#madameofmasquerade

[mysteriomanifesto]

          The temporary ‘home’ is new ( one of many over the past few years ), a larger hotel room with greater amenities which meant Beck was able to retrieve more of his belongings from long term storage, suitcases neatly set to one side in preparation of the inevitable onslaught of unpacking and re-ironing of crisp shirts. The engineer carefully slips a book inside a medium sized safe whose three points of verification securely click into position, a painting set back in place to discreetly hide the nook in the wall. There’s a knock at the door and the man’s brow heavily creases, steely eyes casting down to his watch to ascertain the time - it’s late and there are no urgent messages on his phone, suspicion immediately arising.

                    Grabbing a hold of a weighty fire-poker ( wrist adjusting to the heftiness ), Beck cautiously approaches the door, adrenaline beginning to spike as he holds his breath to peer through the peephole ( he had seen far too many movies with this untoward scene ). Jaw tensing in realisation of who the late night visitor is, the developer abruptly opens the door - he does little to hide the irritation on his visage, no qualms about revealing the item within his hand, voice stern as the man pointedly opts not to invite Whitney inside. “How did you get this address?”

@madameofmasquerade

[mysteriomanifesto]

@madameofmasquerade​

[ LOCATION: GUEST HOUSE, S.H.I.E.L.D. FACILITY WRECKAGE ]

          Back pressed up against a wall whose concrete had seen better days ( both as a means of keeping himself upright as well as a defensive stance given their surroundings ), Beck's unable to drag his line of vision away from the crumbled lifeless body of the guard, blue eyes widened in unabashed alarm behind the constrictive confines of the balaclava enveloping his visage. It had been the right call to bring Masque along with him for the excursion but the efficiency in which the woman had dealt with the unwanted attention was… unnerving, to say the least ( or maybe the engineer simply needed to learn how to toughen up? ).

                    Reaching down to his bag of equipment to provide himself with a way of diverting his attention, Quentin pulls out a laptop containing a dormant decryption algorithm, a number of leads present to be attached to the entrance's embedded security system - a week of preparation and consulting with Sin’s team meant the man was fully prepared for all eventualities, discreetly going over them at the back of his mind on a loop. Unfortunately the downward motion sees his sense of nausea arising, the brunet’s balance wavering as he chokes down an amalgam of bile and the remnants of his lunch from earlier in the day. Voice a little hoarse, a balled up fist is brought up to his mouth, pausing between slow breaths. "I think I'm going to throw up…"

[mysteriomanifesto]

          Reaching over to make a grab for one of the canapes being passed around, Beck opts to let the woman go head first before casting a quick glance in her direction. “Heh, and I thought I was the only person that looked like they didn’t want to be here.”

@madameofmasquerade​

[mysteriomanifesto]

[ @madameofmasquerade - continued from x and x ]

          There was something about the manner in which Whitney comported herself - the way  she was lounging and nestled against the couch gave an air of inherent comfort, as if she belonged with Beck’s personal taste in decors ( a deadly accessory ). The thought amuses the villain, a smirk twitching into place as she further explains her musing - the song’s a classic, its grandiose ensemble in keeping with Beck’s penchant for flamboyant flair. He was starting to grow accustomed to the permanent use of the mask, subtle inclinations speaking volumes despite the lack of a shifting expression. Quentin sniggers amidst a sing-song lilt emerges in his voice, the man sinking into the couch in turn, a grey-clad arm extended to rest against the headrest as he allows himself to stop for a moment to relax - a sporadic luxury that was a byproduct of the bustling nature of his scheming.

                    “Easy come, easy go...” The developer scoffs as he considers the Avengers, his place within the ‘team’ bringing with it a certain degree of insight into the lives of ‘the other side.’  With a shake of his head, the brunet’s line of vision lingers up towards the lofty ceiling with a grimace, scarcely holding back his irritation. “You wouldn’t believe the level of incompetence  I have to tolerate with this good guy routine - a discussion can be in full swing, someone will walk into a room and---” A hand demonstratively slices through the air. “Absolute silence and awkward gazes abound due to ancient history that no one can work through. It’s like being in a Telenovela. I half expect music to play in the background as the lighting shifts...”

[atrxvido]

@madameofmasquerade There was just a tilt of her masked face that struggled to not show her genuine amusement with the situation. Masque had the tendency to play with her food when bored and well the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was an amusement at best, but also trying her patience as he had been interrupting her supply chain for the last two weeks.

“Was that on your word of the day calendar? I didn’t realize one studies for the SAT even after,” Pinching the bridge of her nose as she looked around at her goons that were keeping the building secure.  “Tell your little devil boy to stay out of my business or else I won’t be so kindly.”

Daredevil, too, was genuinely amused by that attempt to get him to back down. As if. Sad attempts to expose him weren’t going to stop him from protecting Hell’s Kitchen. Especially not from mafia goons trying to set up shop there. Did they not learn their lesson from the Kitchen Irish and Madame Gao’s henchmen? Or did these people never actually speak to each other in between turf wars.  “I’ve got brains as well as brawn, thanks. And you know you’re not the first person to threaten me. I suspect you also know how badly that ended for them.”

[mysteriomanifesto]

‘ there’s something tragic about you. ’

HOZIER SENTENCE STARTERS

          “Tragic. Are you fucking  kidding me?” Manic laughter erupts but the heightened volume contends with the dull albeit persistent ache threatening to split his skull apart, a small wince from the villain as he tries to find a comfortable means of personal equilibrium. Beck’s pain ( or rather, what it could potentially represent ) would never be a topic for open discussion ( over his dead body… heh ), opting to digress onto the matter seemingly at hand.

                    The apparatus nestled around his ears is promptly tugged away and carefully placed onto the coffee table that centres the room of the plush apartment - a deft hand emphatically gestures towards an original Willem de Kooning hanging from the wall, sunlight streaming from windows embedded within a lofty ceiling illuminating the area. “I see nothing  tragic about how I’ve built myself up to be able to afford and procure this. If you want to talk about tragedies, we don’t have to go very far - that Tower with its band of misfits—  they’re practically Shakespearean.”

[mysteriomanifesto]

❝ you better sharpen up 'cause all you have is your axe to grind round here. ❞

BASTILLE “ VS. ” LYRIC STARTERS

          "I think you’re forgetting a very important detail, Giulietta.“ Jaw tense as hands firmly rest upon his hips, steely eyes keenly remain poised on a series of expansive monitors, live surveillance of two key individuals being fed into the spacious room. Revulsion and bitterness courses through the  fraud’s  developer’s very being, the knot at the centre of his stomach easing to make way for an overwhelming sense of egotistical smugness. Tony Stark and Peter Parker were in two separate locations but the strain upon their respective visages may as well have situated them in the same vicinity - the pair were intimately aware of Beck’s secret and it would only be a matter of time before the news would spread ( his ivory tower on the verge of collapse ).

                     “I have contingencies for all eventualities. This is a minor  blip, I’ll bounce right back.” Peering down at the device enveloping his forearm, dexterous fingertips swipe over the screen to send a series of directives, the retrieval of synced data flagging up a number of drones whose trajectory should be of concern to the meddling pair. There’s a hint of a smirk playing on Quentin’s lips as a huff of malevolent contentment filters into his voice. “The days of talking through our problems are over - these two thorns in my side are not worth being overly concerned about. I’m about to provide them with a rude awakening to remind them of how much of a problem  I can be.”

[mysteriomanifesto]

❝ society’s altered, you see. ❞

BASTILLE “ VS. ” LYRIC STARTERS

           “Fuck society.” Quentin sneers as he readjusts one of his gauntlets, fumbling with the swathes of fabric draped over his shoulders, tugging at a thread which had momentarily caught against his armour - he had been meaning to resolve that by sanding down the jutting segment, but his time had been so incredibly limited between public appearances and meetings with ‘fellow do-gooders’. Spinning on his axis to gain a better look of his reflection within the floor-to-ceiling mirror, the man straightens his posture as his dour expression significantly brightens to one which is more familiar to his upcoming audience, eyes sparkling with life as a kind smile drifts across his lips.

                   “𝕊𝕠𝕔𝕚𝕖𝕥𝕪 𝕙𝕒𝕤 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕚𝕟 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕤. 𝔾𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕒 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕠𝕗 𝟙𝟝 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕦𝕥𝕖𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕪’𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕓𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕.” Mysterio was often incredibly softly spoken, a variable that could be quite unnerving when coupled with the underlying tone of his current words. “𝕎𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕝𝕜 𝕒𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕤.” The distant sound of an expectant crowd filters backstage as the drawl of an announcement screeches over a microphone, the 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕠 readying himself to face the adoring din. “ℕ𝕠𝕨 𝕚𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕖𝕩𝕔𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕞𝕖, 𝕀 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕟.”