#ncverdie

"Look, I don't mind you staying at my place and I don't mind watching Krypto sometimes, but can you please try to keep Krypto out of my things?"

Granted, that had been mostly his fault for leaving those article notes out where the dog could get at them, but finding that the other night when he'd come back from work hadn't exactly been great.

Clark high-stepped around the dog, holding up breakfast plates higher into the air as if that would stop Krypto from flying up to get some if he really wanted it. He set one down in front of Kara at the table and one at his own place.

⇏ @yoursdndispatcher from POSITIVITY TIME ! ⇏ for @ncverdie

( Legend begins with @ncverdie - Dr. Strange )

[ ϟ ]—– The street was utterly quiet, in that odd, suspended way New York sometimes was found at dawn, a city between heartbeats when the chaos was still contained.

Steam curled from a cracked manhole cover, haloing the air with pale slivers of grey and white, and the scent of rain still clung to the pavement.

Thunderer stood at the corner of the intersection, broad frame stilled beneath the wash of red from a stopped traffic light. Around him however, time and space moved, misbehaved even. A pigeon beat its wings in slow motion above the crosswalk, suspended in the stretch of a single flutter, droplets hung midair, silver and trembling, before falling all at once. A distortion could be sensed beneath his boots, a shiver of power humming through the asphalt, an alive and erratic tremor.

The tugging of it had been felt from blocks away, a siren call that was partially danger partially kinship. Something buried and half-awake, something that carried the faint scent of Yggdrasil's roots though it had no business existing here in this realm of stone and noise. Whatever it was it spoke in vibrations instead of sound, a pulse in the veins of the city, and it had called, beckoned.

Crouching brings a broad palm to press to the trembling ground, attempt made to listen as the Seidr sighed back as the last breath of something dying.

When the air shifted, when light warped in the god's peripheral thunderer did not need to turn to know who had arrived. The sorcerer's presence bent the air differently, a precision to it, a surgeon's calm within the chaos.

it’s  generally  bad  form  to  interrupt  someone  else’s  patrol  without  some  kind  of  warning.  worse  form  to  show  up  practically  on  their  doorstep.  and  that  doesn’t  even  take  into  account  the  way  he’s  bleeding  all  over  the  place.  in  his  defense,  head  wounds  bleed  a  lot.  and  so  do  stomach  wounds,  he’s  finding  out,  one  gloved  hand  pressed  to  his  side  as  he  staggers  to  the  nearest  source  of  (he  hopes)  assistance.  leslie  is  too  far  away,  the  cave  isn’t  an  option.  but  the  pretender?  all  he  can  do  is  hope.  

She's not happy about it in the slightest, but he’s desperately trying not to show it. Her whole body is still tensed up, jaw clenched, shoulders raised as she tries to figure out what to say. 

If anything, she is still trying to process what has happened. 

One moment they had been working a trauma and the next there's a full on fight. She suspects it might be a gang thing? Though really she’s not even sure how in the universe they had even got into the ED never mind in with a weapon but she supposes thats a matter for security and not her. 

She’d just been in the way…she guesses? 

“...” a long silence lingers over her as she tries to work out what it was she was meant to say or navigate what was expected of her. She had no real comparison nor bench mark by which to judge what the normal response should be. Especially with Dr Strange, while she thinks the name might be scarier than him, she doesn’t know him, nor has she extensively worked with him. Passing visits through the ED to consult on a patient she supposes counts?

Mel spends far too long trying to figure out the correct response; she's aware it's crossed over into rude territory now.

@ncverdie liked for a one liner !!

“You're telling me you don't know who Larry Boy is and somehow we're considered friends?”

     Pale fingers tugged at the wool pants, itchy things, terrible for sensitive skin. He could only imagine what kind of hell Selina would raise should she ever be committed again. There was an itch in the back of his mind too. One that he just couldn't scratch, grass green gaze skimming the faces allowed in the gathering room that week.

'Ah...'

     Slowly unfolding himself, he smiled at the guard, lifting a hand to wiggle his fingers in greeting before pointing in the direction of one of the other patients. The concern didn't completely go away, but it was now tinted with exasperation. And was that pleading there at the corners of his mouth?

     Maybe.

     Possibly.

'Y'know it's been bothering me lately, what type of blue is it supposed to be? I don't think Carroll ever properly described it did he?'

@ncverdie's tetch's been called to tourney