Rooms

Who: Sam (& Meredith mentions)
What: Narrative: Bailing (like an idiot)
Where: New York → Elsewhere
When: During this
Warnings/Rating: Language, mentions of the regular Sam stuff

( Maybe it was just the deluge of guilt drowning her, but she stopped by Meredith's, and she took the redhead with her. She'd promised, and maybe she wanted to keep at least ONE of her promises. )

[The news stories didn't run nationwide in Canada, over the weeks that followed from the accident. Mainly they ran in Quebec, mainly in the local township francophone papers, and one small story in Le Soleil and the Quebec Chronicle when the accident first happened. It was all very strange, a man shot, a serious car accident on a remote highway. No one had seen the shooter, and no one had seen the blonde woman flee from the scene into the forest. Lucky for her

Meanwhile, in one small township in Eastern Quebec, a woman had wandered in, checked into a motel in the middle of the night, and began making small talk at the local cafe the following morning. She was obviously from the region, if her accent was any indication, and she settled into the motel nicely while she made friends locally. She even found a part time job.

However, within a few weeks, as fast as she'd appeared - she disappeared. Simply upon receipt of a package that just had her room number on it, she'd disappeared overnight from the motel.

For a few days, the small town talked about it, and then someone was caught having an affair and the news became much more interesting around the local haunts.]

Who: Cerise & Elliot, followed by Cris.
What: Meeting with the serial killer.
Where: St. Raymond's Cemetery, NY. Marvel.
When: Pre-dawn. As agreed upon with Elliott, and after her meeting with Cris.
Warnings: Possible violence. Will update as needed.


( The cemetery was in the Bronx, so it was already close by. )

[Clementine M]

Hi, honey. I'm back.

[Cris M]

I'm back. Is Sam okay?

[Hawkeye is seen around town doing crime fighting things as he does. This is not a big surprise. What's surprising are his sweet new pair of boots. They are cool and he is keeping them.]

[Anonymously.] Someone missing a bo stick?

[After this.]

[Call to Sam A]
[Ring!]

[Blood definitely present, not in quantities enough to be concerning.] Help

cat

she devil ninja beast

[TEXT MESSAGE]

need you need you
hello
now
need you
now
now

[In the early hours of Wednesday morning, 'Zoya Abdulova' is found dead by her security team in her Manhattan penthouse at the top of an expensive, luxurious hotel. She died of a single gunshot wound to the head.

There are signs of a struggle, including overturned furniture. The bed is completely flipped over, and her dead body is lying half-on, half-off the flipped mattress. Police are quick to state that they have several suspects, but no evidence, trace or otherwise, has been found. No skin under the victim's fingernails, no blood or fingerprints. The bullet that killed her is remarkable, an untraceable thing with no signs of rifling from the barrel that fired it.

The intelligence community murmurs about the hallmarks of the death, and the unusual amount of disturbance at the scene for a killing attributed to this particular assassin.

By evening there are reports that 'Zoya Abdulova' may in fact have been a false name, and an unidentified source claims there were documents left on the victim's body that pointed to her work with the former Soviet government. The Russians quickly refute this, and state that this individual had absolutely no ties to their intelligence machine. But rumors persist, backed up by the victim's striking resemblance to a famous Cold War photograph from the 1950s of a pair of dashing, infamous intelligence operatives. The photo is of a man and a woman, known only, and collectively, as 'Dyatlov.']

[She shows up on Tuesday afternoon at the NYPD, dropped off in front of the building by an unmarked vehicle with no license plates. Upon review of security footage, nothing of the driver is visible due to the darkly tinted windows.

Dressed in generic green scrubs (the sort that could be purchased at any mass retailer), she stands briefly at the steps to the building before collapsing to the concrete stairs. Blinded and with her tongue removed, it's easy to piece together where those parts are. But she's not blonde, not in the slightest. Dark brown hair and tanned skin that had seen plenty of summer sun, the girl's college-aged and there's signs that she had once been in shape. But she's not anymore, no. Sunken cheeks and bird-thin limbs, she exhibits signs of dehydration and malnutrition. Whoever was holding her was not taking very good care of her at all.

But the most interesting thing about the girl is the message that's been carved into her back.

Martin

Stone

Murphy

Big, bold letters carved deep into the dermis. They're already healing, done several days prior, but they're still angry and red, and where the scabs have been scratched off by desperate fingers, blood seeps to stain the skin.

The girl isn't up for answering too many questions, but when given paper and a pen, she can write. Her penmenship is messy, uneven and difficult to read, but the single word comes out quite clear.

fire
fire
fire
fire

Over and over it's written, and further attempts to get information out of her, including an identity, prove futile.]

Who: Harry Osborn
What: A return to 20 and return of memory.
When: Fuzzy timeline is fuzzy.
Warnings: Nada.

( He remembered everything. )

[Once the plans had been made, the cars came. Each was unobtrusive, sleek and gleaming and the interior smelled like upholstery shampoo and money. The ride to the facility was two hours from the center of Manhattan: long enough to be out of the way of tabloid journalists and scandal, beyond the Hudson and the decimation of the laboratory that lay beneath the iron-grey water. From the outside, the building looked like a home. Modern by design but unobtrusive in a landscape mostly scattered.

The door refused to open other than to an iris-scan, the familiar holographic blue of Stark technology and it would admit only one at a time.

Upon entry to the building, it became rapidly apparent that this was not a home. To the right, what had once been the living room had been stripped out and replaced with a bed: the kind found in discreet and eye-wateringly expensive clinics in Switzerland. Tech surrounded the bed: screens that monitored for signs of life, the majority of which were quietly humming with no apparent significance. A drip hung above the bed, and a ventilator stood by.

The presence of medical staff - the kind who ran the equipment and attended to the man in the bed - was undeniably obtrusive. White coats, and they were within the place. Not by the bedside currently, but Pepper was. There was no press-release to explain absence, but the press were now used to Tony disappearing frequently for unexplained periods and Pepper could run whatever was required from whatever location was required. It was easier than she had thought it would be.

She wasn't business-meeting appropriate now. She was black on black and she sat in the sort of low chair drawn up to hospital bedsides all over the world, except this looked as if enough money had been spent to make it comfortable.]

Who: Ashleigh Donovan
What: A return
Where: Ocean's Eleven | Marvel: Brooklyn
When: Recent
Warnings/Rating: None to speak of

( Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping... )

Who: Wanda
What: Problems
When: Shortly before her in progress thing with Jean
Where: Her rooms, Xavier Mansion
Warnings/Rating: Further descending

( Shift )

[A short, ten second mobile phone video goes viral this morning.

The video is supposed to be recording the unremarkable damage to a white sedan, caused by a fender bender on the side of the road. It's interrupted almost immediately by the masked Daredevil, clearly visible in black and red material (though no proper suit and no weapons), landing on the roof of the sedan and sliding down it, feet first and full-length, into traffic. He flips over two more moving vehicles, both of them taxis, and then launches himself through an empty school bus that happened to have a few windows down on either side.

The astonished viewers (who are yelling in surprise in the background of cars honking) lose sight of him in the violet light of dawn as he pursues someone down an alley on the opposite side of the road. Both are lost before anyone thinks to pursue. The video ends with a pan back to the hood of the white sedan, which now has a smear of blood on it.]

Who: Sharon Carter and some NPC Bullshit
Where: Some Bullshit Highway in Canada.
What: SOME BULLSHIT
When: Oh now or some bullshit like that
Warnings: BULLSHIT - And then death - And then hiking?

( Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. )

Who: Ash
What: A narrative
Where: Ocean's Eleven -> Marvel
When: Recent
Warnings/Rating: None to speak of

( Life had a way of sweeping a person away. )

Who: Thor
What: The anger of witches
Where: Asgard -> Yggdrasil -> Jotunheim -> Asgard
When: Currentish
Warnings/Rating: Nada

( Of Norns and Witches )

Who:Mingmei and Kitane
Where: Mingmei's apartment in Marvel Door
When: Shortly after this network post to Kitane, so backdated a bit
What: Mingmei recovers from the subway attack
Warnings: Probably none
Status: Incomplete, threaded

( It was like nothing she had ever experienced before... )