Rooms

[Flash didn't want to wheel his ass all the way to Stark Tower and he knew being with Venom for a little while would make him feel better. The alien that most would classify as a monster hung from his closet like a drooping wilted flower and when he reached for it, the black tar suit made a soft whining noise. It knew what happened and it didn't surprise him that it missed Gwen Stacy. It had been with Flash and Gwen for years now. Long enough that if Flash was the one who died, he'd want her to have Venom. He was sure that the two would eventually learn how to balance each other out.

But, all of that didn't matter. Gwen was dead just like fate had told him and now it was time to make sure that all the things she cared about didn't get hurt. Jason, Hels, Pete and Harry were Flash's responsibility now. He'd need help, of course, that was why he went to Steve. If anyone could bring everyone together, it was Captain America, right? Flash thought he was being really sensible, that if Gwen was around she'd be proud of how he was handling it. Hell, he hadn't cried and when Hels asked if he was angry, he really wasn't. Anger lead to trying to find something to blame and in the end there was only him. Just like with the first MJ. It was Flash's fault for letting this happen to the two women who meant the most to him. Yeah, regret was the only thing he felt.

So, he put on the Venom suit, stuffed his dufflebag full of clothes and strapped his folded wheelchair to his back. Flash took his time swinging there, talking to Venom as he went. When he landed near Stark Tower, he slipped into an alley and let Venom morph so the only thing that was symbiote was his legs. T-shirt, jacket and then black pants that looked like jeans but under closer inspection were made out of material that moved on its own once and a while. He walked to Stark Tower, went through security and then made his way up to the living area. Once the elevator dinged he stepped out and gave a:] Yo?

[Private to Jason T, Harry O, Mary Jane W, Hels, Cindy M, Steve R. Separately.]

Gwen's dead.

[The morning after this. Obliviously.]

[locked to flash t.]

Hey, Gwen was supposed to come by my place last night but she never showed. And she's not answ Did things go bad with Harry or something?

[Harry doesn't show, and Gwen never makes it to Peter's place after her planned meeting at Midtown Library. The next morning, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents (Hydra aligned) show up at the apartment Gwen sharesd with Flash and Cindy, and they ask Flash to come with them to identify the body of a girl found at the library.

The story doesn't make the news. S.H.I.E.L.D. covers it up, and the only thing made public is that Midtown Library is closed for cleaning. But the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are fairly forthcoming with Flash, since he's an ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. employee. They inform him that a symbiote has been contained, having been found immobile/defenseless thanks to multiple internal sonic burns inflicted while consuming the the girl suspected to be Gwen Stacy. And the body is, in fact, Gwen - well, what's left of her. DNA and dental records will confirm the identification in coming days, though the information still won't be made public.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents don't inform Flash what their specific plans for the symbiote are, though they do state that the project that the symbiote will be used in will be named after the dead girl that led to their acquisition - Thanks, S.H.I.E.L.D.]

[Call: Flash T]
[Ring!]

[Locked to MK R]
That [...] was weird.

[Locked to Pepper P]
Hi, Ms. Potts.

[Locked to Flash T]
Infomercials until sunrise once I get home?

(That was totally my socially inept attempt to ascertain your mental state after the events of the recent evening.)

[Locked to Matt M]
How was your first time, sir?

[locked to gwen s., flash t., mj w., harry o. (individually)]

So, this time it was weird dreams. You okay?

[public.]

[Pfffft anon.]

Hey, lady in the cage I let out. You there?

[After falling asleep in the middle of all of his previous conversations, and just after seeing Selina's post (and the news).]

[Locked to Peggy C]
Did you make it through okay?

[Locked to Sharon C]
Well. That was fun.

[Locked to James B]
Hey, how was it?

[Locked to Tony S]
I was going to ask you about your dream, but maybe I should save it.

[Locked to Flash T]
I'm sorry I lost you in that conversation. Are you doing alright?

[Locked to Gwen S]
How are you doing, Gwen?

[Locked to Matt M]
That was the hotel.

[Locked to Natasha R]
Doing okay, Nat?

[Locked to Avengers+: Tony S + Bruce B + Thor + Natasha R + Clint B + James B + Peggy C + Sharon C + Wanda M + Billy K + Peter P, ETA: Teddy A, Bobbi M]
I hope everyone made it out the other side alright. You might've heard about the Hulk. We're looking for him now.

[There's a basket of muffins left on the counter Thursday morning. Poppyseed, Blueberry, and of course - Chocolate. There's a note laying on the counter beneath the basket.]

I promise these don't bite.

Happy Thursday!

-C

[On the heels of this.]

[Locked to Flash T]
No word on Carnage?

[Locked to Gwen S]
How're you, Gwen?

[Locked to Peter P + Flash T + Gwen S]
Any updates?

[Locked to Wanda M]
How're you doing, Wanda?

[Locked to Selina K]
Ma'am.

[Call: Peggy C]
[Early morning. Ring!]

[locked to cris m.]

Hey. I'm Sam's friend, MK.

[locked to wren h.]

OK?

[locked to mary jane w.]

Hanging in there?

[locked to flash t.]

How's it going, slugger?

[public.]

Auditions fucking suck.

[Flash T.]

Hey kid.

[Clint B.]

[He sends Clint two boxes of mud. Not really mud, firmer, a mould, gray and cold. The boxes are strong cardboard and about the size of a bread box. The note, in Tony's print, says: Stick your ear in it.]

[Steve R.]

So did you check on the friend we have in storage recently?

Who: Jake R and Flash T
What: Late night guerrilla graffiti
When: Recently!
Warnings: None, unless Flash comes with language.

Late night there wasn't nobody or nothing bothering anyone in the streets. The kitchen had emptied out late, past three by the time the stove-tops had been scrubbed cleaner than they had been all damn week, ready for the weekend rush. The door swung open onto the street with a gush of steamy, soapy-warm air that smelled like old food and detergent and Jake flung the last refuse sack of empty bottles right on into the trash before he shouldered his bag. Late night like this one, and he took the long route back to the tuxedo house, way off across the park. Wasn't a hell of a lot of point in going to sleep real quick off, mostly because he'd have to do the whole thing again tomorrow, and he flexed his hands experimentally, testing all those wrinkles from the suds.

Thing was, the money from the kitchen and from the bar on Saturdays, it paid enough for groceries and for the bills to keep the lights on. It didn't go so far as the real fancy art stuff in the store downtown, the one where the oil paints came in white tubes and you had to go in and take them out of the little drawers to see what color was kept inside them. Jake itched for something other than pencil on cheap paper: it had been a real long time. Longer than a year, if he figured it right, because he didn't have nothing but ballpoint on notebook paper after he'd lit out to go looking for Vegas ghosts, stead of school.

But the walk past the trash sacks and toward the park took him past the real ugly, concrete buildings, the sides of the bridges and the kind of places people peed in corners and the cops didn't stop long. Maybe in daylight, it was real ugly, and maybe when the light was low and the people living round there were around in the street, just talking and stuff, it looked like someplace you avoided if you were skinnier than you had been when you played football, and you didn't have much to start with.

But at night? Street-light played over neon, and the arches and swoops of art that was right on show, no ticket for admission. And the money from the kitchen didn't stretch to oil paint, but it did go so far as aeresol. And he'd always figured you could do something with the brilliance of color and ease of shape and something with the real old, fine art that was in books he looked at in libraries, and mash em some together.

The bag dropped from his shoulder to his feet, worn Chucks on sidewalk, and the streetlamp sputtered and carried on, blinking over worn cotton shirt, damp some at the wrists. Jake arched one long streak of color, stood back, grinned strong and sudden in the oily orange light, and added another, real content.

[Gwen hadn't slept well, and it kind of showed.

Sitting at the breakfast table of the Gramercy apartment that had seen mutants and tiny Gods alike, she was track-pants and a long-faded shirt from Midtown high, the thumb-holes indicating it had probably belonged to one of the many precursor Peters. Her hair was neatly pulled back, and her cornflower blue eyes were slow-blink sleepy. She nursed some green tea, which was warm but offered limited caffeine benefits, and she was considering a protein pancake. The sun was just beginning to think about warming up the sky, and she flipped the pages in the book she was reading on host/parasitic relationships, as if the words on the page were going to somehow provide some heretofore unknown insight to Carnage's psyche.

She'd begun work on a new containment unit, and the thing was in the corner of the kitchen, pieces of pieces, and she should really go steal the old one from Stark Tower. She could just ask Mr. Rogers, but she wasn't inclined to do that, and her dad would forgive her from his grave if she resorted to theft this one time. She didn't have her own lab anymore, and building anything as complicated as a containment unit was kind of beyond her currently available materials. They should probably get the suit repaired too, since it might be the only way to get the symbiote off whoever it decided was good enough to permanently host it.

Thinking about that made her shudder, and she flipped the page on the book and then headdesk'ed, cheek against the crisp pages as she gave up on reading altogether.] Why does training have to happen so early? [Yep, that was totally whiny.]

[Peter & Gwen group lock]
[While staying up with Gwen as she does nerd science shit.]

Carnage took my ability to track it. We're going to have to figure out a way to lure it someplace. Pete, have you been able to sense it at all?

[Cindy M]
[Pos-it left on her stuff:]

yo roomie hit me up on the journals: flash t.

[Steve R]

Can I get some advice?

Who: Venom and Spider-Gwen
Where: New York
When: recently!
What: tracking down Carnage isn't such a good idea
Warnings: Carnage gore rawr

( She landed on the ledge beside him, crouch and a smile behind the white, but his immediate question (with the added bonus of swear words!) let her know this wasn't going to go as smoothly as telling Peter. )

[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?

Who: Flash Thompson & MJ Watson
What: a ~pretend~ date
Where: New York Aquarium
When: not too long after this; early evening
Warnings/Rating: they might talk about dolphin dildos

( So, maybe it wasn't the like, most romantic place or whatever. )

[From the Passages hallway. As Maddie Kate R.]

Fuck.