Rooms

[Text to Ella D]
[She texts the address to the rental townhouse.]

Need you. Bring gloves. Cujo is having a rabid day.

[During this.]

He looks like shit. Thee is blood on his facee

[Call to Cris M]
[At this point in time. Ring. Mid-day.]

[Text to Neil D]
[And, safety whim. Same time.] You in the door or whatever?

[Text Message Steve Rogers]

Hi.

[They move her from the hospital to the Ocean's Eleven group home quietly on Friday morning. The place is safe and unpublished, with twenty residents and very extensive security measures in place.]

[Locked to Daniel W]
Hey, baby. Turn into Count Chocula yet or whatever?

[Locked to Benjamin A]
Did you keep Daniel entertained for me?

[Locked to Loren C]
Shit got kind of fucked up.

[Text to Cris M]
Abuela told my shrink about you.

[During this.]

[Text to Clementine M]
the fuck, Peaches?

[Sometime after Harry is brought to Stark Tower. Fuzzy timelines woo.]

[text to mj watson.]

hey. checking in. you okay?

[locked to gwen s.]

You took off pretty Hey.

[During this.]

Okay what?

[After this conversation.]

( Email to Tony S )

[In an appropriately girly hand, in a slip of pearlescent pink gel pen.]

Dear Diary,

What the fuck?

Luv,
MJ

ETA: [After this.]

[Phone call to Peter P]
Ring!

[Also text(s) to Peter P]
TIGER PICK UP

[Deliveries to: Bruce W, Selina K, Dick G, Stephanie B, Alfred P.]

[A card, stamped with AirMail and postmarked from Prague of all places. Inside is a simple Thank you, written in Helena's hand, and though the cards are identical, if checked they all show slight variations on the inside text to indicate that they're handwritten instead of simply copied. There's no return address on any of them.

Alfred's alone shows what might be a crumb. The cookies were damned good.]

[Delivery to Gwen S.]

[Gwen gets the same card as above, but on the inside hers says, Better late than never. Merry Christmas, -Hels and comes with a festively wrapped package. Inside is an empty photo album, so she might put new pictures of whatever she likes inside, a slouchy hat in bright purple, something a little science-y, something very science-y, and something fanciful.]

[Text to Harley Q.]

[A picture of a panty-clad hip.]

[Text to Ronan X]

Google just gave me the search suggestion of 'not without my anus.'

[Text to Neil D]

Those were entirely too much. You really shouldn't have.

Is everyone alright? I didn't want to pry, but I'm worried.

[Public]

Does anyone still do New Years Resolutions?

[Post-this.]

what, you don't believe there's such a thing as overkill?

[Text to Wren H]

Did the holidays treat you well?

[During this. Late.]

[Text to Elena M]
I'm dropping Teresa off. Work.

ETA, after Elena's: [Call to Louis D]
Ring!

[After a few phone calls from well-meaning old ladies, under the assumption that Miss is Helena, he sends her a text.]

Very amusing, Miss.

[If this isn't Helena, that might be a weird message.]

You ever just gve the fuck up
?

[While she and Clint are waiting outside the Osborn facility, alerts that she set up before heading out start lighting up her line. In an effort to get the lay of the land, she has intel markers out, and one of them has something very interesting to say. It's immediately followed by something more ritualistic in nature, and she leans against her bike and her fingers fly over the keys as she breaks her way into the heavily encrypted network. From there, she traces the path backward, and then she does her best to predict future hit points.

Untraceable, the virus is tiny, elegant, and it's set to trigger every panel and console at the next pinpointed locations if someone trips her security web.]

мы сыграть игру?

[Shall we play a game, comrade?]

[Text to Clint B]
Bears?

[Text to Wanda M]
How's the school?