Carol is going to be okay (msmarveling) wrote in marvel_united, @ 2014-01-11 15:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | ms. marvel, namor |
Who: Carol Danvers (Open if someone wants to pop in)
NPCs: —
When: Jan. 11, 2014, Afternoon
Where: Avengers Mansion, Gym
What: Carol takes a break from packing for her trip to work out some stress in preparation.
Rating: PG-13
The holidays weren't the best time for Carol, but she dealt with them as best she could. She should've gone home, but she didn't. The last time she spoke to her father, things were tense, awkward, and he didn't want to spend a few days dealing with that. She knew enough time passed that they should be able to get over their disagreements, but Carol wasn't good about dealing with her own personal dramas a lot of the time. She ignored it and pretended it wasn't there. Even with seeing a counselor in rehab, she still struggled sometimes. Not so much with drinking anymore, she'd been stone cold sober since Sue and Reed's wedding, but family was always a touchy subject.
The suitcase upstairs was mostly packed. Carol was never one to waste space with too many clothes, and her trip next week to Virginia wouldn't be a vacation. She'd go down there, maybe see some old friends from the Air Force and then on Thursday go to Steve's grave and pay her respects. Maybe during that time she'd get around to talking to her parents again to see if they could go together, maybe afterward share a lunch. These all sounded like good ideas, her counselor would tell her she needed to, but Carol had a sinking feeling she wouldn't try.
A red gloved fist hit the punching bag, making the chain that held it up creak loudly. Normally she used yoga to destress, but lately it wasn't quite doing the trick. So beating up a bag filled with sand was clearly the next best option. Rolling her neck she went through another series of punches. Talk to her dad, don't talk to her dad. Eeenie, meenie, miney, moe.
Hey, I'm shipping out tomorrow, Carol. Private Danvers, taking out terrorists and protecting the good ol' U.S. of A! Steve's voice chimed in her head. She'd spoken to him briefly before he went out and they'd talked about a lot of things. When my tour is done, let's go grab a couple of beers together. We'll reminisce until mom calls me to ask where I am. Another creak as a powerful blow struck the leather casing.
Aww, little Steve is all grown up. Wanting to drink some brewskies with his big sis.
Whatever, Carol. But you and me, watching a game on the TV down at Brenden's.
Take care of yourself, Steve.
The next punch finally made the taut metal jerk hard enough that it twisted apart. The punching bag landed on the floor of the gym with a heavy thud and some loosened fibers spilled sand onto the wood. Shit.
It shouldn't bother her this much. Hell, spent a good chunk of last year spilling her guts to someone so she could deal with this. She thought she had. But maybe she just wasn't in a good head-space. Steve's funeral so soon after all those family holidays. It was a cocktail for disaster and she usually just hit the bottle. Last year she was recovering in rehab, this year was her first time really handling it on her own.
She was tougher than this. She could deal with this.
Carol grabbed the bag by the chain and dragged it to leave it near a wall for her to dump later. She opened a closet, drawing another punching bag out and went to set it up. She wasn't done yet. Once she was down there she'd be facing old ghosts, and somehow, knocking that punching bag down made her feel good. Maybe doing it again would put her in a good enough mood to not dread the impending journey.
Maybe.