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PRISON WORLD #1: Spidermarvel (tw violence, harassment, discrimination)
Characters: Ensemble cast, any/all characters of Xistentia!
Summary: F.A.T.E.S. has alerted the population of Xistentia that the enemy has created something new, a Prison World where others refugees of the Multiverse are being brainwashed into destroying each other.
Date(s): July 29-August 5
Warnings/Notes: None, please mark your subject headers with content.
It's New York City in 2017, and Enhanced humans came into public perception after the great Battle against alien invaders 5 years ago. Unlike the Hulk or Thor, rumor has it that most of the Enhanced superpowers in New York developed because of ambient radiation-- hard to say whether that was from the alien weapons, or the nuclear bomb that other humans themselves sent to try to level the city. There's blame to go around. People still find Chitauri tech littered about the city.
In another life, you might have been once an orcish princess or a steampunk scientist, but these days, you're someone different. The new identity and the new body fit you like a glove. You know your friends and your prospects same as you know your own life.
There's one place in New York City where Enhanced and purported allies can be out and about in peace: a speakeasy named Pax Sanctum. It sounds like some hippie shit, but inside, you have green ambient light, sleek white bar, bottles of every liquor type you could want. Rumors vary about peace enforcement here. Some say there's an empath scanning the place constantly, others that there's someone who can manipulate time itself. Older patrons know that the location has moved twice in the past three years, without incident, but no doubt with good reason. Regardless, the bouncers descend quickly whenever a conflict seems to get heated.
And it so rarely does. The ambience is light and sexy. Now and then, you'll find a pyrokinetic showing off lighter fingers to an impressed crowd or an animated debate about current events compared to historical parallels. One level down the stairs, there's even a dancefloor where you will occasionally find dance battles between equally uncoordinated Enhanced and non-Enhanced. It feels like the kind of place where you can let your guard down.
The week's password is Arachnid— there's a Spiderman fan in management somewhere, evidently. Tell the bouncer behind the big metal door.
At 11:42PM on Wednesday, August 2, an explosion rocks the club.
Boom! Glass explodes, people hit the floor. The origin seems to be the dance space at LG 2. An electrical fire erupts immediately, filling the air with a thick, cloying smoke. It's not clear whether the attack was from an Enhanced or a non-Enhanced-- but the fear instantly kindles. People of both kind scramble to form groups of their own, and fight for the two exits. Soon, the sirens of police and fire services begin to echo in the distance, promising interrogations for those who linger. How many people here are un-Registered? And say, didn't you see someone acting a little suspicious right before the blast? Is that them there? And what will you do, when you come across someone bleeding?
Or better yet, when the first punch is thrown, by a couple of angry, drunken survivors right outside there in the nightclub's back alley?
After the explosion, what started as a single incident of violence sends ripples throughout the social fabric of New York City in the weeks after. Police report that the rates of Chitauri-influenced weapons on the street doubles, and even mundane weapons are being bought off the black market at even greater rates than that. Further, every day the news seems to sensationalize stories of stressed Enhanced losing control of their powers... and the Mayor is beginning to make examples out of them, with harsher sentences, rushed proceedings. Whether or not you're Enhanced, the streets are a dangerous place to roam.
Maybe you know that someone's been watching you for days, even weeks. Maybe you noticed— this person you may have known forever, but started acting a little oddly just a few days. Maybe you figured it was sickness or stress, especially after the August 2 explosion. Even people who didn't care about politics at all are starting to take notice now, choosing sides, storing up water... even weapons, the likes of which mankind had never seen before the era of the Chitauri and Enhanced. But this is when it happens: when someone comes to you and offers you the device, the innocent-looking cellular phone, that will change your whole identity.
Or maybe you just stumble upon it yourself. Seemingly a lost phone, a free phone, sitting out innocuous.
You pick it up, and immediately, your mind begins to morph inside your skull, disorienting. Your body doesn't change, but you remember who you are. The phone screen lights up, then unexpectedly projects holographic text into the air in front of your face: Activate Portal to Xistentia?[1]
You pick No. Not right now.
Your mind is flooded with memories of your past, your true homeworld. Your true identity crashes into the false memories that this world brainwashed into you, disorienting, heavy; rapidly, your life here begins to feel like a dream. Luckily, you don't forget the helpful details of passing as a native. Nonetheless, the revelation probably comes at a bad time; in the middle of your workday or on the bus, somewhere public, where people are here to see you... as well as the daemon that's now trying to give you a whole infodump about Xistentia and the battle between F.A.T.E.S. and D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. It might be a good time to find somewhere private to go and get that portal out.
Or maybe you're staying because you have unfinished business in this world. Friends or even enemies who might also need to be awakened and helped. Luckily, your cellphone-- or daemon— tells you that there are others in this world on a similar mission from Xistentia. Maybe you can contact them through your daemon.
You pick Yes.
A portal of glowing light opens in front of you, smelling of ozone, churning with atmosphere. Step through, and you immediately find yourself with the unsettling yet painless sensation of being pulled through space and time. The very molecules of your body supercharge and come apart, shot through the multiverse, and come out on the other side arranged back in your original configuration.
You land facedown on a sandy beach. Your daemon is still with you, but chances are, it no longer looks like a reassuringly ordinary cellphone. It tells you:
"The date is August 12, 2017, F.A.T.E.S. Standard Time. Local Population: 333. Welcome to Xistentia. The city is due East."
One minute, you were in Xistentia, a refugee from your dying world. Charged with studying D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. the enemy of the entire Multiverse or rescuing others from its clutches. You're lying on a stone table, some kind of magic machine in the Telexistence Temple, surrounded by other people from a variety of worlds, all of them anticipating the same unknowns as you are.
The next minute, you're a resident of New York City, totally immersed in your new identity; strangely fixated on keeping your cellphone in hand, but there's nothing strange about that in 2017. For a few days, you were part of this world, completely convinced of a life as rich as your original.
And this is the moment you're back. Suddenly you remember everything, lucidity hitting you like a thunderbolt. You suddenly realize your memories were false, your diet, perhaps even the shape of your body. It's deeply disorienting, and it probably throws you off in the middle of whatever you're doing, whether it's filling a takeaway cup with soda or delivering a speech to a packed auditorium. Suddenly, the false identity you were given sinks into the background; you can still remember enough details to fake it (and maybe take it), but you know who you are.
Hopefully no one here will notice you literally just lost your mind.
The research part of the mission turns out to be pretty easy! All you need to do is carry your cellphone around wherever you go. You're easily mistaken for someone playing Pokemon! Go or texting avidly wherever you walk. The screen shows you nothing but code gibberish, with the occasional flicker when you're near someone else from Xistentia or an awakened person. It's a good excuse to get out and about.
And maybe also an accidental cause of getting in trouble. After all, whether or not you're a part of it, there is a war brewing between two groups of people, and many of those who haven't taken a side are nonetheless on-guard for danger at any given time. You're as likely to come across verbal harassment as violent revenge, or someone using advanced Chitauri-influenced weapons to knock over a liquor store or throw their weight around.
If you visited this world the week before, in wraith mode[2], you've recovered those memories too. It might help you recall some of those who now need rescuing.
Or maybe you're going at it blind. In any case, you equipped with a pre-activated daemon in hand, as well as you're own. Your duty now is to find world-hopping refugees that D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. has trapped here, and match the naive device to its new owner with some form of consent-- whether by trick or explanation. How hard can it be? It's 2017. Everyone needs a cellphone.
Small complication: the entire city is fraught with war and paranoia. And maybe the naive daemon in your hand keeps blinking at you signals that ID someone on the wrong side...
Your daemon will show you the way home. And dump you on back on a familiar beach amid a screaming chaos. You're welcome!
Summary: F.A.T.E.S. has alerted the population of Xistentia that the enemy has created something new, a Prison World where others refugees of the Multiverse are being brainwashed into destroying each other.
Date(s): July 29-August 5
Warnings/Notes: None, please mark your subject headers with content.
SPIDERMARVEL PRISON WORLD
She was really nice and bought me a churro.
PRISON WORLD: SPIDERMARVEL
It's New York City in 2017, and Enhanced humans came into public perception after the great Battle against alien invaders 5 years ago. Unlike the Hulk or Thor, rumor has it that most of the Enhanced superpowers in New York developed because of ambient radiation-- hard to say whether that was from the alien weapons, or the nuclear bomb that other humans themselves sent to try to level the city. There's blame to go around. People still find Chitauri tech littered about the city.
In another life, you might have been once an orcish princess or a steampunk scientist, but these days, you're someone different. The new identity and the new body fit you like a glove. You know your friends and your prospects same as you know your own life.
Pax Sanctum Club
There's one place in New York City where Enhanced and purported allies can be out and about in peace: a speakeasy named Pax Sanctum. It sounds like some hippie shit, but inside, you have green ambient light, sleek white bar, bottles of every liquor type you could want. Rumors vary about peace enforcement here. Some say there's an empath scanning the place constantly, others that there's someone who can manipulate time itself. Older patrons know that the location has moved twice in the past three years, without incident, but no doubt with good reason. Regardless, the bouncers descend quickly whenever a conflict seems to get heated.
And it so rarely does. The ambience is light and sexy. Now and then, you'll find a pyrokinetic showing off lighter fingers to an impressed crowd or an animated debate about current events compared to historical parallels. One level down the stairs, there's even a dancefloor where you will occasionally find dance battles between equally uncoordinated Enhanced and non-Enhanced. It feels like the kind of place where you can let your guard down.
The week's password is Arachnid— there's a Spiderman fan in management somewhere, evidently. Tell the bouncer behind the big metal door.
The Explosion
At 11:42PM on Wednesday, August 2, an explosion rocks the club.
Boom! Glass explodes, people hit the floor. The origin seems to be the dance space at LG 2. An electrical fire erupts immediately, filling the air with a thick, cloying smoke. It's not clear whether the attack was from an Enhanced or a non-Enhanced-- but the fear instantly kindles. People of both kind scramble to form groups of their own, and fight for the two exits. Soon, the sirens of police and fire services begin to echo in the distance, promising interrogations for those who linger. How many people here are un-Registered? And say, didn't you see someone acting a little suspicious right before the blast? Is that them there? And what will you do, when you come across someone bleeding?
Or better yet, when the first punch is thrown, by a couple of angry, drunken survivors right outside there in the nightclub's back alley?
After the explosion, what started as a single incident of violence sends ripples throughout the social fabric of New York City in the weeks after. Police report that the rates of Chitauri-influenced weapons on the street doubles, and even mundane weapons are being bought off the black market at even greater rates than that. Further, every day the news seems to sensationalize stories of stressed Enhanced losing control of their powers... and the Mayor is beginning to make examples out of them, with harsher sentences, rushed proceedings. Whether or not you're Enhanced, the streets are a dangerous place to roam.
NEW CHARACTERS: SAVE ME
Maybe you know that someone's been watching you for days, even weeks. Maybe you noticed— this person you may have known forever, but started acting a little oddly just a few days. Maybe you figured it was sickness or stress, especially after the August 2 explosion. Even people who didn't care about politics at all are starting to take notice now, choosing sides, storing up water... even weapons, the likes of which mankind had never seen before the era of the Chitauri and Enhanced. But this is when it happens: when someone comes to you and offers you the device, the innocent-looking cellular phone, that will change your whole identity.
Or maybe you just stumble upon it yourself. Seemingly a lost phone, a free phone, sitting out innocuous.
Daemon Activate
You pick it up, and immediately, your mind begins to morph inside your skull, disorienting. Your body doesn't change, but you remember who you are. The phone screen lights up, then unexpectedly projects holographic text into the air in front of your face: Activate Portal to Xistentia?[1]
Unfinished Business
You pick No. Not right now.
Your mind is flooded with memories of your past, your true homeworld. Your true identity crashes into the false memories that this world brainwashed into you, disorienting, heavy; rapidly, your life here begins to feel like a dream. Luckily, you don't forget the helpful details of passing as a native. Nonetheless, the revelation probably comes at a bad time; in the middle of your workday or on the bus, somewhere public, where people are here to see you... as well as the daemon that's now trying to give you a whole infodump about Xistentia and the battle between F.A.T.E.S. and D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. It might be a good time to find somewhere private to go and get that portal out.
Or maybe you're staying because you have unfinished business in this world. Friends or even enemies who might also need to be awakened and helped. Luckily, your cellphone-- or daemon— tells you that there are others in this world on a similar mission from Xistentia. Maybe you can contact them through your daemon.
Escape to Xistentia
You pick Yes.
A portal of glowing light opens in front of you, smelling of ozone, churning with atmosphere. Step through, and you immediately find yourself with the unsettling yet painless sensation of being pulled through space and time. The very molecules of your body supercharge and come apart, shot through the multiverse, and come out on the other side arranged back in your original configuration.
You land facedown on a sandy beach. Your daemon is still with you, but chances are, it no longer looks like a reassuringly ordinary cellphone. It tells you:
"The date is August 12, 2017, F.A.T.E.S. Standard Time. Local Population: 333. Welcome to Xistentia. The city is due East."
OLDER CHARACTERS: RESEARCH & RESCUE
One minute, you were in Xistentia, a refugee from your dying world. Charged with studying D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. the enemy of the entire Multiverse or rescuing others from its clutches. You're lying on a stone table, some kind of magic machine in the Telexistence Temple, surrounded by other people from a variety of worlds, all of them anticipating the same unknowns as you are.
The Moment of Lucidity
The next minute, you're a resident of New York City, totally immersed in your new identity; strangely fixated on keeping your cellphone in hand, but there's nothing strange about that in 2017. For a few days, you were part of this world, completely convinced of a life as rich as your original.
And this is the moment you're back. Suddenly you remember everything, lucidity hitting you like a thunderbolt. You suddenly realize your memories were false, your diet, perhaps even the shape of your body. It's deeply disorienting, and it probably throws you off in the middle of whatever you're doing, whether it's filling a takeaway cup with soda or delivering a speech to a packed auditorium. Suddenly, the false identity you were given sinks into the background; you can still remember enough details to fake it (and maybe take it), but you know who you are.
Hopefully no one here will notice you literally just lost your mind.
Do Your Research
The research part of the mission turns out to be pretty easy! All you need to do is carry your cellphone around wherever you go. You're easily mistaken for someone playing Pokemon! Go or texting avidly wherever you walk. The screen shows you nothing but code gibberish, with the occasional flicker when you're near someone else from Xistentia or an awakened person. It's a good excuse to get out and about.
And maybe also an accidental cause of getting in trouble. After all, whether or not you're a part of it, there is a war brewing between two groups of people, and many of those who haven't taken a side are nonetheless on-guard for danger at any given time. You're as likely to come across verbal harassment as violent revenge, or someone using advanced Chitauri-influenced weapons to knock over a liquor store or throw their weight around.
Rescue Rangers
If you visited this world the week before, in wraith mode[2], you've recovered those memories too. It might help you recall some of those who now need rescuing.
Or maybe you're going at it blind. In any case, you equipped with a pre-activated daemon in hand, as well as you're own. Your duty now is to find world-hopping refugees that D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. has trapped here, and match the naive device to its new owner with some form of consent-- whether by trick or explanation. How hard can it be? It's 2017. Everyone needs a cellphone.
Small complication: the entire city is fraught with war and paranoia. And maybe the naive daemon in your hand keeps blinking at you signals that ID someone on the wrong side...
Get Home
Your daemon will show you the way home. And dump you on back on a familiar beach amid a screaming chaos. You're welcome!
Footnotes
- Daemon will take/resume its true form in Xistentia, as soon as the character lands on the beach.
- Wraith mode refers to existing characters who had played in the TDM, able to be seen and heard only by the other refugees.
- Updated plotting thread for new characters is here.
- OOC plot post is here. IC network infodump for existing characters is here.
no subject
Era would recognize Aymeric anywhere. She doubts there's any way she wouldn't be able to recognize him. He was the only good memory she had of childhood. Her big brother. Her first and only love as she grew older. He was family, until he wasn't. She doesn't even remember how they lost touch.
Era had still been very young when he left - too young to feel happiness for Aymeric finding a family. Instead she had been angry; snapped at everyone, including the young man himself. She was so hurt that she ignored all his attempts to keep in touch, and by the time she realized what a mistake that was... Well, Era figured Aymeric was better off without her presence anywhere near his life.
But now he's here in the flesh with eyes bluer than in her memories and face filled with a recognition she never expected to see. It's impossible to keep the stunned expression from twisting her face, though Era is equally impossibly quick to cover it back up (the blush though - that she can do nothing about).
"Esther," she intones pointedly, surreptitiously glancing around at the nearby authorities.
no subject
He remembers her tears when he'd been adopted by a wealthy family for his looks, among other things; he remembers how hard it'd been to say good-bye. Her anger, her lack of understanding at the situation. His own lack of understanding at the way he'd hurt her, and how how deeply. How harder still it'd been to keep in touch. He doesn't exactly remember either where they'd dropped off, only that they had. Likely due to his increasingly busy life, inheriting politics from his adoptive father and running with it in an unexpected way. There was a reason his relationship with them was now was strained. While he'd learned a lot from his adoptive family, he didn't exactly agree with a lot of their views.
And Era, the woman sitting before him, is a lot of the reason behind that. "Esther," he corrects, carefully. "My apologies, I must have mistaken you for someone else." The dichotomy between his words and his gaze, however, are hopefully obvious. He doesn't want to put any more attention on her than need be, but he'd also still like to talk with her the first chance they can get. He can understand why she's going under an alias now, why she needs to remain hidden... but he isn't about to let her slip between his fingers again.
no subject
Admittedly, once the surprise has worn away what was left behind had been only a panicked desire to do exactly that - slip away to never be found again. Era does her best to quash the instinct. Aymeric's presence has managed to do what the explosion could not: frighten her.
Though with the way her hands have begun to shiver, pale and clammy where she holds them together, Era realizes that perhaps the explosion did manage it as well to some degree. Fatigue, weakness, dizziness, rapid heartbeat...
Era thought she had healed herself completely, but she notices part of her dress is sticking to her back now that she's focused on her own health. Her deep, crimson dress the colour of spilled blood. Moving around so much likely jostled whatever was piercing her flesh enough to cause internal bleeding, since the blood Era can feel on her back is not enough to produce these symptoms.
Shit, she thinks. There had been glass fragments in her hair. Why hadn't she checked herself for injuries?
Of course she knows that the likely culprit is adrenaline. Combined with the feeling of near invincibility her powers give her.
"I need you to look at my back and remove any shrapnel embedded there."
Pretend that this is just any man as opposed to the only man she's ever given a shit about. Deep breaths. Stay calm. She lowers her voice so no one else can hear: "I can't heal if something is in the way."
As soon as there is no longer anything penetrating her skin Era will be able to heal herself and everything will be perfectly fine. Then she'll probably owe Aymeric a few thousand apologies and a fancy artisanal coffee.
no subject
"I understand," he says, just as hushed a tone. The man steps behind her and crouches down to inspect her person; he runs his hand carefully along the ripped fabric of her dress he can see. His lips purse when he feels the piece of metal embedded in her skin.
"This might hurt a little," he warns, but doesn't give any other indication that he's about to yank it out. It'll be smarts, definitely, but hopefully she can start to heal quickly. And she won't owe him anything, but he's not about to turn down coffee anytime soon. Especially not with someone he severely needs to catch up with.
no subject
She has never needed to heal a part of herself that she cannot reach and isn't sure how to go about repairing the damage quickly. Her hands have always been the conduits for whatever healing energy she emits. Blood seeps out freely down her back now, forcing a shiver down her spine.
It's with a flash of an idea that Era grabs a hold of Aymeric's hand. "Press your other hand on the wound," she demands, already channeling energy into her childhood friend. "Direct what you feel to there."
no subject
And he won't let her down this time. Not ever again, if he can help it.
Wordlessly, he places his palm against where he'd just removed the shrapnel. The feeling of warm blood against his fingers makes him frown; he certainly hopes this works. He can feel the flow of something unnatural through him, the buzz of unfamiliar energy. "Is it working?" he asks after a moment, glancing up to maybe catch her face if she looks back.
no subject
She gives the hand she has grasped with her own (and oh, how small it is compared to Aymeric's) a squeeze. While this way of healing isn't working even fractionally as effective it is at least working at all. To counteract what must be her energy being leeched away via transit she pushes even more of it through their joined hands.
It's hard to tell if it's her lingering wounds or just how much of her strength is being channeled at the moment, but Era finds herself fighting lightheadedness and vertigo while her back slowly knits itself back together from the inside out.
"I won't heal it fully here," she says, quiet as a whisper. Another quick glance around tells her they're still in the clear - people are much too preoccupied with the other more seriously wounded. "But yeah, it's working."
no subject
"You can lean on me," he says, as she seems to wilt just a little under the stress of the situation. It's understandable. She's stronger than she gives herself credit for; she always has been though, even back then.
"And I'm glad to hear it," he adds, no shortage of relief in his tone. Thankfully, no EMTs or other medical personal seem too concerned with them. They likely imagine she's a personal of Aymeric's he's tending to if they recognize him, or they're just too concerned with others needing more attention. Either way, he's grateful to be disrupted.
"I guess I have no one to blame for myself for this," he starts, obviously teasing despite himself, "if I'd have kept in better touch, maybe you wouldn't have gone to such extremes to catch my attention." A joke. He's trying to joke. It's all he can do right now to keep himself from going sick with worry.
no subject
"I was a bitch," she interjects, not willing to let him shoulder the blame. Era jokes as well, though it's not entirely false: "And I guess I'm still a bit overdramatic."
The wound has healed as much as Era is willing to risk in public, so she loosens the grasp she has on Aymeric's hand reluctantly. She'll likely continue shaking and feeling slightly unbalanced for at least another few hours, but now she won't be bleeding out anywhere.
It's then that she notices something she should have picked up on earlier - "Why are you here?"
Which Era thinks is a fair question, given that her dear old friend is not just another Average Joe.
no subject
She'd had a close call. He moves to sit now, not caring for the debris his suit might collect because of it. He doesn't remove his hands from her though. This was too close for comfort, if he's being honest with himself. He has no doubt she would've been fine if he hadn't been here, but... he's definitely glad that he is.
Speaking of. "An explosion at an Ehnanced-friendly nightclub and you didn't expect me to be here? I arrived as quickly as I could. Needed to make sure it wasn't an Enhanced that was the cause." Since, well, that would be bad for his campaign. "Thankfully, that doesn't seem to be the case." Seem to be. The police are still working out the details and there's some confidentiality issues preventing him from talking about it overly much.
no subject
As Aymeric sits, Era shifts to stay close to him; leans her weight on him heavily once he's settled. His suit will likely be ruined (if she hadn't already gotten blood all over it) but he probably has like fifty suits in his closet anyway.
At the reminder of what had happened she curls in on herself delicately, contemplating what this might mean depending on who the culprit is. Era wouldn't be surprised if an Enhanced did it, though a regular anti-Enhanced group seems infinitely more plausible. Either way, no matter what the end result is she's sure the Enhanced will be getting shit for this.
"Near it maybe, but not in the blast zone," Era sighs, eyes heavy and drooping. "The last thing any of u- them need is their only decent advocate getting fucked up by an explosion."
no subject
But that was then and this was now. He'd rather be in this moment with Era. His suit was already bloodied and now dirtied but she's right. It isn't as if he has a shortage of them. His assistant wouldn't be happy with him ruining one tailor made (his height almost always required personalization) but it also wasn't as if he didn't have the funds to pay for a new one.
"Only decent advocate, am I?" He chooses the wrong part of that sentence to latch onto, maybe. Aymeric is prideful in his work though and to think that she had followed him is... flattering. Though it also causes a pang of guilt. Here he was, standing on his soapbox and slapped on every media available and all Era could do was watch. He tried to give off the image of being approachable, but he also knew it wasn't as easy as he made it seem.
"Thankfully though, I'm perfectly fine. More than fine, even, now that I've been able to see you again." What a charmer.
no subject
She'll blame the shock because there is no possible way Aymeric would be flirting with her. Especially not with her looking like something out of a Steven King novel.
Speaking of appearances Era glances around from under her lashes to assess the situation the best she can in her current state. Things are still hectic, but already she spots a journalist flagging down a police officer. This isn't the kind of attention Aymeric needs right now - not when tabloids could roll out images and theories before the man could get a statement out edgewise.
"...You should go before the vultures find you."
From her tone it's fairly obvious she would rather he not leave her, but if it's a choice between her own wants and Aymeric's status she will always choose his career first. He has already made such a huge difference on the Enhanced community - Era can't mess up the changes he'll bring in the future.
no subject
"Not before I get a way to keep in contact with you," he responds. While ideally, he wouldn't want to leave at all either he knows she's right. This could be... detrimental to his image. To his campaign. The last thing he needs right now is journalists running with an out of context image of him hugging his bleeding friend close on the street and crying some sort of scandal.
Some days, he hates politics. Others, he's reminded of the good he's doing and it balances out. This is one of those times, however, where he'd be more inclined to leave it- He won't, but the temptation is still there.
no subject
She supposes the bonus good-guy image of Aymeric being a gentleman and giving a petite woman in need his jacket will help with his campaign as well. Even if her friend's gentlemanly behaviour isn't an 'image' but just him.
no subject
Besides, he'll have her number and an excuse to go meet up with her again to retrieve it eventually. Though he'd never admit to that little ulterior motive. The man shifts so that he draws back from her, stands up, and puts the jacket over her admittedly dainty shoulders. He then offers a hand to help lift her up off the ground.
no subject
"Give me your phone for a second?"
no subject
"Of course," is the easy reply, slipping her his personal phone. He's careful to make sure it's the right one, actually, since the other one is reserved for Important Calls. Not that he really considers himself all that 'important.'
no subject
Era flashes him a pleased smile and is quick to punch her number in. Unlike when she was much younger and more stupid, she'll make sure to answer any of his calls and correspondences.
"I'll see what I can do about the blood," she offers somewhat jokingly. Washing it would also remove any of Aymeric's lingering scent, though currently it's overwhelmed by blood anyway... Perhaps she can 'borrow' one of his sweaters in the future instead. That's something to consider when she's home, safe and sound. For now Era will focus on getting there - and that involves fluttering her lashes and giving Aymeric a coy smile and wave of her fingers.
"Don't forget to come get it back, Aymeric."
As she sneaks her way around police officers, journalists, and EMTs, Era feels excitement stir in her chest. Aymeric will definitely come find her again,
and this time she'll be ready.