#srisingstarter

[fistofthemccn]

As it went, it honestly wasn’t bad for a first week in a new country for him. No getting shot at. He got an apartment and didn’t have to sleep outside right away. And people weren’t picky about the kind of money he was using. Marc always forgot currency exchange and he took busses and trains most of the way to Sokovia. But carrying around a backpack full of cash to a drop point a contact had left him for supplies, (guns, ammo, a crate of gear for printing fake passports, and some information about a smuggling operation setting up nearby), was probably not his brightest idea. It took him about fifteen minutes to get mugged by three guys.

They went down hard, fast, and Marc’s bag was mostly in tact. One of the straps was now on the ground and the other one dangling loosely. The problem was the switch blade one of them had jammed into his shoulder. Now he was the asshole standing on the street, holding a bag of cash he still had to get to the drop point, with a knife jutting out of him. “This, uh, isn’t what it looks like?”

[rocketxraccoonx]

It was early afternoon and the sun was beginning to take its toll on Rocket, who had been rummaging around for quite some time now. Having nothing of interest keeping him in his current lodgings, he was often on the move from the second the night began to retreat into day once again. As he slowed down under the heat, he picked up the scent of some sort of sweet food smell, not one he could personally put a name to. Intrigued, he followed its tracks to some form of outdoor eatery. They all kind of looked the same to him. 

With a more clear goal in sight now, he approached one of the occupied tables and clambered up onto a spare seat, standing on it to get a more clear view of the top of the table. “What’s that you got there?” his nose twitched as he awaited an answer. “Smells like it’s got a high sugar content. You probably shouldn’t eat all of it. Bad for you.” he raised an eyebrow, looking up at the other.

[f4lc0n]

OPEN

It didn't hit Sam that this was all happening, that his brief respite from the goings-on in Sokovia was over, until he dropped out of the plane a few dozen miles away. His wings took him the rest of the way, dipping in and out of the cloudline as he got closer. A respite it'd been, no matter the stress of a solo mission. But now it was time to come back, face the music and the work and whatever else he'd missed.

Louisiana seemed farther and farther away as he dropped down towards the Mousehole. It'd been beautiful, to spend even a sliver of time with his family, kept secret by his cover story of a mission. He felt the familiar prickling telling him to stay, be there, but he already had a call. And it was back in Sokovia.

When his feet hit the ground, he already missed the air. But with a sigh and a lungful of that crisp air, he turned to greet whoever was waiting.

"We have a welcome back committee now?" he said.

[thatstheangle]

OPEN! 

Donna Troy was a horrible influence. 

That was probably why Angelo found himself wandering the outside market of Matchak in search of fresh fruit. He had money that the vendors back home didn’t need quite as badly, and he was growing grudgingly fond of the city. And its very cheap produce. 

And it was also why the next bit happened. 

The concerned murmuring was what caught Angelo’s attention, followed by a market-goer’s yell. He turned to see a car swerving along the street, veering wildly into the opposite lane, straight towards the sidewalk where the lone pedestrian was turning just in time to meet their fate head-on.

Angelo pulled the angler from his suit jacket and pointed it at the unfurling tragedy.

And—they were standing on the side of the building, twenty feet up, away, and perfectly perpendicular to the ground, with Angelo’s hand steadying the other’s shoulder. “Don’t panic,” he said in English, his Sokovian still next to nonexistent apart from coffee orders. He figured it was probably the right thing to say to anyone who suddenly found themselves bending the laws of physics so flagrantly. “You aren’t going to fall. Are you alright?”

Back on the street, the car had slammed harmlessly into a sidewalk tree. At a perfect ninety-degree angle from the direction it had initially been going. 

Donna Troy was a horrible, horrible influence. 

[dacostaintl]

Open starter

“Incoming!” Shouted as he plummeted down through the air and right into the lake.

In retrospect, Roberto should have been more careful. One moment of distraction – he thought he had seen something in the woods from up above, what could that possibly be? – led to a haste in trying to get a closer look and then a sharp swerve off course to avoid hitting a tree. Falling into the teeth-chattering cold water, he concentrated not to let his energy burn out until he managed to escape, throwing himself onto the ground with a gasp.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” he sighed, flickering to his regular form as he laid there on his back, catching his breath. Another surge of heat and the dampness clinging to his uniform and hair sizzled out, before he tilted his head to look at the poor soul that had just witnessed it all. “I swear I’m usually much better at flying.”

[relentlessperplexity]

OPEN STARTER!

The sensible thing, Steve knew, was to go straight to the hospital. 

He was injured, after all, even if those injuries didn’t match what he thought the source to be. Welts should have been burns, and that was if he had survived the explosion at all (which he really, really shouldn’t have). Things had gotten even stranger when he’d taken inventory, turning out his pockets and the little bag around his waist, none of the items helping him paint a picture that would connect a to b. He had identification, but the years were (way) off. He had a job, but he’d never heard of the organization. He even had a picture of Diana (hidden away, strangely), but just the one and of the collection in his wallet, she was the only person he recognized. 

He had a life, just not the one he knew. 

He would have to lie. Steve supposed he did have amnesia, but he’d never known it to work quite like this (and he had seen his share of examples). He knew exactly what kind of trouble it could get him into, the horrible places he might end up, and so it was probably better to claim nothing than to try and fumble his way through his theories about magic conspiracies and time travel. At least until he could find a phone and (hopefully) reach … well, Diana looked like his best (and only) bet.  

He at least had a few things that might help (and some that wouldn’t). Weapons and water. Keys and money. A watch that looked like his father’s but definitely wasn’t. Steve even found a little Sokovian-English dictionary that gave him a probable location. He had looked up a few words and when he found his way into a more populated area, had simply asked: “Phone?” He fumbled with even just the one word and while it had earned him a number of looks (which he supposed was fair), he had already double and triple-checked. He had the right word. Maybe wrong place. So he tried again - casually as he could when he wasn’t getting distracted by each new thing he passed - a few more people, a few different words, a few other languages. He asked for a phone, the hospital, or even directions to the hostel depicted in a badly folded brochure and he did it (with varying degrees of proficiency) in Russian, Spanish, and German then Italian, French, and English. 

And all the while the bulky rectangle in his hand buzzed ominously.  

[risingtroia]

It would seem that one thing that translated from one life to the next and to this strange inbetween she found herself in was a love of early mornings. There was something about the quiet and the stillness before the rest of the world was awake, as moon beams shifted to lazy early-morning sun rays, the first blush of the day before dawn. She’d always been an early riser - as Donna, as Stacey, as Donna again in this strange...melded existence she found herself in. So much was confusing, but rising long before the sun remained the same.

It was nice, to have an early run and a shower completed before much of the castle was stirring at all. A kettle was set on the stove of the smaller kitchen, due to whistle any moment, as slim fingers made quick work of braiding back still-shower-damp hair. Stacey wasn’t due at work for another few hours, despite the camera left carefully on the counter beside the stove; Donna planned on taking her time, maybe taking some photos of the sunrise-streaked landscape from the roof before she officially got her day started. “Good morning.” She’d heard movement behind her, didn’t turn to look and risk ruining her nearly-finished braid. “I’ve put water on for tea, if you’re interested in a cup yourself. If not, I’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

[poixonivy]

OPEN! 

Pam had a pounding headache. 

It had started as a tickle in the back of her head a week ago, coming and going, and had somehow gotten worse and worse no matter what she did—no matter what plants bloomed to aid her, no matter what twists and turns she attempted with her own bodily chemistry. Her head was aching, and worse than that—

She felt... Unbalanced. Unmoored. Paranoid, yes, but she’d been paranoid for years now, and this was something new. A foreign growth in the back of her mind, scaling the walls of her consciousness like...

God. This little spit of a town was supposed to be a pit stop, the forest a place for her to rest and recoup for a few days off the radar. And now... Now Pam felt too off-balance to go anywhere. And Woodrue’s trail had gone cold in the meantime. (That damn ARGUS agent had been right. Pam was going to be bitter about that for a while. She hoped he’d tripped into a ravine and snapped his neck.) 

So, given that she was stuck, she may as well get herself some supplies. Pam was still waffling about whether she wanted to stay in the woods, pondering as she picked through the local supermarket. 

“—Excuse you,” she snapped on reflex as someone’s hand bumped into hers as she reached for a bottle of honey, turning to shoot them a glare.  

[americanwish]

OPEN

The ripple of whatever the hell was going on in Sokovia had been felt throughout the entirety of the multiverse. Just a twinge - something familiar but frustrating pulling at the edges of her awareness. One well-placed stomp of her foot had landed America safely just outside Matchak, in a crackling blue star, before she had started the long hike into town, hair swept up into a twist with rogue curls framing her face.

"Fucking Demiurge," she muttered to herself, eventually crossing into the square of the town. Sharp eyes scanned for anything unusual.

Nothing as of yet. Reluctantly, she steered herself to one of the benches to park herself for a moment and watch. Someone would come along eventually. Eventually, her gaze locked with someone's across the way. The moment held for long enough that it looked suspicious. America raised a challenging eyebrow.

[newcastles]

“Now, I know I’m not technically on your little team roster. Do you make shirts? Jerseys? Figure they’ve got little stars, maybe a little heart like that New York logo. Wouldn’t really go with the tie. Either way. Who would I put in a request for a better beer in the fridge to? Anything with the word ‘lite’ on it can’t be considered a real drink. Where do you keep the whiskey instead?” Constantine had a glass in his hand, presumably of the lite beer he was just complaining about, but it didn’t stop him rummaging through cabinets, not really making eye contact with the figure in the kitchen doorway.

[wclfsrahne]

OPEN

Despite being awkward and more hulking than she'd like in her wolf form, Rahne was a slip of a girl as a human and found it all too easy to go unnoticed in wider groups. It was easy to lose her amongst other people. So, when she found herself in the kitchen, the remnants of a broken glass shattered around her feet, she could only pray that it would extend to not being noticed at all.

When someone stepped into the kitchen, she grimaced.

"I- I didn't mean to!"

[belyypauchok]

OPEN

Yelena was prowling. It was the best way to describe it. She was antsy and restless and something in the castle felt wrong. So here she was, taking laps of the perimeter and trying to sink into the familiar rhythms of surveillance, when she spotted a figure in the distance. 

Pursing her lips, she approached with all the silence she could muster, before clearing her throat once sharply. 

“Why are you out here?” 

[secondwintersoldier]

The accelerated healing factor was helpful in times like this. In truth, RJ hadn’t much had to put that to use since receiving the serum all those months ago. He’d reaped the other benefits, for certain - he was faster, stronger, better than he ever could have dreamed - though it wasn’t often that he got himself injured on assignment to the point where he’d see those benefits. Winter Solider versus Winter Soldier...well, it made sense that he’d taken his fair share of hits in that fight. The grogginess of the blow to the head was the worst of it, though nothing that some sleep hadn’t fixed - the other wounds followed suits, cuts and bullet holes slowly mending themselves. With his head back comfortably on his shoulders and no longer hazy from the blow he’d taken, RJ was left with not much else to do but...wait. Wait, and observe. All in all, things had certainly been worse for him - in truth, this was the nicest room that he could remember having. Clean and tidy with a bed and blanket, more light than he was used to and even some food waiting for him when he awoke. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was all purposeful, planned - a way to butter him up, so to speak, so he’d be more forthcoming.  Footsteps were easy to hear on the stone floor below, and RJ paused in his pacing of the cell (he’d been taking it all in, noting each surface, each amenity - all catalogued away). Head cocked slightly to one side, he approached the reinforced clear wall separating him from the outside world. “Don’t bite, promise,” he began, a slight smile curving one half of his face. He rapped his knuckles on the wall between them, continuing: “Couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”

[chernyypauk]

The room was dark and quiet aside from the sound of whirring machinery and her fingers on the keyboard, the only light currently present coming from the monitor she was directly working on. It was late, she hadn’t bothered with turning on the light on her way in and the lab had been otherwise empty The room was quiet aside from the sound of whirring machinery and the slight tapping of keys on the keyboard, the only light source coming from monitors and other various tech equipment within the lab and from the monitor she was utilizing. It was late (later than late) and she hadn’t bothered with turning on the lights on her way in; she’d worked in worse conditions, and she wasn’t exactly looking to socialize or draw attention. Green eyes narrowed slightly at the code staring back at her on the monitor, lips silently moving as she tried to work through the encryption on the first of many thumb drives set beside her. Natasha had been told that Oracle would be the man for the job, but Natasha had never exactly been good at playing well with others right from the jump….and she wanted to be the first eyes on the information she’d managed to bring with her. Playing things close to the chest was smart and necessary, even if it meant a little more work. Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light as it was flicked on, Natasha didn’t look up from the screen to acknowledge whoever had entered the lab with her. “Hey. I didn’t touch anything that was already doing something.” Well, maybe a little just to see what they were doing, but she hadn’t halted any progress. “Just need these monitors and this set-up over here, don’t mind me.”

[prjectx10]

There wasn’t really much information to go off due to Elektra suddenly disappearing off the face of the earth so Logan had to dig around himself on any available computer, laptop or tablet, first he looked up Weapon X Programme but nothing came up, then he tried googling ISA and it came up with Irish shit, should it be this hard? It wasn’t like he had much access to the systems besides the control room so when someone wandered past him, he looked over. “You, come here. What’s the password for this?”

[spoilingstephanie]

The smell of burning chocolate was absolutely acrid - overly bitter, so strong and outright angry. The smoke that had come billowing out of the oven had burned her eyes, though Stephanie was fairly certain that she’d avoided tragedy despite losing the batch of brownies that were now completely unrecognizable.  That had been the first batch, the practice batch, and she was feeling optimistic with this run. Round two would be much better, she could feel it in her bones...and taste it in the batter, because she was pretty certain something had tasted off about that first one. Humming under her breath as she was pouring the batter from the mixing bowl into the pre-greased pan, Stephanie looked up when she’d heard footprints and instinctively offered a smile. “Hey,” she began, returning her attention so as to not spill round two all over the counter. “Sorry about the smell. I opened a window, but I think that’s going to linger for a while.”