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It was the best of times, it was the worst of times -- well, no, it wasn't either of those at all, but what it was wasn't all too different. It was an average day, with average things going on, and Chrysocolla should have gone straight home from school but she hadn't quite felt like it, still high on triumph from her success against Hyperborea a few days ago. (It'd left her with a bit of a black eye and a swollen, bruised, nose; but that was better than feeling like her skin was burning gently from contact. Goddamn, the memory of that had stuck with her for days whenever she brushed anything.)

There were so many good reasons why she should just walk home from school, or take a bus, or even just sit at the park; but henshining up let her feel what felt like her true outfit on her flesh, let the weight of her hair flow to a better weight, and most of all it made the trip home much faster. Why bother with streetlights when she could stop by Starbucks, get a coffee, and get back up on the rooftops with nobody to follow her? People didn't patrol at 3 PM. If she brushed her hair the right way, ducked her head, nobody looked too hard at the holes. Nobody looked too hard at her, if she wasn't trying to cause trouble.

And it'd be five minutes to get home, anyways. Why worry about powering down now? There was no-one around to see.

That was a power signature, Chrysocolla realized mid-step, skidding to a halt and bracing her feet on the rooftop while she sorted out what she knew about it. First-level -- a block or two away. It'd been there, but she hadn't been paying attention to it, because what was more important than a nice frappuccino? (Her life, but that wasn't relevant. She could drink and run at the same time. Plenty of people could do that, and coffee stains disappeared when she powered down anyways.)

But she had a reputation to uphold, and just to be safe; if he headed towards her...he could find out where she lived. And that put Amphitrite in danger, too. So she turned and headed for the signature, which roiled against her teeth like corroding. She'd summon her magic if she knew it would be a fight, but it was hard to drink holding a glowing orb, and why show up already looking like you wanted to fight? That got you hurt. That made you lose.

Chrysocolla touched down on Triumphalis' roof, teetering on her heels for a second, and waved a sheepish hi with her free hand. Then she put her frappuccino down, of course; no need to keep holding it. "...um. Hi? Sorry, I didn't want to bother you, I just don't feel people out and about usually at this time..."

Chrysocolla honestly did want to leave him alone, she really did, but -- it wasn't good, to take that chance, to let an aura wander unchecked and never even know who it belonged to until they killed you. She could identify him, this way. (And wow, he was big; she took a step back almost unconsciously from intimidation. That was -- okay! Alright! This was...this was fine.)

"W-what kind of training?" The sentence came barreling out before she could stop it. "Sorry, sorry, but...most people on your side I meet...they don't have any training. Typical." God, he could probably break her in half -- deep breaths, Chryso. Deep breaths. She wouldn't have a panic attack directly after school, and she wouldn't run away, either.

Triumphalis' comment about a bedtime did make her bristle, though, shoulders stiffening. "First of all, it's not forces of darkness stuff, just duties: and second, I was heading home! It's faster like this than taking the bus." Her smile was anxious, strained at the edges in all the wrong places, and she rubbed her forehead unconsciously. It always felt like there should be something there - some weight that never existed.

"Chaos is a terrible word," she complained, crossing her arms over her chest. "But you shouldn't be out at this time, anyways. It's too easy to get people hurt. Powering up is basically, um, just an invitation for any of us to find you - and then what would the people in this building do?" The threat was understated, but there none the less. Anyone could go after the people here if he wasn't here. (Not that Chrysocolla would, but -- she was aware some of her less savory compatriots wouldn't share the view on innocents. That was life!)

"But...as far as a problem? Why are you and all your compatriots -" (and to her credit, she didn't stumble over the word, even if her fingers flickered between half-gestured signs and her arms unfurled from their crossed position) "on Earth? This isn't your place, you know. Even if you were reborn here: you don't belong here. You don't." Her arms hung at her side, fists clenched, and Chrysocolla thought about her magic to confirm it was okay.

God, she wanted to throttle him, even though reaching up for that would be difficult - and Chrysocolla didn't have the sheer muscle strength for that. When she did the dirty work, when it had to be done on patrol, she used gravity as a good friend: and the odds of being able to throw Triumphalis off a building were exceedingly low.

Also, pushing someone off a building was kind of gross, and then he'd probably splatter everywhere? Tasteless. Chrysocolla took lives neatly when she did, with the grasp of a starseed, and as of yet she'd always been able to escape any battles with some well-aimed magic and/or a well-timed teleport. Things Order didn't have. (Well, yes, they had the magic but that wasn't really the point, they didn't have her magic.)

All she did was shrug, incanting her magic under her breath and tossing the glowing sphere up and down. If you don't know how to fight, make them come to you instead.

"I'm not annoying," Chrysocolla fumed, tapping her foot against the rooftop -- god, god she hated him, know-it-all, wasn't listening to his better - because of course she was his better. Her power level was higher, wasn't it? First-levels had to rely on their strength, their muscle, they didn't have too much to set them aside from normal people.

Well, she probably was being annoying, she'd give him that. But that didn't mean he was allowed to say it. Deep breath, swallow the anger down; fix the situation. "I don't want to fight you, okay...? I just want to talk. Can we at least introduce ourselves? My magic's really just a lightshow." She shifted foot-to-foot again, anxious. "Super Sailor Chrysocolla. You...?"

After all -- there were ways to make herself useful to the Negaverse. She'd never be part of the Information branch, too stupid and clumsy for that, but - the database could always use updating.

Pipsqueak made Chrysocolla's fingers go white-knuckled, under the gloves, clenching the globe tighter until it deformed around her fingers. It was only energy, after all, and was about as harsh in her hands as a stress ball. Her smile betrayed absolute vitriol, ugly, ugly -- "You'd be surprised how many of you chat us up. Join the winning team." -- and, without warning, she threw the orb fast as she could and hard as she could. He was a big target, and they weren't too far apart - any contact would do.

Well, her magic was subjective, but hopefully he was a pliable type. The best ones always were; lovestruck, overcome, soft-hearted or scared or too bored to care when the sparkles sunk into their mind. But just in case, just in case things went wrong and he turned aggressive (as had happened before), she took a careful step back towards the edge of the rooftop and set her feet apart at shoulder-width. work work please work, went the internal monologue; over and over and over in that half-second before it made contact and she could know what she'd done this time.

"Oh, s**t," Chrysocolla mumbled, pushing off and tumbling to the side wide-eyed and terrified. She was faster than him, hopefully, but he was in good shape: that might even out the power boost. Kneeling down to grab the frappuccino, she hit the ground just right to grab it in one hand and move to the next roof, stumbling with her landing but continuing to run.

"I have a name!"