Rooms

Who: Cris Martin-Argüelles
What: coming home
Where: Marvel, his apartment
When: hours after this and just after this
Warnings/Rating: some violence

(  Algo iba mal. )

[After this.]

[Call to Neil D]
[Ring!]

[Locked to Sam A]
Mami?

Hey baby, what's your sign?

[Bruce B]
Good evening, Dr. Banner.

Hello. Are you ready?

Are you ready to walk me through this?

[Locked]

Hello. The journal gave me your name, so I suppose that I am your valentine.

Does this feel as awkward to you as it does to me?

[After this or whatever.]

[Locked to Louis D]
he's on shit, yeah? Coco? he's fucking running high all the time. don't let his ass near Sam, wherever the fuck she is.

[Locked to Clementine M]
Peaches.

Please don't give me a hard time.

It seems very odd to ask a stranger this, but what is it you wish for?

[It was early on, but Clem was plenty awake, despite only napping some after a shift at the Iceberg that went late. Family folks were meeting, and things were busy, and Clem just sat folks and smiled and didn't ask after a thing. She didn't really care who won or lost in this Family war brewing in Gotham. She only cared about being on a side that was safe, and word was she'd picked one of the winning two. So, she wasn't worried a lick as she sat on the couch in pink lounge pants and white cashmere.

There was tea on the coffee table, chamomile, and blankets strewn all over. The cleaning woman came Fridays, and things were already a mess come Monday; Clem was used to cleaning folks that lived in quarters somewhere downstairs without the sun shining in. She wasn't used to waiting for folks to pick up things she left all over.

There was a magazine open on her lap, and she was reading some article about how to make her hair look real shiny in winter, and something voice played quiet from her iPhone, so as not to wake Jake if he was still sleeping in his nest of turpentine.]

Let's get this over with.

This is quite frivolous.

Fill in the blank.

What I want more than anything is ______.

So, anyone know Solas?

[No journals. This is mind-to-mind, the old fashioned way but it asks first. There's a smell of dry ice and smoke, dead incense and spitting flame. A disturbance: like a knock only inside, one conscious to another. Screw playing she doesn't have power, and why make use of alien magic when she has her own?]

[Ellie K]
Hello.

You've got a wish, right?

[The number is the burner phone, and it rings late.]

I'm going to take a stab in the dark. Vacation?

[Reluctantly, so very reluctantly...]

Hello.

[Narrative]
[After this.]
( She woke in a panic. )

[Text to Neil D]
Your guards are asleep. Lou is gone.

[Call to Cris M]
[Once she talks to Neil. Ring.]

So, hi. I'm supposed to grant you a wish, I guess?

[Private to Loren C.]

Greetings, Flesh Spectre.

[Clint B]

I suppose this is one way to make sure everyone gets a gift, but really you all ought to draw names its what they do at the office Christmas parties where I come from.

So what would you like?