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: text

[whizbangs]

[footsteps goin' away

but they only get a couple steps from the door

and then stop

hm]

Re: text

[badbreak]

[rub a dub dub Badou in the tub]

Re: text

[whizbangs]

[a beat

then

fucking kicks the door in like it's going out of style]

Re: text

[badbreak]

[oh]

[yeah]

[she's built like a brick shithouse]

Uh.

Re: text

[badbreak]

-- If you touch me right now it'sa crime.

Re: text

[whizbangs]

[folds arms and leans against the doorframe

the total picture of calm]

Don't worry, kid, I just wanna talk.

WHOOPS ACTION I GUESS PUNCHES WALL

[badbreak]

I don't.

[please go away]

SHH IF WE KEEP CALLING IT TEXT IT MEANS WE WON'T HAVE TO COUNT IT AS ANOTHER ACTION LOG

[whizbangs]

Shouldn't have brought this to me in the first place then, should you.

[gets real comfy cos she ain't goin' nowhere]

I know the girl with the glasses, but who the hell are the guy with the perm and the pink-haired whoever.

Re: SHH IF WE KEEP CALLING IT TEXT IT MEANS WE WON'T HAVE TO COUNT IT AS ANOTHER ACTION LOG

[badbreak]

I don't wanna talk about it --

[he's already looking for an escape route]

Trust me, I learned from my mistakes, I'll never mention a goddamn thing.

[whizbangs]

[eyeing him for a good long second--

his face EYEING HIS FACE.

then she sighs]

You know I'm not your enemy here, kid. I'm not looking for a weak spot, or waiting for my goddamn chance to screw you over.

[FRUSTRATED NOISE]

Whatever.

[badbreak]

Then stop tryin' ta screw me over.

[the sentiment is reflected in his body, too sharp, too pale, too skinny in the tub; he looks less like a boy and more like a bunch of bones and scars and fresh bruises lumped together]

Stay the fuck outta my shit an' lock the fuckin' door without the third degree. M'not tellin' you for back up.

[he just wants to have one place to feel remotely safe; why didn't she get that?]

[whizbangs]

[she stares at him for a few more long beats, and her expression is maybe too telling -- frustration, like there's an angry bull inside her with no room to charge.

and concern. way too much of it, like there always is lately.]

...Fine.

[and as much as she doesn't want to, carol backs off. goes out and pulls the door shut behind her.

the latch doesn't stick properly now, but still.]

[badbreak]

[completely involuntarily, the boy lets out a long, hard sigh, more suited to someone twice his age]

[and he sinks until the feet attached to his stupidly growing legs smack the other side of the tub]

[he wants to shove his face under the water, but then he'll have to redo the bandages, and the stitches always itch more when they're fucking wet]

[it's always choices (they'd talked about those once before, and it hadn't gone so well; maybe Carol didn't have any choices, either)]

[whizbangs]

[and she's on the other side of the door sighing as well, wondering how the hell they keep ending up here.

what the hell kind of hero is she if she can't even manage to salvage this?

carol scrunches her eyes closed, opens them, studies the ceiling. she feels all fits and starts, unsure of herself in a way she's never really been before. not for a long time, anyway.

in the end, she goes downstairs and puts on a pot of coffee. that's most of what she's good for lately.]