A five-way argument has been raging for, like, an hour, which is 100% what normally happens when you order a deluxe assorted multipack of gendered magical persons and stuff them in a room together.
Moonstone, the bitch, has spent all of it stretched out on her back on the conference room windowsill, basking in the sun, big fuck-off closed-back DJ headphones clamped over her ears, eyes closed, fingers laced over her chest. Onyx hates her a bit.
Onyx especially hates her a bit because things went sharply weird six months ago. Onyx knows things, secrets. Onyx has started working twice as hard, out in the field, to make sure that on top of everything else, Moonstone comes back in one piece.
Literally nobody is happy about that. Moonstone hates it. Onyx hates it. The internet noticed, and the hot genderweird barista who used to flirt with Onyx cooled off all of a sudden because the internet is sure there are Feels Happening, and Onyx wants to punch Moonstone in the face. But also, if anyone harms a hair on her shitty little head, Onyx is pretty sure The Nutcase Formerly Known As Grandmaster Robo will descend from the sky on a pillar of fire and do something horrific.
The argument lags, because everyone has shouted their piece about patriarchy several times and they're all running out of steam for advocating whatever their preferred flavour of non-universally-acceptable neolojargon is. Thank fuck.
Moonstone unlaces her fingers.
No, Onyx thinks, already going white with rage, as Moonstone, without opening her eyes, pries the cups of her headphones an inch or so off the sides of her head.
"Henshineer," Moonstone says, loudly and maliciously, and lets her headphones snap back into place as everything reignites.