pti | ( closed. ) and the winners get to rewrite history.

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( closed. ) and the winners get to rewrite history.

WHO: Celeste Winters, Colin Locke, Terra Branford, Yuuri Katsuki
WHEN: January 21
WHERE: The LA County District Attorney's office
WHAT: After receiving a tip from Celeste, the Phantom Thieves investigate a newly uncovered palace, and recruit a new team member.
WARNINGS: Putting up a cursory PG-13 rating on this. This might change depending on which direction this log takes. CWs will be added as necessary.

[ But since Locke went through enough trouble of returning her note, it would be rude not to meet him there. The lack of foresight on his end did give Celeste pause, however; didn't he realize that he only made himself look even more suspicious coming here, especially during off hours? She wasn't exaggerating about his reputation, after all. Even if this was a public space.

He really is good at making a statement, even when it's disadvantageous. It's like nothing has changed.

At least Celeste looks like she's supposed to be here, heels clicking as she briskly makes her way toward the courtyard of the district attorney's office, her gaze periodically flicking down to her smart watch. 2:58 PM—he better get here soon, or else she's leaving. ]

NOW PLAYING:
DREAMS OF SATURN - ACID JAZZ GUITARIST

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[Locke had sent texts to Trance and Frost to meet him at the safehouse, where he filled them in on the general happenings. He'd gotten a tip on a Palace and needed some help, and that he saw potential in the person giving him the tip. He gave them instructions to show up around the DA's office and to not stand out.

He wasn't exactly dressed up, but he wasn't dressed down either as he emerged from a corner store near the office holding a bag of snacks and wearing jeans and a t-shirt. If he saw Celeste, he made no indication as he leaned against the store wall, clearly waiting or some friends in a very non-suspicious way]

[ And there he is, looking the part of an upstanding citizen. Normally that would work, but he really didn't understand who had his eye on him, did he? Celeste would have thought that the note would be enough of a warning to keep his head down, but no.

Looking down at her smart watch, she taps a few apps as she idly makes her way toward him. It's mostly just an act, but then she pauses mid-step, staring down at the watch face with a puzzled look on her face.

She didn't install that app. Weird. Uninstall and delete.

Making her way to the front of the corner store, she slows down slightly, her eyes still on her watch as she speaks low. ]

You know, this is exactly what I meant when I said that you had a nasty habit of showing up in the wrong places.

[ Tact. She doesn't have it. ]

Funny, I've always seen it as a gift.

[ He would. She's not in the mood to honor that behavior with a come-back. All it would do is encourage him anyway. ]

So, why did you call me out here? If this is your way of declaring war, then I would suggest you give up now.

Chill. I'm waiting on some friends and then I'm gonna show you something cool.

[ Locke, can't you tell she has absolutely no chill? He should have figured that out with the double sucker punch to the gut a few nights ago. ]

...What is it?

[ SUSPICIOUS. ]

You'll see. If you can be patient. You CAN be patient, can't you.

[That grin. It is shit-eating.]

Looking on the bright side, Terra has shown up wearing a long dress and a baggy sweater, the perfect clothing to hide in. Crippling social anxiety informs a lot of her clothing choices, honestly.

On the not-so-bright side, this is a clearly highly nervous young woman approaching two people that are...arguing? Hateflirting? Something like that, anyway. It looks SUPER suspicious.

"Um...h-hello?"

Yuuri shows up within a minute of Terra's arrival, dressed in a black and blue t-shirt, jogging pants, and sneakers. Even with him mostly out of the professional skating world, he can't quite give up the comfort of the training gear. Celeste might even recognize him from television, either from his performances or the news of the attack that damaged his left knee and cost him his Winter Olympics spot. Maybe his presence might lend Locke some credibility to his character?

"Hello, Terra, Locke. Sorry if I'm running a bit late."

Locke gives the newcomers a wave.

"No problem. Celeste, this is Yuuri and Terra. They're gonna help us out. Help you out, I should say. I hope you don't have any lingering admiration for your boss, 'cause he's a real piece of work as you're about to see."

He looks around to confirm that there is nobody around, which is fortunately the case. Not many people trying to visit the DA's office on a Sunday if they can avoid it, after all. Satisfied, he turns and looks her dead on.

"Time to show me if you can stand by your justice. Norman Phelps. DA's Office. Opium Den."

The phone responds in a clinical, detached feminine voice. "Beginning navigation."

The world seems to tilt and shift, as the functional, plain offices of the DA begin to change.

What was once the DA's office is now a rather garish wooden building. Crates and barrels are stacked high and filled with a powdered substance. Although the office itself was landlocked, in the Metaverse it appeared as a dock overlooking a harbor of menacing masted wooden ships.

Shadows carrying muskets and halberds patrolled, dressed in clothing reminiscent of Imperial Britain. Some of them carried other shadows, far more human in appearance and dressed in more normal street clothing. The shadows would be stripped down and relieved of what appeared to be drug paraphernalia, which would be added to the large stacks and tallied by shadows dressed like accountants. The guards would regularly come and go, taking the drugs for themselves.

"This guy's a real piece of work," Locke said, staring hard at the building. "Looks like he's taking the drug seizures he makes and distributing it among his crew or reselling it for profit."

NOW PLAYING:

GET IT BY YOUR HANDS (HI-EVO MIX) - HIROSHI WATANABE

[ Opening her mouth to bark back a retort at Locke, Celeste bites her words back as two strangers approach—an anxious-looking young woman and... someone who looks oddly familiar. Her gazes fixes on Yuuri for a moment, brow furrowing as she tries to place why she knows his face. Why does she feel like she should know him?

More to the point, neither of them seem the sort who would hang around with someone like Locke, which makes her all the more suspicious. Maybe she shouldn't have left her cell phone at home after all, even if it had been compromised. It might have given her an added contingency plan should things go awry.

Her gaze flicking back to Locke, she looks less irritable and more cautious now. Comments about Prosecutor Phelps notwithstanding, there's something about the way that he suddenly carries himself that makes her stomach turn. ]

What is this about?

[ Concise, firm and to the point. Something is going on here, and she doesn't like it. Meeting his steely gaze with her own, she doesn't break contact until he speaks the code words. ]

Hey, what are you—!

[ Then the world shifts, buildings melding and twisting to fit the palacescape. Her eyes widening in alarm, she turns to look around her. The DA's office was gone, and it's almost like the city has melted away in front of them, leaving something that looked like it was plucked from a historical fiction movie.

They hadn't gone anywhere; she hadn't moved an inch, but this was clearly somewhere else. It had to be. So what was the trick? Was there one? There had to be, right? Locke said that this had something to do with her boss, but from the way he's talking now...

Turning her attention back to Locke (he's dressed differently...), she searches his face for some kind of explanation. ]

...What is this?

[ She doesn't sound as certain as she did a moment ago. ]

Once the navigation is complete, the young girl's clothing - and attitude - shifts. Gone is the long skirt and the baggy sweater, replaced with a sleeveless minidress that hugs her figure and a mask that looks like dancing flames. Trance takes in the area around them, her nose crinkling in disgust.

"We call it the Metaverse."

She'll leave the rest of the explanation to someone else, honestly. Just because Trance is more confident than Terra doesn't mean she's any better at social interactions.

"You could call this a world of cognition," Locke says by way of explanation. "This is a reflection of the distortion held within someone's heart. You'll need to stay close to us, I know you can defend yourself but it can get pretty dangerous in here."

Frost's eyes narrow behind his silver mask, just as openly disgusted as Trance. The idea of polluting one's body with drugs sickens him, but the idea that this is supposed to be a place of law only makes it worse. The thought that this could be tied into why his assault case never made any significant progress makes him want to scream. Just how deep did the corruption go?

He turns to Celeste, aware that his hands are curling into fists at his sides at the sheer frustration he feels. "Did you have any clue that he was dirty?"

Her gaze moves from one phantom thief to the next, and while she manages to keep her usual steely exterior, the way her hands slowly clench at her sides tell a different story. The metaverse. A world of cognition. None of that made sense, but if this place was a distortion of that man's inner machinations, this only served to make her feel more disgusted about the current state of things.

That her father would willingly suggest she work for someone like this, an 'old friend' he called him... it's sickening.

Turning her attention to Frost, Celeste pauses, her countenance shifting as she looks away. "Not... Not to this extent," She hesitates, drawing her lips together in a fine line.

"I knew that there were a few people he took interest in, and he asked me to keep an eye on them but never told me why. Given his reputation, I thought he might have been planning to use them for his own selfish gains, or to make an example out of a few notable troublemakers..."

Edited 2018-02-02 03:01 (UTC)

This isn't the kind of world she dreamed of fighting for—the sort of justice that she wished to uphold. If this was how the game was played, then that only left her with one clear choice.

Her gaze snapping back toward the three of them, the hesitance melting away in an instant, Celeste frowns deeply. "I know what this looks like," She begins, her arms slowly crossing over her chest. "And I don't expect you to trust me or believe a word I say. I don't know what this Metaverse is, but I refuse to stand by and let a place like this continue to exist. I won't let this man continue to poison everything and everyone around him."

"Tell me what I need to do, and I'll do it."

Good, she's serious. While there's always a chance she could double-cross them, they have to give her the benefit of the doubt. She knows more about her boss than they do, and any information is vital.

"That's the kind of dedication that should exist in the D.A.'s office. Maybe you'll even find the kind of strength we did. Until then, we'll work to fix this corruption in your stead."

He steps close to her, lowering his voice so his next words are for her ears only. "In return, I'd like to ask for your help with something."

She could, but she won't. Betraying them when they saw fit to bring her, to let her see the truth behind the veil of lies and corruption around her, would be gauche. Something like that is far from her understanding of justice.

Frost won't get much of a response from her, but he might catch a subtle quirk at the corner of her lips. Was that an attempt at a smile? "Thank you."

Feeling him step closer, she lets her chin dip slightly. Icy blue eyes catching his gaze through his mask before she directs her attention back to the group. She's listening.

Frost's gaze swivels to the rest of the group, watching closely for orders even as he splits his attention. Maybe he feels a bit selfish for springing this on her, but she's the best chance he has at pursuing a legal means of retribution. After all, he's not yet strong enough to face his rival's corrupted heart and he knows it....

"Right before the Winter Olympic selection, there was an incident here in L.A., an attack on an athlete. One of the men's figure skating slots went to another competitor from the same home rink." His voice is cool and even, but there's something subtle lurking in his tone, something bitter beneath the calm. "The attack was ordered by that rival, I know it for a fact, but nothing ever came of the investigation. I suspect it was buried to avoid a scandal. If you can find anything, even evidence of sealed or missing records...."

Locke, who had been leaning against the wall up until now, stands and straightens.

"Plenty of time for that after we work our way through this, eh Frost?"

He turns to Celeste.

"On that note, due to the nature of this world, please don't use our real names. That's Frost, she's Trance, and I'm Hunter. It might go a bit different for you, I doubt this Palace has acknowledged you as an enemy which may give us an advantage. The Shadows here are in some ways a mimicry of the real people within this building, and if they recognize you as belonging, you just might be able to move through without any problem. Think you can get us to your boss's office?"

Her gaze flicks back to Frost as he pleads his case, and while there is no distinct change in her expression, her brows knit slightly. He knew what he was asking her to do, didn't he? But to do that at a time like this, when she's already ill at ease with where she is and why such a place exists... does he know who she is? Who her father is? Or is he asking this because of her position with the DA's office? Regardless of the reason, his words fall flat.

She understands, but there is such a thing as tact and timing.

"I'm just an intern. I don't have access to something like that," She says simply and definitively. It's clear that he has at least a cursory understanding of what he's asking, and she isn't the type to go around digging in classified documents for just anyone—especially not a stranger.

Nodding simply at Locke, Celeste takes a few steps forward. "Assuming the layout is the same here as it is there, that won't be a problem." That did pose a question however. "But if I'm able to blend in, what about the rest of you?"

"We can follow behind. We'll stick to the shadows and come in after you. Ideally we won't engage the Shadows unless absolutely necessary, but if they get aggressive with you we'll take 'em out."

Lucky for them, Celeste doesn't buckle under pressure, and after a brief pause, she begins to walk with purpose. She will trust the rest of them to follow, and even if her gaze wants to trail behind to make sure that they are keeping up, she fights that urge. This place didn't see her as a threat (whatever that meant), so she would use that to her advantage.

It didn't hurt that most of the building was unoccupied—with most offices closed, there was little reason for anyone to be there, outside of those people working overtime. No one would notice her slip past what would have been elevators toward the stairwell, practically sprinting up a few flights of stairs to the third floor. Moving briskly toward one of the closed offices, the name Norman Michael Phelps, Esq. painted on the frosted glass door, Celeste stops.

"Here," She says, fishing in her trouser pocket for her key. Hesitating for a moment in attempt to mentally prepare herself, she puts the key into the lock and pushes the door open.

Sitting at the desk is a man in a long black robe and wide-brimmed hat often seen on Chinese businessmen from the turn of the century with an unctuous expression on his face.

"Ah, Celeste, come in. I've been expecting you."

His eyes are sunken, his appearance not quite right.

As she enters, she may (or may not) notice that there are two enormously burly shadows, also in suits but with glowing red eyes watching her every movement.

"Time's a-wasting. Have you brought the ones I seek?"

Locke, for his part, is not too far behind, hiding against the wall at the office entrance.

Even before she finishes opening the door, her eyes catch a glimpse of someone there, her posture tensing as her hand remains on the knob. He never works weekends, but of course he would be here—this place was brought about by his true intentions, wasn't it? So it would only make sense that he would be waiting for her.

But that isn't what makes her freeze up; not the fact that he's been waiting for her or that there's something intensely Not Right about the way he looks (his eyes, they were glowing gold), but what he says that gives her pause. That was her job, wasn't it? To track one of them at least, and to bring Phelps information to use against him. But to put it so plainly, like all of this was planned...

She's going to have a hell of a time pleading her case, isn't she, with the evidence clearly stacked against her here.

"...That's not why I'm here." She answers after a moment, her hand falling away from the doorknob as she cautiously takes a step forward. Not inside, but standing in the doorway, blocking the rest of the hallway from view.

She can't call attention to the distortion around her, right? That would be bad. But at the same time, this—all of this—it's disgusting. These were what the men pulling the strings at the top were like, men like Phelps and her father, and it's disgusting.

"What is this about?" It's not a question but a demand for information, her eyes narrowing slightly. He can take it as he will. "I have a right to know."

The Shadow's eyes narrow and he snaps his fingers, the two guards stepping in and grabbing Celeste by either arm.

"My dear, I know you love snooping around but these things really don't concern you. If you haven't completed your assignment, I suggest you get back to work. Your father promised you'd be useful, and frankly I've yet to see it."

Locke tenses as he signals Trance and Frost. "This is getting a bit hairy," he murmurs. "Do we go in?"

Trance considers, remembering her own first confrontation with a Shadow.

"If they attack, we should respond, but..."

She trails off, searching for the right words.

"I think she might need this."

Celeste's eyes snap open as the shadows grab both of her arms, the color draining from her face. Locke—Hunter—warned her that this place was dangerous, and while she had no reason to doubt him, until now she assumed it was all lip service. She can defend herself. But held there before this man like some prisoner, it's the first time she's been forced to face this threat face-on.

But this, she can still handle. Even if her heart is pounding in her ears, she can put up a brave front. As long as it's just her being threatened, she can face this with grace. It isn't until she hears a shuffle of movement behind her that her rough exterior crumbles, as she tries desperately to pull free from her captors.

Because while Hunter, Trance and Frost have been doing their best to keep a low profile, it seems that they have not gone unnoticed. Shadowy workers surrounding the three in an ambush, drawing the phantom thieves out into the open.

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( closed. ) and the winners get to rewrite history.

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