whizbangs: (we're doin all right)
col. carol danvers (captain marvel) ([personal profile] whizbangs) wrote2020-06-20 04:45 pm
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ic contact

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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badbreak: (it takes more than good intentions.)

Re: action

[personal profile] badbreak 2013-07-19 06:30 pm (UTC)(link)
[he stares a bit uncomprehending at her; then the old pain rushes back to his senses all at once, and he looks down, as if genuinely realising its not just his pants that have been ripped (he's been blunted down, and it's starting to show)]

[he touches the wound (further staining those perfectly wrapped bandages, as he always will) and looks blankly at the blood as his hand comes away wetter]

[the heat of it inspires the thought of its opposite; Badou thinks of the coldness in that man's tone, realises he should have asked what did you lose instead of letting this stupid blood of his take over]

[(he would have asked, would have kept it together long enough to pull the info and even the score; I am such a fucking idiot.)]

[a distracted, affirmative grunt is given to Carol]
whizbangs: (once more unto the breach)

Re: action

[personal profile] whizbangs 2013-07-20 04:09 pm (UTC)(link)
[the quiet is a little unsettling coming from him, bristling little king of the comeback, the bullheaded resistance, the sharp fuck you, but she doesn't press it.]

Okay. Back in a sec.

[the first aid kit's in one of the cabinets over the sink on the other end of the room -- next to where carol has installed the jar of her favourite brand of coffee, which is how she knows without thinking where to look.

she opens it up once she's back beside him; disinfectant, rubbing alcohol, bandages. okay. she nods at the leg of his pjs]

Roll that up for me.

[and sets about the task, matching silence for silence.]
badbreak: (it takes more than good intentions.)

Re: action

[personal profile] badbreak 2013-07-24 04:48 am (UTC)(link)
[thoughts of that cold-blooded fucker, that fucking reptilian corpse of a person, instead of the way his achingly empty words had made Badou (hate)feel, has temporarily distracted him; he's too busy giving a sharp fuck you to himself to have time to give another to Carol]

[the frantic, hateful energy leaves him like steam off of a hot plate under water. his hand goes back to being numb and dumb accordingly, finding the task she's ordered him difficult; but he works at it mindlessly, forcing fingers to task, until he's cuffed the cotton above his razor-sharp knee]

[Badou's character is summed his joints; jutting stubborn and too sharp, too awkward to make contact with anything]

[it's certain; he's going to make contact with that reptile again]

[he comes to himself.]

I can do it.
whizbangs: (can't right now)

Re: action

[personal profile] whizbangs 2013-07-26 03:50 am (UTC)(link)
I don't doubt it, but I got here first.

[the disinfectant's in the form of little wipes, like towelettes, and she busts open the package without any real care for keeping everything tidy; that can wait.

the wipe is bunched up and dabbed gently along the length of the cut, while carol's other hand hovers by his knee, to steady it in case he flinches.

she's intent on her task, brow furrowed in concentration (frustration, helplessness, worry that he's always trying to convince her is misplaced), but she has to say. she has to try.]

You know you can trust me, right? If you ever decide you want to.
badbreak: (hounds of hell need love and care.)

Re: action

[personal profile] badbreak 2013-08-01 03:01 am (UTC)(link)
[it's not a successful operation; the boy's put himself together all backwards, must have, because for once his mouth is slower than his mind]

[like that's a option? he thinks, but doesn't say]

[and why the hell would I want to? he thinks, but doesn't say]

[the antiseptic hurts like a too-rough hair ruffle, like a friendly whack on the back (his wires feel all crossed sometimes, even when they're not sparking and overheating)]

[he doesn't flinch as anticipated, but the familiarity made estranged stings so much more than the skin-level sizzle of disinfection]

[what he actually ends up saying, feeling so fucking distant inside, is]

Ya should know ya can't trust me.

[the boy stands up, un-applied bandages and clumsy care non-withstanding, numbly kicking glass aside with each paced step]

[it's not really for Carol, but more like a narration for himself (I am standing, I am walking, I am breathing, I am heading to the door...)]

I'm goin' back up ta sleep.

[and he won't look back for anything (Nails tended to leave scenes of destruction even more easily than they created them)]
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