#assetisms

take a few years off pepper’s life and she’d be a cowering intern on the wrong end of a gun. there would be silent prayers and tears threatening to break the dam of her dignity --- but she’s no intern; no secretary who’s rudely interrupted during a coffee delivery. pepper potts is a god damn CEO and has emotional callouses just begging to be tested.

her hands remain raised, arms far from sore for holding their position of surrender for so long. in fact she’s itching to raise them higher if only for the change to bring them back down with BRUTAL animosity.

chin raising, pepper’s face is the epitome of calm (with the exception of  irritation  blemishing the mask). if he wants to make this mistake, f i n e. at the end of the day it’s going to be his loss.

          “ that would be best. ”

                                ------ for you.

her arms begin lowering. slowly, as to not provoke the brute with the rifle. so long as it’s only information he’s after there’s no need to make things physical.

               it’s a JOLT. a flail of limbs that is anything and everything but graceful. tossing in her sleep has always been an issue, one that’s worsened over the years — a true issue only when her unconscious mind mistakes a swift roll of her body as a FALL. suddenly her mundane dream crumbles and there’s nothing beneath her but flames licking at her ankles.

               “ i gotchu, pep… ”

                    “ you gotta let go — you gotta let go! ”

                          “ i’ll catch you, i promise. ”

               tony’s voice surrounds her, bouncing off of walls she can’t see and becoming an overlapping echo. he keeps PROMISING and yet with each plea the flame claw their way higher and HIGHER up her calf. it hurts but she can’t distinguish the pain; if it’s from her flesh turning to ash or the layers beneath that are in a constant state of regeneration.

                                          “ — YOU GOTTA LET GO! “

               she sits up, mouth wide as she tests her lungs capacity and then some. SMOKE. she smells smoke. tastes it in the back of her throat and her eyes water. kicking like a child, pepper frantically fights to get free from her sheet, to get off of her mattress that feels too warm. finally feet meet floor, followed by knees and hands.

               the sting of hitting the ground does very little to stifle the exhausted frenzy she’s tossed herself into. neither does the blackened room around her. so much smoke — can’t see, can’t breath. her only saving grace is the beacon of light BEAMING out from under her shirt. even dimmed under the thin fabric, it’s enough to have her barreling in the right direction; towards the door.

              —— her frantic sprint comes to an end sooner rather than later and that impressive lungful is knocked right out of her.

               pepper rolls over. her arms curling up to her chest, fists balling beside her collarbone. city lights make it into the hall and illuminate… nothing. no smoke. no fire. no THREAT. she’s in her home where she belongs. the only thing FOREIGN is the warm body at her feet. one that’s too large and too firm ( slowly prodding toes quickly discover ) to be socrates.

                              among the usual sounds of jessica entering her apartment, there seemed to be one that stuck out. one that just didn’t harmonize.                                     now before all of this, she would’ve used malcolm as an easy explanation, but now she knew he was in his right mind -- probably sleeping, given the hour.                                     so slowly, her booted feet move further inside; only to be met by an unfamiliar face. with no weapons, jessica is forced to detect danger before lashing out with her body.                                   ‘ usually my clients make sure i’m home before barging in && demanding something from me. ‘ 

Send me a url and I’ll record my voice saying the url along with what I think of them. (14/20)