Rooms

[locked to tony s]

I'm ready to take you up on that offer you made me. What's a guy have to do to get a robot suit?

[locked to bruce b]

Can you do me a favor?

[Fuzzy timelines.]

So, I've been hella patient, but we're halfway through this thing. Where the fuck is my wish? I cooked an entire turkey and made a nurse split the wishbone with me (and won!), I like, blew out hella candles over a (six+ mo. belated/half-birthday barely belated) birthday cake, I tossed only about 1000 pennies into every fountain I could find in this shitty Vegas, and I watched so many dated gifs of shooting stars and/or breakdancing rats (also cool Spider-Man), bc it was the closest I could get. What more do I have to do here? Do I need to be made of wood? (Pinocchio reference.) I mean, I'm ready to Charles Perault up out of this joint, Jupiter. Give me a nose and I'll wish it into a sausage and/or black pudding. Just like, let's go. I'm feeling left out as balls.

ETA: [Locked to Daniel W]
[We'll say it's while he's waiting for Louis.]

I'm officially checking-in to make sure you didn't wish for something fucking stupid.

Who: Harry Osborn
What: A meltdown
Where: The Stark Tower cell
When: Now
Warnings: Sadness.

After a little too much time spent on his journal, Harry tucked the book away under his pillow. He rested on his cot, beneath the warmth of a blanket that was a blue that reminded him of the one from his own bed at home. Little elements that he imagined Gwen had placed in this cage to make it feel more like home. But there was no home. The Osborn Estate was just that an estate, it qualified better as a museum of priceless beauty than anything like a home. He remembered Peter Parker's cozy little spot as a home. Homes had warth and memories, but where Harry had grown up, everything was cold and neglectful.

He'd told people that he could find the cure if they let him out, but really, it was just salesman bullshit. He didn't know if he could find it in his father's files, if his father had even bothered to create such a thing. Harry remembered the first time he'd injected himself, it'd been out of anger, and the second time it'd been out of sadness. His father had just died, and that video of his father made it seem like a dying wish for Harry to become the next stage in human evolution. But it hadn't worked right, or maybe Harry's body and mind were just the wrong fit. He didn't know, but the more that he thought about it, the more depressed he became. His talks with Mary Jane and Gwen didn't help. They'd both essentially cut themselves out of his life, and Harry wasn't even sure where he stood with Peter anymore. The daughter he'd only just found out about? He'd probably never be allowed to see her. He had no family, his company was crumbling, everything that he'd once been was hollow. Sometimes he didn't even know who he was anymore. The kind of person who left bruises on Gwen? The kind of person who might have murdered MJ?

If that was Harry Osborn, he didn't want to be Harry Osborn anymore.

It was about this time that he began refusing meals, saying he wasn't hungry. Refusing fluids, he wasn't thirsty. When they tried to stick him with intravenous nutrients, he fought them to the point of requiring sedation. But the goblin serum in his body metabolized drugs fast, and when he woke up, he yanked the IV out. They tried the sedation and IV technique twice more, higher doses each time. It kept him down a little bit longer, enough to take in some fluids and minerals through a vein. But a half hour later, when he woke up and tore the needle out of his arm again,all they could do was momentarily give up, and they let Harry curl up in his blue blanket, wordless. Or was it worthless?

[Locked to "C" anon]

Ready?

Who: Cris Martin-Argüelles
What: mal comportamiento
Where: Marvel, NYC
When: late Friday night
Warnings/Rating: some violence

( Él tenía que ir. )

[After this, when he gets home. Late and/or early, depending on your point of view.]

[Locked to "Protester" Anon]
Okay so I been thinking

[Locked to Neil D]
hey amigo. you gotta minute?

[Locked to Elena M]
[Slow, careful typing.] You gonna tell me what you wished for? I know it musta been for Teresita and I don't wanna ask for something redundant.

[Locked to Marina S]
You wish for your boy, honey?

[Locked to Jake R]
Saw you looking for your wishfolk. You handling this fine?

[locked to max m]

I don't think they're coming.

[locked to luke h]

Are you okay?

[After this]

[Bruce B]

Quick Question. Discretion required.

[Gwen S]

Me again.

[Stephanie was trying her hardest to adjust, to learn this Gotham. Maybe a different girl -- a blonde bat -- would have dove right into crime fighting and patrolling, but that wasn't this girl's schtick. (Not yet, anyway. Who knew what this place might bring?) No, right now this Steph had different priorities. Namely, finding out who was here and what the sitch was. Sure, Eddie had said that her father had been dead for a long, long time in this Gotham, but that didn't mean anything right now. She wanted proof, and Nigma wanted her to go away anyway, so why would she believe him?

A niggling voice in the back of her mind told her that he was right, that he was trustworthy though. The memories tucked away in the back of her brain from another woman told her that he was good. And yeah, Steph couldn't help believing that. She couldn't help believing that all these people were good. Even the Bat, or at least this Bat. Maybe it was that pesky hope that she could never really shake. That unwavering faith that people, deep down, could have redeemable qualities. (See: Arthur Brown.)

She almost didn't go out that day to find out, but she wasn't satisfied. She had googled Brown, Cluemaster, anything relating to him, but all she got were some dated articles about her dad and then some about her. Or the other her. Whatever.

So, she got bundled up, and she made her way to the university. Classes had already started, and she'd gotten emails from professors asking about a "medical leave," so she assumed that it was fair game to go there. The campus itself was teeming with students, and for the first time since she arrived here, she felt real familiarity. Not a fleeting, vague remembrance of a life that wasn't hers. She felt herself unspool as she strolled along the path, purple hat on top of blonde hair bright among the blue-slate cityscape and snow coating the campus. Guard down for once, even if maybe it shouldn't be.]

[Locked to Peggy C.]

What's the story, Morning Glory?

Who: Sam
What: Admission
Where: Hotel → Ocean's Eleven
When: Just after this
Warnings/Rating: Language & themes - depression, drugs, suicide, etc. This is miserable. \o/

( 72-hour mandatory. )

Hello.

Have you decided yet?

[locked to jake r.]

hey.

Hello.

I think I've decided.

Your heart's desire. I'm waiting.