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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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[an orange head pops up from the jagged stones, more sunset sunglare than boy]

[and for once, it's Badou that reaches out to another person]

Yo -- Carol.

[of course, as usual, it's a bit of a double-edged sword (he's never really been a bundle of joy, even in the moments he is allowed to be childish)]

[when he crawls more out of the rocks, it's apparent that he's completely soaked from the waist down, with hefty helping of rock slime smeared down the right side of his shirt; he smells exactly like low tide]

D'ya still got that pretzel bag?

[the hand he reaches out also has a fairly sizable crab clamped onto it, it's claw firmly entangled in the thick wads of cotton and cloth that encase Badou's right hand]

[(if there's pressure on the wound itself, he doesn't feel it)]

[the wet and the grime is pretty much what she expected to see, young boys and their knack for accumulating filth and all, but the crab -- the crab is a surprise.

she winces at the hold it's got on him and digs into her jacket, the pretzel bag emerging a second later and bringing the inside of her pocket out with it.]

What're you gonna do with it?

[she asks as she maneuvers the bag carefully around the crab, working to dislodge that nasty-looking pincer from badou's definitely no-longer-pristine bandages.]

Eat it, keep it as a pet...?

I ain't hadda pet before.

[somehow that statement sounds ominous]

[and it's proved ominous indeed when Badou gets impatient, just ripping his hand free with a sharp tug]

[and, along with it, the crab's left claw from its body]

-- Oops.

[mildly horrified, she scrunches the top of the bag closed and holds it out to him.

staring transfixed at that sad, dismembered claw.]

Congratulations, you are now the proud owner of an amputee crab. You could call him Stumpy.

[if it doesn't die from shock or something. maybe the merciful thing to do would be to just cook it up and eat it.]

I don't wanna name it. Don't be weird.

[he takes the bag, shoving it between two rocks to keep it closed]

[and turns to climb up them again]

...Can we stay until the sun goes down?

[he doesn't say "I want to watch the sun set" -- that'd be girly]

[she leans against the rocks, arms braced up in front of her, to watch him skitter around.]

Sure. As long as you don't have anywhere you need to be.

[raising an eyebrow at him -- but she doesn't really expect that he'd answer honestly even if he did, so it's really a moot point.

besides, carol wants to stay too. if she can't escape earth's atmosphere to get some perspective anymore, this calm and quiet is the best substitute she's likely to get.]

[his face twitches at that, a little bit of that tired reality coming back to a murky green eye; he does have someplace he needs to be, someone else he needs to be with]

[but there's nothing he can do about it tonight, nothing he can do about it yet; all he can do is keep the memory of this place, the Above, and maybe try to share it with him Below]

[this thought in mind, he clambers without another word to the highest, steepest rock, plopping his bony, wet ass down on the dry, cold rock]

[a sand-and-slime crusted hand digs in his pocket, pulling out his mobile; wet, already scratched to fuck]

[with it he takes a photo, more for someone absent than himself, and keeps it at hand -- he's going to catch that sunset, too]

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