Nothing to prove, I'm bulletproof, and know what I'm doing

[numberthree]

WHO: Allison Hargreeves
WHERE: The City
WHEN: All Through The Event
WHAT: 29-year-old Movie Star, City Enforcer, and Gabriel's Interrogation Specialist (MOM & Canon powers, whee!)
WARNINGS: Violence, maybe. Depending on how you strike her.

[ RATIFICATION CELEBRATION | OTA ]

Allison arrives at the event, as she promised Gabriel, dressed to the nines in a glamorous gown and jewelry set borrowed graciously from one of the endless movie costume halls. Hair and makeup done, as well. It was a nice moment to be able to shine for both fronts of her life, and Luther would be there, in the tow of Gabriel, himself, as well.

He hadn't known how right he was when he claimed they'd be a dynamic set at his side.
(If that happens to be right in so many more ways than are know, well, that's how they like it.)

Allison circled the room, a small plate of horduerves balanced, on the one hand, mingling making small talk with the guests, the honoraries and the enforcers alike, sliding in and out easily from all the circles her life, and stacked hand in this world gave her. But, even if it couldn't be spotted, she kept an eye on Gabriel, all the exits, and all the people Gabriel had specifically asked her to.

[ WILDCARD ]

Come @ me! I'm available at wanderlustlover. I've been very sick the last four weeks with many doctors and much-medicated bed rest, but I'm trying to rouse myself back to writing. Come play with me! Toss me an idea & make us a starter (or ask me to)! More backdated prompts probably coming!

Comments

wildcard

[anathemic]

Anathema makes a point of avoiding the government's innermost echelon of soldiers as much as possible, considering her underground resistance activities. But sometimes that's not possible, and today, of all days, when The Rumor is in plainclothes and isn't actually on duty, the two of them wind up elbow-to-elbow in a line at the same coffeeshop. (Allison doesn't need bodyguards or an escort; she's more than capable of looking after herself.)

It's a busy, bustling day, considering the crowds for Ratification Day packing the central district. Anathema hasn't noticed the woman behind her yet, at least until Anathema turns too quick and collides with her; Anathema drops her coffee; it splatters all over the movie star's shoes.

"Oh my god, I'm so sor—"

Her dark brown eyes flit to the other woman's face; recognises her in an instant; the witch goes stock-still, frozen like a deer about to bound back into the forest; then she forces herself to unclench all her rigid muscles. Quick calculations run through her head. What would be more suspicious? Recognising her or not? In the end, a decision:

"You're— oh, you're that actress, aren't you? I feel simply awful. Here, let me help."

[numberthree]

It all happens so fast that any number of clashes go on inside Allison in the space of a few seconds. One more, she was patiently (or, maybe, a little impatiently waiting, as it was Ratification Day and that meant her clock all day was tight, needed to be here or there for needs of the day). Then, suddenly, the girl in front of her whirled around, straight into her, a collision of bones and then a scalding drench of coffee that hit her shoes, while spattered up her legs.

Even before the instant anger could really burst, the woman was already apologizing. Allison shock and annoyance and her floating arounds -- and, of course, now throbbing skin -- flirting with the gentle twisting sensation in her stomach. "It's--"

Allison starts but doesn't push herself to say okay. Her skin is maybe scalded (even if she's not jumping up and away at anything so light as small splash of boiling water, a thing she can forever lay at the feet of her father) and her shoes are very, very likely ruined, even if just in spots. "Could you just, someone, get us some napkins?" She was busy trying to decide if she wanted to step out of her heels onto the ground and look at them.

This wasn't the most auspicious start to the day.

[anathemic]

Anathema's quick to bolt, setting the remainder of her coffee (there's only about half of it left now) on a nearby table and going straight for the counter of napkins, straws, stirrers, cupholders. While she's there, she scrapes a hand against her forehead, like she can brush away the whole situation as if it's a bead of sweat on her brow. Exhales. Reins herself shakily back in (her own kind of acting, too), before she grabs a handful of napkins and goes back.

A file has circulated on Allison Hargreeves, over the years. She can tell when you're lying. She can rewrite you with a word, if she has a whim to.

Better not give her a reason to.

"I was in such a rush to get out of here, I wasn't looking. This was my fault." All the truth, as Anathema hands over some napkins.

[numberthree]

Her temper is already ebbing as she's looking between the woman running off all harried with embarrassment and her feet, her shoes, and the puddle around spread out in front of her. She was always the fastest one to rage out of them when there had been a "them" to the be the first of in comparison for anything (for everything). The closest had once been her acidic spitfire brother, Diego, Number Two, but he's been gone -- they've been here -- so long it's almost like they are dead.

Impossible to reach. Impossible to know. Forgotten sometimes, even though that still sits awkwardly in her.

Even with Luther, especially then, she was the one all fuss, fire, and brimstone temper, to his slow, steady foundation.

Allison's gotten some of herself back together, most of her anger gone, or at least shifted back under her professional pose, except for the occasional flicker of trying to remember how expensive the shoes were, or where she even got them. Hence, she offers when the woman comes back. The first words are a little effort, but the rest flows as easy as any other set of improv lines. "It's just coffee. I've been hit with worse."

She took some of the napkins and stepped out of the line and puddle, to put her foot up on a chair and start wiping off her shoe, foot, calf where the coffee had gotten. "Today's been a little jittery for everyone already, I think. With the Ratification almost on us, and all?"

[anathemic]

"Yeah, I bet you have." Was there too much bite to that sentence? Anathema's lips purse and she takes a neat step to the side while a bored, tired shop employee steps up with a mop to start dealing with the puddle on the floor, sweeping it away from the two women. Anathema's shoved her hands into her pockets; not really body language she normally displays, but she needs to keep her nervous fidgeting in check. She's even more on edge around the actress than around Gabriel himself. The enforcer is, in some ways, more dangerous.

"And— yes. There's a lot going on. I'll be at the parade later, and I didn't want to miss the start, but getting through these crowds is awful. Are you working today?"

Each word so carefully-calculated, each one another piece of truth sliced out of the tapestry.

[numberthree]

Allison doesn't pay the first comment much mind, while she's dabbing at her shoes. The second, though, when it adds a question for her to answer, gets a lookup and a bright enough smile. Not the kind of smile she has on the job (though she does have one for that; it's the kind that people should run very quickly away from), but more like the calmed down, friendly version of her movie star one.

The one that all warm edges and fledging intimacy.
It's not even a lie. Especially when she says,

"To serve and protect doesn't really come with an offsetting, right?"

She does get much time to smile like it, aside from social engagements like the party, but she's good at what she does, and she's proud of that. Proud of the fact she does it well. Proud of the fact she's recognized for that by her superiors. Proud of the fact she gets to do it side-by-side with Luther. Even on days like this, in months like this.

(The life she'd had before the Porter brought them here?

Hadn't had many of those at all.)

[anathemic]

"I guess it doesn't. No rest for the wicked, huh?" The floor's cleaned up and the employee slouches back behind the counter, dragging the mop with them. Anathema's gaze darts down at Allison's boots, a glance down at the damage.

"I really don't want to guess how much those shoes cost. Probably more than my entire month's salary. Hopefully they're not ruined."

Banalities. Anathema can do banalities, just spinning her wheels until the interrogator's schedule rolls on and she needs to leave the shop and they can all just get out of this interaction intact.

Celebration - lemme know if this is okay.

[lastsonofmars]

"Allison! It's so very good to see you, again!"

J'onn J'onzz was there under the life he had been living for the last years. He slipped into the identity as if putting on a whole new life. One he had known and that was very real for him. An identity as real as any other, Lars Edgar Toben the 3rd, former government agent and now retired agent and civilian businessman in shipping.

He traveled a lot, doing business where the government could not and occasionally looking the other way while the government used his trips to conduct their more covert actions.

His security clearance was still high, even after all this time, but only high enough to let him attend the more secure parties. Not high enough to let him see the really secure things. He was at ease in this celebration in a suit that cost more than most people made in a year. The tall black man showed his years as he moved slowly, but his smile was still hearty as he raised a hand to greet her with a wave that was not quite a salute.

Lars never missed one of these meetings. He was no one important anymore, but everyone knew he wanted to be, and came to be seen and to see, those who still were actually part of where things happened.

"I hope things are going well for you, yes? You still look stunning." He had a subtle southern accent, one he practiced, despite growing up in California.

wildcard

[viciousmaukery]

At night, there are still duties for the enforcers to carry out: dirty deeds in the dark, for quite a few, and for people like Allison, the glamorous red carpet. Maybe Molly would've been jealous, a year or so ago, but the quiet hunter they've made out of him only waits until the crowds have departed, waits until Allison slips out of the movie premiere.

In his hand is a file on a resistance cell, nearby, and a few of its benefactors as well. People who hide their allegiances under the glitz and glamour of the movie star life, people Allison Hargreeves has likely met at least in passing.

The hunter raps his knuckles against a back door to call her attention. He cocks his head to the side and says, his voice soft and rasping, "Miss Hargreeves?"