#amrogue

“You’re one of those kids from that school right? The one with Wried people with powers?”

@amrogue . starter call . open

It had been a while since Peter had visited the mansion. Still, the old building hadn’t changed much since his last visit, or at least not what he could see given that the sun hadn’t quite come up yet so it was still half dark. It had been all too easy to slip in- nice to see the Prof still left a window open for him to get in by, and he’d taken the opportunity to amble into the kitchen and rustle through the cupboards for some sort of breakfast.

It had been...goodness, had it really been over a year since he’d been back here? Usually he left less time between visits but this time he’d been distracted, at least until he’d seen the headlines of all the goings on and just knew that his father had been part of it. Again. Prick.

Sticking a biscuit in his mouth, he went to continue his search when he heard movement and paused, looking up. A student, no doubt, but one he didn’t recognise. Taking the biscuit out of his mouth, he quirked an eyebrow.

“Not to be a nuisance; but I was told that you might be able to help me. Miss, D'Ancanto.”   

@amrogue // ROGUE // plotted starter !

           Huh. Well, wasn’t that interesting? Remy’s at a dusty diner in the middle of nowhere, Kentucky, and yet he could swear that he’d just seen a familiar skunk stripe on the waitress out of the corner of his eye. Pushing his shades a little further up his nose, he grins to himself - even if it isn’t her, he can appreciate the fashion statement enough to chat a bit. 

Not much better to do until nightfall, anyway. Come midnight, he’d be off to rifle through a very private art collection that didn’t belong to him in the slightest.

It only takes ten more minutes of sipping at his coffee as he waits for the (frankly obnoxious amount of) food he’d ordered to arrive, and a now-definitely familiar face is struggling to unload the plates in her arms onto the table. She hasn’t looked at him yet, which - kind of only makes things that much funnier. Reaching up, he helps out, snagging plates with a hum and setting them down.

His hands go airborne as a curse leaves his mouth. Before him a variety of plates and glasses lay shattered and broken, casualties of his own clumsiness following his collision with the stand that had previously housed them. Meaning to apologise, he immediately turns to a shop clerk who had come running over as soon as the sound of a musical crash had filled the air. “I-I’ll pay for this...” He blurts out, shaky in both pronunciation and physical stature. From a distance, he gave the impression of a man with shot nerves, someone who tended to flinch at every sight and sound.     And who was far from content being the centre of attention right now.

          🕸   ❝       i don’t wanna pick a fight with you  --  but uh   . .  what are you doing  ??     ❞

Send me XYZ for a starter of ____. | Accepting@amrogue​

Send me 👁 for a starter of my character catching your character spying on them

☺ ✖ – Wade tried to let it go. At first thinking, maybe, that tingling at the back of his head, along his neck was just his paranoia. His Pool-sense™, after all, was nothing compared to the Spidey-Sense of the infamous wallcrawler. So he continues on his merry way through the grand crowds of New York City. 

   But it doesn’t go away. 

   Wade makes a purposeful turn towards an office building he knows has nice, reflective windows, eyes scanning over the surface as quick he can before he sees her. 

   Wade feels his lips press into a thin line, feet coming to a prompt stop as his head rolls back with a groan. 

   Of-fucking-course. 

   “I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Rogue-bi-Wan-Kenobi,” it startles some of the people beside him as he yells it. They give him wide berth, eyes floating up to his face before they’re hustling along. 

   Wade’s head comes down, a hand adjusting the hoodie on his head as he turns, that practiced grin already in place.