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[for Teddy and Billy]
Jun. 30th, 2014 06:23 pmYou know how sometimes you just get one of those cravings? The kind that, no matter how much you try to shake it, you just can't?
That's been me and sushi for the past two days.
While I'm sure someone in the dwindling kitchen staff could accommodate my request, it's a lot more fun to just go out and do it myself. Thor -- yeah, that Thor -- was kind enough to lend me his fishing supplies, including a pretty sweet looking raft, and I managed to rope Billy and Teddy into coming with me for the adventure.
The raft's all packed up with gear, food, and water, and all that's left is to get us offshore.
"I'm just saying, how hard can it be, right?"
That's been me and sushi for the past two days.
While I'm sure someone in the dwindling kitchen staff could accommodate my request, it's a lot more fun to just go out and do it myself. Thor -- yeah, that Thor -- was kind enough to lend me his fishing supplies, including a pretty sweet looking raft, and I managed to rope Billy and Teddy into coming with me for the adventure.
The raft's all packed up with gear, food, and water, and all that's left is to get us offshore.
"I'm just saying, how hard can it be, right?"
[for Chase]
May. 15th, 2014 03:25 pmIt's kind of the default response, isn't it?
'What do you want for your birthday?'
'A pony.'
Wren is a bit more impressive than a pony. We're still getting used to each other, if I'm being honest. I don't know where the island shops for its annual New Year's gifts, but I guess anything that's brought to Tabula Rasa needs an adjustment period. So we have a routine -- when she's groomed, when she's fed, when I take her out for a run.
Lucky's sitting on the steps in front of my cottage, watching as I run a brush through Wren's mane. He's been quiet all afternoon, but I turn when I hear the beginnings of a bark sit low in his throat. It's not until he bolts away that I realize we have company.
"Hey, Chase," I call out, shaking my head in amusement as Lucky jumps up to greet him.
'What do you want for your birthday?'
'A pony.'
Wren is a bit more impressive than a pony. We're still getting used to each other, if I'm being honest. I don't know where the island shops for its annual New Year's gifts, but I guess anything that's brought to Tabula Rasa needs an adjustment period. So we have a routine -- when she's groomed, when she's fed, when I take her out for a run.
Lucky's sitting on the steps in front of my cottage, watching as I run a brush through Wren's mane. He's been quiet all afternoon, but I turn when I hear the beginnings of a bark sit low in his throat. It's not until he bolts away that I realize we have company.
"Hey, Chase," I call out, shaking my head in amusement as Lucky jumps up to greet him.
[for Felix] Meeeeemories.
Feb. 21st, 2014 12:15 amFelix is the kind of weirdo who likes to clean the Compound, so I have a decent idea of where he’ll be after I leave the Scrapyard. I still feel dazed, trying to make sense of conflicting sets of memories. Nothing feels real just yet, a lot of it feeling more like a dream than something I actually lived.
When I find Felix armed with rubber gloves and cleaning supplies, I can’t help but smile. It’s the sort of smile that’s a little sad and a little fond. My eyes start to sting, and I convince myself it’s the chemicals. There are about fifty things I want to say, but I end up blurting out the stupidest one.
“You fought Skrulls.”
When I find Felix armed with rubber gloves and cleaning supplies, I can’t help but smile. It’s the sort of smile that’s a little sad and a little fond. My eyes start to sting, and I convince myself it’s the chemicals. There are about fifty things I want to say, but I end up blurting out the stupidest one.
“You fought Skrulls.”
[for Tony] Meeeeemories.
Feb. 20th, 2014 11:47 pmIt’s a totally normal day. I wake up (after sleeping in). I feed Lucky. I make a half-assed breakfast of mango and dry cereal with what’s left in my pantry. I curse the fact that I don’t have a coffee maker in my cottage and trudge to the Compound for my first cup of the day. I stop in on Wren, make sure she’s exercised, watered, and fed. I think about going to the beach after I pull in my shift at the Boutique.
Totally normal.
Except for the part where I get smacked with a splitting migraine as I’m meandering down the boardwalk. Wincing, I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, almost doubled-over in pain. I see flashes of memory, the images skipping in my mind’s eye like a scratched up DVD — stuff I don’t remember. Correction: stuff I didn’t remember. There’s this whole other life unraveling in my head. People I’ve never even met suddenly seem as familiar as old friends, as family. Twin versions of the Skrull invasion fight for a place in my own personal timeline, and I’m sure only one of them is even real. I remember a petite brunette girl snacking on a bunny — Alice. Meeting Felix, the first time. Long nights spent with— Spent with—
“Nate.”
A blush creeps over my cheeks as more memories fill in, and it’s too much. It’s too much. I swallow back bile and try to breathe, try to control the rush, slow it down. I gulp down air and focus on my hands, focus on what’s right in front of me, and it helps. It helps. I start breathing easier. Deeper. The pain subsides.
“What.”
I should see a doctor. I should see a shrink, because whatever the futz that was, that wasn’t normal. But it’s not the Clinic my feet carry me towards at full speed. It’s the Scrapyard.
“Hey!” I shout, breathless and woozy. My voice sounds raw. God, I hope he’s here. “Hey! Christian Bale!”
Totally normal.
Except for the part where I get smacked with a splitting migraine as I’m meandering down the boardwalk. Wincing, I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, almost doubled-over in pain. I see flashes of memory, the images skipping in my mind’s eye like a scratched up DVD — stuff I don’t remember. Correction: stuff I didn’t remember. There’s this whole other life unraveling in my head. People I’ve never even met suddenly seem as familiar as old friends, as family. Twin versions of the Skrull invasion fight for a place in my own personal timeline, and I’m sure only one of them is even real. I remember a petite brunette girl snacking on a bunny — Alice. Meeting Felix, the first time. Long nights spent with— Spent with—
“Nate.”
A blush creeps over my cheeks as more memories fill in, and it’s too much. It’s too much. I swallow back bile and try to breathe, try to control the rush, slow it down. I gulp down air and focus on my hands, focus on what’s right in front of me, and it helps. It helps. I start breathing easier. Deeper. The pain subsides.
“What.”
I should see a doctor. I should see a shrink, because whatever the futz that was, that wasn’t normal. But it’s not the Clinic my feet carry me towards at full speed. It’s the Scrapyard.
“Hey!” I shout, breathless and woozy. My voice sounds raw. God, I hope he’s here. “Hey! Christian Bale!”
[for Chase] vegas valentine
Feb. 14th, 2014 01:30 am“Mrr.”
I don’t want to wake up. My head’s still fuzzy from last night, all stuffed full of cotton balls. My breath tastes like island booze and morning. I drape the back of my hand over still-closed eyes, appreciating that extra bit of darkness before I move to shift closer to the warm body next to me. It’s colder in the room than it should be, which is my first clue that Something Is Not Right, but just a little more sleep sounds a lot more awesome than getting up to turn down the A/C.
Nuzzling at Chase’s chest, I tuck freezing toes under his legs, sleepily tugging at the sheet to pull it up over my shoulders. Only the sheet’s all wrong, too, and I reluctantly crack open an eye.
“When’d you get Egyptian cotton?”
I don’t want to wake up. My head’s still fuzzy from last night, all stuffed full of cotton balls. My breath tastes like island booze and morning. I drape the back of my hand over still-closed eyes, appreciating that extra bit of darkness before I move to shift closer to the warm body next to me. It’s colder in the room than it should be, which is my first clue that Something Is Not Right, but just a little more sleep sounds a lot more awesome than getting up to turn down the A/C.
Nuzzling at Chase’s chest, I tuck freezing toes under his legs, sleepily tugging at the sheet to pull it up over my shoulders. Only the sheet’s all wrong, too, and I reluctantly crack open an eye.
“When’d you get Egyptian cotton?”
[for Chase]
Sep. 27th, 2013 01:13 pmIt's probably a stupid idea to bring Lucky halfway across the Island just because I know Chase likes him, but it's probably not half as stupid as coming all the way out here in the first place.
God, why does he have to live in the middle of nowhere?
I'm sweaty and gross by the time I corral both Lucky and lunch out to the treehouse, more than tempted to just find a place somewhere out on the beach and eat alone than grace anyone with my presence, but I figure, hey, I already committed this far to my stupid idea, so he'll just have to deal with the fact that I'm less than my perfect self at the moment.
It's not like this is a date. It's just a surprise lunch. Friends have surprise lunches all the time.
All the time.
"Chase, I swear to God, you better be in there!"
God, why does he have to live in the middle of nowhere?
I'm sweaty and gross by the time I corral both Lucky and lunch out to the treehouse, more than tempted to just find a place somewhere out on the beach and eat alone than grace anyone with my presence, but I figure, hey, I already committed this far to my stupid idea, so he'll just have to deal with the fact that I'm less than my perfect self at the moment.
It's not like this is a date. It's just a surprise lunch. Friends have surprise lunches all the time.
All the time.
"Chase, I swear to God, you better be in there!"
[for Billy]
Apr. 6th, 2013 02:01 pmIn a place so different from New York, the Boutique's probably one of the few corners on this island that feels familiar: clothes, people with the same name as me...
No, seriously, almost everyone who volunteers here is named Kate. It's kind of weird, but in, like, a good way. I like it in here. Making sure the racks are tidy and the clothes are nice isn't the biggest of adrenaline rushes, but having arrived here too late in the semester to bother with classes and no Clint to drag me out crime-fighting, it gives me something to do that isn't sunbathing.
I just wish it wasn't so dead in here today. I've done pretty much all the menial tasks I can think of -- including a sweep for any wayward Tribbles -- and have finally resorted to flipping through the book I brought with me: some cheesy romance with werewolves on the cover that's written at a third grade level. I really should've paid more attention to what I was grabbing earlier.
"Yikes."
No, seriously, almost everyone who volunteers here is named Kate. It's kind of weird, but in, like, a good way. I like it in here. Making sure the racks are tidy and the clothes are nice isn't the biggest of adrenaline rushes, but having arrived here too late in the semester to bother with classes and no Clint to drag me out crime-fighting, it gives me something to do that isn't sunbathing.
I just wish it wasn't so dead in here today. I've done pretty much all the menial tasks I can think of -- including a sweep for any wayward Tribbles -- and have finally resorted to flipping through the book I brought with me: some cheesy romance with werewolves on the cover that's written at a third grade level. I really should've paid more attention to what I was grabbing earlier.
"Yikes."
[for Chase]
Apr. 1st, 2013 01:23 pmOkay, this looks good.
Beautiful sunny day, a stack of magazines to flip through, a killer outfit, and nothing but the sound of the waves to keep me company while I catch up on all the outdated celebrity gossip. It should be paradise. People pay thousands of dollars for this exact kind of vacation.
Except I'm bored out of my mind. Ugh. I make it halfway through a Janet van Dyne fashion retrospective until I decide I've had enough lounging to last me a lifetime and shove the magazine back under the rock I've been using to prevent them all from flying away. Untying my sarong, I bunch it into a ball and shove it into my sunhat to keep its shape, sliding my sunglasses around the brim.
I squint out towards the ocean. The waves aren't too bad today, meaning I might actually get a decent swim out of the deal instead of wishing I had a surfboard. Toeing off my flip flops, I make a run for it, biting back a totally badass shriek at the temperature change and barreling forward 'til I'm thigh deep in the water.
Beautiful sunny day, a stack of magazines to flip through, a killer outfit, and nothing but the sound of the waves to keep me company while I catch up on all the outdated celebrity gossip. It should be paradise. People pay thousands of dollars for this exact kind of vacation.
Except I'm bored out of my mind. Ugh. I make it halfway through a Janet van Dyne fashion retrospective until I decide I've had enough lounging to last me a lifetime and shove the magazine back under the rock I've been using to prevent them all from flying away. Untying my sarong, I bunch it into a ball and shove it into my sunhat to keep its shape, sliding my sunglasses around the brim.
I squint out towards the ocean. The waves aren't too bad today, meaning I might actually get a decent swim out of the deal instead of wishing I had a surfboard. Toeing off my flip flops, I make a run for it, biting back a totally badass shriek at the temperature change and barreling forward 'til I'm thigh deep in the water.
[for Grace]
Mar. 30th, 2013 05:44 pmOkay, so this looks bad.
I washed to shore in nothing but a ripped Emanuel Ungaro and a pair of tiny little-man shoes, so even though I have my bow and my arrows, actually shooting has been a real pain. Literally. My left forearm is black and blue from my latest attempt at target practice, the arm guard I built shredded to pieces by the time I was down. I've been digging around in this stupid clothes box for an hour, hoping to find something to work with, but so far all I've found are a couple of cute dresses, a new bikini, and a few pairs of oversized kevlar motorcycle pants that fall into my usual purple color scheme but won't exactly fit without some serious sewing skills and repurposing.
Sitting back on my heels, I sigh and look down at my haul.
"God, you'd think it'd be easier to find a purple catsuit."
I washed to shore in nothing but a ripped Emanuel Ungaro and a pair of tiny little-man shoes, so even though I have my bow and my arrows, actually shooting has been a real pain. Literally. My left forearm is black and blue from my latest attempt at target practice, the arm guard I built shredded to pieces by the time I was down. I've been digging around in this stupid clothes box for an hour, hoping to find something to work with, but so far all I've found are a couple of cute dresses, a new bikini, and a few pairs of oversized kevlar motorcycle pants that fall into my usual purple color scheme but won't exactly fit without some serious sewing skills and repurposing.
Sitting back on my heels, I sigh and look down at my haul.
"God, you'd think it'd be easier to find a purple catsuit."
Okay, so this looks bad.
Okay, so bad’s maybe misleading. A nice stretch of beach bathed in moonlight is probably a step up from a flooded parking garage in Jersey for most people. Except I’m supposed to be in a flooded parking garage in Jersey, because I’m supposed to be going to get Mrs. Stafford her meds. Which means the sudden Hawaii vacation is sort of a problem.
I blink saltwater out of my eyes, ignoring the sting as I try to refocus. I’m still thigh deep in the ocean, solid cement stairs having given away to soft, mushy sand, and I have to shake off a few slimy strands of seaweed as I step forward. At first it’s like traveling in slow motion. My dress drags in the water, pulling me back, but I fight past the resistance until my waterlogged shoes hit bone-dry sand. Feeling over my shoulder, I do a quick check of my quiver before I move so much as another inch, making sure everything made the trip with me. Satisfied the inventory checks out, I pull out an arrow and nock it in my bow.
Because come on. I’m alone and I have no idea where the hell I am. I’m not taking any chances, even if the beach does look totally deserted. I turn around to look back out at the ocean, but it’s more of the same—just an inky black abyss with the moon reflected in waves I hear more than see.
Is this the Savage Land? Because it feels pretty safe to say it isn’t Jersey. Even if the whole building washed away where I stood, the water wouldn’t be this warm, and there’d be—people. Not a beach that’s wrapped around a dense looking jungle.
Except, even if it is the Savage Land, I have no way of knowing short of stumbling across the welcome sign, because that’s one thing I never got to cross off the superhero bucket list. (Wait, does the Savage Land even have a welcome sign? That’s—Probably not important, Kate.)
Great. Maybe I should be focusing less on where I am and more on how I got here. Magic? It’s totally magic. Some kind of weird teleportation spell. That sounds legit, right? What else could it be? And if it’s magic, then maybe it’s—
“Billy?!”
Crap. Why’d I shout like that? Of course it’s not Billy. He hasn’t done magic in months, why would he—
What was that? A rustling sound. A creepy, jungle-y rustling sound. Something’s coming towards me, and fast. On reflex, I lift my bow and take aim.
Here’s hoping I don’t have to fire.
Okay, so bad’s maybe misleading. A nice stretch of beach bathed in moonlight is probably a step up from a flooded parking garage in Jersey for most people. Except I’m supposed to be in a flooded parking garage in Jersey, because I’m supposed to be going to get Mrs. Stafford her meds. Which means the sudden Hawaii vacation is sort of a problem.
I blink saltwater out of my eyes, ignoring the sting as I try to refocus. I’m still thigh deep in the ocean, solid cement stairs having given away to soft, mushy sand, and I have to shake off a few slimy strands of seaweed as I step forward. At first it’s like traveling in slow motion. My dress drags in the water, pulling me back, but I fight past the resistance until my waterlogged shoes hit bone-dry sand. Feeling over my shoulder, I do a quick check of my quiver before I move so much as another inch, making sure everything made the trip with me. Satisfied the inventory checks out, I pull out an arrow and nock it in my bow.
Because come on. I’m alone and I have no idea where the hell I am. I’m not taking any chances, even if the beach does look totally deserted. I turn around to look back out at the ocean, but it’s more of the same—just an inky black abyss with the moon reflected in waves I hear more than see.
Is this the Savage Land? Because it feels pretty safe to say it isn’t Jersey. Even if the whole building washed away where I stood, the water wouldn’t be this warm, and there’d be—people. Not a beach that’s wrapped around a dense looking jungle.
Except, even if it is the Savage Land, I have no way of knowing short of stumbling across the welcome sign, because that’s one thing I never got to cross off the superhero bucket list. (Wait, does the Savage Land even have a welcome sign? That’s—Probably not important, Kate.)
Great. Maybe I should be focusing less on where I am and more on how I got here. Magic? It’s totally magic. Some kind of weird teleportation spell. That sounds legit, right? What else could it be? And if it’s magic, then maybe it’s—
“Billy?!”
Crap. Why’d I shout like that? Of course it’s not Billy. He hasn’t done magic in months, why would he—
What was that? A rustling sound. A creepy, jungle-y rustling sound. Something’s coming towards me, and fast. On reflex, I lift my bow and take aim.
Here’s hoping I don’t have to fire.