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HOUSE #1470
mayo ✧ little shit ✧ loving daughter

"You've reached Carol Danvers, aka Captain Marvel. I'm not here, leave a message!

If it's urgent... uh. Leave it urgently."

speed dial
steve
sakamoto
gremlin

( call | text | voicemail | mail | action )

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Considering what day it is, I swear to god if you are getting the kid drunk I'm gonna crush all your most important parts.

[in the most friendly of voices...]

[ no response at all, save for the jittery laugh of a man looking death or loan sharks in the face ]

[...]

Sakamoto.

Donmai, donmai! Ahaha, I just have to find a time machine. A time machine! [ a-a-a-a-ahahahahhahhahhhhhhaaahahaha ]

[two and two are going together, getting along like a house on fire, oh no he didn't--]

Is this what you spent my 200 bucks on?!

Edited 2013-08-04 01:59 (UTC)

Not at all!

Yes. Maybe. There's a chance.

You--

[there are no words

she wishes this was an old-fashioned landline so she could slam the receiver down, but we all have to make do.

HANGS UP.]

[ ahh, that takes care of that. regrettable, but it'd buy badou some time in the end.

he puts his phone away, and wishes a little for the liquor he hasn't had in near a month. ]

i need a ride

Where to

LEU

[??]

Ok
Where are you

in yard in 10

I'll be waiting in the car

ok

[and true enough she is, waiting out on the curb a handful of minutes later, the radio on low (classic rock is how carol flies, none of that poppy crap here) as she drums thumbs on the wheel in time.

she's dressed cool in jeans and a tank and aviator shades, her hair still a shaved mess courtesy of the kid. she had half a mind to turn up in her spangly uniform just to embarrass him, but it's too warm for that.

so carol waits, for the telltale signs that the kid has turned up (chaos, destruction, loud noises, food shortages...)]

[after skulking through the back yard like bad manners, Badou emerges from hedges and fences withhis hands shoved deep into the pockets of a ragged, city-weathered brown coat]

[the black hat that's become customary is pulled low, but it's not low enough to hide the fact hithat the bandage over his eye is spotted with blood, heartily fucked with]

[the last difference Carol might notice is the lit cigarette caught between his teeth, dropping ash onto that manky, roadkill coat]

[he of course mentions none of this, muttering a "Yo" as he grabs at the door handle]

[carol, of course, is having none of this -- she may have resolved to back off from hereon out but this is a little much.

her first move is to swipe the cigarette from his mouth, fixing him with a look that's equal concern and stern, superhero-y disapproval.]

The hell happened to you?

[the swipe has him twitching, teeth staying half-bared, like there's still a filter to gnaw on]

[shortly]

Busted my stitches. Y'gonna finish that?

[slams the car door closed as he sits down, hunching in the seat]

Gonna go get them fixed, I hope.

[she watches him hunker down, and as ever carol is absolute shit at hiding what she's thinking: is he okay? is something up? what do I do, what do I say?

she settles for tossing the cig out onto the asphalt and starting the car.]

There's no smoking in my ride, kid. That crap stinks.

[it's not that he's ignorant to those questions in the air, or even the concern radiating from her; it's just that it's hard to focus (his eye is throbbing, itchy and uncomfortable, and his lungs feel -- they feel too clear, like they've been feeling too much lately)]

[he'd like to bitch about the lost cigarette (he could'a saved it), he'd like to snap back at her about establishing those trenches he keeps trying to dig between them]

[but in the end he just grunts, hoping she'll start driving sooner rather than later]

Edited 2013-08-04 23:42 (UTC)

[mouth twisting ruefully (back off, carol, leave him alone, he can handle his own stuff), she heaves a quiet sigh, tells him--]

Seatbelt.

[before thumping down off the curb and taking off.

nowhere near as fast as the last time they did this, and part of it's because carol herself feels mired, like she's stuck in tar and can't break out of it. it's the kid weighing on her, yeah, but it's also everything else.

she's so sick of feeling useless here.

she doesn't say anything. just drives.]

[the tension from the driver's seat seeps into him, which is frankly better than the itchingtwitching energy he's putting out; Carol makes him feel fucked up, mostly because he keeps watching himself fuck her up]

[he's not sorry, and he doesn't pity her -- really, it just drives a lot of things home about him, about her, about them together]

[it doesn't stop him from mumbling]

It ain't a big deal. It's... [he stumbles, wordless (worthless)] ...they itch, an' I itched 'em.

Not a great plan of action.

[it's half-exasperated, fond, dumb -- the way she wishes she could be with him all the time. and she feels stupidly grateful that he told her without prompting, that he gave her that much, when she knows he doesn't exactly have much to give.

she stops to give way to another car and glances over at him.]

You wanna eat after?

[after whatever it is you're doing that's none of my business so I'm not gonna ask.]

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