i propose a truce

a lie is the imagination of truth, but a story is the truth of imagination. brandon. twentythree. lost. this is a multi-muse blog and writing archive. please be sure to read my rules and guidelines before replying.

[lostbabyorchird-deactivated2016]

"Oh shut up and come in! I hope you got me chicken nuggets for showing up at my door so late. Plus what would you do if places weren’t open on Christmas and Sundays??"

[quillandquire-blog]

"I got... many nuggets. There's fifteen or twenty, I can't remember which." Steve offered a nod, kicking his boots on the door frame to clear them of snow. "We did all our shopping Saturdays, and then we'd do Church on Sundays, invite the cousins over for sunday dinner, and then before bed, we'd gather around the radio and listen to Flash Gordon, or Ripley's, or Terry and the Pirates--nobody dared leaving the living room on a Sunday, definitely not to go shopping."

[quillandquire-blog]

wwarholas

"SOO YOU GONNA BUY ME A DRINK OR WHAT?"

[quillandquire-blog]

"Okay, tell me the truth. Did Pauly drink the orange juice directly out of the jug?"

wwarholas

[deusxeruditio-blog]

Never heard of you.

The words didn’t quite settle well into Simon – enough that he felt his brow raise up a bit. Not that he was asking for recognition but somehow it kind of felt like gymnastics camp all over again where no one even clapped at flawless piked jager. Then again it wasn’t some competition and his rank in the street level notoriety isn’t exactly what was important at the moment, but rather the sudden twist of events that made the young vigilante tilt his head in bewilderment.

“Welcome to the club?” he repeated the words, not even realizing that he was actually thirsty when Yellowjacket pointed it out. At that moment, he needed answers more than water and with a passing brush of his fingers against the handle of his baton, he finally let his hands fall to the side, the other still pressed against his waist. “What you’re some vigilante too?”

[quillandquire-blog]

Jarvis' mouth hung slightly parted, narrowed eyes flickering between the door and Nightfall. After a moment of veiled frustration, he dropped his hand and stuck it behind his back, palm clasping over wrist to hold it in place. "Kind of," he said, looking over his shoulder before stepping back to the wall. He slowly buckled his knees and fell to the ground, making a relieved sigh on behalf of his aching legs.

"I don't like 'vigilante'. It makes me sounds like Batman." Jarvis looked up, shoulders rolling in a shrug. "We're more of a loose centralization of young do-gooders. Besides, 'vigilante' discredits us. Makes us sound like... criminals. I'm a legitimate hero." Sometimes. When he was lucky, or if Bora, Prudence, and the twins were around to make him look useful. "Did you kill somebody back there? Is that why you dragged me away?" Nothing if not classy.

[deusxeruditio-blog]

Okay, fine. Sarcasm begets sarcasm. Simon didn’t take offense in that and even if he want to, he can’t because what was more important was to keep himself in one piece since the situation he was in was quickly getting tense. At least, he still knows where to jump when shit hits the fan, or more specifically, if shit hits the dilapidated ceiling with the bare ply wood and wire just dangling idly with the wind. 

But as the boy tattled on, Simon’s features became less stiff and more, or even more, confused. Codenames? Identity? Sure, his father had his fair share of vigilantes around town but is it possible that the one before Simon is one of them? Same crime spot, bit of fearlessness and mystery… and well, he calls himself Yellowjacket.

"I…" he finally mumbled. Well, Nightfall wasn’t exactly the name that he thought for himself — it’s just that he patrols every night since he has school in the earlier half of the day and for some reason it caught on. Okay, the reason is most probably because they need to call him something in case he arrives. And since it has built enough reputation, Simon adapted it as well. "Nightfall…" he replied 

[quillandquire-blog]

Jarvis keeps looking out the little door of their enclave, half expecting something to happen. His face remains still, but the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. Of course he was the one to get lost. Of course. And of all the night for his phone to not want to work. He doesn't know why he's so nervous, either. No reason to be nervous. Nothing worth fixating on, at least.

"Nightfall?" he repeats, no real tone in his voice. "I've never heard of you." Of course, in this situation, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. He didn't exactly want to be a notorious superhero. All he wanted was canned ravioli and maybe a better grade in phys ed. "But, uh, hi, I guess. Welcome to the club." He debated it for a second, then finally stretched out his hand to shake Simon's. "You keeping hydrated? This place doesn't have running water and I gave B--a friend my wallet. Because she has pockets."

[deusxeruditio-blog]

It was dark and it wasn’t at the same time. From the uneven city lights that managed to seep into the windows that were covered in clear tattered tarpaulin that billowed with the wind like some badly made attempt for a ghastly Halloween decoration, Simon felt a little bit uninvited…more so guarded when he saw another source of light from a woman huddled into a corner. Okay, it was his first time to encounter a building. He had always been the type to vault over ledges and do monkey jumps from one rooftop to the other.

“Yellowjacket?” he chuckled, his brows wrinkled into confusion. “Like your parents actually named you that or…” it wasn’t visible but his felt his lids narrow at the boy. “Is that a gang thing?” he continued. Yellow jacket wasn’t really, well, gangster looking. Quite the contrary actually. Then again he had seen some thugs in uniform and instantly, his hand that wasn’t nursing the bruise on his side moved slowly to the small of his back , the pads of his fingers brushing along the handle of his baton.

[quillandquire-blog]

"Yeah," he said, not noticing the sarcasm lacing his voice until it was over, "my parents named me after the most cherished of the insects, vespula vulgaris." Jarvis hesitated, glancing over his shoulder again, then began feeling around his pockets for some remainder of the firstaid pack. Prudence probably had it, if anybody had thought to bring it. He was quickly realizing that he hadn't thought this through. At all.

All he could do was hope he didn't come to regret it. Rubbing his eye, Jarvis fully turned around. He noticed the -- compulsive? -- movement of fingers over his back. Weapon, he thought, and tried not to panic himself. "It's not a gang thing. I'm not in a gang." Well, okay, it was probably a gang in the most legal, technical sense of the term. If they got caught, they'd probably be treated like one. He didn't want to think about that. "It's a nickname. To protect my identity. Like I doubt you're gonna tell me your name's, like, Miles. You probably have a codename picked out, right?"

[deusxeruditio-blog]

Good thing the  boy led him away from the south. Being a cop’s son — only son — Simon had enough tips about where cops drive so he knows where to run when stumbles upon trouble. Well it had been helpful, not because he stumbles upon trouble, but because he finds them and kicks their ass even if don’t go down with a good fight. That moment in there in an alley with a seemingly unassuming guy was the sheer proof of it.

"Yeah…" he grunted as he took one staggering step and let himself fall forward until his shoulder hit the wall beside the door frame. In a normal day, he would’ve just jumped and scaled the walls and maybe used the pipes for a needed momentum — too bad he wasn’t exactly fit at the moment. So as he faced the guy and the alleyway, Simon retrieved his pick from one of his pockets and with one deft twist, the padlock came unlatched. "Watch your step…" Simon mumbled warily, thankful that his eyes were at least accustomed to the darkness by then.

[quillandquire-blog]

Jarvis is immediately grateful for the warmth the building provides. It's not much, but any protection from the late-season elements is better than none. Especially when your outfit is designed for maneuverability, not heat retention. His first couple steps into the building are tentative ones: it's genuinely a common-house for people passing through, people who know how to navigate the city's alleys. It's a peaceful place, usually, but territorial. The first room he passes by is occupied, and he shoots her a nod before taking refuge through the second door.

It's small, cramped, but all he really needs to evade detection and get the heat off them for a couple minutes, hours, whatever it takes. Immediately, he's pulling out his phone and trying to pick up a signal, but it's proving difficult. "My name's..." Jarvis pulls a blank. What the hell was his codename? What did he call himself when identities were precious? "Yellowjacket." He knew the name was taken, he knew the name didn't have great connotation attributed to it, but it suited him. "You can call me Yellowjacket."

[deusxeruditio-blog]

Simon hoped that his hood was enough to keep him at least unrecognizable. The guy seemed nice, but anyone that would be able to recognize him could be bad. Then again, he didn’t have that much of a choice — he’s too hurt to just walk away and even if he’s too hurt, there is no way in hell that he’ll leave the guy all alone. “Jesus…” he mumbled to himself as he shuffled some more. Hiding out might be a good idea and Simon made sure that he’ll stay in a spot where he could have an advantage to whatever situation might arise. “Lead the way…” he murmured under a grunt.

[quillandquire-blog]

Jarvis doesn't look like much — he doesn't even have a costume beyond his and Pru's attempt at pheromone-blocking hats. But he knows what he's doing, and he knows this city like the back of his hand. He knows the cops'll be coming from the south, and the typical patrols has two cars coming from the east. If they move quickly, they'll avoid detection without any hassle. He doesn't look back, cutting across the street and moving probably a bit too quickly, considering the state of the man's he's accompanying on this escort quest.

The building is closer than he budgeted for, reaching the alley leading to the rear entrance with more than enough time to spare, turning around and gesturing for his companion to follow, vanishing around the corner and into the narrow pathway. "The door might be locked," he said, purposely avoiding mentioning that they may not be the only ones using the shelter. "Got something to pick it with?"

[iconicironical-blog]

"Why, you afraid of going grey already? Not that you wouldn’t look sexy with them or nothing. I like you anyway you look.”

[quillandquire-blog]

"My pops went grey at 25, I'm actually running late. Have half a case of hair dye in the back of my closet just in case."

[deusxeruditio-blog]

Simon’s eyes narrowed at him, hesitant but curious. He wasn’t sure what the guy was talking about but there was no way in hell that he’ll let himself go to a hospital. His spine quickly shuddered at the thought of running into one of the EMTS that knew Commissioner Boroughs and the nightmare of his father picking him up while in his hero suit was enough to make him grunt. “Well, I called the cops too so that’s more reason to really get out of this place.” he continued on.

[quillandquire-blog]

Jarvis scratched his neck, suddenly distrustful of the man before him. He tried not to let it play on his face, or fester in his thoughts -- he didn't want to make everybody in a five block radius as paranoid as he was. "Yeah, okay," he said, taking a small step back. He took a breath, trying to exude calm, a bit of strength, blocking out any pain he felt in his own body. It wasn't his usual tricks, but it was worth a shot. "Um." Glancing over his shoulder, he tried to rationalize where the rest of his team was. "There's an empty building the next block over. I could patch you up there. Wait for..." He almost gave them away. "Things to cool off."

[iconicironical-blog]

"You’re such a dork," Javier chuckles. "You’re like Reed Richards, but real.”

[quillandquire-blog]

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Do you think I could pull off the greying temples?

[iconicironical-blog]

"Because Marvel knows the neckbros who read comics would accuse them of being ‘PC’ and pandering to gay people if they did. But those of us who really know what’s up…”

[quillandquire-blog]

"Oh. If you say so."

"I don't like that term. 'Politically correct'. There's no such thing as being politically correct. Only technically correct. The best kind of correct." He smirks. "A little referential humour."

[iconicironical-blog]

"You gotta read between the lines, Hud. Even Lacey agrees with me on it. And she started reading comics, like, yesterday.”

[quillandquire-blog]

"But--if it was important, why would they put it between the lines? That's bad craftsmanship. 'Why did the rocket not launch as planned?' 'You didn't hit the button.' 'What button? There was no button in the instructions.' 'You had to read between the lines.' Why not say it?"

[iconicironical-blog]

"You really think Tony Stark is straight? Have you seen his facial hair? No heterosexual man I know puts that much effort into the fur on his face. It’s a dead giveaway, man.”

[quillandquire-blog]

"It... they don't bring it up... in the comics."

[quillandquire-blog]

mayhem-muses:

Kat had been working at the cafe quite some time now to scrape up some cash when she wasn’t making money off her blog and her stories. She had gotten used to the unreasonably idiotic customers and this man’s banters. She nodded her head, picking up a menu.

"Go ham, pal." She spun around, pointing a finger at him sternly. "But don’t come crying to men when you lose your customers after a screaming match."

"I don't need customers," Josh argued, already going red in the face. He fumbled back, pulling open one of the drawers, grabbing his trusty bottle of Advil. It was gonna be one of those days. He spun around, trying to keep his balance, and promptly filled a cup with lukewarm water.

He downed the pills, chasing with the water. "What I need is a drink," he finally concluded. "How unprofessional would it be for me to send you to the store to buy some vodka?"

[quillandquire-blog]

"—Why is it that once all the Halloween parties start up, people think it's a good idea to mix skimpy costumes, below freeing temperatures, and long barefoot walks through Central Park? I shouldn't be dealing with frost bite in October, y'know?"

[quillandquire-blog]

"I'm not exaggerating when I say that if one more person comes in here asking about the 'secret menu' Cookies'n'creme triple chocolate mocaccino with rice krispies, I'm gonna lose him. I'm gonna lose it and it's not gonna be pretty and there will be blood spilled this day."