Sierra Iclosis's Story

“I apologize for my lateness!” the door slid open again, admitting the last member of the mission team. “I was only told I’d be physically participating in this meeting a quarter before time!” The girl who entered was on slightly lower heels than Beretta, dressed in a silky bright blue gown. This gown practically exploded in streamers every time she moved, long ribbons floating into the air at the slightest shift, especially from the sleeves.

The girl loved it, though she’d never admit it to anyone whose opinion she cared about.

“May I ask for a repeat of today’s task, sir?” Sierra curtsied to Canvas. Her part in the mission was reconnaissance and vocal aid if necessary, in line with her powers. That they wanted her to join he session was quite strange, but she wasn’t complaining. Hovering as a ghost for hours whose only job was to speak when necessary wasn’t much fun. She looked at the bottles curiously, especially the glittery one.

Beretta’s eyes could find no safe place to linger. The vacancy of Mimic’s mask left no foothold, and Canvas’s loose, flip attitude flooded her with trepidation at sampling any substance he had imbibed. Mayday was the worst of all, of course: His stone-sharp face made her nervous to fail, and the rest of him filled her with something she could not pinpoint, but rather wanted to kick firmly back down into wherever hole it had been dredged up from. It was anxious and dizzy; lightheaded warmth flirting unease in the pit of her being with no intent to move.

Mostly embarrassment, really.

She finally settled on staring at the Supervisor after all, though in all truth she was staring through him, and further on into the wall behind him. There was a motion sensor lodged in it, shiny and metal and watching their every move from its little hiding space.

She watched it right back: A small consistency in her new world of sparkle, beguilement, and barefaced adulthood.

Fresh heat rose against her neck as she listened to the full training brief.

Just drink.

She broke from the monitor to watch the faces of her counterparts once more, assessing if this was a trap or a trick. Canvas had taken the mission to heart already, Mimic was unreadable, and Mayday was…

… Well, Mayday.

”Yes, sir, I—“ Beretta clapped a hand over her mouth at Canvas’s remark, violet eyes now fixed on the floor. Mayday had spent a good bit of practice on not looking preposterous, and she did not want to be caught giggling in any kind of agreement with the Supervisor. “Ahem- Ack. Ekch-“ she moved her hand and tapped on her chest as she turned back to face the table. “Sorry. I am having something in my- Uhm.”

She looked like an idiot. ”Stupid girl,” she could hear Colt chide, and she snatched a slender glass from the table with quaking fingers. Her free hand poured a sizeable helping from the opened bottle Canvas had just set down.

It had a warm, calming aroma that floated from the glass even as she poured; flowery and pale like the park gardens in the laziest heat of summer.

Her trepidation multiplied as the heady scent wafted up to greet her, but she fought it down. If this was her mission for the day, she would do it well. Like Colt. Or Mayday. Or… Really, the number of people who were generally better than her was quite staggering.
”Cheers?” she offered, holding her glass up toward the others as she had seen in the video clips for study. She took the glass to her lips, took in a sizeable swig, and—

“I apologize for my lateness!”

Beretta jumped, and inhaled the drink into her windpipe. She coughed once, and then proceeded to cover her mouth while avoiding any gagging noises during the duration of Sierra’s greeting.

”Achk— We are… Achkm— Sorry. We are…” She paused, clearing her throat and takng a minute to inhale better. “…The Supervisor has said we are to be drinking, today.”

In case the point was not clear enough, she held up her glass. ”I am not doing very well at it.”