Open Post 001

[2020mod]

• Step one: start a thread in this post!
• Step two: specify who the thread is for (or open) in this post!
• Step three: make people reply to this post!
• AND THAT'S THE WAY YOU DO IT.


And don't forget, there's still the ooc discussion post! And nothing needs to be contained to this post! Create new logs to your heart's content! This AU is yours, so have at it!


musebox • rules • character list

Comments

[lunartics]

[ Jake practically melts into her at the response, his fingers curling tight in her hair, and he breaths out shakily. ]

Just -- stay for a little while? [ It feels like such a childish request, but he's too worn down to even care about pride. ] Missed you.

[out_of_time]

"You already have kids? Two kids?" With a third on the way. Jack shook his head, then actually laughed. "God, when I met you two you were still almost teenagers. Now..."

He followed Jaime further into the hideout.

"Well, that was a long time ago now."

[liebe_krieg]

It says a lot about the current state of the Major's organization that the knocking of an unexpected and unannounced visitor at the door of his most vital sanctum is not met by alarms, running boots, or bullets. Instead, after a lengthy pause a slot is slid open in the steel door for the visitor to be viewed through.

"Ah, it's a sinister figure in a trenchcoat. The goggles are a nice touch to your costume, but I don't think you're here for Halloween, are you?" The gold eyes behind the slot have laughter in them, but it's still indicative that the Major now answers the door to his evil lair personally. "Well, you haven't the look of an American assassin. They would have just sent an airstrike. Please, come in and make yourself welcome."

There's the sound of a half-dozen locks clicking, grinding, turning, and beeping, and then the door slowly opens. It squeals- the hinges have not been oiled in some time. Whether this is because of budget constraints or because the Major likes the atmosphere of a creaking door is hard to say.

[doubleoohbaby]

"You're right. You're an old man now, Mitch. You need to settle down and take a step back. Let the younger ones take a front seat," he retorts lightly, just a hint of teasing behind his tone to cover for any concern. Seeing Mitch like this isn't something he enjoys and it only seems to go downhill with each visit, like a slow decline into paranoia.

"Stop all this. Come with us. Zee won't mind, I'm sure of it. She can help you, sir, better than all this bollocks of hiding away in a forest."

[batmantled]

His heart jumps when he catches her there; it's dangerous and damn it Max vying in his head before he can think through what he needs to do before he can speak to her. He takes another quiet, telegraphed leap over to the roof, hears gunfire follow and then tosses a wingflare down into the ally below. It will stay on autopilot just long enough to flash a block or two away. Which makes it a good start

He waits another minute, almost stealing himself before dropping down to perch on the chimney she's leaning against. A good place to take out snipers, and a great way to insure they see him first.

"...Max?"

[scarabsuited]

"Man, you're not that old," Jaime prodded, smirking. "But keep talking like that and I'm gonna start calling you grandpa."

The room they finally stopped at had a fairly long, metal table lined with chairs. Jaime gestured to Jack as he himself sat, rubbing the back of his neck and sighing.

"We'll have to wait a couple minutes. Practice is almost done, and it's better to wait than interrupt." He gave a door at the far end of the room a glance. "She helps train some of the people who pass through here. Makes sure they know how to protect themselves, aim a little better when under stress. It might not amount to much for some, but..." He shrugged. "It helps, I think."

[paintsthetownred]

She has to grin, widely and almost maniacally herself, at the Major's greeting, because it's so familiar. She knows she's come to the right place, if nothing else, and she almost relaxes.

She tugs absently at her goggles and they fall around her neck, revealing familiar eyesockets, and she dislodges her hat in the process, revealing bright orange hair. It hasn't dulled at all.

"I ain't American and I certainly ain't an assassin - least, you ain't my target."

She's sent him information reports now and then, if she can find someone trustworthy to deliver the message and if it's worth delivering in the first place, and they're never marked with her name; just the stamp of the '8' bomb.

But today, Peacock, bounty hunter and resistance member, has no business being here; she'd simply decided to pay the Major a visit.

[viced]

He had a sad smile for his former bodyguard, shaking his head, the offer was tempting. He didn't know if James knew how easy it would be to say yes, to run away and ignore the turmoil from now on, leave it to later generations, and just finally grow old and stop.

A machine without a purpose didn't stay in good repair, though, and Mitchell had always been a machine at his heart. Driven, serving a purpose, and doing nothing but that purpose. That was the only way he knew how to live.

"I can't, James. If there's anyone to blame for this, all of this, it's me. I didn't do enough, I couldn't stop this, despite the work I did, and that means I didn't do enough. I wasn't just the Mayor of the City, I represented all of us. If anyone's going to stop this, it has to be me."

[doubleoohbaby]

An agitated huff escapes him, followed by an over-exaggerated eye roll and locking his gaze off to the side, away from Mitch, sullen in his approach to the whole idea.

"Don't give me that shit. You can't do all this alone. The resistance are doing their damned best in all of this but in the last five years, do you really feel you've changed a god damn thing? Leave it. We're a dying breed. We can fight from the comfort and safety of our homes, not hole ourselves away like some vermin. This isn't winning, Mitch!" The sweep of an arm around the cabin suggests just what 'this' he's referring to.

[viced]

God, he hated this. After everything he gave up, sometimes he wondered when it would stop. He pushed people away because this was exactly what he couldn't have, an emotional attachment to someone, because it fucking hurt when he had to tell them no. Even ten years later, he still thought of James Bond as his bodyguard, probably more than others, but he couldn't think about that right now. No, he didn't have the emotional energy anymore to muster more than a detached, momentary thought to his life back home. Was it still frozen? When he finally died, would he go back, only 42 years old, and all of this a nightmare he wouldn't remember over the interference of his own brain trying to convince him to be someone else? Or was his world razed and burned already? Time finally moving, and him not there to save it?

"It might not be winning, but at least it keeps me safe until I can win! I might have not done much yet, but you'd be surprised how much polling numbers have changed, how much I've done hinges on how nasty the resistance gets! I'm giving us hope that there are natives out there who still fucking like us! And there are! That's just as important right now!"

[parroted]

"I wanted to see you."

He paused. Why was he here?

"See what had become of you. I knew you had to be still alive. And here you are. A survivor."

He knew Mitchell was a survivor. All those months of fighting the Great Machine, all those years he had lived without Pherson - even as Pherson wanted to have killed him, he knew Mitchell wouldn't give up, wouldn't give in. He'd always be there.

[uneforgettable]

She'd recognized the cypher even before the distinct handwriting pattern. It was a special code she and Max had created back when she'd first expressed interest in puzzles. On days when Max knew she would be gone for a while--be it for her job or her other job--she would leave behind notes in their special code. Even when there was no reason to disguise the message.

And seeing it again, after so many years, Midii suddenly felt like a child all over again.

Her disguise was carefully planned. It had been so long since she dared fall so close to her natural look, but she wanted to make sure Max recognized her. Platinum blonde, With a single pink streak down the front left side of her face. The same shade she remembered Max's hair was. Or used to be. A simple, green short-sleeved turtleneck sweater. Faded jeans. Black boots. Simple, indistinguishable from a crowd...but familiar.

At least, she hoped Max would find it familiar. When she knocked on the door three minutes before the designated meeting time, Midii had no idea what to expect. What would Max think of her now? Did she know? Did she approve? More importantly...why was she back?

[viced]

Christ. Mitchell knew the way their powers worked, at least some of it. The way that it was like a storm, drawing everyone in, leaving madness behind in its wake. How many had come out unscathed? He didn't think even he had, not really. He pretended, played that his powers were just that, just powers, but at the end of the day, he knew otherwise. The damage to his brain was so severe, so complete, and it was more apparent now, surrounded by machines everywhere, all their voices, constant.

"Uh huh. So, you're not here to pull your usual bullshit? Somehow, I'm really doubting that," cold, still hard. No matter how bad it got, he kept his mind on one truth, that Pherson was insane, that he didn't know, didn't understand how bad it was, how bad their creators actually were.

But sometimes he wondered why Pherson, and Suzanne, had both seen it as a paradise, and why he'd seen the truth.

[enigmaestro]

He moved his hand at the split second, the bullet grazing the thigh it was covering. He hissed out the pain while surging up and forward, one objective in mind: keep Norman Osborn here. He threw his body against Norman once more, wanting to pin him down.

Eddie had noted the fear. It took a lot to make Norman Osborn fear.

It took threatening his autonomy.

"One doesn't shoot at the hands for sake of fleeing, Norman." Eddie spoke with a purr, pressing against Norman's features, watching. "If you wanted to stall for escape, you'd shoot my foot. My leg. But oh no, you don't want me touching something, do you?"

[crab]

[ there is a long, awkward silence after that, which karkat fills by applying the paint to his face, muttering curses every now and again. ]

I'd have expected this kind of bullshit on Alternia, you know. We were all about segregation and subjugation. That was basically the foundation of our society. I didn't think the humans had it in them to pull this kind of stunt, though. Before.

[ another pause. the next words are quiet and angry, ground out through his teeth. ]

All of this feels too much like home.

[out_of_time]

"That simple, huh." He sighed and shook his head. "Knew I should have gone for the plastic surgery." But that had been a step too far for him. Besides, he couldn't pay for that level of work in his current career.

Jack turned away for a moment to look at the broken pipe, think about the setup. "So that's what you're here for. They want my help." He turned back. "There was a time when people thought I went too far, doing what I did."

[out_of_time]

"She's a trainer now. I'm impressed." When Jack had met Abby she'd still very much been the trainee. But he could see the parts in her character that would have made her a good teacher herself.

He took a seat and looked around again. "It must be hard work for her, with a baby on the way."

[neptunia]

[ she's stroking her other hand through his hair, petting him ]

I will stay for as long as you need me. [ it's dangerous, looking the way she does and being on the surface world during times like this, but he needs her and that's what matters. she exhales a little, gill slits flaring ]

I have -- I missed you as well. I am... [ and she hesitates for a long moment, the word foreign on her tongue ] ... sorry for leaving you.

[liebe_krieg]

"Peacock!" The Major's eyebrows shoot up in pleased recognition, and he holds the door open further. "What a pleasant surprise this is. You are especially welcome!"

Once she's in, he loses no time shutting the door and re-engaging its many locks, chattering away the while. A few ill-kempt minions recognize that the Major has company, and make themselves scarce. The room is depressingly basic- concrete, a few files and outdated computers, a light that flickers occasionally. It's hard out here for a supervillain.

"Look at you," the Major says. "Different outfit, same weapon underneath. Why, you've barely changed at all!" Neither has the Major- thanks to his own cybernetics, he's still the same maniac he was back in the 1940s. But his attire is in a similar state as his lair.

[ex_eclipser861]

It could always be better. That's just life. [ a beat ] You're doing okay?

[batshadowed]

It's an old rooftop, one of their haunts from those long-gone days. Looking down from it, Damian can see the entire city. Not that he really wants to--he's come to hate this place, more and more. Maybe more so because he can't force himself to face it for very long, and it signals that weakness to him. But he waits, tonight. He can't leave without this.

[batshadowed]

_{( he shrugs. )}

I can take care of myself.

_{( whether he bothers to or not is a different matter. )}

[batshadowed]

"That would surprise me." Damian was still a child, in many ways. And one of those ways had come to the forefront when he'd learned about Grayson's new charge. It wasn't outright jealousy--he'd never been Dick's son--but there was caution, and coldness. Even a child--especially a child--could feel it. And Damian might have ruined things with this family member, as well.

[arbalist]

Helena's expression became slightly reproachful as she finished up her stitching. Yes, Damian was still a child, wasn't he. He'd somehow managed to permanently maintain his role of baby brother despite growing older and taller and leaving home. Was he concerned with being replaced? With being forgotten? It was a legitimate worry, as far as she was concerned. The Bats had a terrible habit of sweeping the things they wanted to forget under the rug, never to be mentioned politely again. She couldn't help but wonder if Damian worried they would do that to him as well.

"All done," she said, appraising him with an arched brow. "I'll get some water so you can take a painkiller."

Toward the end of the attack

[andromynous]

It had been a strange thing, working on the same side as her sister again. They would both never forgive the other, but now they could ally themselves against an evil working to destroy them. She'd never bothered to bring up the irony that Bellatrix was suddenly fighting against a group of people doing just what she and Tom had planned to do to the muggleborns; she'd learned long ago that there was no point.

It was a risk to them both, Andromeda showing up in the wake of the building's destruction. She worked quickly, clotting spells and sealing spells that were crude and would leave scars -- but they were the fastest, if the least elegant. She tried to help each person she came across, imPort or not, but she made doubly sure the familiar faces were healed first.

She came across her sister, hair dark like hers -- that same wild look in her eye. Sometimes when she looked in the mirror, it was hard to tell them apart.

"We need to get going." Flat, because she still had problems with this large-scale destruction. Personal vendettas were easier to handle, easier to twist into cruel and dark things. This -- well. This was something else.