Re: [Quicklog: Louis/Peggy]
[Did we indeed? The brief bounce of his eyebrows suggested he hadn't heard this story before. Then again, he'd never gone in much for comic books. He hadn't educated himself on the world he was walking into as much as he might have, either. He had the eerie feeling he might be engaging with a celebrity right now, and was simply unaware of it. It was the same feeling he had when the news reported civil wars on other continents and the latest acts of various supervillains in equal measure.
As curious as he was - as much as he wanted to know - he did not look through the boxes with her. The less he knew about this, the less likely anyone would be to come ask him what he'd seen in this place. This did seem like the kind of thing someone might be willing to hunt him down to know more about. If he made it out of this clear, he wouldn't mention it to a single soul. Everyone in his family had their own worries, just now. Being trapped in an underground storage facility for an intelligence organization was not a story anyone needed to hear. Especially not if there was a chance it might endanger them.
Was he overreacting? It was so hard to know. Things he once thought were safe could be very dangerous. He'd managed to be possessed by a god for a year because he decided to go to a bar one night.
Whatever the metal thing was on the table, it was giving him a deeply unsettled feeling. All he saw was Peggy reach out and pause, as if something had made her stop.] Is everything alright?
Then she yanked the cord connected to the thing to pull it loose, and he did hear the song, echoing through the small room, and a red light burst into the room from the object.
Stupid - stupid - he didn't think, reaching out to grab her by the shoulder and pull her back, regretting it halfway to touching her, realizing that it might be an electrical current that had caused the bright light and summoned up the singing -
His hand landed on her shoulder, and, circuit completed, something rippled through the bright light. There was a tremor in the song, impossibly loud, and then the light blinded him, pulsing through the thing on the desk with force, striking him as a blow to the chest.
The force was light - or it was music. Or feeling, or it was all of those things. It was cold. It ripped him away from her, singing all his senses, flushing the tiny room with a scent of ozone and sparking metal.
For a moment, he was airborne. The song was in his skull, deafening as if the singer was there too.
Then he was dashed against the wall, and fell limply to the floor.