ic contact

[whizbangs]

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 )

 

Comments

Re: action (post-book)

[badbreak]

[Nill's breath sighs against his unwashed hair, and it's just an inch]

[her heart is beating somewhere in front of him, even if he can't hear it over his own selfish one, and it's just an inch]

[her knees tremor in the air before his own, and it's just an inch]

[but it's an inch he's never given, not willingly, not since After Dave Fell]

[Badou is not strong, like walls, like iron, like Gau Meguro; he just doesn't break, and there is a difference]

[Badou slumps forward an inch, and backwards miles and miles and miles]

Re: action (post-book)

[whizbangs]

[the clatter of footfalls, loud and echoing followed by softer, swifter, and carol looks up from her task, from the cold, collected investigation of another body, a corridor away. time is up, and something in her had known, just known, that this was where she needed to go.

she's taking the rooms one at a time, slowly, methodically. afraid to finally find the resting place of someone (another someone; there have been so many, too many, why can she never get used to this?) who is dear to her.

the steps, both pairs, fall silent, and she's already guessing at who they belong to as she makes her slow, halting way toward the source. left arm clutched to her in a sling, ribs aching from a sudden shortness of breath.

she sees the two of them first, huddled there against the wall, and it takes her a long, dull second to realise what they're doing -- holding each other like it's their only refuge. carol recalls both times she'd tried to hold badou, when everything got too much for her to bear; the way he'd flinched away from her, like he had to escape, like she was going to hurt him. the ache in her chest grows sharper.

he's found someone he can trust, and it's not her. it was never going to be her.

when she can't look at them any longer without it hurting, her eyes slide across the room -- and fall on the bed, half-rusted from disuse and abandonment. on the figure laid across it, impossibly young, deceptively peaceful.

the quiet is broken by a strangled noise. carol doesn't even register it, doesn't even realise that it's coming from her own throat.

no.

she makes to touch him, to card fingers into his hair, but she can't bring herself to do it; the hand is withdrawn abruptly and placed over her mouth as she backs away, one step, two, and hits the opposite wall.]