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❝ Who the hell is Harold Jenkins? ❞
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THE HARGREEVES SIBLINGS ARE GATHERED in the living room. It's oddly quiet for once. There's no sound of someone tearing into another with a destructive insult, despite their usual routine of doing so whenever they're together. However, the tense looks being shot around the room are just as prominent as ever, if not more frequent.
A blue whirlwind of light suddenly appears over the bar. Everyone stands up, eyes fixated on the strange phenomenon in confusion. Then, a figure tumbles out of it.
Flare, in all her disheveled glory, lands squarely on the bar, a briefcase in her arms.
"Awh, fuck," she groans.
The girl rolls off of the surface, nearly falling on her face in the process. With a good amount of disoriented stumbling, she manages to steady herself.
"Are you alright?" Allison asks, rushing over. "Oh my god, you're bleeding."
"Flare, where have you been? Who did this?" Luther asks, looking just as concerned. "And what the hell happened to your face?!"
"I'm good," Flare waves him off, pulling herself to her feet and clutching at her tie. She wipes the blood dripping from her reopened wound (and whatever new cuts she earned from the fight with Five). she shakes herself off, but eventually gives up trying to fully recuperate from the fall. "I ran into Five, blew some shit up—you know, the usual."
She casually plucks a shard of glass out of her thigh and tosses it to the floor. She'd rather not elaborate on the many ups and downs of her little endeavor at The Commission, especially after being on the verge of betraying the Hargreeves siblings and leaving them for dead. It's unlikely they'd react well to the tale of her extremely fragile sense of loyalty.
"Welp," Flare continues, "the apocalypse is in three days, and I finally have an actual lead." Reaching into her belt, she pulls out a wrinkled piece of paper and holds it up triumphantly. "Harold Jenkins."
In some form of impossible luck, the girl had managed to retrieve a cylinder meant to be shipped off to Hazel and Cha-Cha. Inside was the paper, which she can only assume as being an incredibly vital order for them to carry out. No doubt it's related to the apocalypse matter.
Diego takes the paper and examines it. "Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?"
"Ah, the thing is," She tosses her hands up with an obviously forced grin on her face, "I have no idea! Don't look at me like I have all the answers."
"All you know is his name? That's it?" Diego asks rather condescendingly. "There could be dozens of Harold Jenkins in the city."
"That just means we should probably start looking sooner than later."
"Hold on," Allison suddenly steps forwards, giving Flare a stern look, "what about Five? He's our brother, you know, and your friend. Surely he would care about us enough to at least try and help us?"
The girl's eyebrows crease as if she just heard the dumbest idea in the world. Which, in a sense, she did.
Memories of Flare and Five's conflicts, fights, explosions, and multiple attempts at murder (all becauseon Flare's behalf) flash through her mind. Not only that, but the fact she just betrayed him and destroyed a good chunk of The Commission. The last person Five probably wants to see right now is her, and lucky for him, that feeling is mutual.
"Have you been living under a rock?" Flare quips sarcastically. "Five has been trying to stop me from saving your ass by recruiting me to The Commission. That would mean you'd all be left to die. Plus, I can assure you, he isn't at all interested in helping us. Trust me, I was just with him."
"Awww, sounds like you two got in a little fight again," Klaus coos sarcastically.
The girl rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah."
"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll both kiss and make up soon enough. Then everything will go back to normal. Who knows? Maybe you two could stop the apocalypse together, too."
"Don't be ridiculous," Flare scoffs, "There is not a single alternate universe where Fivecould even come close to stopping something like this. He'd be far too busy trying to fulfill that sad little hero complex your dad drilled into your minds."
The group looks between each other unsurely, then back at Flare.
"Well, anyways," Luther moves on, "what are we going to do about this, Harold Jenkins guy?"
"No idea," Flare shrugs. "But whatever the case, we'll figure something out," she gestures to the door. "Let's get to it!"
