InsaneJournal

Float
Characters: Um...OTA. Avengers, WCA, any refugees with them, anyone in the Raft, anyone around New York...
Setting: The MoMA, then the Raft. Because we are culturally rounded people.
Content: Strong feelings about stuff and junk.
Summary: Avengers assemble...somewhere with bars on the windows!


The convoy was still making its way along the Parkway when Iron Man stopped short still three blocks out of his destination. It wasn't much of a destination anymore; it had been a modern architectural wonder that stretched 93 stories into the New York sky, dwarfing the buildings around it, but now, even this close, Tony couldn't see its seamless glass facade or the S T A R K that should have loomed watchfully over midtown. But even this far, he could hear the groan of the zombies stumbling through the blood soaked rubble, lured there by the spectacle days ago and still dragging their feet through broken glass. After the flurry of communications throughout the week, Tony thought he had dealt with it and moved on to the next crisis, but he didn't know if he could go much closer yet. The tiny dots crawling along the Parkway at the edge of his vision marched stolidly onward while Tony hovered over the eternal gridlock of abandoned taxis, coated now with black dust dulling their ubiquitous yellow swarm. Onward, then. There was no reason to go back.

Turning in place, Iron Man streaked through the darkened, burnt out, shattered shell of Manhattan, veering tightly around chipped concrete and blackened brick until his own flare of light and hot red reflected back at him in the smooth wave of the Museum of Modern Art's glass face. It still glittered-- or maybe, compared to everything else, it seemed to have a welcoming polish to it. No wonder Steve chose this place. Iron Man swept upward to coast over it and gently glide down into the sculpture garden, touching down in a careful crouch to not crack the tile in this rare pocket of preserved serenity. The trees were wilted and the grass overgrown and dry, but the pool was still full-- rainwater, probably. It splashed clear and wide when Tony hurled his helmet at the peaceful surface, sending it into chaos reflecting on itself, lapping at the edges and soaking the floor. Okay, he was okay. He sat down heavily on the grass, head in his hand, watching the water distort the Iron Man's face as it slowly settled again. There was nothing he could do about it now. He fucked up, he shouldn't have gone anywhere in the first place, he should have handed Mystique over to S.H.I.E.L.D., he should have made sure he knew where everyone was and he should have done, known and been better. There was no excuse, there never was any good excuse for why he did the shit he did, so there was nothing left for Tony but to limp in with his tail tucked between his legs and promise, as ever, to do better. Tearing his gaze away from the red and gold, he glanced around at the surrounding glass walls, every inch wide window panes just waiting to be shattered by the next disaster. As beautiful as the museum was, it was the last place to put up a good defense. That was the first task. Onward, then.