exciting as ever. The music is booming, and almost anything in a mile radius is vibrating along with it, as if trying to match the tempo. It’s a bizarre idea, but Shatterstar wonders if maybe he can literally become one with the music by simply standing on the bright, multicolored dancefloor tiles. Why not give it a try? 

It’s a nice day out; the sun is shining, the sky’s pretty blue, and the birds are screaming to each other from across the treetops—who knows what they’re ranting about. Probably some weird bird-related things, like the new way to build nests or whatever. Sort of like people. Except people are the intelligent ones, so sorry to all the other existing species, humans are automatically better. 

Jamie doesn’t mind at all that someone’s speaking to him, there’s no-one in the building as far as he can tell so it’s not like someone calling up to him is going to get him noticed by someone he doesn’t want to see him. What he minds is that it involves the world plummeting. He’s aware that the statement is meant in good nature, that it’s a warning and a sentiment of concern but there’s just something off putting about being reminded that he could go falling back to the ground and seriously injury himself.

“Yes.” Shatterstar shot a quick, hearty wave at the other man, offering a handshake only seconds after. That was the polite thing to do, and why pass up on an opportunity to make a good second-ish impression? “We’ve met once or twice before, but not formally.” Through friends or second-hand conversations, mainly, but ‘Star’s accidentally listened on in on a few conversations with or about the Multiple Man, and, you know, the internet is a great place to find somewhat reliable information. Not that pictures give off much of a sense of personality, though. Face-to-face is always better. 

“Shatterstar.” The name comes out like it’s no big whoop, like his name isn’t goddamn Shatterstar, but rather Joe Smith or Brian Adams. Hey, in his defense, they all have the same amount of syllables. Two. Plus, being around people named Banshee ( sorry—Siryn ) and Longshot all day really makes you forget that some people might go ahead and say to themselves: God, this kid’s parents must really hate him. “If it is up to me, then I’ll go. I did just offer my attendance.”

“It’s not a nickname anymore, I suppose.” No one, no one, in their right mind would ever call Shatterstar ‘Gaveedra-Seven’. Despite it being a mouthful, it was real hard to pronounce. He hadn’t heard someone refer to him as that since belonging to the Mojoverse. “Do you know what we’re looking for, exactly? Like a picture or something? Unless you’re storing it in your memory.” Hardly did Shatterstar ever blindly follow directions with no prior knowledge of who or what he was looking for, but today was ‘one of those days’ ( it hurts to even say that ) where he’d let it slide just for the hell of it. “This way it is, then.”

When you don’t know how to handle it, you call us.

It’s a nice day out; the sun is shining, the sky’s pretty blue, and the birds are screaming to each other from across the treetops—who knows what they’re ranting about. Probably some weird bird-related things, like the new way to build nests or whatever. Sort of like people. Except people are the intelligent ones, so sorry to all the other existing species, humans are automatically better. 

“Doug Ramsey?” Maybe this guy wasn’t on television. It just seemed like so many different people appeared on there daily—how do they do it? Even Shatterstar was, way back when. Except that was in a different dimension. And universe. Plus, he was a gladiator. Fighting to the death means a lot of hard work and no time off on weekends. “Oh, nevermind. If you haven’t seen the other Doug’s movie, it’s most exciting. But don’t get scared about the big monster, they terminate it in the end. Um—spoiler alert.” For a second—only a second—Shatterstar was ( just a tiny bit ) worried that the other man had been laughing at him, and not precariously with him. “I can join you on your exploration, if you’d like.”

“Shatterstar.” The name comes out like it’s no big whoop, like his name isn’t goddamn Shatterstar, but rather Joe Smith or Brian Adams. Hey, in his defense, they all have the same amount of syllables. Two. Plus, being around people named Banshee ( sorry—Siryn ) and Longshot all day really makes you forget that some people might go ahead and say to themselves: God, this kid’s parents must really hate him. “If it is up to me, then I’ll go. I did just offer my attendance.”

“I do not wish to rain on your parade, but I haven’t seen one for a few street signs. Maybe try turning around?” Street signs? That didn’t sound right. Usually Rictor would correct him on something as mediocre as that, which was annoying as hell sometimes, but it always did ‘Star some good. Whatever; he was just trying to be a good, American citizen. If this guy didn’t like it, he could go take a ride on a shopping cart through a bonfire. “Doug? Like the actor from Godzilla? Your movie was—I liked that movie. Although, the monster wasn’t all that horrifying, I’ve seen worse.” 

“Doug Ramsey?” Maybe this guy wasn’t on television. It just seemed like so many different people appeared on there daily—how do they do it? Even Shatterstar was, way back when. Except that was in a different dimension. And universe. Plus, he was a gladiator. Fighting to the death means a lot of hard work and no time off on weekends. “Oh, nevermind. If you haven’t seen the other Doug’s movie, it’s most exciting. But don’t get scared about the big monster, they terminate it in the end. Um—spoiler alert.” For a second—only a second—Shatterstar was ( just a tiny bit ) worried that the other man had been laughing at him, and not precariously with him. “I can join you on your exploration, if you’d like.”

“Hel-lo there to you, also. Do I know where the school is?” Shatterstar stood for a moment in silence, staring at the man in front of him. Was there a school nearby? No—scratch that. Did he see a school nearby? “No. I can’t help you, sorry.” He held out his hand for a shake. That was customary, right? “What’s your name?”

Doug nodded. “Yeah, I’m asking if there is a high school around here.” He asked with a tilt of his head. “Oh well that’s okay. I’ll find it somehow. I’m pretty resilient.” Doug shook the mans hand. “Nice to meet you, my name is Doug.” 

“I do not wish to rain on your parade, but I haven’t seen one for a few street signs. Maybe try turning around?” Street signs? That didn’t sound right. Usually Rictor would correct him on something as mediocre as that, which was annoying as hell sometimes, but it always did ‘Star some good. Whatever; he was just trying to be a good, American citizen. If this guy didn’t like it, he could go take a ride on a shopping cart through a bonfire. “Doug? Like the actor from Godzilla? Your movie was—I liked that movie. Although, the monster wasn’t all that horrifying, I’ve seen worse.” 

Doug couldn’t believe it, it was his first day and he was already late. “Damnit.” He said, in English this time. There was about 6000 languages he could’ve said it in, but this time he chose his native one. English. “Hello there. Can you help me? I’m trying to find the school. And I’m almost late on my first day.”

“Hel-lo there to you, also. Do I know where the school is?” Shatterstar stood for a moment in silence, staring at the man in front of him. Was there a school nearby? No—scratch that. Did he see a school nearby? “No. I can’t help you, sorry.” He held out his hand for a shake. That was customary, right? “What’s your name?”