Entry tags:

The Cornerstone

Several days later, a walk through the neighborhood proved fruitful. With varying degrees of hesitancy, a handful of local business owners admitted to similar misfortunes. One had reported the incident to the police but no action had been forthcoming. The others had cleaned up and returned themselves to work, knowing there was nothing that could really be done. Those who'd lived and worked in the East End for decades weren't about to let a little spray paint and a few broken windows drive them away.

The day ended on a sad and unsettling note. Leslie stepped into the corner store to buy herself something to drink. The face behind the counter was unfamiliar.

"Is Anthony finally taking a day off?" She placed a five dollar bill between them.

The teenager took the money and started to make change. "Didn't you hear?"

Leslie's heart sank. "Hear what?"

"The old man died of a heart attack the day before yesterday. I guess his daughter is going to run the place now. I haven't met her yet. I hear she's --- You alright, lady?"

Stunned, Leslie couldn't find the words to reply.

One Decision

One decision can make all the difference. You are who you've become because of it. It set everything in motion. It helped shape the individual you are today. It landed you that job. It put you in the right place at the right time. It caused you no end of grief. Right or wrong, it had an enormous impact. Now imagine...

You made a different decision.

(no subject)

When it all began, Leslie didn't think anything of it. The exterior of the clinic is often tagged with graffiti of some sort or another. It's an inevitability in the East End. It's always painted over in the first 12 hours. It seems to discourage others, albeit briefly. Several days later, someone chucked a brick through her office window. She happened to be in it at the time. She wondered if her heart would ever stop racing. It turned out to be a brick chiseled out of the cornerstone. Then the lobby was vandalized on a rare night when she'd actually slept at home for a change. Overturned chairs. Computers smashed. Office supplies scattered everywhere. There was also more graffiti on the walls. In a chaos of colors and unrecognizable symbols, there was a single word neatly sprayed in white.

Leave.
Entry tags:

Just another day in paradise...

Another day, another gang of assholes to beat up, another death trap to escape another... Well... another something entirely Gotham. Selina spends her days getting people, mostly girls, off the streets and into safe places. She spends her nights making sure that the city doesn't burn down so those girls have somewhere to live.

There are some days that is harder than others.

Sometimes she forgets that even though she and Harley are /friends/ they're not really friends. It makes everything more challenging. Still, nothing exploded, she escaped and she's ... Well, she's beat up but right now laying on the rooftop in the fresh air seems like the greatest things she's ever done. The muggy but cooling air is exhilarating and some part of her hopes that it will rain.

She also hopes she doesn't have a concussion.
Entry tags:

Another day in New York City...

Rogue doesn't often go to the city - it isn't her sort of place most of the time - but there are parts of her memories that are very attached to it. When the natives get restless, she can placate a number of them with a day trip into the city. Visit a few specific places, eat a few specific (delicious) meals and head back home after the sun sets. So, she sitting at a cafe sipping at a cup of coffee much darker than she'd usually take it, watching the clouds go by.

Really, she's also watched a few heroes fly by. She hadn't quite realized when she'd sat down that she was so close to the Avengers mansion or the Baxter building. It seems that there are a number of tourists who come to this place specifically to do hero watching. She's certainly amused by that. After taking a bite of the croissant, she brushes the crumbs from her gloves and looks up.

Having control of her powers is something she wouldn't trade for the world. Having Carol Danvers out of her head entirely isn't bad, either.

That said, she does miss the flying.

And she'd sort of gotten used to being invulnerable.

Still, she overall, this is much better.
Entry tags:

The best places to think....

Things have been hectic with his life and he's not sure he's been able to get his head on straight since the fight with the Chitauri. He's closer but, really, that's the sort of thing that only time will prove. Weaknesses only show up under stress testing and sometimes only repeated stress testing at that. So, because he was bored, he found some trouble in Hell's Kitchen. Really, it isn't hard to do. There is a lot of trouble in a number of places in New York.

He's going to be showing a black eye in the morning and there are a few cuts that he should probably have looked at before going to sleep. Still, he feels better than he has in awhile, crouched up here looking out across the buildings. He can see Stark's building in the distance, as if the thing isn't visible from space.

(no subject)

"Superman. Canadian, right?"

Beep Beep Zip Tang

"This is madness!"

"Madness? This is KEYSTONE!"

So rarely does he have a set up that good for such a dated reference, but that's the line the Flash decided on before kicking Weather Wizard in the chest and knocking him out cold. Would he have just punched the guy if he hadn't set him up? Probably, but the kick means commitment to the bit.

Once the lights are out on the last of the Rogues this time around, he takes one zip around to make sure they're separated from their weaponry before the cops take over the crime scene, and the Flash goes about the job of diverting the press from said crime scene. Some cops initially thought he was just being a glory hound, but Wally knew from Barry's complaints how annoying it was when the press demanded answers on an investigation that was still ongoing. Wally knows what he's doing.

Aaaaaand he likes the attention.

"Yes, I found good ol' Captain Cold trying to freeze his way into another bank job, and yes, I put a stop to it. Yes, I did it with panache and yes, the Flash is in full effect. Now, Denise, I believe when last we spoke, you were asking for my personal playlist. I'd like to add 'Poison' by Bell Biv DeVoe to the list, because I'm in that hip-hop smoothed out on the R&B tip kinda mood. Don't worry, I'll get back to getting the Led out soon enough."

It's good to be the Flash.
capmarvel: (hero kid)
[personal profile] capmarvel2014-03-29 11:24 am
Entry tags:

The Best Idea Ever

Carol Danvers has no idea why it was such a difficult decision to make the switch away from being Ms. Marvel to Captain Marvel. Well, okay, she does - respect for Mar-Vell's legacy and all, especially given that two of his... unusual children have both used the name at one point. She didn't feel like it was her right. Yet, for some reason, she didn't have too much of a problem when Monica was using the name. She was just glad somebody was... even if she was so concerned about the legacy that when she was searching for a new name, she went with Warbird instead. Badass, sure, but also a bit more aggressive and angry than is appropriate... which is fitting, because the Warbird era was when she hit rock bottom as a bitter alcoholic.

She's much better now. She's Captain Marvel. And superheroing is so much easier when you're actually wearing pants. Pants and comfortable boots. The old swimsuit look served a purpose at the time, she supposes. Coming out of the Air Force, it was certainly a look that no one would associate with the service, which was important to her since she was adopting methods that were not up to military codes of conduct. And... if she's perfectly honest, it was at a time where she was young enough to be trying to take control of her own sexuality, kind of coming into her own - not that she'd ever have admitted that was a part of it then, but it's easier to acknowledge now that there's a bit of distance from it. But she always felt so underdressed when talking to the kids the Avengers tend to inspire.

Now, everything's fallen into place. Enough time has passed that she can be Captain Marvel to honor Mar-Vell, since no one else was using it, a Captain to honor her service without having expectations to follow orders, and there are so many more kids wearing Captain Marvel colors than were ever wearing the Ms. Marvel bolt, and that's what soothes the soul in this business of constant heartbreak and trauma. That's why you do this. To try and inspire as many kids to be heroes as the world grinds into being villains.

That's why she occasionally steps out for these little meet 'n' greets outside of the new Mansion. People gather for this sort of thing, and it's probably not smart to encourage people to congregate around a place that tends to be a magnet for bad guys trying to prove themselves, but the Avengers owe everything they are to these folks... and so many of them are wearing her colors that she's decided she could use the ego boost.

Plus, if you actually go out and talk to them for a bit, they tend to disperse more quickly - as they're starting to do now. "There's always work to do," she says to a pair of kid sisters. "But thanks for coming by! Stay safe now! You know the rules, right? You see something, you get out of harm's way before you say something! We'll save you if you're in trouble, but if you can stay away from trouble, that's less trouble we've got to save you from... and more time we have to stop the bad guys."

That makes sense, right?

Monaco: a Good Place to Bond

Not many times of year find Monte Carlo unpleasant, weather-wise. Even so, the spring beauty of the Riviera and the crystal blue of the Mediterranean are particularly dazzling right now, and in the few weeks before Easter the tourism crowd is at its nadir. If you're wealthy - really, really wealthy - and enjoy the type of ambiance that the highest-end casinos and resorts offer, the time is perfect for a visit.

The Hermitage is one such highest-end place, where walking about in formal attire like 007 and his girl-du-jour is not only common but, at night, almost expected. This hotel is where the famous, the rich and and the beautiful gather. It also happens to be where Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff foiled an assassination attempt and have carte blanche admittance on demand.

Even in a place where presidents, kings, queens, prime ministers and Academy Award winners have stayed, the two SHIELD agents have been accorded special privilege, down to the sea-facing suite and the Bentley transport from airport to hotel. Never let it be said that the owners, managers and concierge at the Hermitage have no sense of gratitude.
Entry tags:

The Days Your Heart Isn't In it

There's some kind of compulsion driving Kate Kane to be out in cold, damp weather like this, doing her public service. She doesn't have to be here. No one's expecting her to be here. She could go home and bury her head under the covers and just grieve for the fact that Maggie Sawyer's decided to put the brakes on their relationship again, for whatever reasons she may have. Surely, they're all legitimate. Dating Kate Kane isn't healthy for anyone, and Kate Kane will always be the first one to tell you that. Doesn't stop her from trying. Anything to keep from being as joyless as Batman seems to be.

She doesn't even particularly want to be out here in this slushy mess. But you don't come this far, you don't get this elaborate, you don't become a Bat in Gotham City without having a fire in your belly, a burning in your brain that makes you do your job. It's a responsibility, it's a necessity. The work has to be done, and there are only a select few who can do it.

And the fact that the miserable experience of being outside right now matches the miserable feelings she's got inside. There's something to be said about that environmental synchronicity.

Now if only Joey Numbers here would do something to justify the fact that she's out here staring into his window, waiting for the drop to go down.

Away From The Front Lines

There's a war going on, and Captain America isn't fighting it.

Every day, Steve Rogers comes back from his morning 13-mile run, heads out to a local breakfast nook and tries to absorb as much as he can about what's going on over in Afghanistan... and he's gotten to the point where he's amazed at how much effort it takes to do that. 24 hours a day of news media, plus the internet, and still, the airtime gets filled with yellow journalism of the worst kind.

That old familiar sense of duty is certainly calling him overseas, but there's still so much he doesn't know about the entire Middle East situation, and the goals are so unclear. Nation-building? Terror fighting? How did they declare war on an emotion? There's just so much to catch up on, and Fury's kept him way too busy playing clean-up on ops gone wrong to really devote the necessary time to the study.

In fact, just as he's finding some news out of Kandahar, he's expecting to get called in. Almost eerie that it happens like that so often.

He's a spy. Captain, he's THE spy. His secrets have secrets.

Trust is so hard to come by in the 21st century. That's one thing he misses.

Debriefs Happen

After the detail takes away the target from Kandahar - Yasin, the reason all of the defecation hit the rotary oscillator - and a second guard escorts Natasha to sickbay, the last guard is waiting for Barton, polite and with a bottle of ice water. "Sir, if you'd come with me?"

It pays to be polite to one of the most dangerous men on the planet, after all.

Sometimes you just need to pound heads.

Really, the assholes beating on that poor old guy in the alley should have known better. Not many things get the attention of the Dark Knight faster than three gangbangers robbing and waling on some defenseless guy doing nothing more than heading home from his 16-hour-day.

The first guy downed is the one holding the old man in place. 'Rang to the temple, drop like a rock. That gives the other two assailants cause to pause, of course. They look around frenetically, but, of course, they see nothing. Even their victim looks a little wide-eyed, at least out of the one eye that can still see clearly. The other is puffed shut.

"Wha--?" says thug number one, the guy on the left.

His partner in crime nudges the downed assailant with his foot. "Geddup."

The guy on the left drops to the ground, too. And this time the last man standing sees the distinctive shape of a heavy batarang on the ground, stained a bit with blood. With a cry, he abandons the old man and takes off down the alley, getting...oh, about five feet before bolas wrap around his ankles and he tumbles to the ground.

Sagging against a trash can, the old man whimpers, because seeing the black-caped figure of Batman descending from darkness is not the most comforting thing. The vigilante reaches into the jacket of the just-tackled-by-Batbola baddie, retrieving what looks to be a bank deposit bag. He tosses it to the old man, where it lands at his feet.

"Th-th-th-th-thank...."

"Ambulance is on the way." As he recovers the two Batarangs, Batman levels his cowled stare at the victim. "This gang won't shake you down again, but don't walk around with that kind of cash again."

"Y-y-y...."

Sirens indicate more official help is closer. As for the vigilante, Batman raises a hand, fires a grappling hook skyward, and off he zips into the blackness again. He has the rest of that gang to take down too.

70 Hours Ago, in Afghanistan....

The HVT was there. She couldn't see him, she couldn't smell his overused Calvin Klein cologne or hear his strangely squeaky voice, but she knew he was there. It was one of those survival traits she had, awareness of her surroundings on an instinctive level.

Her crate - how she'd gotten into the warehouse, a large wooden shipping crate - was resting on the floor near the warehouse office. The warehouse floor itself was, unsurprisingly, concrete, smooth and boring and antiseptic and therefore easy to track as far as movement went. She could hear the rasp of hard-soled shoes scuffing as their wearers walked or the sharp squeal of a sneaker as steps were taken.

But he was there. She knew it.

She waited five minutes to try to judge how many others were with the HVT: Ahmed Saed Yasin, terrorist, drug smuggler, rapist, fiend. But a fiend with a lot of intelligence to offer, and she wanted him alive.

The latch she had installed on the inside of the box slid back soundlessly on well-oiled metal, the hinges equally noiseless when the lid was slowly pushed up enough to allow her black-clad figure to slide out. Like all spiders, she moved without a noise. Like the source of her codename, she moved with deadly intent.

Her gloved hands unholstered the weapons at her side, the left carrying a silenced Glock, the right gripping a medium-range dart pistol. The right was to bring him back for interrogation, the left...not so much. And there he was before her a dozen yards away, back turned, head bowed over a cell phone as he texted or emailed one of his cronies. No one else was near. She raised her head swiftly, briefly, to check her six, then, crouching again, she scurried forward until the dart range was to her liking. Once the HVT dropped, she wanted to be close enough to haul him quickly back to the packing crate, dose him more completely, and wait to be removed with the rest of the outgoing parcels.

Easy.

One arm raised, aim steadied, and her forefinger began to close on the trigger.

Behind her left ear came the click of a pistol's hammer being drawn back and locked into place. "На этот раз муха ловит паука," hissed a man's voice in flawless Russian, presumably that of the person holding the gun. "Здравствуйте, Черная Вдова."

For once the fly catches the spider. Hello, Black Widow.
genequeen: (Damsel)
[personal profile] genequeen2014-03-12 10:23 pm

Ahhhh... Wales...

The trip out into the Welsh countryside was generally pleasant. Wide open countryside without millions of people was an amazing thing for Maddy. She could feel the stress of maintaining shields rolling off of her. She still has to maintain them but the level of chatter she's blocking out drops down, mostly, to the people on the train.

It is a short trip but the private carriage is worth the expense. It also allows her to indulge in as much relaxation as she really ever gets. Pete is a skilled conversation partner to say the least. It seems a shame that they can't just ride the train back and forth for a week or two but work calls.

Unfortunately, there are murders that need to be resolved. Finding a psychic killer will also be pleasant - if more in a vengeance sort of way.
juryextras: (AI)
[personal profile] juryextras2014-03-07 07:27 pm

We the Jury - Deliberations

As the jurors continue to explore and argue their way throughout the treetop city, they are interrupted by a soft insistent chiming, rather like the tolling of a distant bell. By twos and threes, they make their way to the heart of the alien city, where several of the main roadways flow into a central plaza. Here there are the largest buildings they have seen so far, framing the plaza and all facing a strange archway in the middle of the plaza. The archway's material seems more like metal than the substance used to build the roadways, stairs, and buildings. It is from here that the chiming originates.

When they have assembled, there is a flicker of light that runs along the outer curve of the arch, then a snapping sound like the crack of a whip. Before the echoes have faded away, a stylized figure appears next to the arch. Tall and slender, its proportions are not human, but it is more humanlike than anything else they have seen on this world.

"Greetings." The voice is neutral, neither male nor female. "Your presence is appreciated by this humble one. Welcome to the final city of the Arbai." The figure tilts its head. "This humble one is the keeper of their memory. The historian of their crime. The witness to their penance. But this humble one cannot judge what should come to pass, and it is this deficiency you may remedy."

The figure folds its hands before its chest. "They knew they were dying when they came here, and did not seek to escape their fate. This was to be a final place of fellowship, until they all had faded away. They thought they would not interfere with any other intelligence on this world. There were no roads, no cities, no machines. They thought it was a safe place for them to die.

"When they realized their error, they retreated to this island. But they had no children of their own. They wondered: Could the creatures here become children of the Arbai heart? Could they be the final Arbai legacy, when all else had fallen to dust?"

The figure pauses and unfolds its hands. "They had not sought to shepherd a younger race before. They thought the Hippae only needed to hear the explanation of how they change from Peeper to Hound to Hippae to Foxen. Such a marvelous dance from form to form. How could the Hippae fail to celebrate their wonderous cycle?" The figure bows its head. "They did not know the Hippae would refuse this knowledge. They did not know the Hippae would seek out the emerging Foxen and drive their bodies, blood, and bones into the soil of their homeworld. The Arbai did not know the Hippae would celebrate the death of their future rather than embrace their coming change. And so they retreated higher, away from those they had tried to teach, and turned their thoughts instead to their own coming change."

Another pause, another tilt of the head. "If you have questions, this humble one will answer."
juryextras: (Alien city)
[personal profile] juryextras2014-02-22 04:56 pm

We the Jury - Discovery Concludes

Before long, they find themselves amongst the great trees previously discovered by the Superior Spider-Man and the far less talkative Batman. Thanks to Batman and Reed Richards' cooperation (accompanied by a fair amount of bickering from the usual suspects among the passengers) they arrive at the roadway at the edge of the alien city. From there they can see other paths of the same substance, curving around the trunks and branches of the massive ancient trees.

The city had been fairly quiescent during each earlier visit, but it seems to come alive when the group arrives. There is a noticeable hum coming from the heart of the city, and a faint vibration (rather like a contented cat) can be felt along the roadway and its railings. Ahead of them are the domed buildings, varying in size, made of a material similar to the roadway, though there are transparent areas that might be windows, and each building displays subtle differences in shade and texture. Here and there the group can make out short flights of stairs, bordered with the same kind of protective railings seen on the roadways. The city's multiple levels extend up into the highest reaches of the arboreal canopy, and there's a sense that the inhabitants took great care to accommodate the needs of the trees when planning it.

More startling is the glimpse of movement not far ahead of them, something that cannot be explained by the wind in the leaves. Could there be people here?
juryextras: (Swamp/marsh trees)
[personal profile] juryextras2014-02-17 03:44 pm

We the Jury: Discovery Continues

The dark green patch on the horizon grows as they continue to make their way across the grasslands, though they smell the marshy vegetation long before they can make out the trees. The sight gives some of them a second wind, eager to get somewhere out of the sun. Others quicken their steps at the thought of finishing whatever strange task has been set before them and returning home.

As they draw closer, they see more spots where the ground has been trampled. Sometimes it's that strange design noted earlier, but sometimes the ground and grasses are stained with old blood and bits of ... something. The more sensitive do not wish to look too closely.