The grand ball

[Nox]

Nox relaxed a little at the admisssion though everyone cared, even if he said he didn't. And any man here was a threat to him, he may not want to hurt him now, but the moment they found out who and what he was Nox knew that those feelings might change. He was a god. He was Atharim. He was a traitor too. All for what, because he was a boy who could channel.

Nox sighed at his inner thoughts. He had to stop going all retrospective in between things. The man didn't ever introduce himself but he had come for some reason which Nox never got to find out. There was a scream and every ounce of Nox's paranoia sprang into focus and he had his gift in grasp and readied a fireball long before he remembered that he was in the fucking Kremlin and let the weave go.

Something a little more subtle than a fireball, he thought to himself. Nox wished for his tiny containers right then, a little glitter would have gotten through security, not that they'd know how fucking deadly it was if someone breathed it in. Or the baby powder. Chocking sucked. But he had none of that. He had nothing but his gift.

Nox instinctively stepped in front of the man who wasn't there to threaten him. Innocence was not weighed based on the size of your bank account. Innocence was any human life even a puffed up peacock.

[Ryker]

Ryker was pleased with the Ascendancy’s deference. The trick held, then. An experiment to be sure, but one that was yet to need repeated any time soon. It would be difficult to corner Ascendancy alone again any time soon, a requisite to the trick since a witness of their kind could not be allowed to observe.

He paid little attention to one of those so-called Nine Rods of Dominion as he passed by. The woman on his arm was actually worthy of greater study than the male. Unlike the others whom happened to be half-competent at one job or another and coincidentally also able to channel, this one was worth a second glance.

Something triggered the back of his mind, a description, maybe. A face, no, but a description to be sure. It would take some thought, digging through memory and encounters, to figure out why this particular man tripped a distant chord of memory. Later, though.

He returned to the ball soon after. A few moments search located a black-haired man sharply attired in the white-tie tuxedo, but sporting the addition of gaudy blue and diamond jewels on the cufflinks, because just in case someone couldn’t tell by the brown face, he wanted all to know he was foreign. Red and green stood a chance at being recognized, but nobody in this room gave two shits about Nicaragua.

Ryker came up beside him, polite as ever. Zacarías Secada Amengual shoo’d the gathering away from him to make room for Ryker.

“There’s someone you should see.”
Amengual’s brows lifted as he followed Ryker through the crowd.

The distraction of a scream and the draw of power grabbed Ryker’s attention, but the shifting crowd moved like a school of fish and the view of Jay and Natalie opened up before them.

He let Amengual study without preamble. Ryker wanted the raw reaction.

[Jensen James]

The request struck Jensen nervous. ”I don’t know, Cruz. I’ve never tried anything like that before.”
He wanted to help. The more than others could learn, the more people they would help. Jensen had to wear a hat and sunglasses just to buy groceries. He’d wear his motorcycle helmet around the clock if it was possible.

Cruz argued that Jensen give it a try. It sounded so simple, but he had no idea how to even go about considering such a request. ”You see, there’s an element of connection that appears when the healing begins, almost like its required for the gift to settle. I think that the motions without the recipient of a human soul would be useless and indecipherable.”


A woman’s scream ripped the air. Those men in the gray uniforms rushed forward. Others retreated the other direction. Those like Jensen, drawn to scenes of accidents for one reason or another, pushed through to the forefront.

Once, while zipping along Interstate 635, he bore witness to a motor vehicle accident when two vehicles collided during a lane change. It was later at night than he was normally out, and the freeway was mostly unoccupied at the time. It was later determined that alcohol was a contributing factor, but Jensen stopped to assist anyway. The airbags in both vehicles deployed, the drivers slammed around inside. One car landed on its side in the median, the other spun nearly to the opposing strip of traffic. There had been little he could do for the injured then besides call for emergency medical service and keep both talking and calm.

He understood the threat of injury. How the spike of adrenaline tensed every muscle in your body, even if it was narrowly avoided. A man cradled a woman. The smear of blood touched both. Fingers pointed at the surrounding glass with caution. Others erupted in their explanation of events as they witnessed it. The man used the powers of Jensen’s gift to attack the woman. Jensen felt no such thing, but like the men in gray ordered, the power was already relinquished by then. There would be nothing to feel.

Then his eyes beheld a sparkle of light, barely visible but for the facet of glowing reflection as it pierced his field of vision. He gasped. He was no doctor, but a stiletto of glass in anyone’s throat was moments from fatal.

He swept in, heedless of those that might warn him away. He fixed a stern glare at the men in gray. They had their assailant, and Jensen had no interest in tending to him. Except for the moment that he did a double-take. He barely remembered the face of man that drove him to the hospital that grave night, being so preoccupied with the matter at hand. He tried to silently tell Ivan that he knew him, had a possible ally in this, for Jensen found it unlikely that the kind officer in that car could stab a woman in the throat with glass on purpose. Accidents happened, after all. The demon of a murdered man still haunted his own guilt.

He knew the woman couldn’t speak, nor did he want her to. So he looked to the one that seemed to care for her most. “Let me? I can heal her, please.”
For once, he actually hoped the man recognized him. Likewise, so much as a flaring of her eyes would satisfy his need for consent.

[Cruz]

Cruz watched Nox finish his dance and move off away from him. He sucked as a body guard. Though he wasn't exactly a body guard anyway. Cruz was sure that his Dad would be happy he was here.

Jensen was doubtful of things, Cruz didn't get a chance to do anything to convince him otherwise because a scream interrupted their conversation. Jensen rushed towards the commotion and Cruz followed. He felt almost like a child on Christmas. He hoped someone got hurt. It was the wrong thing to think but it was the truth.

Jensen pushed his way through the crowd and Cruz followed. The healer was with a couple, a cut across her cheek. It was a minor wound but there was giddy feeling coursing thru Cruz's body.

[Ascendancy]

Nikolai accepted Evelyn into his arms as the music shifted. Looking into her eyes, he was lost in the flecks of copper and green strewn throughout the color. A uncomfortable tightness gripped his chest, but the moment they swept into the steps, it dissipated.

Their palms pressed as they had that evening spent together. The sweeping moves rustled strands of her hair like she was floating. The slim smile on her lips made him want to reach for grander motions. She was a natural, of course. Evelyn was too elegant to be less than mesmerizing.

He was vaguely aware of a scream, but it was the touch on his arm that halted the dance. The music died. People’s gazes were averted elsewhere.

One of his Barrier guards swarmed near, but rather than dismiss Evelyn, he gathered her protectively close.

The flare of power caught his attention.

“Ascendancy, it would be best if you were secured elsewhere until the situation is under control,” the Barrier spoke, and while Nik considered it, he was acutely aware of watchful eyes.

“No. Stay with her,”
he ordered.

The power flooded to heights that placed him atop the world.

When he joined the epicenter of the commotion, he found a surprising scene. Two of the nine rods of dominon flanked one of his proteges. Detective Sarkozy looked like a deer caught in headlights. A woman was nestled in the arms of a young man. If Nikolai recognized either, his expression did not betray the knowledge. Jensen, however, was already offering to help. Nik’s gaze fell upon the shard of glass sticking out of her throat. While the sight of blood did not bother him, the sight of that glass made him clench his teeth.

“Heal her, Jensen.”
He said on behalf of the woman who clearly couldn’t speak.

While they were occupied, his gaze settled upon Ivan. Whatever happened would be determined by security footage soon enough. But the man was a competent channeler. Nikolai would know.

“Escort him out of here,”
he told the two Rods. “Somewhere safe.”
He told the men.

There was only one such place on Kremlin grounds secure enough to hold a channeler against their will. Ivan interrupted his dance with Evelyn, whether purposefully or by accident, it didn't matter. The rods of dominion could handle the investigation. When and if Nikolai chose to speak to him personally remained to be seen.


((Sorry if this is terrible, my kid was literally climbing all over my lap as i was trying to type.))

[Ivan Sarkozy]

The crowd grew, everyone milled about to get a look now that thing looked safe for them. It grew bigger. Then Jensen James pushed through and Ivan felt a sense of relief. The man knew him. Could vouch for him. He knew he didn't do this. Couldn't have.

James met his eyes and Ivan felt reassured. Despite his outward calm, the response of the crowd was getting to him. James offered healing. If nothing else, the poor woman would get help.

And then Ascendancy pushed through and relief flooded him. Despite everything, all that he'd felt, a part of him still believed. This man had been in his life for as long as he remembered. You don't just forget a person that, in many ways, was god. He'd know. He had to. Ivan had been there for him. Had saved his life, really. Ordered to, sure. But Ivan was trusted. Had been trusted with, well, the life of the empire. And Ivan came through.

The brief look and casual dismissal was like a stab through his heart. Ivan was stunned. The fuck?

In that moment, hatred filled Ivan, raw burning anger. Outside he showed nothing but a slight tightening of the eyes. But inside...it was as if an inferno raged, fiery angry winds buffeted him, scouring him from head to toe, burning away any remains of loyalty and trust.

His eyes took in the crowd, the rich and influential, their jewelry and silks and platinum, their power, bought and paid for, the Sphere, the Consulates, all pulling the strings, buying and paying for favors and justice while the little people scraped and scrounged, were preyed upon and exploited.

The CCD was a sham. This fucking empire was one huge joke. And Nikolai Brandon? The Ascendancy himself? He was the supreme hypocrite. He called himself their father? Ascendancy? Just thinking about that name....

What an arrogant asshole!!! Who does that? Who calls themselves Ascendancy? Seriously? What human being with a shred of decency and realism calls themselves the Ascendancy.

Every single doubt and question he had ever had in his life burned away in that fire.

"The Ascendancy" lost Ivan in that moment. Completely. Totally.

The guy was never gonna stop taking care of himself and those who sucked his dick., And the rest could die for all he cared.

Well Ivan cared. He'd do it, then. By any means necessary.

The black coats, pulled him away. Ivan knew what was coming. He had no rights. Taken to car, put in the back seat, one of the guys sitting with him, both still filled with the power, Ivan knew. The pressure of their strength fueled his rage.

Never again. By any means necessary. Never again. By any means necessary. It was a mantra he repeated to himself during the trip, at the security gate, the garage, the walk to the elevators. This time, the trip underground did not phase him. Oh he felt the pressure of the world above, the massive miles of rock overhead that normally made him uneasy. Not now. Not ever again.

The litany played in his mind as he was taken to an interrogation room. Again.

Again.

Again.

The words were forge, searing him to the core.

[Natalie Grey]

Following the direction of Jay's nod, Natalie turned to watch Jensen James through the shifting crowd as he spoke with another guest, but found no great epiphany in his expression, mannerisms, or company. She knew little about him, and certainly not enough to gauge how best to get him on side -- or if such manipulations would even be necessary. Sometimes honesty was the most useful tool.

The warning came a second before the music abruptly died. She let go of Jay's arm, allowing him the space to do what Brandon raised him for. Her expression stilled, but she felt a surprising lack of fear. The shrill scream pressed against an old memory, thudding her chest, but years later the gift was within easy reach; and more importantly, it would not come unless she chose it.

This time she did not.

If something was truly amiss, Jay's shadow wasn't exactly the worst place to be, but doubts dampened the immediacy of her concern -- because would someone really be so stupid? More likely they had only lost control. That Natalie understood, mostly to her regret. So she only watched as things unfurled.

Surprisingly Brandon did not react until roused. Guards swarmed around Evelyn as he released himself from her company. Could he make that affection any more obvious? Or, given the Congresswoman's own gifts, any more condescending. The gathering around the spectacle had already deepened by the time he arrived, and Jensen had disappeared into it. Natalie frowned as the unwelcome complication suddenly became clear, burying the urge to sigh sharply.

If Jensen had cause to demonstrate his gift here and now, he would be virtually impossible to capture all evening -- to say nothing of the solicitations that would follow in such a miracle's wake. One man could not be everywhere at once, nor heal all souls, but it would not stop the room vying for even a single drop of that magic -- until all was consumed.

Jay's request might be but a single grain in a vast desert, now.

Though perhaps it might also mean Jensen would appreciate an opportunity to escape the scald of that desert entirely, if only for a time.

She considered it a moment before making a decision. Jay was bound by duty, but she was not. Her pale eyes flicked up to impart her intention of going ahead to enter the fray, only to discover that not all attention was pinned on the chaos. One face she recognised; the other she did not. The scarred man had clasped Brandon hand to hand, which meant ally, presumably, but there felt little friendly in the crawl of his eyes. There had been no greeting exchanged as between comrades when they passed in the hallway. It made the attention now strange.

The stark nature of Natalie's gaze was unnerving at the best of times. She did not care if she was noticed, nor if her presence was instead swept away as unimportant. It was Jay they stared at, after all. But she returned the scrutiny openly.

"Friend or enemy?"
she murmured softly, unsure if the communication in Jay's ear would allow him to hear the question. Or if he might ignore it.

[[I'll let Jensen do his thing before I post Ori again, she won't protest. She has multiple other old injuries, just fyi. None of the bruises are visible, but it would be evident to him that she had recently taken a pretty bad beating.]]

[Sören]

"Such is the nature of an experiment, friend."
Ephraim's lips lifted into a winsome smile as Sören pressed a telltale finger to staunch the pain in his temple. He glowered, swirling the champagne in the far-too-delicate flute, then downed the contents, little more than a grunt offered in answer. The sharp stab of pain faded as his mechanical eye refocused. The alcohol didn't help; that was just to douse the edge of Ephraim's smirk. "Or the price of knowledge. Has your lovely doctor taken a look?"


"My doctor--"
an unmistakable edge of possession to the word "--has other concerns at the moment. As do I."
He planted the empty glass on a passing tray with a little too much force judging by the server's wide-eyed jerk as she scurried passed.

Ephraim laughed.

Little ever ruffled him. Sören had been awake when they operated, his overwhelming memory that of Morven's pinch-faced concentration as coldness flooded his limbs, and Ephraim's inquisitive stare as surgeons rooted around in his bloody eye socket. His blonde curls fanned like a halo about his face, but it was no angel that walked in his skin.

Another glass replaced the empty one.

Sören didn't mind the surroundings, or even the people, but it felt like wasted time -- even with so many brothers and sisters in one place. The latter assumed, of course; he couldn't sense them like Morven could. Truthfully he would rather have been finalising details for his imminent expedition, but the man had called in a favour. Tickets to the fundraiser were pocket change to the CEO of Paragon, as was the sizeable donation already made in the company's name. The chance such an opportunity offered was priceless though. A room full of channelers lit Ephraim's gaze like a child on Christmas morning. He hadn't shared why, and Sören didn't ask. He didn't want to know.

Sören shifted his stance, watched the rich and their smiles and their jewels. He felt naked without the talisman around his neck, which perhaps only added to his mood, but the jewellery was too out of place in such a setting. Morven had looked at it disgustedly when he dropped it in her lap with the instruction she keep it safe until his return. 'I can see why you would'nae want to wear it to a ball.' She'd held it with the pinch of finger and thumb, nose wrinkled, until his glower had prompted her to slip it over her own head with a roll of the eyes.

"Come by the office when you're in a better mood. I'll have one of my guys take a look."
Ephraim grinned, but much like Sören his attention was elsewhere, if on different delights. He'd shown a marked interest in Brandon's most obvious guard, men dressed in shades of black. Sören confirmed what they were when asked, and Ephraim's stare periodically pulled to them as they threaded through the crowds. Half contemplation, half calculation.

He did not know what he was playing with; could not sense how, seconds before the music died, each of those men billowed like wrathful storm clouds. Sören's expression darkened.

The scream certainly snared the man's attention though. Ephraim's blonde brows rose, sparked by curiosity, and he pushed his way into the gathering crowd. Sören followed, albeit at a more sedate pace. His mild gaze absorbed Nikolai Brandon, pulled mostly by the thunderous amount of power that suddenly raged to life as the man approached. Sören's fingers flexed but he did not seize the runes. The room was shadowed with it; it clawed under his skin in response like a caged demon, but he peeled his gaze away instead, hackles raised despite his best efforts to ignore the currents.

Ephraim's gaze swivelled as they led the apparent aggressor away. "Somewhere safe?"
he repeated, a murmur meant only for himself. A moment of indecision squinted his gaze, but presently he returned his attention to the chaos below. For his own part Sören watched the apprehended cop as he was removed, a memory stirred, captured, then disregarded. Recognition did not flare his expression, but he did remember the man. An irritant. But there was simply no chance that he had been the one to hurt another, let alone a woman.

His jaw flexed before he set eyes on the scene below, where the woman cowered in the arms of a man that narrowed Sören's brows in faint surprise, though he couldn't say why. Another knelt to the scene, revealing the crux of Ephraim's interest, and presently Sören's too. The last time he had witnessed a healing it had been a quick and necessary stitch in a life-thread, its nuances lost before he'd had a chance to pay attention.

[Jensen James]

A moment of concentration and the gift rushed in. The light seared painful for a heartbeat, but what followed was pure rapture.

Like that power that threatened to sweep him away, he forced it into a singular need just as his attention focused entirely upon the injured girl.
”It’s going to be alright.”
She seemed frightened, as was to be expected.

A moment to glance at the man holding her, Jensen hesitated a moment, then urged him to step aside. In his place, he gently laid his hands on her arm. Flushed, she was warm to the touch.

Whether flushed or clammy, the injured radiated their closeness to the grave through the surface of their bodies. A fleeting thought before Jensen buried the memory.

The flows came together. All of them. Maybe there were more than five yet to be discovered. He attempted other feats with the five, but they were nearly overwhelming. Yet, for some reason, they settled together like the most natural thing in the world. He might have smiled through the moment if a woman’s life wasn’t at stake.

The moment he gift touched her, Jensen’s concentration shifted from the distant unseen and directly upon her. She was a pretty girl. Yet the voracity of injuries beyond the immediate that drew him to begin with, were disturbing.

A thin line formed his lips, a subtle nod a moment before the gift settled.

From what he understood, the touch of healing was a pleasant warmth, welcome sensation. He wondered whether there were ways to alter the degree of the weaves so to change the experience of the recipient, but it was all in theory. He doubted he would ever have the opportunity to experiment.

The glass safely fallen to the floor, Jensen kicked it to the pile of others and offered to help her up. He smiled reassuringly. ”A true gift from God, is it not?”


He felt the eyes of an audience.

The temptation to welcome them was too much of a lure. His heart fluttered with excitement. ”For all the evil in the world, for all the ways that mankind perverts the gifts of God,”
his eyes settled upon Ascendancy, ”there are others that will use these gifts for good.”


When he searched those that watched, he saw the reflection that always drew him to the stage in the first place. A smile grew wider.

[Cruz]

Cruz watched with diligence as Jensen wove healing weaves. His prior excitement was increased a billion times. This was useful. This was great. He paid close attention to each thread, and each element used. It was complex but he tried to get it all. Cruz was sharp but he knew trying it without another viewing was going to prove to be difficult. But he was excited. It was awesome.

Jensen seemed to be unaware of the people around him until Cruz saw his smile at the end. He was a TV persona. This was got to top that. Here he was doing his work in front of all those who could pay him well to keep him on retainer. Now wouldn't that be great.

Cruz was one of those. He would pay this man to teach him. To show him the ways of healing. He would in a heart beat.