#shieldling

Orym says, ❝ I’ve seen what ‘bad’ looks like. You’re one of the good ones, trust me. ❞ ( @shieldling​ )

Her arms are resting on her knees, and her gaze is ahead of her, albeit off to the side.  Orym’s words, though both genuine and kind, ring somewhat hollow to Imogen.  She wants to believe him.  If nothing else, she knows that Orym believes what he’s saying.  A dismissive smile nudges at one of the corners of her mouth.  As she reaches up to rub the side of her neck distractedly, she decides to glance to her side to look at Orym.

@shieldling​ says,  "Stretch first, then we’ll get started.”

“How do I—” Imogen stops the question part-way because it just sounds ridiculous coming out of her mouth. “I mean, what do you recommend… I guess?” her eyebrows furrow, though there is a small smile on her face.  Orym’s been incredibly patient with her, just as he always is. “I know how to stretch for breakin’ in horses and ridin’ ‘em, but how’re you supposed to stretch for fightin’?” the look she gives him suggests she knows how silly she sounds. “Sorry, Orym, I’ve just never… like I’ve got this dagger, right? An’ I know how to use it, but as a ‘Hail Mary,’ y’know?”

@shieldling​ asked: ❛  won’t we get in some sort of trouble for this ?  ❜ (for opal!)

                Her lips pucker up, tip of her shimmery dagger tapping against them as she thinks. You should listen to him, Ted’s voice says in her head, and that’s enough for Opal to huff dramatically and dismiss all of it.

 @shieldling

  "Well-- ain't you... lucky... " Minosh, coughing and snorting and dripping from head to toe, tried to push himself up from the patch of grass he had all but collapsed on. Being an air genasi, his lungs were not technically dependent on breathing air, but some habits were difficult to shake - especially when one was unexpectedly pulled under water. He tossed a hostile glance at the lake, that rested peacefully under a shimmer of the day’s dwindling sunlight.

Charles had never grown out of his...nosy nature. It had gotten him into trouble many times during his youth, and had been the reason for Erik’s telepathy blocking helmet during his reign as Magneto. He couldn’t help himself, still a rather impatient man, allowing his telepathy to seep into their brain, poke around a bit, and learn a bit about the individual.

Captain America...Steve Rogers.

He’d heard about him, of course, but it hadn’t been the destruction of New York that brought his name to attention. No...the tales of a Super Soldier, saving the world, and purging the earth of the Nazis...

Erik’s reaction to Captain America’s existence and subsequent survival had always been...interesting, Charles noted. Mainly when his escapades of Germany were brought up.

But with the sudden upheaval of everything they called normal, and the threat of massacre of all life on earth...He was able to meet Steve Rogers for the first time, in person.

How strange.

With a few smooth strokes of his arms, the wheels clicked rhythmically as he rolled across the room, slipping into another part of Tony Stark’s tower. The lights were dimmed, the generators pumping desperately the energy the more vital parts of the tower needed, and Charles squinted a moment to try to see.

His wheelchair snagged on the coffee table, and he jolted in surprise, the man grumbling quietly as he tried to navigate a bit more smoothly, still not used to the manual power of the chair (damn did he miss his electric chair). Licking his lips, he moved to the man, and a smile crossed his features.

     the ground rattled as he dodged to the left, missing the fiery bullet sent from the chamber of an alien’s gun by what could be perceived as the width of a hair. ‘ SHIT. ’ he growled, the bullets continuing to zip by. ‘ i don’t know about you, but i’m thinkin’ we blow this popsicle stand, darce. ’ clint sent an arrow in the direction of the ammo, watching in the corner of his eye as it curved to pierce through a handful of the little buggers. he sent another into the ground a couple yards away, to a group of aliens’ content. they snickered in their odd hissing dialect -- god it was disturbing -- until the arrow exploded, probably incinerating each and every one of them. clint wasn’t watching, and frankly, he didn’t care. he was multi-tasking, HARD-CORE. 

     his eyes scanned the battlefield, watching things crash, burn, and crumple over on themselves. they landed on darcy, conveniently, who was standing within reaching distance. clint squinted as an alien approached swiping its claws just inches away from her face. he sent an arrow straight towards its eye, not entirely hearing its squeal of pain, but feeling it as its facial expression violently transitioned. ‘ we -- YOU -- are ditching this shit show, right now. let’s get out of here. ’

                      ✗ — bringing them alcohol

        &           “ is this a peace treaty ? ” the question sounds sarcastic, but it’s really not. not entirely, at least. tony’s not sure if he’s been avoiding steve or if steve’s been avoiding him, but they haven’t spoken much since the whole EPIC FAILURE that landed them here to begin with. ( in fact, the only reason tony knew about steve’s presence in the tower was because someone else mentioned it. man, he hates shitty security. ) 

        “ can we skip the motivational speech ? ‘ things are different, we need to work together. we have to put our differences aside for the sake of man-kind and red, white, and blue. ’ ” he finishes with a roll of his eyes, picking up a tablet and swiping at he screen idly. “ yeah, i’m aware. you’re 28% forgiven. (  even though i can’t remember what the LAST thing you did to piss me off was, i’m sure you did something. ) and i’m BUSY, so uh. ” and he takes one of the bottles, lifting it to steve in a mock salute before turning around. 

                 “ don’t worry, we’ll pick this up next month. probably. ”