Kronosevent1 - Blog Posts
amarcnthined:
“—right.” suzu arches an eyebrow at mizuse’s denial and suppresses an amused smile. “well, you’re doing a good job of fooling everyone else, i’ll give you that.” she sips her drink, gaze traveling across the crowd, humming in agreement as mizuse explains her father’s absence. “you can tell him all about it later. he’ll probably love to hear it.” in her peripheral vision, she notices mizuse stepping closer, fingers fidgeting with silver jewelry, and suzu turns to fully face the young hero. “i didn’t, no.” better to be blunt than raise false hope. “sorry, i wish i had. it’s just as much of a surprise to you as it is to me.” still, she doesn’t elaborate on her own frustration, irritated by the fact she could’ve known but didn’t. no rumors, no whispers of a super serum finally more than a false promise—how tight of a hold does kronos have on this? but it’s nothing mizuse should worry about; suzu’s problems are her own, and she’d rather not drag mizuse into the intricacies of it.
“but barring that, how does it feel to be at your first official event?” she asks, mocking the tone of the journalist with a grin. beneath the teasing lies pride for what mizuse’s become, even if she thought the speedster would be better off in crux. “do you think it was worth it?” her tone turns serious, more contemplative. “all the training?”
there is no necessity for an apology. it seems like everybody here was blindsided by the announcement by the kronos ceo. the grin on her countenance blossoms from consolation ( of course mizuse notices the vexation swirling within the bluntness of the answer that she did not want to give the younger ) to the charismatic self - assurance and relaxed simper. ❛ this is easy - peasy, ❜ mizuse answers with a scoff. the amount of media training she had to suffer through years holed up in the nsa training facility has prepared her for … most of this. what mizuse has is an EDGE — able to think quickly on her feet and have the inability to be visibly fazed by most surprises and stressful situations. however, this speedster is still human and cannot be blasé towards everything, especially towards the discreet, tense mannerisms and underlying meaning in teasing words. optics flit around the ballroom, surrounded by the nsa’s super - powered greats and novus’ influential. holding her father’s hand at similar events, wow’d by the same people instead of being the one to work with them only seems like it was yesterday. ❛ of course the training was worth it, ❜ mizuse’s gaze shifts back towards the vigilante with a gratified smile and sigh of content ( relief the grueling training has ended ). ❛ i learned how to be the FASTEST. i reached speeds that would’ve taken me years to accomplish if i didn’t have that training, y’know ? maybe with a bit more experience being an official hero, i can become too fast at saving novus so heroes can be a little bored for once, ❜ she quips with a soft chuckle, only suzu being able to witness the reveal an altruistic side of the younger. mizuse strives to be one of THE BEST — to ensure a safer society and also lift some of the overwhelming responsibility off her veteran mentors. ❛ and you taught things that they couldn’t have. you’re one of the reasons why i’m able to be here tonight. ❜
one of the things that relaxes mizuse is the wind in her hair, breeze brushing along smooth skin — whether the sensations arise from a sprint or perched on the highest point. despite mizuse being less adapted to cold weather, she still seeks the rooftop ( she purchased a sweatshirt from the museum’s gift shop that’s not surprisingly open to have some sort of warmth ) for a breath of fresh air & some solitude. the speedster doesn’t expect anyone else up here, eyes wide in WONDER and an elated gasp once she steps outside to witness the hanging lights and sculptures decorating the space. however, a beat after expressing her wonder and relief, her attention swiftly shifts to the seated figure. hands shoved into the front pocket of the sweatshirt ( what a great outfit — a vintage couture dress & matching heels underneath a cotton pullover ), mizuse recognizes it’s one of the heroes - in - training … oswald, was it ? oscar ? ❛ nah, i’m good, ❜ she declines the offer, gradually with lithesome steps making her way over to the parapet. mizuse reaches to slip off her shoes and sets them aside before lifting herself onto the ledge beside otto in a fluid motion. ❛ nice view up here, eh ? ❜ she gives a swift glance towards him before nodding her chin towards the novus skyline, slowly kicking her feet back and forth.
when: 7 january 2040 where: buchanan’s annual gala who: open!
there’s little trouble to get into on the rooftop, but then he hadn’t expected to find much up of anything up here. he’s mildly surprised to find it decorated with tiny twinkling lights that seem to never phase out of relevance no matter the decade. there are seating arrangements, too, as if it’s common to host an event atop a museum but then maybe it is. a lot of change can happen in seven years. he hoists himself up to sit on the parapet - feet dangling over the edge - and gazes out over the capital city. when he was younger, he dreamed of blacking out an entire city like this. just to see if he could. he’s old enough to know it’s a death wish, but that childlike curiosity remains. he supposes he should be grateful the nsa couldn’t extinguish that over the last seven years. he cranes his head back as the door to the rooftop opens, blue eyes giving the intruder a once over before he, good naturedly, offers his vape pen. not without taking a hit first, but still offered nonetheless. “first hit’s free.“
optics gaze upon a VIVID kandinsky painting, analyzing the vibrant colors as thoughts of tonights’ revelations swirl inside of her mind. mizuse wanted to take a break from the commotion inside the main ballroom and see the newest installations herself. taking a break standing around in heels is a plus, too. in peripheral vision, mizuse notices the approach of a figure — a kronos employee. posture straightens, but she doesn’t move besides moving the pair of heels to the other side of her to free up space on the furniture. ❛ i’ve seen performances better than anything they could even DREAM of doing, ❜ a subtle smile and a glance towards saskia, tucking feathery onyx tresses behind her ear. ❛ s’not fair they’re the only ones who get to showcase their talents … i think we all should deserve a shot to wow the crowd, ❜ the speedster slightly leans towards saskia, the curl of her lips playful. ❛ i am a pretty good singer, y’know. i could definitely push the twins out of first place. . . . you got a secret talent ? ❜
when: 7 january 2040 where: buchanan's annual gala who: open!
saskia loves a good party - especially one where the food and drinks are on her boss’s dime - as much as the next person, but even she needs to step away for a moment. blame it on buchanan’s announcement and the sudden need of every single kronos employee to come seek her out and congratulate her as if she’d created the whole damn serum herself. she’s but a small part of the machine and she doesn’t like taking credit for other people’s work.
she doesn’t really want any credit for this either.
the sight of the ‘miracle twins’ leaves her nauseated and with the whole museum being available, saskia takes advantage - meandering from exhibit to exhibit until there’s fewer and fewer people and no chatter about super serums or wonder twins. “i think they’re going to put on another performance here in a few minutes,” she says. she sits on a bench in front of a large painting but facing away from it in a swirl of braids and green fabric. “you sure you wanna miss out on that?”
mizuse is collecting hors d’oeruves on a small plate with the paragon hero at her side. with all of this standing around, nerves churning her stomach, and the necessity to consume some calories — she can’t resist. the choices are OVERWHELMING, fingers wiggling in enticement as she reaches for a bruschetta. she brings it to her brims, biting into it with a CRUNCH ! as baz turns to blurt out a vexed question directed towards her. brows raise, gaze shifting from him to the twins across the extravagant ballroom showcasing their injected abilities as she chews. ❛ i mean, they’re usin’ their powers right in front of us. the serum works, ❜ mizuse answers once she swallows and pivots her attention back to baz, using him and his skepticism to freely bounce hypotheses off of. show a not so easily accessible side of the young hero. it wouldn’t be the first time she’d talk his ear off or encourage him to continue a rant. ❛ i wonder if it’s temporary. if they have a weak constitution and weren’t MADE to handle whatever injected power they got, use over time will have a huge side effects on ‘em, ❜ a hum of thought and then a shrug of exposed shoulders. ❛ we’ll just have to see. ❜ sentence ends with another bite to finish off the toasted italian bread.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐒 @ 𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐍'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐀 — 𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗡
he wasn't planning on attending, visibly nursing a glass of whiskey in one hand and eyes rolling at every other boastful syllable ... he'd much rather be somewhere with much dimmer lights, tucked behind the vip section of lux sipping on something much stronger. a sigh filters out at the remembrance of his father's words — duty is duty. you chose this, you have to follow through. gaze turns to the figure to his side, brow quirking in subtle inquiry. “ d'you actually buy that shit ? anyone can be super ? ” the scoff that lifts from his lips is evident, not-so-vague disbelief riddled through otherwise undeniable arrogance. “ it's cute, i'suppose. it's like when little kids wear labcoats ... stethoscopes 'n all that, playin' doctors — pretending to be something they're not, ”
it is all a facade — it’s what five years of training within the nsa and observing her father veil emotions ever since she had met him. mizuse engrossed in conversation with an avid journalist wanting to pick apart a rookie after a shocking revelation; however, the speedster is ALWAYS one step ahead. blasé smile, an occasional sip of her sparking beverage, maintaining eye - contact with the reporter … not revealing a thing. mizuse didn’t know how much longer she could stand here and deal with the interview, hues flickering for anything—anyone—more interesting she could point them out to. after all, she is a newbie to all of this … and the fleet - foot’s patience is starting to wear thin. wings attach to her ankles subtly flutter, concealed by the material of her dress. next thing mizuse notices is her savior, suzu, approach the two of them and the journalist makes a hasty retreat. ❛ me ? nervous ? psh — ❜ mizuse grins with a dismissive wave and a shake of her head. ❛ dad didn’t want to attend. you and i both know he doesn’t like these sort of things, ❜ she answers, knowing the vigilante can see right through her act. grin slightly falters as mizuse steps closer to her, fiddling with silver jewelry wrapped around digits. suzu, adopting the role of big sister, is the source of information, motivation ... reassurance. ❛ … i’m guessing you didn’t hear anything about this. ❜
with : @kyllini location : buchanan’s gala, main room date : january 7, 2040
it’s easy to spot the familiar figure caught in a conversation she doesn’t want to be in. with how fast mizuse is, an escape should be as simple as running away—but the politics of playing nice make that a bit more complicated. suzu knows mizuse can take care of herself, but who would she be if she didn’t help out at least a little?
she cuts in between mizuse and the journalist with a winning smile, leaning in to whisper something that sends them off bolting. the disturbance gone, she turns to mizuse, an ease in her demeanor that comes with being in the presence of the younger woman. “don’t tell me hitsuto actually left you alone to fend off the sharks by yourself,” she teases. “nervous?” not that mizuse looks it—picture perfect and the spitting image of what a hero should be, slipstream is ready to face the crowd. “don’t be. no nsa script could’ve prepared you for this mess.”
𝗥𝗢𝗕𝗘𝗥𝗧 𝗕𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗔𝗡'𝗦 𝗡𝗘𝗪 𝗬𝗘𝗔𝗥 𝗚𝗔𝗟𝗔 — mizuse sachikaze attended robert buchanan’s new year’s gala on january 7th dressed in a vintage alexandre vauthier couture gown. this was the young hero’s first attendance at a formal event as a member of team sentinel.
the TINGLE of electricity … the static in the air of perhaps a forthcoming lightning strike or really … it’s an adjacent comrade experiencing an anxious chill down her frame. it is a sensation mizuse has felt before since rosie’s debut three months after her own on team sentinel. the speedster immediately flickers her gaze from people - watching—sycophants fawning over buchanan and the serum freak - show twins who just left the stage—to rosie beside her, a slight furrow to her brows. the query is the one mizuse least expected, yet it probably good to talk about ANYTHING else besides what was just revealed. her stomach churns ; emotions concealed more expertly than the adjacent cohort. of course their first formal affair officially being on sentinel has to be an event like this. ❛ an aperol spritz, ❜ mizuse answers, lifting the glass in her hand slightly. ❛ i really just wanted an orange slice, but the bartender wouldn’t let me just have one, so i had him surprise me, ❜ she reveals a beat after, the usual nonchalant smile on glossed brims. even if she could speed behind the counter herself to snatch one, using her abilities in a place like this isn’t a good idea. ❛ do you want to try it ? ❜
𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 › buchanan’s gala. with anyone.
consequence was something rosie thought about a lot these days. or, maybe effect was the better word. the effect of becoming a super was attending events like these. the effect of electricity manipulation was the synapses in your brain dying over time, essentially sentencing you to die in your early sixties. the effect of this? giving abilities to people who’s bodies were never meant to handle them? she shivered, a frown drawn on her face as she patted down strands of hair. oh yeah, the effect of anxiety? electric. she rolled her eyes at nothing in particular and took a sip of her champagne. her therapist taught her what to do to avoid a pr nightmare. distract, distract, distract.
“ what are you drinking? ” she pipes up, eyes on her neighbor. she offered a sweet smile, patting once more at her hair.