Rooms

[locked to matt m]

[On a hunch, after seeing something that looked like a journal at the apartment. He's been gone for about six hours when the message comes through.]

Left to help someone. Went [...] differently than expected. Will be back soon. Safe?

[locked to steve r]

Your friend, Wanda. It's not good.

[locked to clem m]

[On a similar hunch.] Had to leave to help someone. I'll be back to check on him as soon as I can.

[eta: selina k]

Hey.

[locked to tony s]

[...] Know where the mutant school is?

( [in person: jean g] )

[The being formerly known as Death]

I flirted.

[Text after this, with a slight delay to get up, out, and find a prepaid cell. She's hunkered down somewhere safe to ride out the worst of it. Typed carefully.]

[Text to Cris M]
hey. i'm ok. i messed up, but i'm fine, yeah? i just want to sleep. will call when i wake or whatever. pls, pls, i'm ok. just let me sleep. don't freak or whatever, don't freak anyone else out. i'm ok. i just want sleep and some time alone, k? i'll call.

Who: Dr. Victor Frankenstein and Irene Adler
What: A meeting!
Where: Penny Dreadfuls, Mariner's Inn.
When: Late night.
Warnings/Rating: Unlikely.


The Mariner's Inn, under cover of nightfall. Pearl-pricked obsidian, the sky, and gossamer moonlight on swarthy water. The air was thick with brine, salt of the sea and vinegar of poorly kept wine rolling in from barrels on the ships. Men of bad repute and worse health stumbled from plank to shore, then through the Inn's doors to vanquish their sea legs at barstool or bed. Victor, in his navigation of vanity's stars, with chin tipped up and bleary eyes outlining Cassiopeia's beauty, he barely avoided trample by an alarming fellow with one eye and a demon's scowl.

"Pardon me," and in retreating lack of grace, Victor bumped into a doorjamb and then a table cluttered with musty glasses and stained playing cards. He palmed the front of his dark coat, reassurance found in the familiar scrape of black twill under his fingers. There was a vacant table near the edge of the bar, and Victor sat there in a poor attempt at belonging among rogues and gamblers.

He aimed for hard, glacial, and petrous… but his eyes remained a touch too wide, crude curiosity in the milky stare of an addict. He was nervous, despite his hands. His hands were still and without betrayal, suspended in the air near his face, fingers laced and unlaced again. Even the way that he extracted a small watch from his pocket bespoke surgical delicacy, fine-tuned precision in small details. The watch was old silver, and he checked it three times in the span of ten minutes, every tick of an intricate hand bringing him closer to anxiety. The man was running late, Victor hated that.

[Jake R]

You owe me a visit, honey.

[Graham R]

I'm back and rested up, and I think you owe me a meal.

[Cris M]

I'm going down the list and cashing in on things people owe me, I don't know what you owe me, but I'm sure it's something. So pay up.

[Locked to Sam A]

[The address is in upstate New York, Marvel Door. A cabin by a lake, woodsy and understated. There's another address, a post office in the nearest town some 20 miles away. A PO Box. The key's waiting pick-up at the post office under her name. Nothing else is left in the note.]