#atlasstart

[ramshacklerebel]

Long tongued Liar

||OPEN||

The case hadn’t gone well. And that was putting it mildly. Her client was a mousy little woman who wanted dirt on her ex-boyfriend to get him to back off. His stalking was getting out of control and she wanted to move on. Easy stuff. Open and shut. The information gathered, Jessica had given it to the waifish woman and never expected to hear anything more. A week later, she got a call from the hospital because they’d found her business card in a Jane Doe’s pocket; her client’s pocket. The woman was unconscious, no identification, and was abandoned in front of the hospital for medical care. 

The stern nurse told her that they were informing the police. Jessica would be called in for questioning to see what she knew about the woman’s broken arm and fractured skull.  Just like that, in the hot seat again. She swore they were going to name one of the interrogation rooms after her, as frequently as she visited. She didn’t bother to wait for the officer to show up and left her office for a walk. 

Responsibility was a burden, she informed the boyfriend an hour later outside from seedy strip joint. He had difficulty paying her the attention she deserved with her forearm pressing so hard against his throat. He sputtered and started to turn blue and she just bared her teeth and pressed harder. She should have brought him the information herself instead of trusting that he wasn’t going to beat the shit out of a woman just trying to get him to leave her alone, she told him. Men like him, thinking that they were owed something they weren’t made her want to set the world on fire, she whispered as he struggled to gasp for air. It was a stranger’s face, but all she saw was Kilgrave.

It would be so easy. Just a little, tiny bit more pressure and problem solved. Bones crumble to dust and there would be one last asshole. The thought scared her enough to release him, but not enough to avoid the hole through the wall she left in her wake. 

Bystanders rushed to the man gasping on the sidewalk as she turned to stalk down the sidewalk. 

She couldn’t quite hide the tremble in her clenched hands, the hitch in her breath. 

[circusraised-blog]

The thing about vigilantism is that he spends a lot more time talking at people than to them. Not that he blamed criminals for not wanting to chat when he was busy busting their crimes, but the whole mask thing made it all really impersonal from a one on one standpoint. Sure, there were those villains that just wouldn’t quit. The kind you put behind bars only to find them back out on the streets the next night. Gotham in particular had a real corner market on those types. Obviously, he’d also made masked (and unmasked) friends- Dick was a team player at heart. But there was something of a draw in police work. The... structure, well, the hoops frustrated him, of course. Funny that a guy who’d actually jumped through hoops in his life would find it so difficult to push pencils and check every box. But at the end of the day he liked this aspect of police work, the footwork, the kind of stuff his fellow recruits at the academy had considered a chore before they’d even earned their badges. 

“So do you think I could get a statement?”

[docdollarsstrange-blog]

Not for this World || Open

Strange sighed and tapped the machine again, avoiding the strained look of the person in front of him. Another error message popped up. Finally he looked up past the groceries to the man behind the counter.

“Look, I don’t have the number. Didn’t we just used to have to sign for these things? They put a chip on these cards and suddenly we need a pass code or something." This was exasperating, Wong leaves for a few days and forgets to mention that there’s no groceries in the Sanctum. Strange hadn’t even touched his account for a few years now, he didn’t know the PIN. He’d have to put everything back now, go get some cash and return. He gathered up his stuff and walked back to the shelves.

“Should have just worn the damn cape...”

[offearlessness]

        {{ open // like to be messaged for plotting

Matt went through his phone as he collected his tea from the counter, listening to the first few words of each text before deleting basically any that were from people that he knew, that weren’t obviously urgent and important. Honestly, how hard could it be to just leave a voicemail? He inhaled, focusing on the tea -- well, this tea certainly wasn’t sweet enough. And no discernible honey or sugar, by which he meant nothing in an open container. So, frowning, he put his phone away and waited until footsteps and a body settled nearby, whence he cleared his throat and directed the question;

“-- Excuse me, can you direct me to uh…sugar? Or honey, preferably?”

[prescribingadailydoseofjests]

“I do miss Broxton, and the traveling, but New York can be pretty nice...” The air was almost refreshing in the early fall morning. Jane stuffed her hands in her jacket pocket’s as she watched the first rays of sun breached the horizon; filling the sky with tinges of purple and pink. She angled her head to the side, an amused grin spreading across her lips. “--At least, when people, monsters, and Gods aren’t smashing it up,” she added with some mirth. 

[goodbecamegreat-blog]

Not Rude | Open

The shift from D.C. to New York City was much easier than he had thought. So far he had settled in relatively quickly, though he couldn’t help but look around, and picture these same streets as they were when Steve was growing up. He went around one corner and could see the street where he had sat for hours drawing for an advertisement that would go up on a building there. That building had been refurbished, looking a lot more glittery than anything he could remember from back then. Still, Steve’s hands itched for a pencil to be able to sketch the differences that he could see.

Instead, Steve continued down another street and over to the park. Though he was adjusting to the big changes that had been made to his city, it was still somewhat disorienting at times. The one thing that didn’t overwhelm him so much was Central Park. He found its’ presence reassuring, and decided this would be as good a spot as any for him to sit and consider what his next move might be. He went a good mile into the park before he finally found a bench to sit on, pulling out his sketch pad, though he didn’t start drawing, instead making note of the different changes he had seen, and also what he needed to have done in the next few days.

He had just started sketching some of the park when he heard excited chatter and someone saying ‘should I? But maybe it isn’t...’ Steve couldn’t help but sigh, studying the barely started sketch, and debating over whether his impatience or his attempts at being polite would win. “Sorry, if you have something to say, could you please get on with it? Not to be rude...but you’re disrupting my process here.” And it had been a long time since he had even been able to really take time out to draw in the first place.

[doctorbannerandmisterhulk-blog1]

He had forced himself to leave the lab. It really wasn’t healthy locking himself away for hours and hours at a time but in his defense he did sometimes just forget. He’d get wrapped up in some idea or other and before he knew it, three herbal teas would be cold, papers would be on the floor and napkins would become his notepads. He was forever grateful to have been given his own floor in the Avengers tower but even Bruce couldn’t ignore the gentle prodding of JARVIS suggesting that he spend some time outside. And so outside he went. 

He walked almost aimlessly, his mind wandering over various equations and formulas, trying to do the maths in his head and resisting the urge to mumble to himself. People knew who he was - what he was - and tended to give him a wide berth where possible; the last thing he needed was to look as if he was talking to himself. Of course, he was aware of the ever present low grumbling from inside; the Other Guy was bored. Too bad, Bruce thought. This was a nice area and he wasn’t about to let Hulk reduce it to a pile of rubble like he’d done to Harlem. Besides, no doubt soon enough something would happen that would require the Avengers attention, and then Hulk would have plenty of time to come out and play. 

“Patience,” he said to his other half, “patience.”

[laeppaxeh-blog]

A lot could be said about quitting show business, and if Zatanna had her way most of those things would start with ‘fucking paparazzi--!’ She hadn’t had to deal with them in awhile, not since she opened her bar, not since she stepped off the stage, but to find that someone had ambushed her down the block from her bar had certainly put a dampener on her night. Then again, alcohol always helped and of course, pouring drink after drink, she found the time for a shot here or there. Even better when it wasn’t on the house at all and one of the patrons, slipped her a tip. The place was just starting to thin out, some hot shot magician wannabe in white gloves had run most of the show goers off. Arrogance isn’t cute when the stage lights hit on the wires. 

“Sorry about that, didn’t hear you, forgot to put up the sign that said amateur night I guess. If you drink enough, maybe you won’t notice how bad this is.” Her eyes were still on the stage as she spoke to the person, half absent minded.