Realistic or Modern 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙟𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙮 - ic

[xayah.]

EMERDOL TOWN HALL.
Streets stall for blocks, gridlocked. Groups of people make their way down the roads of Emerdol on foot instead, gawking.

At what?

A rainbow assortment of decorations⁠, every color imaginable⁠ and more, paint the town⁠—banners of the Five are draped from streetlights, every active electronic screen has the same channel playing the same video at the same time, and skyscrapers are lit up with an array of the most iconic superheroes' colors.

They say that it's easy to identify a tourist, if not by the way they look then by the way they act, but today, each and every person in the crowd blends together. Residents smile next to special celebratory attractions, take pictures in front of the city's most notable landmarks⁠—Lacrimura HQ included⁠—and hang around in lines to be the next to take pictures. Tourists breeze on by, walk through the city guidelessly⁠—needing only to follow the tallest building around by far to get by⁠—and focus on only one goal. One destination.

Emerdol Town Hall.

But from the skies, or wherever and however superheroes and wannabes alike are making their way to the city's center, it's hard to pay much attention to the crowd, much less differentiate them. Today is all about Lacrimura, and implicitly, all about them. Days such as these inflate the ego of even the most selfless people. Especially when an award awaits you at the end of it all.

On a large stage in front of rows and rows of chairs stands Mr. Avery Randell, second generation owner and CEO of Lacrimura and today's key speaker. Not many remember his face, only his name, and maybe that's what he wants. As he scans the venue for much needed last minute fixes, long and slow strides with hands clasped behind his back, today's speech plays over and over in his head.

The crowd will walk in and take a seat. Welcome all. Then, he'll thank the sponsors of today's celebrations. ...Especially my longtime business partner, Mr. Justice Verlice.

...And for their vigilant and faithful service to the city, the mayor has graciously given us the authority to bestow upon you all keys to the city. The wannabes will be in first two rows, today's honorees. Then, press. Then, the rest.

And behind himself, the Five. He turned to face them, scanning each of them as his eyes trailed down the nice line they stood in. He'd asked them to arrive early, demanded it really, and instructed them to say nothing. They need only wave, only smile at all their adoring fans. It was little things like this that reminded him of just how much power he, a single unpowered human, could wield. But, and this was a truth the CEO hated to admit, it was only because they let him.

His company's pride and joy. His personal eternal pain-in-the-asses. He could entrust Mileena with the task of keeping the rest in check, but never trusted her. Charlie, Liam, and the newbie made up most of the company's yearly legal expenses, and Lottie was nothing but a rags-to-riches poster child story that became less and less interesting over time. Maybe today was the perfect day for finding a replacement. For all of them.

As Mr. Randell turned back, he was met with the sight of filled seats and bated breaths. The time had come. Cameras were ready, wannabes attentive, and the audience had taken a seat. The excitement in the air was palpable, reminiscent of a cool wind on a hot spring day to Avery. It felt so, so very good and steeled his own nerves. Standing tall and center stage in front of a podium, his hand raised, immediately signaling the beginning of celebrations and the silencing of the crowd.

And then I end with a simple 'Thank you for coming.'

"Welcome all, denizens and peace-loving fans of superheroes everywhere, to the 25th anniversary of Lacrimura's founding."

miyabi mother of sorrows .V1LLAINISM._ Gao qunqun ravensunset blue-jay artemis. demonology Feral arthur morgan. erzulie Anne Boolean Tomomo

seating arrangement: wannabes up front, the Five behind Mr. Randell on stage, civilians, underlings, and villains behind the wannabes

 

[Anne Boolean]

Jaiden Lange​

"What do you mean I can't wear ass-less chaps like I'm at a music festival for this event?" Jaiden questioned into the phone's receiver. The smirk on his face made it evident his true desire wasn't actually to be able to wear said piece of clothing but just to mildly annoy his management.

"Mr. Randell said that each of The Five have to wear their super suits," the voice on the other end said in an exasperated tone. "So please, just wear that..."

"Can I cut the chest of my suit?" he asked, the smirk on his face only growing.

There was a sigh heard from the other end. "No, Jaiden... please just wear the suit the way it was designed..."

"But Astral gets to have a boob window in her suit..."

Another sigh. "Fine. I'll talk to someone about redesigning your suit."

"Promise?"

"Yes, promise. Now can you please get ready? Mr. Randell has asked all The Five to arrive early."

"Okay, fine," Jaiden said. "You guys are sending a limo to come get me, right?"

"No. The roads around City Hall have are all blocked. You'll have to arrive on foot."

"Wooow..." he said in a tone feigning annoyance. "Celebrities always get limos to award shows. Ugh, I should have just been a dancer or something instead."

Yet another sigh. "I'm sure the roads to venues where a lot of traditional celebrities gather get blocked as well..."

Jaiden let out a chuckle. "I know, I know. I'm just messing with you. I'll be there soon, and I'll arrive in my unmodified super suit."

"Thank you, Jaiden. I really appreciate your cooperation," the voice said with a relieved tone.

"Appreciate it enough to let me use my socials again?"

"Good luck at the event! I hope you have fun!" they quickly said, nipping that conversation in the bud.

Jaiden rolled his eyes, but a smile still lingered on his lips. "Alright, alright. I'll talk to you later, Keith."

"Bye." The call was disconnected.

Once he was in super suit, Jaiden, or rather Overdrive, stepped out of his apartment. He made his way down the hall, passing the elevator, and opening the door to the stairs. Instead of going down though, he made his way up. Once there were no flights left for him to climb, he stepped out onto the roof. There was a light breeze on an otherwise temperate and beautiful day. That might have been simply due to his current altitude. His eyes shifted towards the building's edge, and he got a running start. He stepped onto the ledge and used it as a jumping off point to launch himself into the open air. The maneuver had so much power behind it that he was easily able to land in the middle of the roof of the adjacent building. He kept moving forward in this manner, maintaining a decent speed. Emerdol City Hall appeared closer and closer with each jump. He scanned his surrounding during his trip, searching for any of his peers who were also making their way to the event and giving a friendly greeting to any he may have seen.

Eventually, City Hall was right in front of him. Instead of once again jumping from roof to roof, this time, he allowed himself to land on the ground in front of the venue. Upon landing from the multi-story fall, he straightened himself up as if he had just jumped down a few steps. The sound of cheers filled his ears, and he looked around to see the many superhero fans standing behind barricades, lining either side of the entrance. He waved with a polite smile, one which resembled the earnest and somewhat star-struck joy he had from his younger years. Some booing broke through the crowd though, causing his brow to furrow and leading to him raising his middle finger towards where he heard it from. The nostalgia-evoking expression was gone.

He started making his way over to the main doors but soon found a mic in his face. "Jaiden! Uh- Overdrive, sir! What are your thoughts on today's celebration?" This person must have been new or might have ran into Astral earlier.

He let out a chuckle. "Just Jaiden's fine. And I'm glad other heroes besides The Five are finally getting the recognition they deserve! The jobs I've done alongside them seriously wouldn't have been nearly as efficient without them!"

"Are there any in particular you feel are truly deserving of this award?"

"Honestly, anyone who's fighting the good fight! But the ones I know from working with personally are Primus, Red Comet, and Cassandra!"

"Is there anything else you'd like to say to the people tuned in today?"

"Well, being a hero is about wanting to help people and do good. You don't have to be one of The Five or even have superpowers to do that. Everyone can help make the world a better place, and I hope everyone strives to do so!"

"Thank you!"

Jaiden flashed one more smile to the reporter, thankful they had kept things positive and related to the event at hand. Maybe they really were new. He dashed forth into the venue, noticing his boss as well as some of his colleagues on the stage. He gave Mr. Randell a nod as he stepped on and passed him before taking his spot in the line up just behind. He turned to the others who had arrived earlier and gave a small smile to them as well.

Mentions: River ( qunqun ), Prim, Mileena ( xayah. ), Ruby ( Tomomo )
Nearby: Mr. Randell, any of The Five who have already arrived

 

[qunqun]

MOOD: Boo...

OUTFIT: Formal attire ugh

LOCATION: Ceremony

basics

MENTIONS:
Mileena


INT:
Open

tags

TL;DR Ugh.

tl;dr

Auguste

An awkward experience for everyone: the semi-weekly brunch/picnic between a former villain and one of the biggest celebrities of the city. Auguste was watching the spawn run about the park while politely spreading cheese onto a cracker and putting some grapes on top while seated across what used to be his mortal enemy.

And from her lips spilled poison, washing over him as he shuddered in terror, a pleasant breeze running across the immaculately sunny day. Oh, the weather was surely not reflecting the horror which the woman was about to inflict him with.

“There’s an anniversary… You should come, watch the kids for me while I do the ceremony”

Clearly, words meant to fell the giant once and for all with their weight. But even worse, even worse was the dance instructor’s response.

“Ehm… yeah. Yeah. I can go. If you need me there.”

Fuck. He’d meant to decline. Not like he was going to be doing anything actually interesting. Reading a nice poetry book he’d picked up from the library with tea and a notebook to write all of his little introspections about the poems was how he was going to spend that night off.

But whatever. He could go to some stupid hero seminar or whatever and babysit some little gremlins.

So instead of spending time in his nice fluffy robe with a nice hot cup of tea and a poetry book, Auguste had pulled on a suit and gotten the will to go out and… socialize with… people.

… yeah, actually, it was a little pathetic that most of his social interaction came from teaching children how to do ballet and play guitar and from concerned parents. What of it.

So here he was, sat in the furthest front row he could've at the behest of Mileena's children whining that last time they couldn't see what was happening, with his hair neatly tied back and most definitely blocking someone’s view of the stage, a little hero spawn on either side of him as he scanned the crowd and the faces before him.

Person he’d beaten up, person he’d beaten up, person he’d beaten up, one of his students… person he’d beaten up.

Fucking fantastic, he was hoping that there’d be no after party to this nonsense- oh what was he kidding he was probably going to attend that as well to make sure these little cretins got to a place where they were safe under their mother’s watchful eye.

Despite all of this bitching and moaning, he did a little polite clap when needed, a smile when it was deemed socially acceptable. Played his part of just another civilian - albeit a rather massive civilian but still just a civilian.

Life as a simple dance teacher was much needed, and if he was lucky, he’d be able to get through this entire night completely unscathed.

Please.

Please let this just be a simple ceremony.

code by valen t.

 

[qunqun]

MOOD: Slightly Annoyed?

OUTFIT: It's party time, baby

LOCATION: Ceremony

basics

MENTIONS:


INT:
Open

tags

TL;DR River is being helpful.

tl;dr

River

So the great Cassandra entered the red carpet, bursting in with a large sweep of the arms…

Almost knocking a small child over in the process.

Dressed in orange star shaped sunglasses, and a long spotted fur coat, they swept into the gaze of the public. Their walk as they walked down the red carpet was like they were going down a runway if the runway was a boat about to capsize from a massive wave. And they had donned what appeared to be a cowboy hat with a massive pink peacock feather in it.

The style and trends of a very normal functioning adult indeed.

A reporter asked her if she had any kind of prophecy to give to the audience. She turned, her orange star-glasses slowly sliding down her nose. A blank stare given to the reporter, and then to the cameraman. It was clear that the wannabe was chewing fruity gum and chewing rather obnoxiously.

Another stare levied down the barrel of the camera.

See, his publicist had told him that he was not to give any doom and gloom prophecies. But there was a massive headache that was swiftly approaching due to the question. One that was just full of doom and gloom as the cacophony of voices that filled the prophet’s head louder and louder.

“Greetings.” Chew. Chew. Chew. But how best was the way to convey the constant whispers of the universe that were cramming their way into his brain? How best was the way to communicate the information that was assaulting them from all sides? “The ants that scuttle and scurry, attune to the mirror as the poor sinner attempts to blow fog from the stars.”

Yeah. That was how.

“The sky falls upon the heads of the choir. Cawing ravens crackle as the feathers fly and the stampede as they turn into buffalo.”

As coherent as that was, the reporter stared at River. River’s eyes shifted and made eye contact with the reporter, glazed over and uninterested but at the same time extremely unsettling.

Still chewing the orange gum.

“... Right, well that was the sidekick Cassandra with… another… vision.”

Because honestly, how were you supposed to recover from that nonsense.

“It was nice talking to you.” A hand was extended to the prophet.

“The elation to witness the acolyte of the electric god is but a gift to the poor sinner, for the honeyed poison which drips from his lips is but a sweetened death.”

Another stare-off was initiated. The hand remained offered. River glanced down, and then back at the reporter. They proceeded to lick their palm before shaking hands with the man and then with another sweep of the long faux fur coat - like it was a cape - they continued to walk into the building to become seated for the ceremony.

Another PR nightmare, but at least the sidekick was entertainment for those watching.

code by valen t.

 

[Gao]

click!

REN.

Underling

MOOD

PURR TRINKETS

location

Town Hall

interactions

Open

outfit

Pocket? Trivago.

An office colored sterile milk, lost in fermenting madness of symmetry. Staples lined in a box, pens straight-spined soldiers, and a clock, the only wall decoration, cleaving glacial silence with sharp, staccato ticks.

It was easy to ignore the wedge between them for a while. Neurotic cleanliness, shelves without dust blankets and a small plant mockingly artificial with its smooth plastic leaves. Ironic to sit in opposition, divided not only by gunmetal grey desk but the pressing weight of savoir faire. Impossible to know the contrast of where Ren sat and where he stemmed from, a roach seeking warmth in dead ruins now masquerading as a blossom held in membrane corset; gnarled and scar-ridden as it was.

Vermin tripping over crumpled bodies of laundry, blunt scissors hacking ink shocks of hair to the kitchen floor; trials of high-school spent speaking the universal language of go away and hiding behind classrooms to thumb a knife under tangerine skin. Even now, grown, feral things found places to rest; a taut, smoke-strewn apartment building. Cesspool of despair, tenants marred with loss and needle-point hobbies. An unholy Eden of the damned, dangling unattainable happiness over the gaping mouths of starving livestock.

Each morning he’d wrestle up the vertical slide window to climb out onto the fire escape; a beggar’s balcony to exhume smoke and lock eyes with a squirrel perched on a dumpster lip. There’d been no point pretending to dodge nostalgia, seeing those above when living in the silt of the food-chain. Looking up with obsidian, watching an unhinged deity flare glutton lungs like black dahlia. Pitied hand would toss a slice of multigrain bread over the railing, watching it scramble to pick from the damp pavement.

Survival was the deadliest inspiration, epicentre of desire.

But at this moment, no jewel or rotund little squirrel held his focus. Only a bald-headed darling sat rigid with a world's-best-boss mug.

Radiating guilt, complementary candy sat to the side of teeth, searing mint into Ren’s palate like a fresh burn. Suspense spun to features, nervous smile and gaze descended to where the other’s hands lingered, fingers interlaced on the desk— oh, nice ring —as a display of authority.

“I just have to ask,” seas of klepto complacency were split by their admonishment, “are you insane?”

Pinning consequences like nails to rosewood coffin, of course he was deserving of this. Bullets of spittle and bladed words that curved sharp on exposed skin, his very own crucifix. Ren blinked once, twice in thought of his careful answer.

“I’m just a brunette.”

Silence was heavy as wool. Stares rendered empty and benign. They managed to convey seconds of confusion before connective tissues of composed thought reformed.

“What.”

“Look, buddy, I ain’t done it.”

Ren smiled nervously in the chair, wicker and wood; limbs plying softly over the upholstery.

“Whatever you think I did, I actually did not.”

“So, you didn’t give Louis a hazelnut coffee knowing he has allergies?”

It clicked with a culpable ohhh, a drop of a hand, volley of splinters. Lying had never been his best showpiece. Shifty eyes and a slow painful swallow, AC futile.

“Me?”

High-strung like the devil learning what regret felt like, a tittered noise and throaty scoff.

“No?”

Ignorance will save him.

“And this,” office air cloyed thick to lung linings as the screen turned, thock of a spacebar unpausing the surveillance clip. “This isn’t you?”

No doubt, a pixel Ren going through the stages of handing a cup to a co-worker.

Haha.

Shit.

“Listen.”

He was going to throw up.

“I have never seen that man in my life.”

“There could be legal repercussions!” Growing exasperation instilled no repentance, and Ren would fault how his heart stirred to their next sentence of sugar-spun words: “Louis had to be hospitalised.”

Oh?

Ren slowly smiled, evilly smug in his jacket like a bird huddled with its winter feathers.

“Perhaps it’ll teach the twerp to keep his mitts off my favourite stapler.”

“Sorry what?” Their voice pale with horror was what delivered Ren’s urgent reminder: not something to smile about.

“I mean– awful! Wow! Bad!”

He coughed.

“Poor sweet Lou–”

“You’re fired.”

Ren flinched as if slapped.

The F word.

Comatose shock was broken by a choked noise, barely grazed by eaves of amusement. A northern wind that made skin ache, clean and breaking apart and unable to shelter feeling: denial.

“Say sike.”

Ren managed a half-moon smile, overcast and disconnected and lacking kind thoughts.

“Go ahead, I’ll wait.”

Hasher words had grazed ears before, and thus their dismissal did not light aflame coals of temper.

“I got time.”

“It’s no joke.” The man stood, pinstripe arm raised to direct from the office. “Get out.”

“Wh- well just hang on a moment!”

Rearing forward in the chair, hands were slapped flat to their desk.

“Have I ever said how much I love your… your…”

a pregnant pause held heavy in stale air, desperation.

“Your uh…”

Stumbling for words, same as he did over the awkward silence.

“Personality…?”

Signature waltz, half mess and half flirt.

But boss-man wasn’t callow for this gambit, and Ren’s tentative smile faltered, equal portions confused and offended seeing no change in the demanding arm. Still extended, lips pursed, brows arched and eyes lidded with unenthused impatience.

“Out.” They repeated.

Rude.

Lax eyelashes lowered through aseptic air as Ren’s wistful expression melted like a cube in tea. Sinking and dissolving into fine grains, sugar crystallised in the sweetness of his mouth now crushed between teeth.

“You know what, cue ball?”

Gratitude tasted dead on the tongue, dirt and saltwater.

“You’re bald because of karma, just think about that.”

Insult struck like a physical blow, a tendering bruise. Their mouth dropped an inch, hand raising to the egg sheen of their scalp.

“Excuse m-”

“And-!”

Flurry of dark haired melodrama not yet finished, klepto claws latched the rim of their coffee mug,

“I’ll be confiscating this!”

“Put that back.”

There was a scrunch to Ren’s brow, a jump of his chin in defiance as he turned to leave. Stopping only to reconsider. Coal pupils slid back to the desk, followed shortly by timid footsteps.

“And…”

A softer, distracted voice as he slowly reached to take a handful of mints,

“maybe some of these.”

Shuffling candies like white teeth from a gentle scoop, confused eyes followed his actions.

“Maybe… Maybe a pen, too. I do like pens. Is this one blue or black ink?”

Even the most ordinary of men, haunted by no particular feat or grandiose achievement, could make their own success out of kleptomaniac spite.

As proven from where he now sat, stuck listening to the mediocre tune of speech. A chord the town centre continued to play, and one that Ren realised he harboured no interest in. He recalled asphalt, world's-best-boss mug held close to chest with a new pen or two in his jacket; spoils of war. Temptation of one shiny to another had drawn him through excited crowds till somehow, god forbid, he was stuck in this cesspool of civilian fanatics.

Perhaps there were times where Ren could think people scrambling around the city in spandex was cool.

This was not one of them.

What was cool, however, was finding things after getting fired from your job.

He’d tried to ignore the lodestone pull in his chest to what mystery item could— would fit snug to his grieving hand. Even after each attempt to consign the behaviours, reform and mold himself to law and employment, patterns would arrive like clockwork. A perfect crime that tugged him in like an undercurrent, reducing outside noise to nothing but twilit susurrus.

A pocket.

Either a thicket of consequence or honey-rich success. The lure of the unknown was particularly seductive. Lip worried between teeth was a poor attempt at deterrence.

A lonely pocket.

How air freighted with temptation, unstitching each suture of progress with fervid curiosity. Cup in hand forgotten, trying to discreetly chew mints a concern no longer. Half-gone with fixation, he’d rely on civilian’s focus on their beloved trophy heroes; shiny and special as they were. For the safety of Emerdol, it was Ren’s moral obligation to ensure the pocket’s contents were not dangerous.

The delicate art of stealing learned through an iron vice of greed, each successful snatch only emboldening bravery for further misconduct throughout his lifetime. Kings with no crowns, survivalists at heart. Whole-body smitten, preening fingers to their pocket in search of small victory.

There is absolutely no way whatsoever that this could go wrong.

Terrible Thing

♡coded by uxie♡