#heroamended

@heroamended

                             “...hold your fire and await further orders.“

          The authoritative voice is distant within earpieces, protocols drilled into tactical agents forming a loose albeit particularly distant perimeter beyond layers of tarmac for potential backup. Stark had vehemently declined the assistance regardless of the ever-present possibility of things going south, a lingering impression of optimism infiltrating the futurist’s perception once the man had caught wind of the invitation for the meeting. The Avenger was far from being a spiritual person ( conversely, in fact ), but faith in the apparent ‘monument’ of a figure such as Rogers played a part in his buoyed trust, the incoming projectile of the tin-man abruptly making contact with the ground in its usual flair.

                    Metal knuckles shred concrete, the sound of reverberating actuators unfurling and glowing repulsor points powering down from having ignited the atmosphere, the industrialist standing upright within the protective encasing - now a mere extension of himself as opposed to a cocoon in which the engineer had grown accustomed to. Preliminary scans concurrently take place to analyse a multitude of probable data, namely the number of individuals attending this impromptu little shindig. The two figures are far from alone, either ‘side’  bringing with it a hefty means of accompaniment each more daunting than the last. But a vaguest semblance of coy humour ( easily mistaken for flippancy ) weaves into the voice which filters through the tiers of alloys comprising of the stoic faceplate, the latter betraying the appearance of the man’s nervous eagerness.

It’s a jungle gym of scent, each one tumbling and swirling around the other. Fresh smells ( sweaty smells ) all intermingling, wafting out from the steel sheets of the factory walls; metal and papers, stale foods sticking to the floor, unwashed bodies, stress -  some of it more present than others.

      Kasper pads through the dim recess of the length of the building in his husky morph, hugging the wall, until he finds a crack he can slip through.  

Hello?    he casts out broadly, hoping to catch anyone that might be lingering. 

          IwannafindSteveRogers IwannafindSteveRogers

[a bright flash engulfs the room, the shades of cyan enveloping his surroundings as the mage’s affirmation begins to bend reality, the space around him warping to a location south of the city. Brooklyn wasn’t an area that Billy visited often, but the displacement which occurs brings with it a new lungful of air - different to the heavy atmosphere of Manhattan. The altered room is cold with minimal furnishings but that’s a trait that doesn’t particularly bother the teen, anxious footsteps meandering through with a curious gaze]

     » Herman Cohn’s. Sands Street. 10pm.

There's nothing there anymore. Green manicured lawns to apartment complexes that gradually fade to shelled out industrial buildings-- empty spaces where military shops used to be.

There’s something clandestine about it - not something, it’s all clandestine, all hidden and secret and god, he’s got to hate this --- 

Sharon offers Bucky a tight-lipped smile when he hangs back in the doorway of the small office, what’s got to be their command center, now, and the square-foot of filthy concrete she’s standing on feels like no man’s land.  He’ll recognize the nervous pull of her hand through her hair for what it is - I’m trying.

[messages sent from Sharon’s personal cell phone to Natasha’s private, secure line - early December, 2016]

(917): Strange, right, how America’s not doing a whole lot of talking, right? (917): Everything that’s happening, you’d expect to hear from the country.

(xxx): I’d disagree, but I guess it just depends on where you’re looking for news.

(917): That’s true.  That’s why I like to keep my interests diverse. (917): You know, stay educated.  Read a lot.  Travel.

(xxx): Now you’re speaking my language.  (xxx): I’ve found that sometimes the best places to find out what’s really happening in any country is just outside their biggest cities.

(917): Now this just sounds like how you talked me into going to Queens that one time.

(xxx): Say what you want, those pastries were delicious.

(917): Rub it in!

(xxx): All I’m saying is the outer boroughs have a lot of things you can’t get in the big city. (xxx): Pastries, cheap parking, real estate. (xxx): Did I tell you Isaiah was looking to buy in Brooklyn?

(917): Oh?  Good for him.  I hear the market out there is booming, right about now. (917): Can’t be too careful, better to lock down something early, before the prices go up.

(xxx): You know it. (xxx): I’ll send you a photo of the place he’s considering, very tasteful.  You’d approve. (xxx): Pre-war.  Very Old.  Practically belongs in the Smithsonian.

Coat, gloves, shoes - a trail from the front door to the dead center of the living room, if only because Sharon’s not sure where to go, next.  Bandit’s kept up his position near the doorway - he likes to sit there, sometimes, just after she gets in, like he’s waiting for somebody to come in just behind --- 

(She knows who.)

Earrings hit the coffee table, one after the other, wristwatch next, and Sharon’s got half a mind to just unzip out of her dress right here - god, she needs a shower.  Maybe that’d help with the headache brewing just behind her eyes, too much pressure built up from unshed tears - it would’ve been just a waste of time.

Bryan rounds the corner behind her, drawn instantly to the balcony door - why - okay, fine, maybe a little sunlight would do everybody good, maybe - not like she’s been home in the fucking daylight much, the past couple of weeks, not like ---