A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

[AMANDA]

The Doubletree Hotel thrived with life, supernatural and citizen alike. A small group of people, dressed in tophats, fitted vests, and plenty of gears and pinstripes, stood outside of the doors, smoking, tempting in passers-by with promises of booze, locally-based entertainment, runway models working a fashion show, and good music. The insides were lined with photographers taking portraits of the costumes, vendors dealing goggles, gear-bedecked jewelry, corsets and leather, and of course overpriced drinks at the bars. The twenty-one and over rule seemed as lax as always, not one identification card leaving a single wallet as guests paid for their tickets and free drink cards.

The dance floor was dim and smoky, but not so dim as the tables around it. Bodies moved across it, bringing in many styles from industrial club settings, bellydancing training, and just a love of motion. Laughter, sober and drunken, filled the air. Vendors floated around, cheerfully tempting over potential customers, Muggle and geek alike. Men and women alike slipped into corsets, testing out the waist-cinching effects, while others hovered around the veggies and crackers laid out for nibbling as they sipped at their mixed drinks and imported beers.

Every age group from college to middle filled the rooms, some a little shimmery in the right lighting, others seeming to glide through without notice, others still seeming to stand near strange occurrences—tables moving, candles burning hotter, water freezing immediately—especially where a few rounds of alcohol had already disappeared down throats. The citizens didn’t seem to notice, or if they did, they brushed it off as a trick of the clever DJ’s lighting, or the lack of carbs and plain water around the snack tables.

Lingering in private rooms upstairs, another group began chatting in hushed tones. Five of their members blended in perfectly downstairs, giving them an image of what was happening beneath their feet—and their noses. ”Close in on some of the venders,”[/color] one voice commanded.

”Keep away from those photographers,” another scolded later.

”Keep an eye on the clock. Sync up your pocket watches. Move in at Zero-Hundred Hour.” This voice came with a hint of disdain.

”Did we really have to bring a pair of supes along?”[/color] one asked, probably to no one in particular. Another immediately replied, ”Of course we do, you ass. You know they’re the useful kind, showing us what the hell we’re up against.”

A few minutes passed as hushed voices passed through their minds with no use of technological devices. I think there’s a dragon here, one whispered. Exits are limited. Doorways narrow, lined with tables with discarded drinks. Going right into the middle will get us in trouble. Revise targets to halls and the entrance lobby, whispered another. None of the group upstairs, tucked away behind a bouncer and a sign warning away nosy guests by calling the meeting a business conference for foreign investors, felt the slightest bit of unease at having the collection in the Starlit Ballroom. They were picked for their subtlety and observational skills, and none of the “foreign investors” had a doubt they would pass through unnoticed.

I’m feeling the presence of a few ghosts. Should we try to deal with them? came another whisper.

The last voice that spoke had a quiet sense of command and rule to it. ”No. Leave them. We’ll find them where it’s more convenient. Keep your eyes open. Keep watching. Time’s running out.”[/color]

[EUWILENTH]

Steampunk was not a thing that Ewan had ever considered to be...a thing in his short forty-seven years. But it fascinated him. He didn't understand fashion normally--trends seemed to blink past his consciousness more quickly than he could grasp. But it looked beautiful; the bright gears, the sparkling watches, the pipes and tall hats, the utter cacophony of styles, with women in pants and skirts, men in corsets and fine suits. He didn't know how to dress himself for the style, barely knowing how to dress himself for every day wear, so whenever he hid his true form, dulling down his brilliant blue scales and his magnificent claws and horns (ones that had won him plenty a mating flight in his day!) to dull olive skin, hair and short fingernails that could do less damage than a newly hatched dragonet, he created a plain t-shirt, usually in a simple earthy tone (a warm heather gray tonight), and a pair of medium-wash jeans that fell comfortably around his hips and seemed to be a consistent--or classic, as he had been told once as he browsed a mall store, overwhelmed with curiosity as he had been--style. To fit in, he made himself a fedora style hat.

It didn't quite work, but it was better than a plain t-shirt and jeans. It looked like he put in some effort, at least. He flitted around, peering at the goggles, liking the idea of playing an aviator with the leather accessories one little French vendor offered. He wondered if his nestmate would be coming; they didn't always do things together, of course, but this was his first time, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to describe everything sufficiently to her, even in their crooning, singing language, where he would be able to stretch his wings fully and recount his adventures here, a place where people had bonded and formed and created client-business relationships as well as personal ones, but there he was, on the fringes of things, observing. That was how he liked it; very few human creatures could really keep his interest for a thing the human brain he adopted for blending in smoothly knew as friendship, but was nothing near the level of commitment of being in a nest.

He moved closer to the bars, ordered himself a whiskey, and took a hearty sip. It was one of the only alcohols that did anything for him. Breathing fire tended to make most things pretty dull that way. He downed another gulp and wondered if they had any hot dogs around.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

This was Romy's home away from home.

The Smoking Room had actually been a big part of her getting a modelling portfolio to begin with, having a connection to the people in charge through the old club scene, so whenever she could spare a little money, she would get in with a promise that she would stay away from the bars. A lie, of course, but she found it not too uncommon that others would purchase drinks for her, allowing her to leave with a warm and comfortable buzz. And in light of that, she always dressed her best for the events she could make. This particular night, she felt like channeling the rebellious society lady character who was her first costume. Dressed in all gray and earthy browns, Romy had squeezed into an overbust bodice, the open chest exposing plenty of her freckled skin and throat, but shrug-style shoulders and sleeves taking away from the exposed effect. The layered skirt fell only about mid-thigh in the front, but to her ankles in back. Everything was trimmed in delicate lace--black on the cup-style bodice (yes, historically inaccurate, but very pretty) and white on the skirt. She wore a pair of boyshorts for modesty beneath the short skirt, but her practice in keeping her long legs crossed elegantly would make them mostly unnecessary. Still, they made her feel better, even as she wore only a garter and thigh-high white stockings to cover her legs. Her boots were the only splash of color, a deep red wine with gray and blue floral patterns decorating the outsides of the calf.

Her hair she just piled messily atop her head, having straightened out the waves and styled it with a particular care taken to make it look natural. She topped it all off with a rich plum lipstick to match the boots, a gray smokey eye, and a mini top hat tipped to the side of her head, pinned expertly into her rich auburn hair.

After the absolute drain of the full moon had passed, she had decided that she needed to get into this installment of the Smoking Room; she had enough energy to go for the night, but not nearly enough to become restless or antsy. She flitted around to people she knew, posed for a photo or two, but really wanted to take an opportunity to speak with someone she knew a little better than some of the constant photographers who made the rounds. She didn't like the photographers with permanent stations--they were bad with lighting, didn't know how to direct, and were very amateur, but she would work their cameras to their limits if she needed. She had finished off a particularly fine essay on the focus of the servant class in Beauty and the Beast being a subversive look at class relations, and expected at least a B for her efforts. Tonight was a night for having some drinks, for looking pretty, and for celebrating life and everything in it.

[CHARLIE-CHERIE BOWDEN]

Charlie-Cherie walked through the doors of Cornelius’ Smoking Room with wide eyes. She pointedly ignored the venders with their goggles and jewelry and clothing items since she’d spent most of her money just getting into this place, and the rest of her money was reserved for at least one overly expensive drink. A man with a camera stopped her as she walked by with a comment about her costume. She told him she had borrowed it from a friend, one who had immersed herself in all kinds of subcultures that happened to include steampunk because she had had no idea what it was and what she was supposed to wear. His eyelids dropped in disinterest, and Charlie-Cherie curled her lips into a straight line as she got the hint. She stepped into place, popping a pose as he lifted the camera to his eyes.

She wore a very short black dress with buckled straps in front, and a front-center panel of black velveteen along with a miniature top hat that had a variety of black feathers sticking out of it. The stockings she had intended to wear had ripped once she attempted to roll them up legs that were considerably longer than the original owners, so she had decided not to wear them. On her feet she wore faux leather booties featuring five buckle strap accents. She thought she had gone all out, but her costume was nothing compared to some of the other getups she’d seen thus far.

The photographer didn’t even announce that he was finished. After a few flashes of bright light the man just lowered the lens and walked away. “Thank you, sir.” Charlie-Cherie called after him. Of course he ignored her completely, and she just shook her head. “What an asshole.” She murmured to herself as she walked off, heading straight for the bar.

[Sean Threatt]

The night was young. Too young for him to be spending his time here of all places. Really, Sea hardly knew the slightest thing about steam punk aside from that one computer game he barely even played, yet even still, his superiors insisted he come here undercover in order to make sure the peace was upheld. Now Sean was one to accept the wallflower role since he wasn't as outgoing as many people tended to think he was, so he didn't mind that part of the assignment, though he still had a conscious fear of a stranger coming up to him and talking about Steam punk related subjects. He grimaced and attempted to hide his face beneath the black top hat that his goggles rested on top.

Hisoutfit was especially customized for this event. The goggles came equipped with hidden cameras to record the event and, whenever HQ needed to tap in to them, they could see everything Sean could see. The young man didn't mind the royal red coloring of his vest, but he did mind how short and tight it was on him. He wasn't one to show off his body, though his finely chiseled abs did not share his shyness. His smooth, sweet, caramel brown skin seemed to stand out a bit more when against the color of his vest and the sash around his waist covering his pants. Beneath the sash was a silver tracking device so that Sean's position could be monitored in case he needed back up. Also, and one of the only things he actually liked about the outfit, he was provided with an adjustable stun baton just in case he needed to use it. The baton had a black grip where the pure silver rod extended from either one or two feet from the base. Within the base was an electromagnetic battery that powered the silver metal. Combined with the silver and the electromagnetic energy, the baton could be used to stop weres, humans and ghosts in there tracks with one, maybe two, good whacks anywhere, though he was hoping he wouldn't have to use it. His boots was another addition to his outfit that he didn't mind so much. As his grayish black skinny jeans tuck in to them, the silver clasps lock them down. The boots were nothing special aside from the clamps and grieves being made of pure silver.

The young man blew uncomfortably through his lips as his eyes scanned the room. He was locked in against the wall with his left foot against it, knee bent, and his arms crossed along his chest. He was impressed with the level of dedication some of the guests put in to their costumes. Gears, cogs and goggles seemed to be incorporated in everyone's outfit somehow or another, but what really caught his eye were the women. It seemed as if every female in the room wore breast-boosting corsets or eye-teasing skirts that just barely tickled the backs of their knees. Seeing all of the girls here kept him from sleeping on the job.

He saw one girl posing for a picture as soon as she walked into the room and he smirked at her. He liked the attitude in her eyes, but felt like she was way too far out of his league for him to try and talk to. He didn't mind though. Even though he was extremely nervous about her reaction, he tipped his hat to her and offered a confident smirk. His eyes then went back to wandering about the room. He spotted another woman that looked very familiar. Her beautiful skin was the first thing he noticed as he eyed her earthy-colored outfit.

Is that... Romy...? he wondered to himself as he tried to get a better look without coming off as a creepy stalker. The way she was standing he couldn't get a good enough look at her face, but she definitely had Romy's body and grace. He smirked, then shook his head. What were the odds of him running in to her here of all places. He smirked, then lowered his head so the beak would slightly cover his eyes and he closed them, thinking. It does feel weird here...maybe I'm just paranoid...

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

As more people steadily came through the front doors, the outfits varying from civvies to people whose incomes were dedicated almost solely to adding on new trinkets, each catching Romy's eye for a different reason. She wondered if the people in regular street clothes had ever been, or were just wandering in off the street to check out the colorful collection of people filling the ballrooms, or if they were just not fortunate enough to have the resources for dressing to the occasion. She liked to watch the outfits and not...judge, exactly, but...size up! the people wearing the various costumes. She looked for beginners and for people who had followed the scene for a while; she still enjoyed goth or industrial clubs from her teenage years, so the transition to this style was easy and expected.

Her gray eyes were especially caught up in a young lady--maybe a little younger, maybe the same age--in a short black dress. It was simple, and maybe didn't fit in perfectly, but she wore it well. But there was something about her, too... something that brought out the wolf from the back of Romy's mind. It scratched at the confines of her consciousness, not nearly as riled up or anxious as it might be if the full moon hadn't been a few days earlier. Then it might come to the point of wanting to get into a scrap over territory. But that wasn't the case now. Instead, she watched with a little wariness--was this another werewolf? The wolf inside of her made her believe yes, that was a great possibility, but she didn't want to assume. Instead, she approached slowly, weaving her way through the crowd and stepping in line for the bar along with her. She was pretty, with strong features and elegant lines.

"Is this your first time here?" she asked cheerily, a wide smile on her face. To keep from appearing like she was just trolling for young ladies in short dresses, Romy turned to sweep the crowd one more time, looking for someone familiar in case this didn't go over so well. But as she looked, she did find one person she almost couldn't believe she recognized. "Sean!" she positively chirped, puffing up at the giant transformation her acquaintance? friend? had gone through.

Without so much as a text from the awkward boy from the museum, to see him standing there now with his stomach bared and pants tight (but not unflattering in their own right) was something of a shock. Maybe this is what kept him too busy to send her a text about finding some time to hang out again. So she shot him a winning smile, but she kept her place by the girl in the short dress, the wolf in her really starting to stretch its legs and want to check out what was so intriguing about this other lady. Sean might not even come over, but she'd already made contact with this one.

[CHARLIE-CHERIE BOWDEN]

Charlie-Cherie ordered an Amarillo Sour, and then waited as the bartender turned around and went back to mixing drinks. Even with the other two alcohol vendors behind the counter, given the size of the crowd at the bar she could tell this would be a relatively long wait. She leaned forward, crossing her arms on the counter top as she stared down at her nails. She kept her eyes to herself for fear of attracting the attention of a disguised party goer that was an employee of the specialized government she had limited knowledge of. So it was no surprise that she almost jumped out of her skin, her head jerking up and her eyes widening, when someone spoke to her. So much for appearing inconspicuous.

"Ahh, yeah." She said, taking a deep breath when she realized she was not being threatened. She smiled sheepishly at her reaction, and that she was that transparent. "That obvious, huh?" She quickly regained her composure once she realized it was just another costumed woman. Then again, nothing was what it seemed. Her guard rose slightly, and she stood up straight so that it would be easier to make a run for it if the woman turned out to be an Enforcer.

She quickly turned around when the woman called out a name, and Charlie-Cherie looked around to see who would respond to the call. Plenty of people were looking in their general direction, so she couldn't be sure which one was Sean. It was none of her business anyway, she supposed.She turned back around to face the bar once again. "A friend of yours?" She asked in reference to the call. She discreetly surveyed the woman from head to toe and found herself thinking that the woman oozed sex appeal. One she found familiar, though she couldn't figure out why. "I think I've seen you before." She mused, narrowing her eyes at the woman's face. She could never forget a visage so striking, and she was determined to remember where she'd seen her.

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

Romy's head tilted and the corner of her mouth twitched upwards at the other girl's reaction. Was she perhaps in here without being of age, like she was? Or perhaps just nervous in general. "I wouldn't say obvious, no," she started, holding her palms out to show she meant no harm. "I'm just a regular, and I don't remember ever having seen you before."] She shrugged helplessly. "I have a thing for faces." As the other girl eased into a more relaxed pose, Romy broke into a wide grin.

"So how did you find out about this place?" she asked, her tilted head making her feel a bit like a curious dog. "It doesn't look like you just walked off of the street. Maybe from Twitter or Facebook...?" she trailed off, prompting the other girl into divulging her secrets.

"A friend of yours?"
"Ahh, we . . . we met once, so I suppose he is." His mild distractedness brought out a little harshness in her consonants from the German accent (much milder now that the full moon had passed). She raised a hand in greeting to Sean, just in case he hadn't heard her over the noise, but she would let him come to her.

"I think I've seen you before."
Romy's eyebrows raised. That was certainly possible. The where she had been seen was the most interesting part to discover. A magazine, perhaps? Around the city? Maybe she was a Temple student, whose eye had been caught by her bright red-auburn hair once. "Oh? Should I be wary of asking where?" Her words came out with the perpetually amused tone that she normally adopted, and her permanent smile never faltered.

[SABRINA MAVERICK]

This was definitely going to be a night to remember, though Sabrina feared no good memories would come of it.

She wondered why she always allowed her friends to talk her in to things like this. Honestly, Sabrina never smoked, drank or even partied, yet here she was in the Smoking Room. Clouds of smoke smothered certain parts of the room, and everywhere else that was not polluted by this smog showed men, women, and many under aged teens guzzling alcohol like it was the end of the world.

"We can just go for a little bit." One of her friends said the previous night over the phone. "We want you to come with us. You like that weirdo stuff, right?" Right there she should have just hung up, but she never hangs up on them when she knows she should. But she did not, and she feared she never would.

Over the course of the next day, her friends demanded she show them to a costume store where they could find outfits to blend in with the party crowd and, to their surprise, they actually appreciated the Steam Punk fashion, but not in the way Sabrina did.

"Oh my god this is so slutty. Perfect!" The dark-haired girl could not understand why her friends enjoyed dressing provocatively. She did not understand why it seemed like they actively degraded themselves and acted as nothing but sex-starved play-things, but now they had their sights on converting Sabrina to this whorrish religion. "There is no way you are going to be seen with us looking like that." That was the last conscious thing Sabrina heard before she was snatched away like a freshman being hazed. The rest of the day was a blur.

What seemed like thousands of pieces of clothing came flying on and off her body. She regularly found herself shrieking in sheer embarrassment from being stripped down to her underwear and being outfitted like a Barbie doll or a video game character. It seemed like this process took hours until the three succubi who called themselves her friends were done with her.

"There. Total hottie." One of the girls commented as the three admired over their work. As she felt their eyes slither across her body it sent chills down her spine. Thankfully they did not have enough time to desecrate her hair, so it stayed long and flowing in mixed tones of brown and onyx, though she found the black corset she was wearing made it harder for her to breathe and made her breasts look nearly twice their size, and being that they were already D cups, this was just too much for the shy girl to stand for. After constant protest, the three she-devils finally decided to untighten the corset so her chest did not look like two separate watermelons were surgically implanted underneath her skin. This was the only modification she was allowed. She was forced to keep the "jacket", as the girls called it.

In Sabrina's mind, a vest closed around the front and covered her torso, but this... thing had no front. It was just a pair of black sleeves adorned in golden jewels that covered her shoulders and a collar that came around her neck; nothing covered her cleavage or offered support for her breasts, which both looked and felt like they would spill out of her clothing at any moment. What made matters worse was that her "pants" were fishnet stockings that only rose to her knees where a strip of skin was left exposed before the corset’s skirt covered the rest of her from mid-thigh up. Sabrina was not happy about this at all.

"It looks perfect." One of the friends said. "Now meet us outside the party and we will all go in together. Stunning!" Maybe it was a good thing her friends ditched her after all this was over. With barely a shred of dignity left, Sabrina treated herself to a large jacket that she used to cover the parts of her body her outfit left in the open. Sadly, the coat only came down to just above her knees and was still a bit too sexy than she cared for, but it was better than walking around half naked.

After waiting around all night for her friends to show up, they finally arrived dressed in their little outfits. They were a bit disappointed with her sudden addition to her wardrobe, but it did not really matter. Sabrina knew that as soon as the four of them entered the building, they would ditch her. She was praying today would be different, but alas, it was not. And now there she was alone in a sea of strange faces and stranger people.

Her "friends" were nowhere in sight and every time she was bumped, her panic level would slowly rise. She wanted to dive out a window and run home with what little bit of dignity she had left, but those feelings quickly changed when she saw a familiar face. Was that Sean? She narrowed her dark eyes in order to slice through the smoke and fog, and her assumptions were correct when she saw him glance in her direction.

”Sean.” Then a gasp passed her lips and she clasped her hands over her mouth. This would be the second time he would hear her voice; the first being after their last meeting, when she finally told him her name. It was too late now to retreat as well. She’d called out for him loud enough for him to hear her, so she decided to walk over to him anyway. She felt somewhat comfortable, though she was still nervous at the same time.

[Sean Threatt]

As Sean leaned against the wall doing his cool guy thing (only in his mind anyway), he heard his name called out from across the room. With a short glace over the rim of his hat, his eyes flashed in the direction of Romy. So it was her. He suppressed a happy smile and beat it into a cool smirk, but then he heard his name yet again from a different direction. He looked over towards the side and there was Sabrina now approaching him. Where in the world were all these hot girls coming from?

Sabrina looked a bit distressed as she walked up to him. He wondered what was up. Then he noticed Romy wave at him, she must have not noticed his glance, so he offered her a quick smile and returned her gesture before focusing his attention on Sabrina. "Hey, looking good." He said with a friendly smirk, though his jaw would probably have dropped to the floor if only he could see through the jacket she used to cover herself. "So do you come to these types of things often?" His head tilted curiously to the side as he asked the question, but his eyes did not shy away from her face. For some reason he didn't feel very awkward around her. Maybe it was because he could sense how awkward she felt so it took a lot of the pressure off himself.

That or the fact that she rarely made eye-contact with him. It was always the eyes that sent him over the edge. He could never get over his anxiety towards a woman's eyes. Some were simply too beautiful for him to stand and it would send his nerves on a roller coaster, but Sabrina rarely, if ever, made direct eye contact with him, so he didn't have to worry about constantly being on guard against his anxiety. With a bit of a sideways glance, he looked at the surrounding people to try and find some small talk to eliminate any possible threats of awkward silences. "Seems like a pretty good turnout tonight, both supes and civs."

[ROMY TABEA BRANNEN]

The other girl seemed to be distracted by something, so Romy hesitated, excused herself, and padded away to find Sean, the only other person she had found so far who would be able to keep her attention off of the dance floor. "Sean! How are you?" she inquired, rolling her shoulders back and keeping her posture fluid and upright despite the corset cinching her waist and spine. She could still touch her toes in it, which is what really mattered. "I didn't think this was your kind of scene," she mused, head tilting and light eyes sparkling.

"Hello," she murmured toward the Asian girl standing with him, but seeing the utter lack of confidence that she had, the way that she seemed as though she'd be more content with curling into a ball inside of herself, she decided it wouldn't really be worth her time to strike up too much conversation. There wasn't anything that she would really have to say, she thought. But that wasn't a reason to be impolite. "You never got in touch after that day at the museum. I was getting worried that you were blowing me off." She shrugged, showing that it really wasn't something that she fretted over, but she also made no effort to negate her words.

[AMANDA]

”Time to move. Take your positions.” The voice crackled through the earpieces the “investors” and their telepath cohorts wore, each hidden from sight cleverly.

We don’t sense any suspicion, came a whisper from downstairs. Confirmed the dragon. He’s by himself—he feels big enough to not be able to risk transforming back inside, but watch out, another advised. The exits are clear, but keep to the hallways. We’re ready to keep them open and collect the packages.

The tension grew as the “business meeting” poured from the room, the exiting team’s fingers poised by the trigger guards, ready to dive in and eliminate any uppity supes, be they dragon, were, or just ornery kinetic. They filtered downstairs, their eyes darting. They had already been waiting for what felt like months, so their nerves were wired and shooting with eager electricity.

It’s clear, cooed the softest telepath.

”Go.”

The command was quick, over and done with, but it set them off at a scatter with a fiery speed. A small werewolf (who looked seventeen at the ripe old age of twenty-four, and who had to be the first to show her ID at the door to prove that she, Karen Sanders, really and honestly was old enough) stepped into the path of one of the two-person teams. Before Karen Sanders had a chance to process the understanding that there was a very large gun in very close proximity to her face, she was out. It took the pair less than thirty seconds to bind her wrists to her ankles and leave her for the next group to haul away.

They moved on. They made their presence known.

[SABRINA MAVERICK]

Just as the nervous young girl was about to answer Sean, she heard another voice call out his name. A quick glance at the woman was all she needed before her body quivered. She was stunning, even without the outfit she was wearing, and she knew Sean. She even seemed excited to see him. A girlfriend maybe? One could not make an accurate judgment at the moment, so instead, she decided to focus her attention in Sean's direction and hoped to slowly fade away while the two talked.

"Hello." The woman said, shocking the fading Sabrina back in to reality. She should have known it would not be that easy to escape. Her round, onyx eyes flashed like black metal in the pulsing lights of the club as she looked at the woman.

"How are you?" Sabrina forced her spine stiff as steal to fight the urge to bow. Americans did not do such a thing when greeting each other and she learned the hard way how... entertaining they viewed it. Her fingers interlaced tightly in front of her legs and she did what she could to stay completely still, though she could not help the awkward feeling. It was, however, a bit of a relief when she began talking to Sean again.

From their conversation, it seemed as though they had met before. Sabrina kept her attention on the two of them, her eyes more focused on their lips rather than their faces. The noise in the club was getting louder, but at least this way she could keep up with them by reading their lips. Suddenly, her stomach churned a bit. A look of uncertainty flashed upon her face when the feeling hit and she looked around. Had something happened? What was she looking for? The atmosphere in the room changed a bit, but with so much going on she could not distinguish any abnormalities.

Where in the world did that come from?

[Sean Threatt]

This was, indeed, a nerve-wracking experience for one as introverted as himself. On the one side he had Sabrina; the dark-haired Kinetic whose quiet charm brought forth a warm feeling from within. On the other hand was Romy; the sexy and intelligent aquaintence who seemed to force a raw, animalistic attraction out of him. Each were well dressed for the occasion; each had stunningly beautiful eyes, which sent him in to overdrive whenever he looked in to them, and each were covering a route of escape in case he slipped up and made an awkward comment. Unfortunately for him, his "cool kid" facade left him in a locked-in position against the wall surrounded by the two women. He damned himself for this, but was able to turn all his fear into pure confidence.

"I don't always go out to party. But when I do, I hit the Smoking Room." It was a lame, improvised Meme he randomly thought up. On the outside, one would look at him and assume he thought, Damn, I'm cool., but on the inside, what he really thought was, Damn, I'm lame.

"And no, I haven't been blowing you off. You know you're not suppose to call the girl for at least three days." He gave a flirtatious smirk, then glanced over to Sabrina. He felt obligated to include her in the conversation. He knew how it felt to have a group of people talking and you be the only one left out. "Sabrina, this is my good friend, Romy. Romy, this is Sabrina." He introduced the two, hoping they'd strike up a conversation and leave him to recollect himself. It was hard enough to talk to one attractive woman.

He was screwed. Or was he?

There sounded like there was a commotion coming from the front door. Beneath the rim of his hat his eyes were able to glace over just through the crowd. He couldn't tell if the party was beginning to jump off or if there was really something going on, but then he saw it: A stun gun with a special insignia on it. Were it not for that tiny symbol on the weapon, Sean would never have distinguished it from a civilian weapon. No, the person carrying that was a Neutralizer.

Okay, now he was screwed, right?

He didn't know what to do. Well, of course he knew what to do: he had to rush in and try to stop them. The problem was, how would he get by Romy and Sabrina without freaking them out? Even more so; what if he got his ass kicked in front of them? Some hero he'd be. "Dammit..." He cursed underneath his breath as he sat up from the wall. It was hard to tell when Sean was panicking. His emotions were rarely reflected by his countenance. He always seemed relaxed and loose no matter how stressed or terrified he really was.

This would be his first fight with a Neutralizer. He felt the adrenaline pulsing blood through his veins. His right hand slipped down to the inside of the sash where his stun baton lay in wait. "Sorry, ladies..." He couldn't think of much else to say. The cool movie lines didn't just come to him like that, so instead he simply excused himself like a gentleman, walked through the two of them and made his way to the Neutralizer wielding the stun gun.

Sean removed the baton from his sash and with a hard swing, extended it fully. His hand was on the trigger ready to activate the electricity, and that is when the rest of the crowd realized what was going on. "Hey!" The young man shouted to get the criminal's attention, but that's when he realized this Neutralizer wasn't working alone. He saw the tied up girl by the door and two more Neutralizers moving away from her. So far he counted three, and one of them had his attention.

I am so screwed...