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[SotP | May 2014]
Short and sweet:
I want threads and plots for everyone, particularly Pete and Charles. Hit me with your ideas.
ETA: WOULD ANYONE BE WILLING TO WRITE ARCADE FOR A POTENTIAL AVENGERS ARENA TYPE PLOT?
I want threads and plots for everyone, particularly Pete and Charles. Hit me with your ideas.
ETA: WOULD ANYONE BE WILLING TO WRITE ARCADE FOR A POTENTIAL AVENGERS ARENA TYPE PLOT?
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[for Tony]
Five years.
I've been on Tabula Rasa for five years as of today. I've had my powers -- my powers, not some watered-down version of someone else's -- back for the past two weeks. I like to think the Island's trying to get on my sweet side after years of misery, but for all I know, there's something even worse right around the corner.
It's scary to think of all that's changed in the time I've been here, of all the people I've lost. Wolverine up and vanished just the other day, meaning I'm the last man standing of the motley crew of folks I arrived with. It's a sobering thought.
My first inclination isn't to get drunk, but the more I think on it, the more I realize I should make some concession out of -- What? Respect? For Logan.
Thing is, I don't really want to go alone and my options for drinking buddies -- there's a laugh riot -- has recently decreased by one. Tony's maybe not the greatest choice for something like this, but I'm not sure where else to go. After I'm done with zombie disposal, I swing by his place, hesitating once I reach the door.
"...ah, to heck with it."
I knock.
I've been on Tabula Rasa for five years as of today. I've had my powers -- my powers, not some watered-down version of someone else's -- back for the past two weeks. I like to think the Island's trying to get on my sweet side after years of misery, but for all I know, there's something even worse right around the corner.
It's scary to think of all that's changed in the time I've been here, of all the people I've lost. Wolverine up and vanished just the other day, meaning I'm the last man standing of the motley crew of folks I arrived with. It's a sobering thought.
My first inclination isn't to get drunk, but the more I think on it, the more I realize I should make some concession out of -- What? Respect? For Logan.
Thing is, I don't really want to go alone and my options for drinking buddies -- there's a laugh riot -- has recently decreased by one. Tony's maybe not the greatest choice for something like this, but I'm not sure where else to go. After I'm done with zombie disposal, I swing by his place, hesitating once I reach the door.
"...ah, to heck with it."
I knock.
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[for Selina]
I’m in New York, so I know I’m dreaming. It’s a nice dream by my standards. I’m being chased through Central Park by one of those Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. He’s grousing at me for eating all the pizza. It’s a nice break from shutting my eyes and seeing Norman stare back at me.
So what’s with all the buzzing?
I start awake, sucking in a sharp breath as I press my hands over my head — which is killing me. In my flailing, I fall off the couch, dragging the blanket along with me. I grab onto the coffee table to pull myself up, but it splinters in my hand.
”Whu—?”
I stare blearily at my hands, realization slow to dawn.
Not buzzing. Tingling.
BAMF!
I roll away from the purple cloud of smoke just as a familiar body drops into the space I occupied only a second ago. My nose crinkles at the smell of sulphur.
“…morning!”
So what’s with all the buzzing?
I start awake, sucking in a sharp breath as I press my hands over my head — which is killing me. In my flailing, I fall off the couch, dragging the blanket along with me. I grab onto the coffee table to pull myself up, but it splinters in my hand.
”Whu—?”
I stare blearily at my hands, realization slow to dawn.
Not buzzing. Tingling.
BAMF!
I roll away from the purple cloud of smoke just as a familiar body drops into the space I occupied only a second ago. My nose crinkles at the smell of sulphur.
“…morning!”
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[for Steve]
I’m faster these days. Not as fast as I used to be, of course, that’d be impossible. But I’ve been at these training sessions long enough, now, that I can actually keep up with Captain America. When we get down to the sparring, it’s more of a dance.
A really fast, really dangerous dance.
I live for these sessions. It’s an excuse to step outside of my head and live in my body for a while. I don’t have to think or pretend I’m a person. I just have to make sure I get the hell out of the way when Steve’s battering ram of an arm comes rushing towards my face. I don’t even try to make conversation. Spider-Man’s running commentary has no place here. It’s not about trying to reconnect to some past superhero glory. It’s about making sure Peter Parker can keep his cool in polite society. Sometimes I wonder if he isn’t as much a mask as my more colorful alter-ego.
I probably need serious therapy.
Today, though, today’s different. I’m pushing myself harder than normal, taking risks I don’t usually take. I’m not fighting for the release, I’m fighting for the distraction. I almost miss Cap’s next jab, and I block it long enough to step back, throwing my hands up into a T shape. I’m breathing hard, sweat dripping into my eyes.
“Give me a second.”
A really fast, really dangerous dance.
I live for these sessions. It’s an excuse to step outside of my head and live in my body for a while. I don’t have to think or pretend I’m a person. I just have to make sure I get the hell out of the way when Steve’s battering ram of an arm comes rushing towards my face. I don’t even try to make conversation. Spider-Man’s running commentary has no place here. It’s not about trying to reconnect to some past superhero glory. It’s about making sure Peter Parker can keep his cool in polite society. Sometimes I wonder if he isn’t as much a mask as my more colorful alter-ego.
I probably need serious therapy.
Today, though, today’s different. I’m pushing myself harder than normal, taking risks I don’t usually take. I’m not fighting for the release, I’m fighting for the distraction. I almost miss Cap’s next jab, and I block it long enough to step back, throwing my hands up into a T shape. I’m breathing hard, sweat dripping into my eyes.
“Give me a second.”
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[for Selina]
I’m still riding the adrenaline rush from a training session with Cap as I make my way back home. My t-shirt’s bunched into a ball in my hand, and I tip my face up to meet the sun through the trees. I wouldn’t say no to some rain to cool off, but the sky above me is clear.
Figures. When you want it to rain, there’s not a drop to be found.
I stop on the spot, taking in a deep breath — smelling the flowers, so to speak. When I look back ahead and see who’s coming down the boardwalk, my stomach flips, then drops out. There’s no room for a hasty exit, so I stand my ground, holding my empty hand palm out in a mocking gesture of surrender.
“I swear I’m not following you,” I tell one Selina Kyle. “It’s a free boardwalk.”
Figures. When you want it to rain, there’s not a drop to be found.
I stop on the spot, taking in a deep breath — smelling the flowers, so to speak. When I look back ahead and see who’s coming down the boardwalk, my stomach flips, then drops out. There’s no room for a hasty exit, so I stand my ground, holding my empty hand palm out in a mocking gesture of surrender.
“I swear I’m not following you,” I tell one Selina Kyle. “It’s a free boardwalk.”
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[for Tony]
I play my encounter with Selina cool until I can get Martha home, washed, fed and watered. But the thing is, it nags at me. It's not the sort of news a guy sits on, if only because...
Well, let's face it: there's not a lot of news around these parts that isn't depressing.
But this is better than good news. It's interesting news, and the only ears around to listen are Martha's, and she passes out in her doggy bed shortly after she's slobbered all over the kitchen.
So I do the only thing that makes any sense, which is tuck the dog in for the night, lock up, and follow the sound of classic rock blaring through the jungle to find Tony Stark.
I'm all nervous energy by the time I get to the Scrapyard, barking at Jarvis, "Turn down that noise, wouldja?" before I head straight to Tony and clap my hands to his shoulders, looking him right in the eye.
"You will not believe who I just met."
Well, let's face it: there's not a lot of news around these parts that isn't depressing.
But this is better than good news. It's interesting news, and the only ears around to listen are Martha's, and she passes out in her doggy bed shortly after she's slobbered all over the kitchen.
So I do the only thing that makes any sense, which is tuck the dog in for the night, lock up, and follow the sound of classic rock blaring through the jungle to find Tony Stark.
I'm all nervous energy by the time I get to the Scrapyard, barking at Jarvis, "Turn down that noise, wouldja?" before I head straight to Tony and clap my hands to his shoulders, looking him right in the eye.
"You will not believe who I just met."
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[for Selina]
There’s all of one reason I ever find myself on the beach, and that reason is Martha. I’m not a natural pet owner by any stretch of the imagination, but at some point, me and Martha fell into a kind of routine. She’s still dribbling water from an hour spent retrieving her favorite toy from the ocean, and I’m praying she’ll at least be somewhat dry by the time we get home. I’m trying to remember if I left the towels out in the living room when a sunbather catches my eye.
Except, as I realize when I get closer, she’s not just any sunbather. Even with the sunglasses hiding her eyes, I know that face.
“You!”
I was always taught it was rude to point, but I can’t help myself. Plus, I mean, in the grand scheme of things, I figure it’s probably ruder to rob a man blind — even if all his money is fake and he, let’s face it, kind of maybe deserved it.
The fact of the matter remains that Irena the Robbin’ Russian is apparently a real, living person and not some designer island trick.
“You!” I say again, stuck on that one word. I snap my fingers and drop my arm. “Why, I oughta—“
Oughta what, Parker? Report her? For a crime you can’t even prove, because everything disappeared? For getting the best of Tony Stark for one night? (Which, come on, you maybe got a kick out of. Just a little.)
I let out a breath, feeling my shoulders sag. I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, then wave off my accusation with a deflated gesture.
“Ah, forget it.”
Except, as I realize when I get closer, she’s not just any sunbather. Even with the sunglasses hiding her eyes, I know that face.
“You!”
I was always taught it was rude to point, but I can’t help myself. Plus, I mean, in the grand scheme of things, I figure it’s probably ruder to rob a man blind — even if all his money is fake and he, let’s face it, kind of maybe deserved it.
The fact of the matter remains that Irena the Robbin’ Russian is apparently a real, living person and not some designer island trick.
“You!” I say again, stuck on that one word. I snap my fingers and drop my arm. “Why, I oughta—“
Oughta what, Parker? Report her? For a crime you can’t even prove, because everything disappeared? For getting the best of Tony Stark for one night? (Which, come on, you maybe got a kick out of. Just a little.)
I let out a breath, feeling my shoulders sag. I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, then wave off my accusation with a deflated gesture.
“Ah, forget it.”
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[for Karen]
I'm not what you would call a natural pet owner. Part of it's just I'm too busy, but that's more by design than actual circumstances here than it was at home. Here I make myself too busy, always searching for the next distraction -- anything to keep my mind off the disaster that is my personal life.
The thing is, these days, I am a pet owner. And because I'm not a complete jerk, I know that a part of every day has to be dedicated to making sure the beast that is Martha gets to stretch all four of her furry legs.
Size aside, she's actually pretty mellow -- so when she lets loose with a loud woof that reverberates in my chest, tugging hard at her leash, I'm immediately at attention, looking for the source of the alarm.
Ah, right. The pack of dogs coming towards us. That… would be a cause of alarm.
"Woah, doggies!"
The thing is, these days, I am a pet owner. And because I'm not a complete jerk, I know that a part of every day has to be dedicated to making sure the beast that is Martha gets to stretch all four of her furry legs.
Size aside, she's actually pretty mellow -- so when she lets loose with a loud woof that reverberates in my chest, tugging hard at her leash, I'm immediately at attention, looking for the source of the alarm.
Ah, right. The pack of dogs coming towards us. That… would be a cause of alarm.
"Woah, doggies!"
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[for Wanda]
So there's this crazy underwater city that's been, like, actively homicidal lately. And you think to yourself: you'd have to be well and truly insane to go down there without any superpowers or offensive weapons, and expect to come out unscathed.
Which is why I didn't expect to come out unscathed. Sure, I took precautions: webbing, the Vespa suit worn under my street clothes to preserve what's left of my secret identity, the RETs I've been field-testing… But precaution's only gonna get you so far, and while the Vespa suit's designed to take a beating, it's not Splicer-proof.
So I'm tired. I'm smelly. I ache all over and I've got a gash on my shoulder that just keeps bleeding. I manage a quick change of clothes when I get home, but my attempts at stitches don't get very far before I come to the conclusion that I really ought to see a doctor. Cleaning the area as much as I can, I wad up a shirt and use it to put pressure on the wound before I head out towards the Clinic, a little lightheaded by the time I get inside.
"Wonderful Wanda!" I greet, glad to see someone I know as I plant myself on a bed. "Have I got a patient for you."
Which is why I didn't expect to come out unscathed. Sure, I took precautions: webbing, the Vespa suit worn under my street clothes to preserve what's left of my secret identity, the RETs I've been field-testing… But precaution's only gonna get you so far, and while the Vespa suit's designed to take a beating, it's not Splicer-proof.
So I'm tired. I'm smelly. I ache all over and I've got a gash on my shoulder that just keeps bleeding. I manage a quick change of clothes when I get home, but my attempts at stitches don't get very far before I come to the conclusion that I really ought to see a doctor. Cleaning the area as much as I can, I wad up a shirt and use it to put pressure on the wound before I head out towards the Clinic, a little lightheaded by the time I get inside.
"Wonderful Wanda!" I greet, glad to see someone I know as I plant myself on a bed. "Have I got a patient for you."
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[for Chase]
It's bugging me. I mean, okay, there are about ten things bugging me at any given point in the day, but there's only one thing that's been nagging at me enough to keep pulling my focus away from my scavenger hunt for useful parts. Not for the first time today -- more like the fifteenth -- I find myself staring at Chase like he's some kind of puzzle.
Finally, I just give up trying to be discrete, peering at him openly through narrowed eyes.
"Something's different."
Finally, I just give up trying to be discrete, peering at him openly through narrowed eyes.
"Something's different."
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[for Wolverine]
So there's this fridge in this cave, and if you think real hard at it, it gives you what you want to eat. It didn't exist when I first got here -- or if it did, nobody knew about it -- but of all the changes that've happened in the past four years, it's easily my favorite. I mean, c'mon, it's an adventure and a free meal all in one -- what's not to like? It's pretty much the only good difference I can think of, the rest not worth dwelling on.
Of the group of us who arrived, it's only me and Wolverine who're left, the others having disappeared long ago. Mary Jane's hurt the most, and she'll have already been gone two years come the end of the month. It's strange, how time passes here, quickly and slowly all at once. Celebrating today seems morbid in a way I can't put a finger on, but for all I've been craving my own company lately, I know I don't want to be alone. It's just too damn depressing.
In the same breath, I know if I show up at Wolverine's cabin in the middle o' nowhere empty-handed, it'll be a short-lived visit at best, and that's just too far of a trek to get kicked out the second I get there. So I go to that fridge I was talking about, and I think real hard of Canada and lumberjacks and maple syrup, and after a few tries, it spits out a platter of poutine, a six-pack of Molson, and a box of something that looks like donut holes.
I insulate my bag with webbing to keep the hot stuff hot, the cold stuff cold, and the dry stuff dry, and make the by-no-means familiar walk to the murder cabin. The webbing's more or less dissolved by the time I get there, and sucking in a breath, I knock on the door.
Man, I hope he's home. I should've really called ahead.
"I got a special delivery for a Mr. Wolv E. Rine?"
Of the group of us who arrived, it's only me and Wolverine who're left, the others having disappeared long ago. Mary Jane's hurt the most, and she'll have already been gone two years come the end of the month. It's strange, how time passes here, quickly and slowly all at once. Celebrating today seems morbid in a way I can't put a finger on, but for all I've been craving my own company lately, I know I don't want to be alone. It's just too damn depressing.
In the same breath, I know if I show up at Wolverine's cabin in the middle o' nowhere empty-handed, it'll be a short-lived visit at best, and that's just too far of a trek to get kicked out the second I get there. So I go to that fridge I was talking about, and I think real hard of Canada and lumberjacks and maple syrup, and after a few tries, it spits out a platter of poutine, a six-pack of Molson, and a box of something that looks like donut holes.
I insulate my bag with webbing to keep the hot stuff hot, the cold stuff cold, and the dry stuff dry, and make the by-no-means familiar walk to the murder cabin. The webbing's more or less dissolved by the time I get there, and sucking in a breath, I knock on the door.
Man, I hope he's home. I should've really called ahead.
"I got a special delivery for a Mr. Wolv E. Rine?"
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[for Smashquatch]
I swear to God, even with all the wacky changes, I've lived on this island long enough to not have to look where I'm going anymore, every path as familiar as the back of my hand. My focus is more on my book than my surroundings as I take the long way back to my house, hoping to stretch out my alone time before I have to deal with the beast of a dog that's Martha again. She's a good dog, really, I'm just not so sure I'm a great owner. I've never really wanted a pet, but circumstances being what they are, I can't bring myself to hand her over to someone else. She's changed too many hands already.
Doesn't mean I won't sneak an hour or so out of the house just to breathe on my own. Which is all to say I'm not exactly looking for company when I hear a pair of familiar voices up ahead. I got my book and I got my nice, solitary walk to enjoy. Except the pairing has got my attention and when I finally happen upon Wanda and Bruce set up with lunch, I'm honestly too curious to keep walking.
"Hey," I greet, tucking my book back into my pocket.
Doesn't mean I won't sneak an hour or so out of the house just to breathe on my own. Which is all to say I'm not exactly looking for company when I hear a pair of familiar voices up ahead. I got my book and I got my nice, solitary walk to enjoy. Except the pairing has got my attention and when I finally happen upon Wanda and Bruce set up with lunch, I'm honestly too curious to keep walking.
"Hey," I greet, tucking my book back into my pocket.