Nicholas and Alessia
Argonaut HQ, Switzerland
"Where are you from?" Nick had asked.
"Ah...Iraq." Alessia replied, looking up at the boy who asked her the question. He was relatively lanky, and had a mess of dark hair on his head, and almost so pale it was surprising. Of course, the answer was a half-truth, but still somewhat correct. She just wasn't used to using the modern day name for the Persian territory.
"No. Where are you really from." Nick looked deep into Alessia's good eye, the golden brown flecks dancing in the artificial lighting. He clasped his fingers together and leaned forward intently.
"I'm...not sure what you mean..."Alessia said, leaning back from his advance. She hurriedly signed the contract that Mr. Owens pointed out, stepping back from the boy and offering a weak smile, "It is not like Iraq is a fake place." A bad joke. She was getting nervous. What did this boy know about her that he wasn't revealing?
Now he was getting somewhere. She was thinking about her origins, enough that they were being brought to the fore. He could barely get a grasp on it, with the room being what it was, but he had enough to work off of. Old memories. Old... older than Iraq.
"No, but your presence there predates the name... somehow. Who are you? The only other time I've felt a connection this old is... oh, my god."
"What's wrong?" Alessia asked, hoping to change the topic. She feigned concern for the boy as his face fell and worry seemed to fill his eyes.
"John. Is that why we're here? Did he send you as a check?" Nick asked, incredulous, his whisper hoarse and intense.
"You know John?" A look of shock twisted Alessia's face as she responded, and then she shook off the surprise, "What are you talking about? I am not a 'check', I don't think?"
Just then, the cyborg he'd noted upon entry interrupted the mundane flow of the contract signing. Alessia was immediately distracted, seemingly relieved to find something to occupy her attention beside's Nick's line of questioning. "We'll finish this discussion later," Nick said, leaning back slowly before re-engaging with the group.
Nicholas Fowler
Argonaut HQ, Switzerland
Nick sat back and watched, amazed, as barely five minutes into Hollands' Q&A, half the team was pitted against the other. The jockeying for attention and petty namecalling he'd seen before, in the first days of his term at the Academy. When training began, and those that got the worst names beat the living shit out of those that didn't, the names disappeared for a while. But when a true team was forged, they would return, as they did at the Academy. And then disappear when something goes south... he thought, wincing at his memory of the aftermath of Denver. Normally talkative, he'd chosen not to speak in the conference room. In his early days at the Academy he'd have gone for center of attention and leadership of one of the teams, probably even would've suggested something along the lines of what Tara did.
That girl was rapidly proving herself as smart as he'd assumed when he used his power to investigate her. Not only that, but the interactions between their powers in combat could be interesting: a remote brain unaffected by his Athenian disruption field, excellent melee skills to rival his own... and an ass to die for. But there was time for that later. He stood, giving a hard look to Alessia as if to say, we'll talk about this later. Running his fingers through his hair, he stood as Robespierre suggested they adjourn till cooler heads prevail before choosing leadership. He wasn't sure if he wanted to claim the mantle, as he had in his Academy days; he would see how well he could prove himself in combat before he made such presumptions. He was reluctant to campaign aggressively, especially in Hollands' presence, in light of how his decisionmaking had led to Denver. But Nick was a natural leader. He needed the control. It would be hard for him to stop himself.
Exiting the conference room, information began flowing into his mind at a normal rate once more. Asking his power the usual questions, he was satisfied to note nothing of consequence had occurred in his absence. Passing by a door to outside, he saw in his mind Fionn, Tara, and Claire, sharing cigarettes around the corner. Smiling that his habit was shared, he silently cracked the door and lit one of his own, allowing the smoke to flow through the aperture. His power filled him in on the conversation going down outside. General anxieties, Tara's anger about being singled out, Fionn jockeying in his own way. It mattered little, although he was disappointed that Tara didn't realize Marty's namecalling was out of fear. If something so small could hurt her pride, she wasn't ready to be a leader. Nick suffered through far, far worse running a team of teenagers.
The others' conversation ended, and Fionn left to call for a training combat session. Exactly what Nick needed. Hurrying to the gear room, he ducked into his locker and began disrobing. Selecting his heavy armor set, he put on the skintight undergarments and flowing, ultralight protective mesh that went under the metal-plated leather of his combat robe, before donning the helm and buckling the set. Securing the bident he affectionately called Joe, crafted for him by Arsenal himself upon his 18th birthday, from the weapons closet, he grunted at the weight of the combined armor. He was momentarily worried he'd regret his choice of heavy armor, but he was confident that his years of training in comparison to his relatively untrained peers would negate any sloppiness or disadvantage caused by the wait. Regardless, he admonished himself to start working out more. He saw some of his peers already readying for the training and smiled, raising his hands in a friendly gesture, Joe bident strapped to his back.
"Who's ready to rock and roll?"
