She's taken worse licks in quidditch. A bludger to the back of the head is way worse than a styrofoam asteroid, and yet still, tonight, they feel like they packed the same punch.

Jupiter shoves a carpet of dying moss off of her prone body and sits up, head spinning once her eyes finally focus on the scene. Once the ruin's computed, her gaze darts around. For her friends, for her roommates, for her team, for her brother. Where is Atlas?

What's that feeling? Her head is swimming. Brain tossed in a stormy sea. This is ridiculous. Whatever this is, there's no time for it. No time to drown. Jupiter stands before she's ready, wobbles unsteadily on pointed heels and smooths the wrinkles out of her tux.

She searches. For something. For anything. But all she finds is a bow tie. This dumbass bow tie. Plucked from the ground, she puts it in her breast pocket, right next to her heart.

One second, two seconds pass. That water in her head just keeps rising. Can't think.

She scoops up a glass of punch and flings it at the tree. "Fuck you!"