Nothing prepares one for how gentle the human face can be when slammed with a metal haymaker from hell. The gentle bones in the human skull, while durable under the right circumstance, aren’t built to withstand blows as powerful as the one Liv just dished out to the poor, poor sap who had the misfortune to surprise her. It wasn’t a quiet strike either: the loud and meaty thud of contact, his already loud voice cutting out, and his body hitting the floor… She can feel the eyes lock onto her, the shocked murmurs of the crowd resounding out like prayers in a church. The horror mixed with a creeping abashment roiled in her gut, a broiling concoction of emotions that creeped just beneath her skin, sinking its sharp talons deep into the recesses of her mind

  “That seemed like an abject overreaction.” Her boss comments, fueling Liv’s growing panic. She hadn’t meant to punch the poor man, and she certainly didn’t mean to punch him that hard. “In fact,” Her boss says, it’s voice almost lost in pondering, “I think he may have died on impact.”

  “I didn’t hit 'em THAT hard!” Liv protests, looking down at the man with a mix of worry and fear. “...I hope.”

  “He’s unresponsive.” Her boss emphasizes, mentally gesturing to the slumped man's form. He did look quite dead, his body completely and utterly unresponsive. Damn her and her stupid, stupid instincts. Being “tough” was stupid, and it’s just getting her in trouble. She couldn’t even see Kara anymore, her visage lost in the sea of faces staring at her once more. She looks to the door, preparing to make a break for it-.

  “GYAHAHA!”

  Liv stops, her head whipping toward the strange sound– the one that came from the slumped body on the floor. Was that a laugh? She watches as the figure pulls themself up, their face knitting itself back together slowly– a bright, shining smile on their face.

  “DIDN’T EXPECT TO GET HIT TODAY, LASSIE!” The man says, his teeth stained red. Despite the formal occasion, he wears what can only be described as a gaudy pirate outfit. A white, now flecked with red stains, ruffled shirt covered by a burgundy coat with an accompanying pair of brown trousers. Upon his head sits a deep black tricorn hat, a bright red feather jutting out the top. His features are soft, almost boyish with soft hazel eyes that shine like stars in the night sky. For some strange, odd reason, he seems over the moon at his current predicament as he reaches out to clap her on the shoulder. “YA GOT A STRONG LEFT, I TELL YA WHAT! I BE FLORENCE GALE, NUMBER TWO ON THE LEADERBOARD. IT BE A PLEASURE TO MEET YA!”

  Liv feels her body move before her mind, the pull of formality too strong to resist as her hand shoots out, clasping his hand with her own.

  “Liv Boss.” She says curtly, giving his hand a quick shake. His hand has more rings than she would have expected, gold and silver shining with gems on his callused digits. He had a strong hand– not the strongest Liv had ever encountered, but quite a bit firmer than the average shake. Florence lets out another bellowing laugh, his chest puffing like a bird with the motion.

  “GYAHAHA! I KNOW WHO YA BE, LASSIE! YOU BE THE ONE WHO DESTROYED THE STRENGTH MACHINES! THAT BE SOMETHING TO CELEBRATE!” He says, loud cackles trilling from his throat like a gruff seagull. He reminded her of every loud part of George and Alexis turned up to eleven. Bold, brazen, and just about the loudest person she’s ever met. Every syllable stung at her eardrums, a wince traveling over her face as he continued to yell.

  “Thanks.” She says, digging her pinky in her ear in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain as she tries to think of a response. What would Charlotte do? A compliment, perhaps. “Ya seem… Strong.” She mutters weakly.

  Florence cackles loudly, clapping her on the back once more, the contact sending a wave of pain up her spine as she stumbles forward. “AYE! AINT A LAD OR LASS WHO CAN DODGE AN ATTACK FROM ME!” He says, giving himself a self congratulatory pat on the chest, his pride swelling with the proclamation.

  Liv regains her footing, her arms waving outward to re-balance herself. This loudmouth kept slapping her right on the part of her back her dress exposed and it was really starting to get on her nerves. She had a healthy pain tolerance, but she didn’t enjoy pain. Then again, who did?

  With a grunt, she looks back to him, giving him another once over as he continues to speak– yet, she can’t seem to find a weapon on him anywhere. Strange… She could see a weapon on nearly everyone else. Charlotte had it slung across her waist, Donovan had them on his hips, and she had them on her hands. Was it something small? She didn’t see where he could conceal something like that. Probably something speedy then. She had dealt with some serious speed before, Kara’s Loong, the bug demon queen, and Charlotte popping into her mind one by one. George, maybe– but did he really count? She only knew he could get her from one place to another before she realized he had even lifted a finger. Donovan might count, but she hasn’t seen him fight. She could deduce based on his weapon that he oughta be quick in some respects-.

  “-IF YA LIKE THE HAT, I COULD GET YA ONE LASSIE. NOT ONE TO GATE KEEP A GOOD HAT!” Liv snaps out of her musings, tuning back into Florence’s ramblings. She swears mentally, chastising herself as she shakes her head.

  “Sorry, I was… Spacin’ out.” Liv says slowly.

  “AHH, MAKES MORE SENSE!” Florence cackles, his arms crossing. “STILL, YA SHOULD GET A HAT, LASSIE! NOT ENOUGH GOOD HATS IN THE WORLD!”

  Liv steals a glance at the hat on his head. She had to admit, it wasn’t a bad hat. She wouldn’t mind a good hat…

  “Errr, maybe later.” She says slowly, sounding unsure herself. Now she was focused on the hat, imagining it squared away on her own head.

  “I’LL BE KEEPIN’ IT IN MIND!” Florence booms out, his arm billowing out to wrap around her shoulder, giving her a strange amalgamation of a side hug and a way to lead her ahead “COME, LASSIE! MEET MY FRIEND! SHE BE RIGHT UP YOUR ALLEY!”

  Liv gives the man a curious eye, but doesn’t pull away. She was supposed to make new connections, wasn’t she? That is the whole point… If this was how she was to meet new people, so be it.

  The two walk through the packed hall, people turning to stare at them like moths to a flame. It made sense to Liv in some respect with this Florence character being the supposed second strongest with her running up at fifth. Her presence alone got her bum-rushed by way too many people, each of them clamoring for her attention like baby birds without their mothers. It was equal parts tiring and flattering to be so popular, looked at like someone powerful. Still, she’d rather not have the hassle of so many people speaking to her at once– especially when they could all be so loud. It was admirable in a way, the confidence in his stride, as if nothing could bother him. He stood out, but he seemed to own that in every facet.

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  Florence stops just shy of one of the snack tables, giving Liv a gentle push forward as he gestures forward. There, almost hiding behind one of the ornate pillars, was a girl pressing herself against the marble.

  The first thing that pops out at Liv are the dullish grey irises hidden behind the biggest glasses she’s ever seen. Light brown freckles festoon her face like stones on a dirt path, travelling from cheek to cheek. Her light brown, nearly ginger hair, is tied off into two twin braids that drape down to her chest. It almost reminds Liv of the rusted cars she saw littering the streets of her home city. She clutches something close to her chest, her body adorned in a simple, white dress that flows down to her ankles. It’s modest in design, perhaps a feature given how horrified the girl looks at being perceived by two people.

  “THIS BE ME MATEY, ARLA!” Florence booms, his smile glimmering as he reaches out to pat the small woman on the shoulder. The touch makes the woman jump with fright, the item clutched in her arms falling to the floor with a loud thwack.

  Liv’s eyes are immediately drawn to the sound, her brows furrowing as she catches sight of the item. A large tome, one larger than her head. It bulged obscenely out of its leather confines, pages nearly spilling from its overstuffed cover. Somehow, nothing spills out, its shape remaining the complete same. The horrified woman scoops it up in an instant, pushing it back into her embrace as she gives a petrified look to Florence.

  “P-Please don’t do that!” She whisper shouts, her voice laced with a soft nasal and an even stronger stutter. “I-I don’t r-really wan’t t-those people knowing im h-here!” She gives a panicked look behind her, peering just over the pillar.

  “GYAHAHA! SORRY, MATEY!” Florence says, tipping his hat in a sort of apology. “I JUST FOUND-.”

  “Quieter!” Arla hushes, her face blanching further as she pulls the two behind the pillar. “A-and stop talking like that! N-nobodies around anyway…”

  “WHAT YA MEAN, LASSIE? ME NEW FRIEND IS RIGHT HERE.” Florence says, gesturing to Liv. Liv, for her part, was busy staring at the giant book in Arla’s hands. That had to be painful to carry around…

  “C-cmon, brother! I don’t w-wanna hear that all the time.” Arla says softly, clutching the book just a bit tighter as her eyes grow pleading. “P-please? I-I don’t wanna be seen.”

  Florence pauses for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing before a long, strenuous groan escapes his mouth, his hand coming to snatch the hat off his head. “Fine, just this once.” He grunts, his arms crossing. “Arla, meet Liv. Liv, Arla.” He says in quick succession, gesturing to the two.

  Liv snaps out of her reverie, her hand snaking out to grab Arla’s hand, giving it a quick shake. “Liv Boss.” She says, her voice curt and polite.

  Arla squeaks, her knee rising to stabilize the tome in her hand, her voice small. “A-Arla Arden.” Liv recognizes the name, her brain whirring as she recalls the memory. She was also in the top five, wasn’t she? The exact spot was a blur to her at the current moment, but she was certain this girl had to be. Though, the question of the different last names caught her eye. She was led to believe siblings shared a last name. Arla's hand snakes back to support her tome, clutching it tighter to her chest.

  “Great, you two have met,” Florence says, his hand shooting out sneakily to raid the nearby table of snacks. He seems to be holding a handful of cheese blocks, haphazardly shoving them in his mouth. “Can I get back in character before someone eventually spots us?”

  “T-they’ll spot us quicker if you’re l-loud!” Arla says indignantly.

  “Like they won’t find us anyway.” Florence mutters, stealing a glance at the crowd. People milled about more, though it seems a large subsect were looking for someone… Or something, splitting off from what seems to be the largest group near the center of the room.

  Arla, somehow, seems to blanch further at the thought, her mouth working as her panic clearly grows. “T-Then you two need to go! I-I don’t need some c-crowd chasing me around!”

  “That’s just rude.” Florence retorts, giving Liv a nudge with his shoulder. “I’m just trying to introduce you to some new friends. Didn’t you say you wanted to be… What was it? ‘More confident’?”

  Arla sputters, her cheeks adopting a rosy tint. “D-Don’t just say that out loud!”

  “Hm? Say what?” Florence questions, his hand coming to cup his ear. “Don’t say that out loud? That’s what you said, right?” He probes further, looking to Arla a mockingly questioning, almost annoyed look. “Because I thought I told you-.”

  “I g-get it.” Arla interrupts, her hands tightening over her book.

  “No, I don’t think you do.” He replies. "Because if we're dong this, we're doing this. We're both laying everything on the table."

  "W-What are you talking about?" Arla squirms, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  "Well," he starts, looking to Liv, "back when we were kids, she used to get really sad that nobody wanted to talk to her. She'd make me take her to go talk to people and embellish-."

  "S-STOP!" Arla shouts, her face reddening in a mix of horror and flustered anger. Florence sticks his tongue out mockingly, the two beginning to bicker like children.

  It was just dawning on Liv how strange this whole scenario was. She had gotten in arguments before, and she’d seen her fair share of arguments too, but she’d never been caught in the middle of something like this before. It was its own flavor of argument, one with a sort of history behind it. She didn’t know a lot about it, but she was sure she didn’t want to know about it. It didn’t help, in the back of her mind…

  “-It’s powerful, Liv. If you were to take that book, I believe you will be safe for the rest of your days– and, perhaps, you could go back to South America-.”

  For some reason, her boss had returned to it’s old strategy of speaking her ear off until she listened. It started as soon as they got within eye shot of Arla and showed no signs of stopping. She had thought they had come to an understanding; yet, when presented with the chance, it immediately tried to sway her into its own stupid plan again. With a silent sigh, she walks away from the arguing duo, the two not seeming to notice her slowly slinking away. She didn’t care much for the arguing– she also wanted to find her friends anyway. Trying her hardest to keep a low profile, she scans the crowds in an attempt to find anyone she recognizes.

  Off to the side, nearer to the larger crowds, she manages to spot Charlotte mingling with a group. She seems to have a smile on her face, but her eyes aren’t sparkling like they do when she’s happy. She seems stiff, like she’s undergone some living rigor mortis. On either side of her is another person dressed in fanciful clothes, glasses of champagne held in their hand. They laugh in controlled bursts, respectful yet dead expressions on their faces.

  On the other side of the room, she can see Donovan’s head whipping around. He seems nervous, clearly looking for something. Had he lost something? Liv burns it into her mind, reminding herself to ask about what he might’ve lost later so she can help him find it. Within the large crowd, she can just make out the metal hull of Faraji, clearly interacting with… Someone. She can’t make whoever he’s speaking to, a few heads too short to peer over the crowd. She shrugs– her and Faraji were never friends, and she doesn’t care to be in the middle of that. Near the door, she can see Anthony exit the room, dressed in a crisp suit. Nice to see him again, she thinks as she looks back at Charlotte-.

  Her head whips back, her eyes wide as she watches Anthony slip through the door. That had to be him, right? It certainly was: the hair, the general body shape... It all looked just like him. That same familiar, yet unfamiliar, feeling brews in her chest, threatening to burst from her rib cage. It was uncomfortable, the feeling coursing through her veins– not quite rage, but not too far removed– pumping its brash nature right into her heart. A small, rational piece of her knows he had no chance to tell her about his involvement, but it's quickly found and slaughtered by the far angrier, less rational part of her. She wanted to confront him, to ask him why he didn’t say anything about his involvement here, to ask why he got such a bad score, and to get this strangeness out of her system so she wouldn’t feel it anymore.

  With stomping steps, she makes her way to the exit of the Gala, her nostrils flaring, the sweet music only agitating her further. She was beyond livid right now, and nobody was going to stop her from this inevitable conversation.