#continuum:event

"Yes, I'm sure 'psycho-quiet chick' totally made me look like a wuss. Good for her. Kindly fuck off." The other projects continued to laugh as Forrest moved away from them into the throng of people he didn't recognize that marked the end of an event he couldn't remember. All he knew was it left him with a headache from hell that still hadn't fully dissipated. With a grimace, he downed a glass of champagne looking around. "You know, hob-knobbing with the elite would mean more if I knew who the fuck they were."

[His voice is soft, standing inauspiciously off to the side. A mostly untouched flute of champagne rests in his hand and the smile on his face hasn't really moved since this started.] So proud of them. [True to form, Brian finds himself doing his best to not get too misty eyed. He fails, but never loses his smile.] Hard won and long deserved. Who's surprised I'm crying? No one? That's what I imagined.

[Brian mutters under his breath, moving quietly through the maze. His eyes look dead, flat and somewhat bloodshot. His knuckles still stained with his blood after punching through his desk. Being in the maze is worse than he'd imagined and he's doing his best to numb down his instincts. He is a walking machine of guilt and self-loathing and when he spies a figure turn a corner just up ahead, machine kicks in and he goes into a combat stance, preparing to do what had been demanded of him.]

You have to come back, remember. [For such a light piece of material, the flag weighs a ton on his hip. It's nothing he can't handle though, making his way through the maze, intent on finding a flag. He'd be damned if he didn't contribute to his team's score, even if he wasn't sure what the point of this all was. He hates mazes, never able to track his path even if he only turns in one direction. Taking a moment, he closes his eyes and breathes in. The sound of a twig snapping catches his attention and instantly his shield is up, the translucent red field surrounding him as he makes a sword appear in his right hand.] 

[Dominic dips his head at the waiter, accepting the champagne and taking a sip as he looked around the ball. Maybe it was some of the final vestiges of his Resistance upbringing, or maybe it was the life on the run following his parents' deaths, either way he didn't like such shows of grandeur and wealth. They were wasteful and just an excuse for problems to arise. Spotting his younger brother, Dom crosses the room, stopping beside him with a distant smile.] Hello, Des. Enjoying the party?