s (atrophy) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-07-10 03:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *log, mary jane watson, steve rogers |
log, Stark Tower: Mary Jane W/Steve R
[Buffeted, shoved, and otherwise jostled along, Steve had a true moment of fear on the stainless steps of Stark Tower—it was strange, but it was true. It crystallized in the tumble of his stomach and dropped away to his feet as they caught on ankles, on legs, on stands. He was overwhelmed and felt suddenly small again, awash in a sea of clicking cameras, lenses, and shouting journalists. HAVE YOU SEEN MR. STARK? IS TONY STARK DEAD, MR. ROGERS? TELL US WHO IS RUNNING STARK INDUSTRIES. DO YOU THINK STARK INDUSTRIES CAN WITHSTAND THE LOSS OF ITS PRODIGAL SON? WHAT HAPPENED TO PEPPER POTTS? WHO WAS THAT MAN, CAP? AT THE FIREWORKS? He felt like he was in an alley and he was too small to fend off the attack, but like he had to try. He didn't want to hurt anyone, however. So it was with head bent against the gales of questions and hands folded tightly into the pockets of his jogging pants that Steve Rogers moved through the landlocked crowd of the Media.
He knew they hadn't been like this—back when he was on stage, there was a perimeter. They called him Mr. Rogers or Captain. They didn't grab at him as he walked past, they didn't push up into his space so far he felt threatened, big man or not.] Excuse me—
[He said it 1,000 times as he tried to swim to the front doors of the building. He couldn't help but wonder if something had happened to make them all descend today, but then he remembered they'd been trickling around for weeks, coming in and out of the plaza that opened before Stark Tower in packs. Maybe the stocks had dropped.
He wished he hadn't gone out for a run just then, as someone ran a rag across his forehead, jarringly, wiping some of the sweat away—for some reason...]