SCIENCE / VISIONS

Billy had been testing the bounds of his magic for some time now; he would traverse through portals, drawn to places that they would rarely discuss with each other. (Karen struggled to just understand and accept normalcy without magic but add in magic and things became ten-fold more complicated.) He had mentioned he was going to do another dimension-walk and Karen had gone out to grab food for dinner and something for Billy to have after he returned. (Whether the food was helpful or not didn’t matter to Karen; it gave her something to focus on besides what Billy was potentially doing - or the fact that she most definitely worried about him never returning.) When she was out, something happened.

Something awful happened.

The chaos that ensued was hard to comprehend. There was screaming, vehicles that were no longer manned by someone and panic settling in. Karen had made it back to the apartment as quickly as she could, door open and her entrance unannounced as she stepped in to the room Billy had been using. His words snapped her back to the present, eyes cut away from the city and her phone. “Billy,” she breathed out, moving towards him. “Billy, what…what happened?”

          Astral projection was a skill that had its benefits and drawbacks, but on the worst of occasions it could be incredibly disorienting when returning back to his physical form, like the mage was crawling into his own body while being improperly stuffed back in  (  a square block being forced through a triangle opening  ).  Fingertips take a hold of the bottle but the mage doesn’t open it, the need to feel something tangible within his grasp a necessity to root him to the here-and-now, temples still throbbing as the teen steadily regulates his breathing in a bid to calm himself down. Except... he doesn’t know where to start to address Karen’s question, one that’s filled with possibilities outside of sheer foreboding horror. Billy swallows down a lump at the back of his throat, fitfully trying to parse the words needed to elaborate, warm eyes narrowed in concentration at the smooth adjoining lines of floorboards  (  he can’t even look at her  ).

                    “I saw... something.”  The word is breathed out as opposed to outright spoken, a trembling fear in two syllables that may as well paint an expansively intricate picture worthy of the Sistine Chapel, pieces slotting together akin to fragments of the multiverse coalescing. He’s visualising tendrils laced in jagged spikes of gargantuan eldritch proportions, a flurry of overwhelmingly rapid activity resulting in the horrific form of a cephalopod gliding through realities, dimensions being ravenously grasped onto and crushed in a similarly trivial manner as the distressed plastic of the bottle creaking beneath the youth’s touch.  “But it saw me too. A-and it followed me.”  Billy shifts within the seat, the motion causing for the fastening of his cape to uncomfortably catch beneath his throat, awash by a turbulent wave of anguish and self-loathing.  “I’ve never---  I’ve never felt anything with an aura that bad before. Pure hate. It was gonna hurt everyone. Everything. I had...”

❝ hnnng- yeah, yeah- just- gimmie a sec- ❞ grumbled from the ground, both hands flat beneath him in preparation to push upwards, he'd definitely seen better days. getting tossed around by one of many thorns in his side didn't normally leave him in such a rough state. sure, he almost always walked away with cuts and bruises, but being pummeled into the earth- that was different. ❝ alright yep- up i go. ❞ strained, gravely, he pushed himself onto his feet. so far so good. rolling arms and shoulders, stretching his legs, the more he moved the more aware he grew of his injuries. this was gonna hurt tomorrow.

❝ walking? check. talking? check. remembering my name? double check. my dignity in tact? big fat 'x'. ❞ looking billy over instinctually to make sure he was alright, spider-man bid a brief nod. ❝ are you alright? ❞ he wondered, partially wanting to redirect focus from himself onto quite literally anything else. one hand clasped over his right shoulder, gripping tight to dull the pain, forced laugh bubbled from behind the mask. ❝ this- definitely isn't embarrassing. ❞

@cogitatis : ❝ you’re hurt. can you walk? ❞ (from Billy)

         “Y-yeah, I’m ok.”  To civilian onlookers, it must have been a strange sight to see a teen steadily peddling and bouncing along on his bicycle while this was all going down, keeping his distance from the immediate action yet persistently in hot pursuit despite having to rapidly duck and weave between items being hurled around. There was a point where Billy thought he was about to be dealt a killer blow in the form of a manhole cover straight to the face, but instinct had kicked in with the sudden emergence of an azure portal, immediately riding through to teleport him further up the block to continue his journey  (  jeez, he hopes no one saw...  ).

CHARACTER QUIRKS & HABITS

BOLD  what  applies. ITALICIZE  what  sometimes  applies.  STRIKE  what  doesn’t. REPOST  &  DON’T REBLOG.

likes  artificial  watermelon (fine with anything artificial tbh),   sleeps  in  what  they  are  already  wearing,   eats  their  cereal  with  milk,   listens  to  music  with  earbuds,  hates  the  summer,  can  recite  past  the  first  four  digits  of  pi,  eats  frosting  out  of  the  jar (if you hear late night rustling in the kitchen, it’s this cryptid),   doodles  on  their  notebooks,  can  bake  cookies,  has  a  garden farm,   has  had  a  snowball  fight,  eats  pancakes  without  syrup,  prefers  shorts  over  pants,  can  name  more  than  ten  superheroes  (this isn’t even a debate, challenge him asdf),  has  a  plan  for  the  zombie  apocalypse,  uses  the  same  password  for  everything,  can’t  hold  their  breath  for  more  than  fifteen  seconds,  watches  anime,  hasn’t  read  harry  potter,  can  say  ‘  i  love  you  ‘  in  more  than  one  language,  prefers  mechanical  pencils,  thinks  space  is  cool (an understatement),  takes  personality  tests  more  than  once  to  make  sure,  can’t  tie  their  shoelaces,  has  a  purse,  likes  salads,  likes  cool  colors  better  than  warm  colors,   knows  how  to  braid  hair,  reads  biographies  (it entirely depends on the person - pop culture figures are a huge interest),   can  ice  skate,  knows  their  mbti,  reads  astrology  charts,  prefers  the  star  wars  prequels  to  the  original  trilogy  (he keeps changing his mind),   plays  video  games,  reads  the  newspaper,   likes  chocolate  ice  cream  best,  doesn’t  cuss (doesn’t do so that frequently),  memorizes  song  lyrics,  collects  coupons,   has  a  preferred  order  at  starbucks,   likes  movie  theater  popcorn,   has  seen  a  play,  listens  to  music  with  headphones,    owns  a  hoodie (can practically live in them),   would  rather  own  cds  than  online  copies,   has  written  a  poem (for school, but he’s not that way inclined),  can  shuffle  cards,  subscribes  to  a  magazine,  double  dips  when  eating,  drinks  directly  out  of  the  milk  container,  keeps  a  journal.

NOH-VARR | @ascnsion​ 🌈

          “Just... be cool.”  It’s an incredibly tense minute that seems to drag for what feels like infinity, the mage trying his best not to look too nervous as the pair draw towards the front of the line, shifting from foot to foot as indistinct muffled music pounds in the background from the building up ahead. A palm is raised by the bouncer standing beside the entrance, vibrant neon lighting from signage bouncing off of harsh extremities, a stern glare fixed in place that only seems to harden when peering at the duo - as far as intimidating guys go, this was on another level, IDs handed across to be scrutinised... only for that firm line of vision to linger over Billy with a few questions raised about his date of birth.

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇  𝐈𝐒  𝐍𝐎  𝐍𝐄𝐖  𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄  𝐓𝐎  𝐀  𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑  𝐒𝐎  𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋-𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃.    be  it  by  her  own  blade  or  a  challenge  faced  head-on,    the  strong  lady  sif  is  all  too  familiar  with  the  concept  of  life's  impermanence---    but  also  life's    longevity    for  a  goddess  such  as  herself.    for    asgardians.    for  those  she  loves.    so  many  centuries  still  at  their  disposal,    and  yet    HALDOR'S    had  been  taken  in  the  blink  of  an  eye.    she  has  yet  to  shed  a  tear,    which  would  be  expected  were  this  any  other  stranger  or  enemy...    but  a  lover  of  over  a  hundred  years?    surely    she  must  feel  something.

❝  i  do  not  wish  to    speak,    fandral,  ❞    sif  snaps  as  she's  followed  through  palace  halls.    it's  almost    pitiful,    she  thinks,    the  insistence  that  he    must    bother  her  when  she  is  meant  to  be    grieving---    there  is  no  time  to    grieve    when  there  is  a  battle  to  be  won.    striding  into  the  armoury,    sif  unsheathes  her  blade,    held  in  a  readied  parry.    ❝  if  i  am  to    kill  lorelei,    since  you  men  are  defenseless  against  her,    i  must  remain  ready.    are  you  going  to  fight  me,    or  not?  ❞

@cogitatis ( fandral ) || sc.

         Her steadfast gait is swift but the blond warrior has no trouble in keeping up, initially walking besides the brunette before opting to break into a trot to dart ahead to face her, rushedly pacing backwards amidst the sweeping motion of his cape in hopes that all who find themselves within the duo’s path wouldn’t be so foolish as to remain within it. As abundantly jovial as the Asgardian could be, he’s no stranger to the harsh grip of grief, traipsing to Midgard akin to a lovelorn pup nigh yearly to mourn the loss of a mortal dating back to the 16th century - time heals all, but it’s a matter of circumstances that plays into the level of emotion that drives such a powerful feeling. In the Lady Sif’s case, there is a stormcloud of vengeance before her very eyes, one that may not be conducive to her seeking the resolution she desires. 

He notices, as he always does (as his perfectly primed systems are wont to). The so aptly if ironically denoted “human error” - one amongst a small myriad of such which had as of late infrequently frequented their personal exchanges of data in these spaces shared between them. A certain respectful if not deeply ingrained sense of tact directs him to refrain from bringing attention to the raptly amended mistake - or the underlying implications - ever mindful of the engineer’s at times fickle pride, regardless of whether they’re both aware the slip was quite impossible to miss.

The subsequent “laugh” is acknowledged, the AI responding in turn with a short, low and purely digital frequency not entirely unlike a hum in context, letting idle subroutines of concern for his creator and companion settle into the parts of his code they rarely voided.  Constants, and not entirely situationally irrelevant.

< Actually, sir, if I might be so bold as to make use of your legs–>

He bounces off Mr. Stark’s comedy easily, rather welcoming it to direct them onwards in an approximation of their usual comfort and quipped repertoire. His stream of words, meanwhile, intermingle concurrently as they emerge with the attached coordinate specifying address to but one of the several Stark Facilities he presently “inhabited” - the suggestion of where the intelligence’s request is inclining making itself apparent even before he has finished transmitting the complete sentence itself.

Which he still does, of course. Technically superfluous or not, it is only proper.

< –I would very much like for you to meet me here. >

          The exchanges in which they share could range from tackling the most intricate of nuances to the outright mundane, a shared language in the transfer of data that was uniquely satisfying  (  familiarity rooted in its base form derived by logic  ) - the futurist always enjoyed these moments no matter how swift, picoseconds flitting by in a scant instant that could be considered as otherwise being inconsequential. Yet Stark felt(?) that they strengthened a bond, a possibility he couldn’t have fathomed or anticipated before he was... this. Sure, there are words for this state, some erring on the judgmental whereas others spoke of it with a bizarre reverence---  but it was all a matter of perspective and experience, each of which would be unique and never quite grounded in commonality in spite of best efforts. When the A.I. veers the conversation towards the physical realm, there’s a brief flutter of dark lashes  (  as if jolted awake from dormant slumber  ),  blue eyes narrowing in consideration in real-time to peer away from a workbench of scattered tools, the sheen of light overhead casting across disassembled metal components to make way for the direction of his mortal shell. 

<  BEEN SITTING IN THE SAME POSITION FOR 107 MINUTES,     GIVE OR TAKE. NOT SURE THEY’LL BE ANY GOOD  >

           Embedded creases had formed in denim from a prolonged stillness in his office chair, a few droplets of coffee and other substances of necessary consumption or project-based interaction having seeped and blossomed into a not-so-white tank top that was probably due for a wash over a day or two ago. But it’s the outline of his hands that Tony lingers on, digits extending and contracting as the reemergence to his natural state carries an eerie sense of disembodiment - it takes a few seconds of readjustment but it’s a phenomenon that grows increasingly prevalent as time goes by, where appendages feel foreign and not entirely his, a temporary home to inhabit until---  (  stop. c’mon, shake it off.  )

<  I’LL BE THERE IN A FEW  >

          It’s with a mild grunt of effort that actuators  bare feet push against the ground for wheels to glide backwards, nudging himself away from the surface to stand upright with a groan, arms lifting skyward into a prolonged stretch with a loud yawn - tinted windows are reconfigured to allow for 15% more sunlight to permeate the space, the room’s controlled conditions an important factor that had always taken away the element of time whenever Tony found himself entrenched in long periods of work. Grabbing onto a discarded navy blue shirt, he puts it on but doesn’t button it up, reasoning that his movement across the facility will result in a fluctuation in body temperature, bare arms predicted to grow a little cold while his core heats up. The man’s almost at the glass door when he stubs his toe against the sharp corner of a heavy cardboard box, the sudden registry of pain sparking within the depths of his parietal lobe  (  should probably put on some shoes, right?  ).

        Oh, there’s a smile. Hell even a laugh, he’ll take that and more. Kid had seemed lonely sitting out here by the TV all by himself, he wondered if he’d come with anyone? Someone who might’ve gotten themselves busy, or lost on their way to the bathroom. (He’d already had to rescue one or two dudes and damsels in distress from that abstract villain). Doesn’t want to put him in the hot seat though, nothing like nosy types making you uncomfortable at someone else’s party. Even if it was his own. Speaking of his own, he can’t help but loose a chuckle in his throat when the teen draws attention to one very particular set of ‘elders’, sheesh they weren’t in earshot were they? The mischievous grin stretching across Alfred’s features suggested he didn’t much care either way, even maybe hoped as much, but regardless he looks back to Billy with an amicable beam. 

          “You know, I like your style. I wouldn’t worry about them all though or what they think, they’ve always been like this.” He dismisses the old man-squad with an airy wave of his hand in their vague direction, letting his arms fold right back along the back of the cushion he was currently leant against. Honestly Alfred was more interested in Billy’s own inclinations to buck the trend; he’d always seemed like he had a fun kind of vibe, somewhere between well-behaved kid and complicit rebel. The type of peer who was best to rope in to apologize to the teacher on behalf of a group of troublemakers. Were those the kind of friends he hung out with? Keeping them all safe and mindful of consequence? Voice of wisdom, perspective. Invaluable in a group dynamic to be honest, if that all rang true those friends of his sure are a lucky bunch. 

        “Sounds to me like you know a thing or two about making your own way. You get that from friends, family? Or just plain old intuition?“ His fingers reach up from the couch cushion to prop up his temple, regarding Billy with invested curiosity. He wants to hear about him; his background and his life. That’s what get-togethers like this were all about, right?

          “Always, huh?”  It’s a simple word but there’s a weird... profoundness to it - it’s interesting to see how the ‘old man squad’  and Al share similar essences about them and, if the teen’s not mistaken, there are elements about the two guys that were present within the blond, a factor that both confuses and interests the mage. He tries to delve a little deeper, the faintest trace of concentration lingering upon a youthful visage, but it fades when the payoff doesn’t quite come through, giving himself more of a headache than discerning anything remotely useful  (  despite what the future may hold, he still had his limitations  ).  Billy lets the thought go just as quickly as it had initially been conjured, bright features growing a little bashful  deflective as the conversation starts to veer in the teen’s direction, shoulders sinking back a touch as warm eyes dart away in consideration  (  what was he supposed to say..?  ) - the blanched vibrancy of an abundance of movie snow illuminates the room, light that bounces right off the tip of Billy’s nose as his head cranes back for his line of vision to linger ceilingward in thought. 

                    The kneejerk reaction is to shrug and mutter something noncommittal along the lines of  ‘there’s not much to tell’,  but experience and pure gut instinct tells him that that wouldn’t go down so well, a rebuttal of  ‘not so fast, little guy’  or something of a similar ilk inevitably dragging him back for a one-two back-and-forth before they’d settle into a meaningful conversation  (  almost seeing the whole scenario play out  ).  So the teen decides to strip back the humility for a hot sec, a warmth spreading as a kind smile eases its way into place, those who he held dear very much at the forefront of the mage’s mind.  “A combo, I guess. I mean, some of my friends have more to show for it than me. Things can get kinda tough for them while I’m sorta coasting...”  Each member of their team had a prerequisite backstory of intrigue and drama  (  justified angst to the max, by his estimation  )  whereas Billy’s problems felt a little self-imposed and entirely unreal, mountains outta imaginary molehills---  Digits lift to anxiously drag through his fringe, sweeping it to one side for the motion to culminate with the youth’s palm resting at the back of his head, index finger lightly tapping against the dark tufts. He’s aware that his expression has grown a little pensive, lips quirking a tad to force a huff of laughter.

            “You’d think.” Alfred agrees charitably, a gentle smile continuing to warm his features as he slowly drags himself back up the couch’s back cushion. He was probably crowding the poor kid, least he could do was come round so he could face him properly and not crane his neck out of shape like that. Could ache for days. Cosmic entity wrapped in a little bod or not, he was still living the life of a teenage boy born right here in this slice of mortal coil; and despite knowing that truth, that’s exactly how Alfred continued to see him. One of his own. He wouldn’t treat him any different for all the power in the world. Call it wish fulfillment: he wishes he’d had even one older person look at him like he was normal while he was growing up. Just one. 

        That was not the lot of those born into the pressurizing crucible of greater purpose. Expectation weighed in the count of a thousand million eyes poised on you, waiting with baited breath for all that you would choose to be. Such a terrible, wondrous power: the type that can build and erase futures with the same stroke. Let the kid believe he was anything - everything - otherwise, even just for a moment stolen from time. “Well hey, thanks. I like to go all out around this time of year, invite people over; get the whole neighborhood together.” Alfred rounds the corner of the couch before sinking into its cozy inside nook, plucking a cushion out of the way of his hip and instead slipping it behind his spine. 

             “You know, I thought about the trucks. But the older folks here told me if they heard one more chorus of Holidays Are Coming, they’d feed me my own Christmas lights like zesty wattage spaghetti. So, you know. Tough crowd. ”

          There’s a vague semblance of a shrug from Billy, a part of him almost resigned in accepting the lack of representation supposedly based on eighteen years of life experience - in a world that was growing increasingly aware of its shortcomings and playing catch-up to right such wrongs, it was a little disconcerting how some were given precedent over others, priorities arising based on louder voices who drowned others out  (  all change was justified, but it’d be cooler if they were evenly carried out...  ).  Shuffling across to give the blond a little space to settle down on his corner of the couch, a leg instinctively curls beneath the teen as he takes a final swig of his drink, form veering to the side to place the empty glass on the floor out of harm’s way. Amidst the swathes of people drifting in and out of rooms and all the excitable chatter, this was... nice, the mage appreciative of the other taking a moment to simply chill with him when he probably had a bazillion and one things to attend to.

                     "Yeah?”  A giggle emerges as youthful features light up, a vivid imagination grasping onto the imagery of stuffy elders wagging their fingers at Al who would in turn be wearing a flashy pair of sunglasses to shield himself from the haters - warm eyes briefly peer back towards the entrance of the room where the light of the adjoined hallway filters through, one of the elders in question engaged in heated conversation  (  probably about something really mundane  )  while fishing for a pack of cigarettes, another long haired blond sipping a glass of wine with an air of bemusement. Line of vision tracing over the spectacle and peering at the other partygoers, a gentle smile graces Billy’s lips, able to feel the love and warmth that emanated from everyone despite moments of sporadic holiday fuelled tension. 

     ✨ They were so unbelievably lucky to have one another, and he desperately hoped they understood this. ✨

@cogitatis sent: i did manage to get my hands on this stupid thing . (from Quentin) | wynonn.a ea.rp s4 starters

“What is it?” Ever-curious, Ana’s neck cranes slightly to try and get a look at the object in the illusion-master’s hands. Even with her curiosity, she keeps her guard up - if this is another one of his tricks, she is determined not to be fooled. But they do have a common enemy, and that counts for something. Even if not much. 

“Is it something that can be used against the spiders?”

          A sly grin unfurls with an air of smug satisfaction settling across the man’s features, the slender formation of a vial carefully grasped between his fingertips tilted to one side, sharp eyes scanning embedded fine print as a vibrant green gas swarms within. Quentin’s playing dress-up today but of a completely different guise to his normal extravagant caped attire, jeans and an ugly Christmas sweater for this little get-together whilst out in public  (  it’d be a little strange if he was dressed to the nines while at the park  ).  Visage currently reminiscent of a handsome blond who wouldn’t look entirely out of place on the set of a Hollywood blockbuster, he clarifies with an edge of determination in his voice, currently trying out an affected Seattle elite inflection as part of the little ‘role’.