capeandcowl2020 | Open Post 001

Unfortunately, things historically never went well for Karkat (not for long, in any case), and the trend was destined to continue. Innocent of the circumstances though he was, simply being there was enough to get swept up into the storm of trouble that was Slo-bo.

There would be no sympathy from the Czarnian. Not right now. Right now, his attention was on the mounting mayhem his untimely arrival caused. A great deal of him just wanted to let lose, thrash, tear this disgusting city to shreds...but how well had that worked when he'd been ported back in? It wasn't the same, old, podunk crapsack Earth slum he knew it to be, that was for sure. Someone's gotten to filin' their teeth...

Well, that was all well and fine; Slo-bo's fangs were just as sharp, if not sharper. He wasn't about to let a bunch of fraggin' humans hole him up and poke around his innards a second more.

That settled it. He was bookin' it.

Giving the nearest stopped cab a shove with the elbow (it slid into a bank window), he started to move. Blind, sure, but not lost. He could smell and hear the humans scrambling, and they gave him a wide berth. They'd have to react a little quicker to keep up with his running pace, and those who couldn't were just going to enjoy a little bruising.

"Outta the way, ya losers!"

As he was getting momentum, weaving past the stink of humans, there was one unfortunate body that just didn't have the right stink. Karkat was practically steamrolled over, sending Slo-bo's face right to the pavement.

"Fruh–!" He scrambled, trying to disentangle himself from the little oddball harshing his escape. He could hear the charging of high-powered weapons. Frag. A'course they'd light up their own fraggin' species to try and nuke him. Jerks.

"A'right, c'mon," he growled, grabbing a handful of Karkat hoodie and hefting him up as he rose. Time for an unexpected ride, free of charge (and actual consent)!

On the plus, it spared him the fate the concrete they previously occupied; laserfire was just beginning.

Cold waited along with with Evan, not a hint of a smile on his face, just quietly finishing his beer. They had time, he could be patient. It had been ages since he'd traveled by mirror, but all the old ways were starting to come back to him.

He stood, determined to get some of that old strength back even though there was a strain in the back of his knees that hadn't been there before, and a desire to just sit back and take it easy.

He was quiet, for now, letting Evan do the greeting.

Jack took the device and stared at it. "A communicator." He chuckled softly and shook his head. "I haven't seen one of these things in years." He looked back up at Jaime.

"You're telling me there's a Network again? A community?"

"There's always been a community," Jaime said. "Just...Not always the right means to reach out like we need to. It's been a little rough, trying to find the right loopholes." He shook his head. "They've gotten smarter about that kind of thing, obviously."

He turned the comm over in his hands. It was slick, high-tech, professional. It reminded him of the kind of tech he used to work with. "It looks like you've done a great job keeping ahead of them."

Jack thought about the comm and Jaime and Abby, about what they represented.

"...How much of a trip is it to where you're staying?"

That put a slow smile on Jaime's face.

"Ten minutes from here. A little subway ride and a pitstop.

"You in?"

Eddie balked. The blow to his flesh was deafening, his ears rang. His fingers splayed wildly, hoping to net Norman. Edward knew he needed that syringe, knew he needed to get there before Norman – before Norman could –

“Damn you!”

It hurt to move his jaw.

One hand went to gouge Norman’s eyes, the other threw back and above his head for the syringe.

He frowned again, but only slightly, brushing a long strand of blonde hair from his face. John had the kind of long blonde hair that looked as if it could be beautiful were it treated properly -- washed, maybe trimmed, but he always simply brushed it back from his face and that was that. He tapped his lip with his pencil.

"Tell me what? It's just a drawing," he said finally, after a quiet contemplation. He shook his head, smiling again and touching the underside of the sketchbook. "No price... I couldn't ask you for something I just drew on my own."

Jack held back for a moment, but he'd been hesitating too damn much for too long. He smiled back, and nodded decisively.

"I'm in. It'll be good to see her again."

It was just a visit to old friends. He wasn't committing to anything. That's what he told himself.

"No, James, you have a life," he sighed, rubbing at his temples. There were so many machines in here, it was almost obscene. He'd taken to keeping them, more for the company, than anything else. Also for the protection. An unmarked, unlisted cabin in the woods with full power, internet, and tv was suspicious enough, but the few people who knew that Adrian Maskin lived here knew he used it as a his place to go and write.

"I don't want Maskin dead, anyway. I need the identity. It took me ten fucking years to get this all together, and I'm past fifty. I don't have the time to build up a new one! Not if I'm going to do any good with the rest of my life!"

"Now you know how I felt," remember all those times when he was completely paranoid and believed the government was spying on him in every apartment? Good times. But he smiles and waves his hand nonchalantly.

"But if you ever need immediate help, send out a distress signal mentally, alright? My telepathy has expanded, 's how I found you. I'll wipe my mind of where you live but, it's kind of hard to wipe out your pattern of thoughts. It's a pretty distinct voice you got there, Mitch."

I've been in the woods, not that you can tell. [obviously, he had everything masked from his hair down to his feet, to even his smell masked. let's face it, when you live in the woods you're gonna smell like a bear sooner or later.]

But you know the City better than me now, so I'll follow you.

"Augh! I have no qualms with killing you, Nygma, know that. I'll make you eat every damn bullet in my--" He hissed again, he groaned, bucking his hips in an effort to throw Eddie off him, backwards. He was attempting to grapple for his gun in a last ditch effort to make Eddie stop, to keep him from the syringe, when Eddie's hand clawed his one good eye and Norman for a moment was blind.

His free hand flew to it, trying to get Eddie's hand away before further damage could be done.

"Mother of god, get off!" He blindly found his gun, pressing it against whatever part of Eddie's flesh was nearest. He couldn't see it and moved by instinct and touch.

After making a roundabout exit from the alleys, Jaime led Jack to the subway. It was a quiet, uneventful ride (most all of them were lately), if not a little slow by the typical kinds of delays. They exited at a fairly uninteresting stop, heading not toward the surface but over toward one of the restroom halls. Jaime's finger darkened and molded to fit the lock of the janitor's closet just beyond, gesturing for Jack to slide in first.

With the door closed and locked behind them, Jaime moved over to the shelves of cleaners, giving it a bit of a pull to expose the metal paneling behind it. The sound of an unseen keyboard preceded the panel and shelf shifting aside and exposing a long, dark hall.

Jaime shot a look over his shoulder at Jack, gesturing to follow.

The hall filled with a dim track of lighting once the panel and shelf slid closed behind them, showing the trail to a series of metal stairs.

"Sorry," Jaime said as they started down. "The elevator's at the other entrance."

Six flights down and another key-coded hallway later, the place was well-lit, if not a little...sterile-looking. Stores of crates labelled this or that lining the walls, leading down to another series of doors. Their footsteps echoed loudly, and were suddenly accompanied by rustling off to a side. Jaime stopped, leaning his weight that way for a moment, making a soft sound before going to the crate in question.

He was met with a loud, hissing SHHH.

"Don't tell!"

"Right," Jaime murmured, shaking his head. "You didn't open any other ones, did you?"

"No."

"Good. Don't open any of them, okay?"

"Okay, but shh!"

"I think I can hold it. How long were you waiting?" he tips down the toilet seat, and sits down, propping his arms on his knees, watching her. Looking for signs of duress or problems.

"How is everyone?"

"I could have, sure," he smiles, innocently. "But there's just a point where even I have to admit that my morals don't coincide with the current government's, and if you ask me? I wouldn't trade it for the world."

He tips his head, and even flashes a small twitch of a smirk. "I mean, I could be where you are today, but I think I would hate myself just a little bit more with each passing second. Besides, I don't think they would trust me with my powers. It would be very difficult to track me."

You did not get rid of him. It cannot be true.

[ Namora watches him with desperate eyes, but when he falls forward, she reaches out, as if to grab him or hold him, but she doesn't touch him though -- the look on her face like she's almost scared. ]

You didn't -- [ she falters, trapped between anger and fear ] You're lying. [ but she doesn't sound sure. she doesn't understand. she can't. ]

The beat was almost comedic as he imagined that, Tony Stark on his knees throwing up organs--a fascinated exhale at the things Stark had suffered, would still suffer, in the name of freedom. He felt shame, a distanced and disconnected shame he would always fail to articulate, that he had hounded Stark so, and had made of him the strawman--the boogeyman of all his personal terrors.

And here was a chance, an opportunity, to make up somewhat for the dogged attacking. An apology without the demand, without the words. One hand he raised, the palm glowing blue as he ran it across the back of Tony's scalp, fingers combing through his hair as he tried to create a rough mental map of the breakers, the shackles.

Better than diving in blind.

His other hand reached down to brush fingers across Tony's palm, an invitation before threading fingers in his.

"Then _{th_ere's} no need to tell ^you to be brave, ^Anthony." Through the damaged machine, his voice is personally steady, uncompromised by emotions like fear of screwing it up, suppressing utterly the possibility of Tony dying here in this room and all feelings linked to it. "Read_y?"

Eddie didn't have to make a move; Eridan stepped forward, arms open, and crushed him into a hug. The warehouse was momentarily neglected; his status as a dangerous import, neglected. He'd never been particularly careful anyway.

"It's Arkady out here."

He paused. His voice was heavy with emotion, and he couldn't bring himself to rein it in.

"I thought they killed you, Ed. You didn't... it's been so long."

Right. Telepathic horseshit.

[he steered them down a different sidewalk, hand through his hair.]

How's the, ah... hobby a yours, how's that goin'?

[the resistance work, though he's at least smart enough not to say so aloud.]

Showing pure breed cats? Wonderful, one nicked me across the eye though. But, that's what you get when you handle cats. I got a hundred stitches or so for it.

[okay. that's an exaggeration really, but he can't explain the excitement of the resistance in public!! that would just be dumb.]

One show down, and some number he'd rather not think about to go. The show had gone smoothly at least, James was glad about that. Now he could kick back, not worry about it for a little while and relax. He was on his way back to his trailer to do just that when a voice suddenly spoke from behind him, startling him.

Even if it weren't for the use of his first name — only a few select people still called him that — he would recognize that voice anywhere. So he was already smiling when he turned around to face Alex.

"Hello Alex," he replied warmly, reaching out to ruffle his hair as revenge for startling him.

Yes, that is exactly what the fuck I think you did!

[he roars, and then smothers it in his hand. his heart is racing, because if they figure out who he is - get their hands on him - he doubts they'll be graceful and just kill him. not with his powers, not with hope at his command. visions of dark rooms, men in jackboots and rats in face-shaped cages spin behind his eyes.]

Why are you here? [his voice is strangled.] I thought you ran off to the fuckin' swamp or whatewer with Gam.

And rob you a the chance to hurt my feelins?

[he scoffs, though he relaxes back into his seat. nonthreatening posture.]

Unthinkable.

Ghost phased through her, behind her to access a box of rations, pawing through it busily and with a kind of anxious quickness as the thought remained in his mind, what he needed to retrieve.

"I can continue operating on baseline integrity with minimal maintenance."

And in the same tone, "I love you."

Open Post 001

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

It's just so ridiculous I love it

no subject

REWROTE THIS TAG BECAUSE TIS AWFUL AND I SHOULDNT TAG THE SECOND I WAKE UP

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject