@fortheamericandream @goddamnhowling
She wasn’t really exactly sure of what the plan had been, but Morgan was being forced to face the fact that whatever it was, it had…definitely been lacking. She would never admit aloud that maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t really expected her experiments to go much of anywhere, much less twenty years in the past. Maybe. Because if she’d expected this time to be the one after so many failed attempts and explosions and setbacks (and, well, injuries), then maybe she would’ve had the steps in place for what came next and more than $60 in her pocket. But she had none of that. Ah, the consequences of her own actions. What a bitch. But, Morgan was adaptable, and had a plan in motion. Well, part of a plan. Kind of a plan. She’d always done her best work when put on the spot, and this would be no exception, even if she was feeling …thrown, to say the least. Thrown and quietly ecstatic because she’d done it, she’d managed to land herself somewhere that wasn’t ten feet off the ground on fire in her dad’s old workshop. Where that was…well, she was getting there. Good question. She was working on that. Had to focus on the positives: no zombies, which was good. Very good, for a wide assortment of reasons. What year prior to the Anti-Life-Equation takeover…well, that was a good question. Context clues would support…2020s? She could work with that. Better than 1912, or some other bullshit. Hopefully not 2019, because that would offer a whole other shitbox of complications. Anything after 2019. 2020s meant she could enlist help, even if that would be complicated. But complicated had never stopped her. She’d managed time travel, for fuck’s sake! She could manage this. The cabin was familiar, if years newer, and Morgan didn’t hesitate even a beat before rapping her knuckles on the weirdly-familiar-yet-not wooden door with an overbright (and well, still damn-proud-of-herself) smile and her father’s glasses sliding down her nose - nanobots, her Iron Man suit kept well within reach - undeniable soot smeared across one of her cheeks. She didn’t hesitate in the wave when the door was finally answered, and plowed on without much preamble: “Hey so, this is really complicated and is definitely going to take a lot of explanation and I will get to that, but I am starving and I really really need to pee so we’re going for the condensed version. Hey, it’s Morgan. Morgan Stark Morgan. Not…not the one you know. Well, yes the one you know, but like…twenty-something years in the future? What year is it, exactly?” She shook her head once, grimacing a little. Right. Condensed. “Anyway, yeah. Definitely Morgan, how’s it going, can I use your bathroom? Which is…right there,” she pointed down the hall, into the house, “if I remember correctly?”
Not many strangers came knocking on their door, but Steve assumed that people who meant them harm didn’t usually pause to be polite either. The youthful face that stared up at him was familiar in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on until he registered the specific glasses the girl was wearing. Not that it meant anything – there were always copies around, from people trying to emulate Stark’s particular style.
And then she started speaking, rapid-fire words that sounded absurd – if one didn’t count their line of business. Steve frowned, half-disbelieving, half-shocked, but overall definitely not amused at having to deal with this.
“You sure talk like a Stark,” he observed, looking back over his shoulder. She had accurately pointed in the direction of the bathroom, and for that alone he stepped aside to let her in. “And if you know us, you’re also aware that Bucky doesn’t really hesitate behind the trigger, so go ahead. The risk if you try anything funny is all yours.”
@goddamnhowling
