Rooms

[Group lock: Graham R, Shane A, Jack C, Jake R, Evie S]
[The address to a Union Square tri-level in Manhattan.]

It's got six rooms. Three are furnished. Every damn person staying is helping with utilities and taxes on this thing. That means you're getting yourself a job, Shane, if you're coming.

Evie, Jack said you needed someplace, so you come on too. There's plenty of room.

Who: Wren and Saint + Luke
What: Taking pictures in bad places
Where: Queens, alleys and backstreets
When: Nowish
Warnings/Rating: Violence & NPC death

Wren started out at the park, just like she'd said. Midday, and children laughing. Gus was at school, and she'd left Lia at the NYPD daycare. Luke was working, and she texted him to tell him the name of the park. It had all started out right, sun high in the sky and laughter catching and carrying on the Spring wind. She was dressed in a bright yellow sundress, a tiny cream shrug overtop and her camera-bag slung across her middle. She wasn't scared to be out; she was better about the noises now. Loud, they jarred her, but she could come back from it in a few seconds. No closets and locked doors, and no dead children to worry about. Just the sun on the crown of her cinnamon hair, and her toes curling in her sandals.

She snapped pictures of children on slides and monkey bars, and no one thought anything of the harmless young woman behind the camera lens. She was going to get releases, but someone caught her attention. Out of the corner of her eye, a little boy, curls and dirty feet. Running, and she followed. Maybe she shouldn't, but she did. She snapped a picture as he met with some older men on a corner, as he pulled a fistful of something from one pocket and exchanged it for a roll of money. He was young, five or six, about Gus' size, and Wren watched from behind a camera lens with a quiet snap of images. Unconcerned, though she should be, and she followed when the little boy moved on. His bare feet, and that was dangerous in New York.

She didn't really notice as the streets became dirtier and dirtier. The girls on the streets were red-rimmed eyes and short skirts, and the little boy danced between them like they were his family. She remembered the streets; she remembered how that felt, and she followed as he ducked into a dark alley, maw wide, and she snapped pictures of the graffiti and the trashcan-fire she could see burning deep, deep in the dark space, laundry overhead hanging from the fire escapes and obscuring the midday light. And the boy began scaling the fence at the end of the alley, and Wren followed into the dark.

[Instead of replying here & here, he just posts anew.]

[Locked to Peter P + Gwen S + Flash T]
This is your op. I trust your judgment. I'm sorry if I bludgeoned you earlier. If you think it's safer not to go public about Carnage, we won't. I'm not sure how helpful I can be, but if you need anything, let me know, logistics, backup, just name it—and please update me. I'll talk to Tony and see if we can work to provide resources or anything else you might need. Is there anyone else you do or do not want to bring on for assistance? (And hello, Flash.)

[Locked to Tony S + Bruce B + Bucky B]
Where are we with Insight? How can I help? I'd like to include both Carters in our discussions, since both are intimate with S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA, if everyone's okay with it. Natasha and Barton too could be assets when it comes to navigating S.H.I.E.L.D. internally.

[Locked to Jason T]
Hi, Jason. Do you have a minute?

Lady Jane, would you meet me in the hotel?

[Public, as Matthew M.]

The man that speaks the news, what best is the station to hear him?

[Gwen S.]

How now, Arachne?

[Saint R.]

May I beg assistance with these hangman's ties? They do not lie right about my neck. In my home t'would be a good thing, but not here.

It may only be 63 degrees, but I don't care. Sun's out. Guns out.

Graham Ross?