#sharpopen

Grant stood, breathing heavily, in the middle of a SHIELD reception room. His hands clenched into fists as he tried hard to resist the urge to lash out and break things. He'd come looking for someone - thought to be a friend - for a promised lunch, only to find they were 'gone'. What gone meant, Grant wasn't entirely sure. With SHIELD it could mean many things, ranging from relocated, to fired, or even dead.

Or they simply asked not to be bothered by a particular person and had others lie for them... No. She wouldn't do that. She wasn't like the others. She wouldn't lie like that... would she? How do they expect me to trust others when things like this happen?

Grant could feel a rage building inside him, similar to the one he'd felt when he'd been in possession of the Asgardian Bezerker staff years ago.

"I'm fine..." he muttered, taking a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. It didn't work.

The next thing he knew, Grant was standing with one hand pinning a guard to the wall, the other ready to punch him. He blinked a few times as he came to his senses, lowering his fist before letting the man drop to the floor. Stepping away, Grant slowly looked around the now trashed reception area; tables and chairs flipped or thrown. One had smashed the glass protecting the reception desk.

The hairs on the back of Aeron’s neck stood up; as her dark eyes shifted from side to side before she turned to confirm she was in fact, alone. The empty street quelled her suspicions, yet something didn’t feel right. The mutant waited just a moment longer before continuing on her way. 

Most Tuesday’s at this hour, Aeron would be working the last couple of hours at the shop, but on the first and last Tuesday of the month Aeron had a different obligation, one that took her deeper into the city. New York is the epicenter of some of the most unique and diverse mutant culture from all across the country. Many of the communities had taken residency within the tunnels and abandoned subway stations that littered the underground. A whole city where the best and worst converged in an attempt to stay alive. Aeron as a teen, had sought refuge here before Horace. Looking back at it, it was no place for her nor anyone there.

The manhole cover groaned as she slid it to the side. Once again, she looked over her shoulder to see if she was being followed, plundging into the darkness. The smell assulted her nostrils as she landed with soft thud on a sewer grait. From there it was only a few minutes to reach a small tented site on an old platform. A willowy man with short curly hair approached her and embraced her tenderly. They then slip betweens the tents, out of sight.

A few hours pass and Aeron makes her way back to the man hole. On tje last turn she slows down, picking up that same uneasy feeling of a presence. Placing a hand on walls of the tunnel, Aeron projected her powers outwards, relaying that someone was waiting just around the bend. The mechanic sprung in to action, grabbing the stranger, spinning them around, and driving them into the wall.

Steve pushed the doors open and quickly exited the club. Unsure of what possessed him to check out the venue in the first place, he shook his head as he leaned on the metal balustrade on the steps of the back entrance. He knew he had to get back into life eventually, but perhaps that particular means was a little too much. How could people deal with the music being that loud? He knew he was an old fashioned kind of guy, but still. Not even Tony would have the music playing at that volume at his parties. Maybe he did, but at least his had more space and less people and usually several open windows. He dropped his head, shaking it slightly, letting out a sigh. What was wrong with the good ol’ days?

After several minutes he stood up and walked down the steps and out onto the street. It was a decent walk back to headquarters, but he didn’t mind. The semi quiet might do him good. Even if New York never had a quiet moment, it would still be a nice change to the din from the club. 

Bruce sat in a relatively secluded part of central park. It was early enough that there wasn’t a lot of traffic just yet, and that suited him just fine. The Avengers facility was good enough for him to live in, but every once in a while he found himself seeking out a little time to himself, preferably someplace where nature still showed through. Sure, this nature had been heavily tamed by an armada of gardeners, but it was still there. So here he sat, doing some light meditation and soaking in the calm around him.

Alec neatly slid into the chair opposite the lone patron of the café. Two of Alec's employees stood just outside the doors, in case anything should go awry. He adjusted the lapels of his jacket, ensuring they were precisely in place, before finally looking up at his companion.

Carol sat with her forehead pressed against her glass. She was several drinks in, and showing no signs of stopping. They knew her at this bar, knew she could hold her drink well enough, so they had long since stopped trying to dissuade her from continuing beyond most people’s cut-off. The headache she was currently nursing had nothing to do with her alcohol intake, however. She had been thrilled at the opportunity to act as leader for the Avengers, if not for the circumstances that surrounded it. What she hadn’t anticipated was the pressure that came with the position. Sure, since the HOPE catastrophe public favor had largely swung back in the Avengers’ direction, but every misstep the team made was eventually brought up to her. Whether it was the media or a political opponent, sooner or later the Avengers -- and her -- were held to account for it. It wasn’t a problem she could punch away, and therefore wasn’t an easy one for her to solve.

She hadn’t been aware anyone else had entered the deserted bar until the newcomer had settled on the stool next to her. She sighed and downed the rest of her current drink, signaling the bartender for another before finally glancing to the side to see who had joined her.

She knew better than this. But Ellie was used to taking risks. After turning the dial of her watch down half way, she lifted off the roof with ease, using the air current and a little of her own to help her glide through the air. It wasn’t the most graceful attempt at flying, but it did the trick. 

The sun was setting casting an orange glow on the west side of the cityscape. She flew for no longer than 15 minutes, coming to rest gently in a secluded spot in the park. Slowly turning the dial back to it’s strongest position, she rested against a tree to catch back her breath. After a few more moments she hiked through the woods until she came to an opening with a fairly decent view of one of the ponds. Hoisting herself up into a tree, she pulled a small sketch journal from the bag she always kept with her and began to draw the scene before her.

"Help me!"